mayfriend
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Lestat’s face is blank of everything, but his dark eyes latch on Louis’ own, locked as tightly as a prisoner’s chain. “You left me.”
Louis swallows. “I shoulda left you decades ago.”
Louis gets on the train, Lestat takes him off it. This is what comes after.
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Level 1 bonds, at their core, are practical things. They are incredibly clinical, especially in the MLH. Injected with grade A suppressants to keep the bond controlled, exchanging scents as briefly as was manageable, a quick barely-there shallow bite to the gland on the omega's neck, paperwork filed with the league office after a full day of observations, and suddenly an omega is considered 'safe' to play professional hockey. The omega, now bonded, is considered less likely to 'disrupt team dynamics,' whatever that means.
Shane had been nineteen when Montreal assigned him to Gilbert Comeau.
OR: omegas are only allowed to play professional hockey if they enter into a contracted bond with an alpha on their team. Shane's alpha in Montreal is more than lackluster, but what can he expect? Though, maybe a little forewarning would have been nice, because Comeau suddenly wants him gone, and Shane soon finds himself being traded to what could be the worst possible outcome: Boston.
Series
- Part 4 of Hollanov A/B/O
Bookmarked by mayfriend
19 Jun 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
"Relax," Rozanov murmurs, like it's just that easy.
It's not.
Then, once several machines have been hooked up to both of them with sticky nodules, one of the doctors signals it is time for the scenting portion to be started. Shane has experienced this before with Comeau, clinical passes of scent over pulse points to establish familiarity before bonding. It was efficient and very detached.
Shane does not feel detached from it all when Rozanov touches him like he is handling something precious. One large hand settles lightly at Shane's waist while the other tilts his jaw upward. Then the alpha lowers his face slowly to Shane's throat.
Shane shivers violently when he hears Rozanov inhale once. He does so slowly, like he is savoring Shane's scent. A low sound rumbles deep in the alpha's chest, almost too quiet to hear, but Shane is right next to him.
Next, with careful precision, Rozanov starts scenting him. He rubs his scent deliberately along Shane's glands beneath his jaw, across the sensitive skin of his throat, and over his erratic pulse points. The alpha's warm hands lay heavy, steadying him the entire time. The alpha lingers at Shane's neck longer than necessary, breath hot against sensitive skin as his scent thickens around them both.
Shane feels dizzy, the knowledge that the room was full of people witnessing this barely registering anymore. All of it fades to meaningless background noise when he has Rozanov this close to him, leaving his mark on every part of Shane, infusing his scent with Shane's own.
"Rozanov," someone warns quietly, though if Rozanov hears him, he ignores it. He takes another slow inhale against Shane's throat, his body leaning forward to draw closer to Shane.
"Oh," Rozanov says under his breath, his voice strained.
The sound goes straight through Shane, his omega reacting instantly, aching low in his stomach in a way that makes panic spark sharply through him. This isn't right, he tries to remind himself. This wasn't how the bonding with Comeau felt, how Shane has heard it described by any of the other omegas in the league.
Rozanov finally pulls back slightly and his pupils look blown wide. His blue eyes are fixed on Shane's face, staring intently.
"What's happening?" Shane whispers.
Rozanov stares at him for one long terrible second and then the alpha's hand tightens sharply at the back of Shane's neck. "Bonding," he says roughly, right before he leans forward and bites deeply into the mating gland on Shane's neck.
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confess! (i loved you) from the start by Spencebox
Fandoms: Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers | Heated Rivalry - All Media Types
11 Jun 2026
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His mother told him the story every so often; a ten-year-old Shane in Loblaws staring up at the endless supply of colorful cereals, stuck between one with white marshmallows and another with honey-granola oats; a too-tall shadow with a deep Russian voice asking which was better; he handed Shane the one with granola then turned to Yuna; “You give, or I take."
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Bookmarked by mayfriend
17 Jun 2026
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Pencil in the Rest by lynadyndyn
Fandoms: Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers | Heated Rivalry - All Media Types
21 Jun 2026
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Scent patches were mandatory for anyone participating in World Junior's, but a lot of the Russian guys Shane saw in the hotel or around the rink had them loosely attached to their necks or not quite centered over their scent gland. Shane had been on his way to his parents' car when the wind shifted, and he smelled that Rozanov, leaning against the wall and not-at-all-surreptitiously fishing a carton of cigarettes out of his pocket, must have been one of them.
Bookmarked by mayfriend
16 Jun 2026
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Shane looked at his mother, who loved him. Who showed that love through effort, who expected to be loved that way in return. His alpha mom, who had devoted her life to him, and who would always believe, in some small, unexamined part of her, that her opinions about him were innately more correct than his own.
She came over and put a hand on his shoulder. "You know, Shane," she said. "Sometimes it's okay to just… be a person."
Shane said, "I know, Mom." But really, since when had that been true?
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- In which Shane and Ilya meet at hockey camp as teens and a bunch of other things also go differently. Not a teen fic tho I promise! An obsessive careening consuming codependent absurdity of eternal soulmate love.
Series
- Part 1 of Not to Abolish, but to Fulfill
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- English
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Bookmarked by mayfriend
14 Jun 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
Of course Ilya flew too close to the sun. How could he not? Only a psychopath wouldn't, in his shoes. Or some sort of fucking automaton.
It's easy to blame Icarus, seems obvious: silly, stupid boy, but was it really his fault, what happened? Flying is dangerous. And what's more dangerous is how fucking good it feels to leap out the narrow window of your tower and watch the walls of your prison get smaller and smaller beneath you as you rise ever-higher, to heights no one before you has ever been, feeling the golden warmth of the sun hit your bare skin for the first time in your whole life up to this point, the whole life in which you've been pacing the damp cool dark of your tower or stumbling blind through the convoluted crevasses of the labyrinth, captive to a king who wants to exploit and possess and control you for his own gain, wants to prevent you from being your own, from determining your own life and hope and future.
Surely it's not Icarus' fault, that everything in him so desperately cried for freedom, begged him to fucking fly, needed and wanted him so insistently to bask in the glowing liberating rays of the sun he'd never fucking seen, had only heard of, had only ever imagined in the dark while he tried to sleep, that he couldn't stop himself when he went too far? The walls, the king, the world below were to blame. Because Icarus never would've been so starved for it if he hadn't been raised in a fucking cage like a fucking animal, with no options or choices or purpose. Maybe he could've stopped himself, could have held back, if it hadn't been such a shock how good it was. If he'd even known something that feels this good could happen to him.
Yes, Ilya had written an essay in the spring about Icarus. No, the thesis wasn't much stronger than that. And despite prophesying his own doom while attempting to absolve himself of the fault for it he'd gone ahead and invited Shane to Minnesota for two weeks. And then he had, in full possession of all his mental faculties and knowing goddamn well what he was doing, not just engaged in further unbelievably good sex but had gotten giddy, overconfident about his repeated successes convincing Shane to talk more openly, to be less afraid of the goings-on in his kinky beautiful mind, had entirely too much fucking delusional fun laughing with him and play-fighting in the kitchen, flicking water at his wonderful face just to see his cute irritated little expression as they assembly-lined sandwiches, and basically taking him on little dates all around town. So yes. Ilya had so much delusional fun that he tried to confess his love.
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can you find me? by constellaetions
Fandoms: Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers | Heated Rivalry - All Media Types
19 Jun 2026
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Shane Hollander has made many mistakes in his life, but volunteering as tribute alongside his best friend during District 11's annual Reaping isn't one of them.
Or maybe it is - he doesn't know yet. He'll confirm or deny when his near-certain untimely end comes.
Shane isn't a fighter. He's not a lover either, despite what he's leading the Capitol to believe. He's just a young man that knows the earth, and by proxy the brutality of nature; human or otherwise.
He doesn’t quite know what to do with Ilya Rozanov, though. Unfortunately it’s clear Ilya knows exactly what to do with him.
Bookmarked by mayfriend
13 Jun 2026
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“Where you go.”
He closes his eyes, and for just one merciful second he’s back in District 11 with peach juice on his thumb and dirt under his nails, the evening bells clanging over the orchards like any other day could follow.
“I go."