Ocelotting
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Summary
The moment your soulmate is named, their name blooms on your wrist, words that do not fade until they die. Shane Hollander is born with his name already written. Ilya Rozanov's spells itself out on his skin only a few months after his birth. They meet at seventeen, hungry for life, for hockey, wrists covered by the League-issued bands of adhesive fabric. They are not written in the stars. They are not a part of the weave of fate.
That doesn't stop them.
or: Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov are not soulmates. They fall for each other anyway.
Bookmarked by Ocelotting
09 Jun 2026
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It's not gay to suck a guy's dick if you lost at Mario Kart.
or, a hollanov frat au
Bookmarked by Ocelotting
08 Jun 2026
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Ilya discovers that he can control time. Now he's on a quest to prevent his mother's suicide.
Enter Shane Hollander.
Enter Shane Hollander.
Enter Shane Hollander.Bookmarked by Ocelotting
08 Jun 2026
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Why are you here; why are we here? Ilya kisses the girl in front of him. The kiss lasts seventeen seconds, Shane counts, what are we doing? Ilya is dragging the tender, ugly parts of them out here for everyone to see. Seventeen seconds, or at least until Rose leans in and Shane insistently presses his mouth on hers to remind himself of what he wants.
The kiss breaks. Shane has to leave, his body lurching. When he meets Ilya's eyes, he sees the gesture for what it really is: a reminder of his place.
or; Shane tries. He really does.
Bookmarked by Ocelotting
08 Jun 2026
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“I’m sorry if I—” Shane starts the sentence, and then is horrified to find he must finish it. He swallows, waiting, and Rozanov tilts his head, his body leaning in just slightly like he’s debating taking a step closer. “—fucked everything up,” he finishes. “I’m not good when things change, I’m, I feel like an asshole for running off like that.”
Rozanov blinks at him. This time, Shane is pretty sure he’s guessing right when he thinks the expression on his face is one of surprise. “You are apologizing.”
“I think maybe I hurt you?” Shane offers, awkward. “I didn’t want to do that. So yeah. I am sorry.”
Rozanov looks away. The light is dim, but Shane can still see the bunch of muscle at his jaw, a tic of the skin stretched over it as he grinds his teeth. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It does!” Shane says. He says it too loud, and they look at each other, frozen in the moment before something. Shane doesn’t know what the something is. “I’m just sorry, okay? I’m a mess, you don’t— you don’t know how bad it is. I never know what the fuck I’m doing.”
Series
- Part 2 of all the things (they) said
Bookmarked by Ocelotting
08 Jun 2026