reddierly
Recent bookmarks
-
Tags
Summary
“So,” Ilya says, dragging the word out. He’s swiping at non-existent crumbs on the counter, avoiding his eyes. “You have dinner at parents on Christmas, yes?”
“Yeah.”
Ilya nods. “I can house-sit while you are away. Make place pretty, if you have decorations. Make it less boring.”
Shane’s eyebrows fly up. “What? You don’t want to come with?”
Finally, Ilya looks up at him. Hesitantly, he asks, “You want me to come with?”
Frowning, Shane says, “I– yeah. Yeah, of course. You think I invited you here just so you could spend Christmas alone?”
Looking away, Ilya shrugs. “I am intruder here, Hollander. You have family. I do not. Makes situation… difficult, maybe. You forget the world thinks we are rivals.”
“Not difficult,” Shane says immediately. “You want to come, you’re coming.”
Or: Ilya's in Montreal alone during the week leading up to the Winter Classic. Shane doesn't let him spend Christmas alone.
-
Tags
Summary
Ilya picks up on the third ring, breathing heavily into the phone. Shane hears a door slam shut through the device. “Do not yell at me.”
Shane stares at the half-empty bottle of vodka on the coffee table. “You suck.”
“I suck? I scored hat-trick! In your stupid body! I have not eaten in six hours, Hollander. I have not pissed. I have not laid down. I want to go home.”
“Rozanov–”
“Your mother has called twenty times. Your manager has called thirty times. Your father text me picture of crossword puzzle and ask for help. Clue is about American President from the 1980s. I cannot help!”
OR: the hollanov bodyswap fic.
-
Tags
Summary
He nuzzles against the exposed skin of his neck, inhaling the scent that clings to his suit jacket collar. It’s perfect.
“...Hollander,” He hears Rozanov say, urgent like it’s not the first time he’s said it. “Shane,” he follows it up with, and that snaps him out of it. He’s never called him that. Shane, reluctantly, lifts his face a little, eyes glazed over as he meets Rozanov’s eyes.
“What?”
“You stink,” Rozanov says, concern dripping. “No, you—fuck. You reek. What is—” Ilya’s fingers lift up, tugging at the scent patch, revealing more of the spot beneath it. Even Shane can smell himself at that point. He does reek. Reeks of heat, of Omega, of honey and sweetness, of something that would melt on your tongue.
Shane reefs himself back. The Omega inside him aches, mourns, whimpers at the loss of contact. It’s needed, though. He scrambles back, hand slapping at his neck to force the peeled patch back down over his scent gland. He backs up till his spine knocks against the bathroom stall.
“You are in heat at award show? Why would you hide this? Why would you not call out sick? Are you—are you insane? You care this much about trophy?”
OR Shane goes into heat in Vegas
-
Tags
Summary
Ilya’s hand wraps around his bare wrist and squeezes. Shane barely stops himself from collapsing to his knees.
The pressure lights up every receptor of his touch-starved nervous system, wrenching a small, pained noise from the back of his throat. Every muted sensation comes flooding back so intensely that it almost hurts. He needs Ilya to hold him down until there’s nothing inside him but quiet. He wants to sink into him and disappear.
It takes Shane an entire beat to remember where they are. Fighting against the fog in his mind, he manages to drag his gaze up to meet Ilya’s.
There’s a slow-dawning horror and understanding on Ilya’s face.
Or: Shane is in subdrop after their encounter in Vegas. Ilya fixes it.
-
the word's been passed (this is our last chance) by quarterdeck
Fandoms: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
02 Jul 2020
Tags
Summary
“Uh, Spaghetti?” Richie waves a hand in front of his face, looking worried now. “Hello? Do you want to let me know whatever it was that was so important you had to drag me awake for it or -”
“I have a turtle in my pocket that speaks to me in my head and is possessed by Bruce Springsteen,” Eddie blurts out. “Also I think it may be God.”
Richie stares blankly at him.
“What,” he asks flatly, “the fuck.”
“Or a god, at least, I don’t know,” Eddie continues, “Either way, I think it was the one who brought me back to life, so. You know. The chances are very good.”
--
It's been forty years. Eddie Kaspbrak is just trying to make it out of the river.
Bookmarked by reddierly
24 Dec 2020
Bookmarker's Tags:
Bookmarker's Notes
I hate to sound like a cheesy, old white lady, but that shit was breathtaking, bro.