ToWhateverEnd



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  1. Rec *

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    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.

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    30 Mar 2026

  2. Public Bookmark *

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    Ilya let himself soften into it. He’d missed this, the simple camaraderie between teammates. He did feel lonely, but in some ways he felt safer with this team, and Shane had given him that, it was because of Shane that he moved to Ottawa. All the good things in his life curved back to Shane. Looking around, he tried to imagine him here, not Shane Hollander the hockey player, but his Shane, the man who made the darkest rooms feel like home. He felt suddenly certain that they would welcome him with love and respect. And, God help him, he was still hoping like an idiot that Shane would walk through the door.

    Ilya tightened his grip on his roasting stick, jaw set, trying to divert his thoughts back to the present, when a ripple went through the group. Conversation dipped, then stopped completely.

    “Um… what the fuck,” Dillon muttered, eyes flicking toward the house. “Is that Shane Hollander?”

    Or Shane decides to go get his man after seeing Ilya’s instagram post in Chap.23 of TLG.

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    17 Jun 2026

  3. Public Bookmark *

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    16 Jun 2026

  4. Public Bookmark *

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    “...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

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    16 Jun 2026

  5. Public Bookmark *

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    15 Jun 2026