ohariadnes



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    Some nights were, naturally, worse than others.

    Nights where Frank laid in bed for so long, staring at the ceiling, that it made his heart start to race with anxiety and his back ache and ache and ache no matter how he positioned himself. Nights where his thoughts spiraled out into worst-case-scenarios that seemed so vivid and inevitable that he would have to get up and go to the bathroom, just to turn the light on and look at himself in the mirror to remember what was actually real.

    Those were the nights when he wanted the pills again the most: alone in his guest bedroom, trying to wring sleep out of his body like the last few drops of water out of a dirty dishcloth.

    He tried not to call Mel on nights like that. He did not always succeed.

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    10 May 2026

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    Hollander’s eyes slid past him, stopped, came back and held, his eyes widening. Ilya smiled, a mocking curve of his mouth, and raised his cup in acknowledgment. Number one, he mouthed, and while he couldn’t be certain in the dim light of the bar, he thought he saw Hollander flush.

    Then his chin lifted, challenging, and Ilya felt something hook behind his ribs, a sharp tug, like a fish on a line.

     

    Or: Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander make a deal - whichever of them debuts as a #1 NYT bestseller owes the other a blowjob

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    Language:
    English
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    08 Apr 2026

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    Ilya pulls back just enough to press their foreheads together, knocking their noses in a lazy nuzzle. He doesn’t say anything, but his cheeks are burnt red in the middle (last bits) of the night, and Shane wants to taste the colour of his blush. He wants the heat in his mouth of how crazy he makes Ilya, swallow it down to live with his own crazy while he hopes the dock breaks off from the land and they drift off into sea and just get to be this forever and ever.

    “No?” Shane whispers, “did I get it wrong? You are not my baby?” He asks then because he can’t help but tease, because he wants to hear Ilya ask for what he wants, he wants to give Ilya anything he can. He wants to give Ilya this. He wants it to be theirs, baby, to say it without it hurting as much as it hums.

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    1/1
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    22 Mar 2026

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  4. Public Bookmark *

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    “Shane Hollander’s having a big gay wedding.”
    Ilya’s ball rocketed sideways into the woods with a crack like a rifle shot; somewhere in the trees, a goose honked in outrage.
    “Jesus Christ,” Tyler said.
    “Wow,” Marly said. “That was…what the fuck was that, Roz?”
    Ilya was gripping the club so hard his knuckles had gone white. “Bad swing.”
    “That wasn’t a bad swing, that was like a physics-defying swing. I didn’t know you could make a ball go in that direction. You okay?”
    “Fine.” Hollander was getting married. Getting gay married. Who the fuck was Hollander marrying? He wasn’t even… Ilya cleared his throat, shoved his biggest club back in the bag, noted distantly that his hands were shaking. “Hollander is gay?”

    OR: Ten years after the Tampa Bay All-Star Game, Ilya Rozanov crashes Shane Hollander's wedding

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    17 Mar 2026

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    Hi. This is Ilya. I will never listen to your voicemail.

    The greeting wasn’t a joke or an exaggeration—it was the truth. Shane leaves messages anyway, confessions to a digital void that will never judge him, and never push him away.

    At least, that’s what he thinks.

    Language:
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    09 Mar 2026

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