BlueRose03



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    “No skating today,” the alpha stated after Ilya’s eye stayed on the rink for a moment too long.

    “Skating?”

    “I know we're hockey players, but we have to beat some stereotypes.”

    Ilya wasn’t really sure what that meant, but he caught one part of it that he did care about, “I play hockey?”

    The man’s brows furrowed again, “Ilya, are you sure you—”

    “I play hockey?” he interrupted, even though he knew it was a bad thing to do. One did not interrupt an alpha and he would pay for it later, but he needed to know.

    “Yes, Ilya—”

    “I am good?”

    “Yes—”

    “The best?”

    Now the man laughed, “fuck off.”

    Or

    Ilya knew that admitting confusion, showing weakness only lead to worse things. The strange alpha he slept next to or the men he played hockey with might be sweet, but they were just as capable of cruelty as anyone else who Ilya had ever met. He knew better than to give any of them an opening. So when Ilya Rozanov woke up in a house with no memory of how he got there, he refused to admit it. Instead, he tried his best to piece his life together without drawing too much attention to himself.

    Language:
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    18 Aug 2026

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    “Get the fuck away from him.”

    Shane.

    Everything happened at once after that.

    The man holding Ilya turned too slowly.

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    2/2
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    14 Aug 2026

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    It's well known that cat-hybrid species have very intense heats. Wild and dangerous. It's also common knowledge that if an unmated cat-hybrid goes into heat, you STAY. AWAY.

    No matter how much they beg and promise to be on their best behavior, you leave them alone. As tempting as the sex may be, you heed the warnings unless you want a fight on your hands. Maybe a broken bone or two. The mating bite usually comes whether you want it or not.

    They just can't control themselves, those wily cats. It doesn't matter how well-mannered and civilized they are in the day-to-day. All bets are off during their heat.

    The problem is, Ilya Rozanov has never been good at doing what he's told.

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    12 Aug 2026

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    Shane loves him. This is all he can really think about, now, with Ilya’s knuckles caressing his skin and his eyes raking all over his features; he loves him, and he knows Ilya loves him, too, and he cannot believe he ever doubted that either of them knows this about the other, cannot fathom needing any kind of arbitrary showcase of this love to know that it’s real. He loves Ilya, and if he wants to show him off or keep him locked in this apartment forever and only let him feed from the palm of his hand, then he can do as he sees fit, as long as he keeps loving Shane like this, as much as Shane loves him.

    “It was you,” Shane whispers. “They were talking about you.”

    Ilya’s knuckles pause, and Shane squeezes his wrist, a non-verbal whine. “What about me?”

    “Doesn’t matter what. Anything, anything about you,” Shane’s head is shaking, and Ilya starts soothing again, burying his fingers into his hair and keeping his palm there, covering his ear, and Shane clings onto his wrist. “Could’ve been fucking anything, but… They had something to say about you, and I couldn’t– I snapped.”

    or, shane worries he's not showing ilya off as much as he should, and it becomes another problem

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    11 Aug 2026

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    “Got someone special waiting for you?”

    Shane’s breath hitches and he looks up, big, brown orbs settling on the person behind the camera. There’s a blush crawling across his freckles, his voice unsteady as he answers.

    “I wanted to celebrate with Lily, but she isn’t here.”

    The video ends shortly after, and the internet collectively loses its mind. Within minutes #FindLily is trending across all social media platforms, women from across the globe begging Shane to dump her ass.

    OR on the night that Shane wins the cup for a second year in a row, the internet learns of Lily and goes absolutely nuts.
    Inevitably, so does Ilya Rozanov.

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    10 Aug 2026