Theswagg



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    Phoenix won't say a word in court. What's going on? Edgeworth is determined to find out.

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    03 Mar 2026

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    Ilya hums, playing the card he's been considering for this entire conversation. “We could make more interesting, yes? A bet.”

    “A bet,” Shane repeats, eyes flashing. “Like what?”

    The reporter cuts in. “What about wearing the other player’s jersey?”

    They both turn to her, and Shane says, “Like, the loser wears the winner’s jersey?”

    “Maybe at the next game in a couple of months?”

    “Is a good idea,” Ilya muses, nudging Shane’s elbow. “You will look better in my jersey than in Montreal jersey.”

    Shane makes a low noise, his eyes holding a bit of a spark when he looks back to Ilya. It’s what Ilya was hoping for—the tiniest crack in the mask. He can see a hint of exasperated affection around the corners of Shane’s eyes, a little bit of fire burning just beneath the surface. It sends a thrill down Ilya’s spine, and he wonders if Shane will be snarky when Ilya gets him naked tonight.

    “That’s not happening,” Shane replies, shaking his head. “Because you’re not winning.”

    ---
    Ilya should have known better.

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    02 Mar 2026

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    Shane Hollander is going to murder his agent.

    And he means that literally. Because his agent is the reason he’s currently wearing a hot mic during Hockey Night in Canada. Against the Ottawa Centaurs. Against Ilya.

    Ilya, who has no filter. Ilya, who thinks workplace professionalism is a hilarious suggestion for other people. Ilya, who has spent a decade perfecting the art of saying absolutely unhinged things to Shane on the ice, safe in the knowledge that nobody can hear him.

    Ilya, who definitely doesn’t know about the microphone.

    What follows is sixty minutes of Shane’s life flashing before his eyes while his secret boyfriend enthusiastically discusses their sex life, their broken furniture, and exactly what he wants to do to Shane after the game — all broadcast to millions of viewers.

    The problem? Shane can’t get a word in edgewise to warn him.

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    07 Feb 2026

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    And suddenly, filling his entire screen, Rozanov was grinning into the camera with a row of bloody teeth. His lip was split. When he wiped his mouth with the back of his bare hand, it came away streaked with red. He spat the rest onto the ice with an awful smile and a wink before getting to his feet.


    Jane: Can you stay in the dressing room?

    Lily: Are you asking or telling?

    Jane: You hate being told what to do.

    Lily: Not when it's you

    Jane: Stay.

    Jane: You looked really fucking good taking that hit.

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    06 Feb 2026

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    Ilya brought a polaroid style camera to the cottage, because they have no pictures of each other. Always deleting whatever they might send in texts. So let's preserve some memories to keep in a secret stash!

    “You… brought a camera?”
    “Yes.”
    “Why?”
    “Because I don’t have pictures of you.” He grabbed the fresh picture the camera had spat out and waved it a little in the air. “These can be ours, secret. No digital files. And I can’t keep looking at your Calvin Klein ad in GQ anymore.”

     
    A series of vignettes for each photo taken.
    Each photo is its own chapter (except for two vignettes that will have two shots each).
    Varying lengths and ratings. Some chapters are explicit.
    Actually, if you just want a 2600 word smut fic, skip straight to chapter 8. I won't even be mad.

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    05 Feb 2026