RamblerConfessions
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“Holy shit, dude,” Hayden whispers, too loudly, as he pulls Shane away. “No way you were just talking to Ilya Rozanov.”
“Uh, yeah. We just met. Wait, did he lie to me?” Shane asks, looking back over his shoulder where Ilya is now standing next to a short but very muscular woman with long black hair. “What does he play?”
Hayden stops, so Shane does too.
“You don’t know who that was?”
Shane makes a face that says ‘no shit’, and waits for an answer.
“Dude. You are so innocent. Ilya Rozanov, ‘Russia’s Greatest Love Machine’?” Hayden says, like it’s obvious.
Shane looks at him blankly, and then Hayden laughs. Not like, a chuckle. He full on cackles, bending over like he can’t even contain it. “Man, he’s like prolific.”
“At what?” Shane snaps, because he’s getting really sick of not being in on the joke.
“He’s a porn star, man.”
“A-” Shane says, swallowing thickly. “What?”
---
Ilya is a porn star, Shane is a hockey player, and their paths cross.
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- English
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Bookmarked by RamblerConfessions
02 Jan 2026
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"You're supposed to smoke over there." Someone said from behind Ilya.
Ilya almost dropped his cigarette. His English was shitty, but he had studied that sentence enough times over the years to understand it immediately. He didn't even think about his words much anymore, but it was impossible to avoid them.
He turned instinctively, and was face to face with Shane fucking Hollander.
Out of almost seven billion people, of course Ilya's soulmate had to be his fated rival. It was almost poetic. Still, Ilya had enough sense to realize just how bad this was.
or, Shane says Ilya's soulmate words. Ilya vows to never speak a word to him to keep him from finding out. They fall in love anyway.
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Bookmarked by RamblerConfessions
02 Jan 2026
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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
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Bookmarked by RamblerConfessions
02 Jan 2026
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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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Bookmarked by RamblerConfessions
02 Jan 2026
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Right there, on the ugliest rust-orange sofa to make it out of the seventies, is the most beautiful girl in the whole fucking world. She’s still in her wedding gown, one that would look ridiculous on anyone but her— big, puffy sleeves, beaded bodice, lace goddamn everywhere. Her cheeks are streaked with mascara, pink lipstick just slightly smeared, and—
She’s looking right at him.
“Eddie,” she says, and he remembers with a jolt that he’s just standing there in the doorway while his roommate and the love of his life and some random guy all stare at him.
"Fuck," he breathes, stepping forward and letting the door fall shut behind him. "Hey, Chrissy."
Bookmarked by RamblerConfessions
30 Dec 2025