MidnightNoodleRun



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    Shane was looking down. His eyes were squeezed shut, his brow furrowed in intense, painful concentration. His lips were moving, silently shaping the words. Good. Night. Forming them slowly, carefully, in the secret space of his own mouth.

    Ilya’s breath hitched. He’d never seen this. Why would he have? Shane had never been sad around him. Never hurt. Never in this kind of quiet, defeated pain. Around Ilya, Shane had been pleasured and angry and frustrated and gloriously competitive. But never this. Never shattered.

    (or, everything is same but Shane has a slight stutter that gets bad when he's sad. Ilya has never heard it because Shane has never been sad around him. Until their night in Vegas.)

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    05 Jul 2026

  2. Public Bookmark *

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    Alternate Title: Shane Hollander: Stanley Cup Winner, Accidental Dog Sitter

    Shane: Is this Ilya Rozanov?
    Unknown number: no
    Shane: Oh, but the dog collar had this number.
    Unknown Number: What? What dog collar? What are you talking about?
    Shane: I'm Shane Hollander.
    Shane: I have your dog.
    Unknown Number: Is this ransom threat?
    Unknown Number: Did you kidnap my dog?

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    04 Jul 2026

  3. Public Bookmark *

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    unrelated heated rivalry crack fics based in social media and/or texting! <3 each fic stands alone

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    04 Jul 2026

  4. Public Bookmark *

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    Ilya grins, a slow, filthy unraveling of lust spilling across his face. “Moya shlyukha, I would not be able to keep my hands off of you,” he rasps, palming his dick, grinning at the faint squelch, the wet drag of his fingers. Shane bucks into his hand, his jaw dropping open, slack with need. Ilya's whole heart aches as he watches his husband sink into pleasure, hitching whimpers escaping from his throat. “You would be the star of the room, no? Every eye would be on you, thorns in their heart for all they cannot have.”

    “You do,” Shane reminds him, as if it's needed, as if Ilya cannot feel it in each clench of his thighs, each wandering drag of his fingers, in the way his hips roll across Ilya's, involuntary, strangled whines rising from his mouth. “You always have.”

    OR: Sometimes, simply being married to Shane isn't enough. Sometimes, Ilya wants him in ways he can't explain; caught and collared and safe beneath his hand.

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    04 Jul 2026

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    “It’s okay, Luca,” Hollander told him, voice sounding as unaffected as usual (except for when Ilya ragebaited him, then he would get all squeaky and flushed — it was very cute, not that Luca would ever say that) as he precisely adjusted his sock over his shin pad. “Ilya’s just being a dick. Plenty of guys got posters of their favorite players. I used to have a Scott Hunter one back in the day.”

    “You what.”

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    04 Jul 2026