Ok so we all know the popular headcanon that I/lya has this uncontrolled.. reaction… to watching S/hane fold laundry, yes? Imagine that evolving into him getting automatically turned on whenever S/hane starts sniffling from all the dust and lint and scented dryer sheets… and maybe he sneezes a couple of times from it, all itchy and rubbing at his pink nose and still insisting on continuing to fold everything in its exact correct way, and I/lya is very, very into this whole process
A has been left home sick in bed all day nursing a truly ghastly deep-winter head cold. their dog has barely left their side, very dutifully looking after them and giving them all the cuddles they could need in the absence of their partner, B, who’d left for work early that morning.
B, however, comes home that evening to find A laid up in the midst of what looks like a mountain of soggy, thoroughly used tissues, sneezing their head off, cheeks red and wind-bitten, looking chilled to the bone and sounding 10x worse than when they’d left them.
the dog had heard their key turn in the door and had ran to greet them, tail wagging. their fur is wet and slightly matted with what B must assume to be the pouring rain they’d just hauled ass between the car and the front door to get out of as quickly as possible.
when A’s done with their fit, they look up at B, vaguely guilty. B lets out a little long-suffering disapproving huff.
B had told them earlier not to bother; they’d walk him/her themselves when they got home.
A swears it wasn’t raining when they left, they were feeling a little bit better, and it was only meant to be a quick jaunt to tide the poor thing over after being cooped up all day. he/she was going stir crazy and starting to get antsy and—
A’s interrupted by another damp, miserable sneeze.
i LOVE dad sneezes. i love when they’re super loud and bend the sneezer over and you can hear that enunciated ‘choo’ at the end.. like yes bro sneeze on me and you can make that sound while ur head is between my tits… sigh.
I just wanted to say I'd been patiently waiting for you to drop part 3 of His Russian Weighted Blanket because I love the way you write sick Shane so much, and when I saw you mentioned Team Player as one of your favorites/partial inspiration for the fic I fangirled so hard because I wrote that 🙈 you're one of my favorite sneezy Hollanov authors and I'm always checking for updates on what you've written next, so for you to mention and like my writing is so incredibly flattering!!
OMG HELLO!! Thank you so much for complimenting my writing, you’re so sweet!! I’m so happy to hear from you, thanks for such an amazing fic :D <333 when I first started reading it I missed the “sneezing” tag and I thought “this is already SO good, but ohh just imagine if it had snz in it…” and then it did! 🤣 Sweet Shanebug! I love himmmmm and his concerned protective husband 💖 “Hockey is what I do. Shane is who I am” is one of the best Hollanov fic quotes everrrr not even exaggerating.
I cannot contain my excitement that you are going to do Sicktember for hollanov 🙌
Ahh thanks friend!! So excited to do it! :D
Really dumb question for anyone since I’ve never done a monthly writing thing before: are you allowed to, like….write the prompts in advance and save them for the day you want to post them? Or do they “have to be” written the day of? I know that nobody would know (or care lol) if they were done that day or another, but I want to stick to the principle of it if that’s how it’s supposed to be done. 🤣 (Again, a very dumb question, please forgive me.)
His Russian Weighted Blanket (Part 3/3) (H/eated R/ivalry, Shane)
Last part of this fic for the amazing @feverfcking! <3 Finally, the title will make sense ;)
I want to thank whoever of us wrote the fic Team Player over on AO3; it’s one of my favorite Hollanov sick/snzfics and I love how it portrays Shane as anxious/desperate to prove his worth to the Centaurs (you dont have to, baby! You’re Shane fucking Hollander!), and feeling like he’s worthless when he’s sick (you’re not, baby! You’re SHANE FUCKING HOLLANDER!!!). I’ve been wanting to incorporate something similar into a fic ever since, so thank you for the inspiration! Also thank you to the GOAT @softsicknose for all the incredible conversations we’ve been having lately about Anya’s love and concern for her daddy and papa when they’re sneezy <333 I felt it was appropriate to add here :)
(P.S.: It’s only game. Why you heff to be mad?)(The fact that I’m using my fav hockey meme in a snzfic thrills me in a way I cannot adequately describe.)
Part 1 | Part 2
————
Ilya drove down the highway in silence after the loss. After giving a few perfunctory soundbites in his locker room interview — shutting a reporter’s question about Shane’s health down quick — he’d hastily left the building. None of the boys had asked if he was coming out tonight, (rightly) understanding that he had much a more important place to be: home.
Ilya had grown to enjoy the quiet drive at night from the rink to the house, so much more peaceful than driving anywhere in Boston. There were few cars out this late, so it was mostly just him and a long stretch of road for twenty-odd minutes. He liked to put the top down in his convertible and let the wind beat up his face a bit. It helped him destress after tough games and worries about his husband’s wellbeing.
It was like how, in the early days of boyfriendhood, he’d originally grown to love the ride from Ottawa to Montreal. He loved any route that led him to Shane.
The house was still when Ilya walked in, other than Anya’s tail thumping against the wall as she greeted him. “Ssh, sweet girl, do not hurt yourself,” he said softly in Russian as her bottom continued to wiggle. “How is your dad?”
Anya bounded upstairs in response, and Ilya rushed to catch up to her so she wouldn’t wake Shane. She’d been clingy towards him before they’d left for the game, climbing into his lap and refusing to let him off the couch, then became nervous and tetchy as he prepared to walk out the door. Their brilliant girl; she was so good at reading emotions that she was able to tell when one of them was feeling ill, often before he even knew himself.
When Ilya walked into the bedroom, Shane was lying facedown, snoring loudly into his pillow, as Anya looked on. She gave her papa a little worried look and he returned it. Shane never snored unless he was stuffed up to hell, and though his little breathy snuffles were cute, Ilya knew he probably felt absolutely miserable.
Ilya watched Shane for a moment, unsure if he should wake him. He knew from his texts that Shane had taken meds before he’d left the arena, so he didn’t need anything for a little while. Ilya settled for leaving a glass of water on his nightstand and going to take a short shower. When he returned, Shane was sitting up, looking bleary and confused, cheeks and nose flushed, dark hair an absolute mess. “Did we wid?” was the first thing out of his mouth, raspy and stuffy and exhausted-sounding.
Ilya shook his head and Shane froze, looking crestfallen. “Oh.” He looked down towards the blankets, scrunching up his nose and sniffling thickly. He was quiet for a moment, and as Ilya took a step forward to kiss away the devastation on his face, Shane’s eyes filled and he dissolved into tears. Ilya, shocked, sat on the bed in nothing but his towel and gently placed his hands on Shane’s arms to steady him. Fuck, he was burning hot to the touch. “Ssh, is okay, Shanya,” he soothed as Shane rubbed at his leaking eyes with little hiccups and shudders. “Hey, sweetheart, is okay, don’t cry…” he gathered Shane into his arms, pressing kisses into his hair as he cried into Ilya’s shoulder. Ilya felt panic rise through his chest and into his throat. Fuck. Shane could get a little emotional when he had a fever, but this was on another level. “Shane,” he said as the man rubbed his nose into Ilya’s collarbone, “I need to take your temperature, okay?” He started to get up to head for the thermometer in the bathroom but Shane held onto him tighter. “I fucked up,” he said weakly in response.
Ilya stopped short, an icy feeling trickling down his spine. “What?”
Shane pulled back, and Ilya immediately began to wipe at his eyes and nose, both dripping fiercely, with his fingers, not even bothering to grab for a tissue. “I’b sigck,” he croaked out. “I could have helped us, we could have wod…”
Oh. So that’s why he was so upset.
Ilya hadn’t wanted to take his obviously-feverish husband to the arena to go through the rigmarole of getting his temperature taken and being told to go home. But they were an A and the C, and needed to be there in support of their team. Plus, Shane was nothing if not frustratingly stubborn and still desperate to show his team that he was capable of showing up under any circumstance. A flash of anger surged through Ilya. After all of the bullshit the Metros had put him through, Shane Hollander, one of the hardest-working players in the league and the strongest man Ilya had ever met, felt like he couldn’t show any kind of weakness to his new teammates and coaches. He was an athlete who needed to act as a representative for his club, to be sure, but not when he was almost falling over on the ice during practice from sneezing so hard.
Hockey players in general hated to be perceived as soft, weak, incapable. Ilya had seen the condescending memes: “soccer players pretend they’re hurt, hockey players pretend they’re not.” Shane was certainly not soft, weak, or incapable, but when he was hurt, physically or emotionally, he took it as a sort of moral failing. He was a serious, intense person, which Ilya didn’t fault him for — the drive he had to be successful was one of the things Ilya loved most about him. (And his intensity was incredible in bed.) But Ilya wished that Shane would allow himself to realize that he was valuable to his team whether he had the sniffles or not. And, in reality, Shane had more talent in his sniffly red nose than most guys had in their entire bodies.
As Ilya thought of a way to express this to Shane, Anya, panting heavily with nerves, hopped onto the bed and squirmed her way into Shane’s lap just as she had this afternoon, like she wanted to protect her daddy from his sadness. He buried his face in her fur, and the thought of him soaking Anya’s coat with his tears made Ilya’s heart feel like it was going to crack in two. He had to make him realize how important he was, and how beloved.
He massaged the back of Shane’s neck. “Shane. Love. How many games are in a season?”
“-hic-! I…-hic!-” Shane was crying so hard he could barely catch his breath, but Ilya wanted to make sure that he understood. He put his hands on Shane’s arms and patted gently until Shane straightened up looked him directly in the eye. “How many games, malysh?”
Shane took in a huge gasp of air and let it out in a stuttering breath. “Eigh…eighty-two.”
Ilya nodded. “That is right. Eighty-two. You have missed only one. Sweetheart,” he said as Shane kept his big watery eyes on him, sniffling and twitching his nose like the cutie pie zaychik he was, “you are allowed break once in a while. You are human. You do not matter to your team any less if you cannot play a few games. You work so fucking hard,” he said, his voice cracking. “So fucking hard. And everyone knows and everyone loves you for it, Shane. I love you for it.”
He leaned in and kissed Shane on the mouth, and instead of pulling away in horror at the thought of Ilya catching his cold, Shane kissed back and watched him, flushed and tired-looking but attentive. He leaned forward and hugged Ilya, snuffling and letting out a few more tears as Ilya held him tight. And then, because he could tell that Shane could use a laugh, Ilya just couldn’t resist adding in, “It’s only game. Why you heff to be mad?” Shane laughed hugely, breath puffing hot against Ilya’s skin, and Ilya laughed, too. That crazy Russian bastard had been right.
When they parted, Shane, still smiling, started to pat around the bed for the tissue box, too distracted to cover his nose as wetness dripped down to his Cupid’s bow. It was as vulnerable and real as he could get, and Ilya thought his heart might fucking explode from the intimacy that only he would ever be privy to. Shane was private, guarded, and his. Just as he was Shane’s.
After wiping over his face, Shane kept a few more tissues in hand as his breath began to hitch. He raised them to his nose and kept them there for a good while, until Ilya touched his thigh lightly to hopefully help speed things along for him.
“hy’ihh-? hy’IDTSChhhh’oo! aDTCHHhiew! hKSCHhhh’iew! ih’KSHhh’hew! hahhh,” Shane moaned in relief, shoulders sagging and mouth opening in a huge yawn.
“Bud’ zdorov, dorogy,” Ilya sighed, sounding just as relieved as Shane for those rough sneezes to be over and done with. “Come, let’s go to bed, hm?”
“Ilya?”
“Hm?”
“Can you lay on me for a little bit?”
Sometimes, Shane liked when Ilya put his weight on top of Shane, like one of those weighted blankets he used during the winter months. Ilya knew it made him feel safe, comforted, protected. And he always wanted to make sure that Shane felt those things. By now he knew just how to position his body so he wouldn’t suffocate his husband, something he’d been quite afraid of the first time Shane had requested this. So he put on some sweats, then carefully draped his body over Shane and felt the ill man sigh happily against his neck. They lay like that for a while, Shane with his face pressed into Ilya’s curls, as Anya lay by Shane’s side on the bed. When Ilya eventually rolled off, Shane looked over at him with sleepy, loving eyes.
“Can Anya sleep up here tonight?”
Ilya smiled. “Yes, sweetheart. She can sleep up here tonight.”
——
Ilya made himself coffee the next morning as Anya ate her breakfast and observed him. She loved to watch his and Shane’s every move. (Was she collecting some kind of anthropological evidence to share with the rest of her species at the dog park? Or was she just waiting for them to stop all their boring human tasks and give her treats? A combination of both? Ilya didn’t know.)
“Silly puppy,” he teased, and she reached up to nudge her nose against his hand. They both turned at the sound of someone coming down the stairs.
And there is my bunny.
“Ugh…bordidg,” Shane said huskily as he reached the last step.
“Hi,” Ilya responded, unable to keep the pity out of his voice. His poor husband sounded like he’d been gargling with glass, swallowing gravel…and every other sick-person-voice cliche combined.
Shane blushed and shrugged, looking defeated. “I k’dow. It’s bad.” His hair was even more rumpled than yesterday, he was pale-yet-flushed, and he was rubbing at one eye like he did when he had a headache.
“It sounds awful,” Ilya replied, walking closer and hugging Shane to his chest. “Lyubov moya, how did you get so sick?” he said as Shane barked a few concerningly harsh coughs into his shirt.
“Dhh-Dunno,” he said breathily, and Ilya knew what that was going to lead to….Shane attempted to pull away but Ilya kept him close as his breath hitched.
“ahhISHhhhuhh! TSCHhhiew! hp’TSCHHhh! IDT’Shhhew! Ugnhhh…” His entire body seemed to deflate.
Ilya’s shirt felt damp from Shane’s strong, wet sneezes, but that didn’t matter one bit. “Bless you,” he said adoringly as Shane turned red, covered his nose and reached for a tissue.
“Jesus, Ilya,” he mumbled after a few soft nose blows, “It’s like you want to get sigck…” he sighed, looking completely depleted of energy.
Ilya rubbed a hand over Shane’s muscular back, smiling when he let out a relaxed-sounding “mmh...” and tipped his head on Ilya’s shoulder. “If I were going to get a cold from anyone, I would only want it to be from you.”
Shane lifted his head and gave Ilya his patented crinkly-scrunchy-confused face. “You’re weird.”
“I am not. I am romantic. See, I would kiss all the germs away from you if I could.” He pressed kisses all over Shane’s face, with quite a few to his ruby-red nose. “Get out of my husband, germs!”
Shane laughed giddily, swatting Ilya away as he continued with his kiss attack. “You’re so weird!” Ilya was about to chirp him back with the highly original, “You’re so weird!” when Shane’s breath snagged on a cough and he had to bury his face in his elbow, his whole body jerking violently forward as he struggled to calm his body down. Ilya rubbed up and down his back again, alarmed at how quickly his normally-hale husband had succumbed to such a terrible-sounding illness.
Ilya pressed a hand to Shane’s chest. “Does this hurt?”
Shane shrugged.
“If it does not feel better after some more medicine I am taking you to doctor,” Ilya said, then gave Shane a pointed look when he groaned an “ughhhh.” Ilya put his hands on his hips, feeling very much like his mother on the rare occasions when she’d needed to be stern with him as a child. “Husband’s orders.”
Shane shook his head. “No, I’m…I’m not…” he gesticulated with his hands as he tried to explain that he was fine, he wasn’t that sick, but he gave up with a frustrated little noise and thunked his head against Ilya’s shoulder. “…Fine.”
Ilya took that as a win. He kissed into Shane’s hair. “I’ll make us breakfast and then get you into a hot shower.”
Shane wrapped his arms around Ilya’s waist with a little shiver. “With you?”
Ilya rubbed up and down Shane’s arms to chase away his goosebumps, hoping he wasn’t feeling feverish again. He himself was feeling all warm and fuzzy from just how adorable Shane was, all drowsy and pliant and sweet. “Who would hold you if I did not join?”
——
Shane woke on the living room couch a few hours later to unbearable warmth. He tried at first to wriggle his way out of his blankets before full-on wrestling them off of his body. Sweat dripped down his temples as he gasped for air, unable to take any kind of breath through his completely blocked nose. His eyes felt gritty, and he had to blink rapidly against the irritating sensation, which made his eyes teary, which made his nose runny, which made him…
“Oh, bud’ zdorov,” came Ilya’s deep voice from the kitchen, where he was stirring something on the stove. He came behind the couch and wrapped his arms around Shane’s shoulders. “You say ‘tissue’ when you sneeze sometimes. Is the cutest thing I have ever heard.”
Shane blushed, craning his neck up to see Ilya’s lovestruck expression. “Wait…are you serious?”
“I never joke about how cute you are.” That left Shane speechless, and before he could really process it Ilya came around to him with a bowl of some kind of rice dish.
“Is this…okayu?”
Ilya smiled. “Yuna gave me your grandmother’s recipe.”
That was the cutest thing Shane had ever heard. Jesus fucking Christ. Shane took a bite; he could barely taste anything, but the comforting feeling of warm porridge going down his throat made his entire body relax. “It’s really good.”
“Good.” Ilya kissed the top of his head and sat on the couch next to him with his own bowl in his hands. “Will keep you cozy enough to sleep tonight, I hope.”
Shane’s heart warmed at that adorable statement, then melted when he heard the familiar jingle of a dog collar approaching. Anya hopped on the couch next to him and put her head on his knee. Shane felt tears spring to his eyes. Oh god, he loved his family so much.
“What is wrong, sweetheart?”
Shane didn’t quite know how to voice the big feelings he was having, so he shook his head and reached for a tissue to blow his stuffy nose into. When Ilya grabbed another and started to move it towards Shane’s nose, Shane shook his head and averted his eyes. “Ilya, don’t…I’m so disgusting…”
Now Ilya was the one to shake his head. “You are not disgusting. You are beautiful, always.”
Shane blushed again. “Shut up,” he grumbled.
“No. Is true, Shanya, you are so beautiful. All the time. Drives me crazy, actually.” Ilya grinned and looked at Shane like he was hypnotized, unable to look away. “It must be difficult being so beautiful. Exhausting.”
Shane was trapped between replying You would know and Tell me I’m beautiful again, please, but was a little too delirious to say either of those things. Plus, he needed to blow his nose again. Ilya noticed his wet sniffles, and held the tissue he’d been holding back to Shane’s nose. He blew, wet and squeaky, and when he was done Ilya kissed his forehead.
“No wonder you became sick. Your immune system is tired from keeping you so beautiful.” He brushed a lock of hair from Shane’s forehead. “And yet you are still beautiful, so it does a very good job even with a cold.”
“Ilya.”
“No, I will not stop. You are beautiful even when you are sick. I like it,” he said, and Shane was surprised to see Ilya’s cheeks turn pink. “I like how my name sounds from your sore throat. I like your cute little red nose and how you sneeze like kitten. I like when you get sleepy and snore on me — yes, you snore,” he said when Shane opened his mouth to argue. “I like you whether you are sick or well.”
Shane could say the same right back. He swallowed against the lump in his throat, not wanting to cry again. It exhausted him, and he wanted to stay up and listen to Ilya continue to tell him all kinds of sweet things. No matter how often Ilya expressed his affection like this, it always hit Shane like an elbow to the dome.
He could win the Stanley Cup every year for the rest of his career (hell, his life) and it still wouldn’t feel anywhere near as good as being loved by Ilya Rozanov.
——
“Holy shit, another breakaway?”
Shane had put on the highlights of the last game to see what he’d missed. He…didn’t seem too happy with what he was seeing. It was a toss-up whether or not he was going to be able to play in the next game, but his cough was getting better and he was definitely in better spirits.
“Oh, and of course he scores on that one,” Shane groused. “How did you let that guy get past you, Ilya?”
Well. He was in some kind of spirits. Pissy spirits, mostly.
Ilya shook his head and placed a palm to Shane’s cool forehead. “I think you still have a fever. I would never make such a weak defensive play.”
Shane hummed sleepily and rested his head back against the reclined head of the couch. “Hmnh…you’d be a sieve if you were a goalie...”
Ilya actually gasped. “Hollander. Take that back.”
“Hollander-Rozanov…” Shane said through a mighty yawn. As he curled into his pillow and started to snore, Ilya massaged a hand through his hair. He watched the rest of the game highlights — now showing Ilya’s fuckup in slow-mo — by himself and muttered, “You’d be a sieve.”
But he knew that wasn’t really true, because Shane Hollander-Rozanov could do fucking anything. And now Ilya was dying to see him in the massive shoulder pads goalies wore, and nothing else. Hm…maybe the equipment manager wouldn’t notice if one of Hayesy’s temporarily went missing.
miss your writing!! you’re one of my fave fic authors
thank you anon!!! <3 you wrote this at the right time because next fic will come out tomorrow!! >:) I’ve just been working on making it as emotionally devastating as I can (which, for me, is not much lol because, like Ilya, “I am very mushy inside.”)
Oh S/hane ABSOLUTELY acknowledges I/lya every single time. Ilya will tell him he doesn't have to since it's a lot and he's still self-conscious about his fits due to his upbringing and that the Raiders make a whole thing about it, but then Shane gets all sincere like "I love you and care about you so of course I'm going to acknowledge it (matter-of-factly similar to "I'd like to relax with you") and Ilya just MELTS.
Maybe not a standard "bless you" every time but running his hand along his back or kissing him for each. Shane wouldn't want to prioritize one sneeze over another after all.
OH ANON i love the idea of S/hane just silently acknowledging every sneeze! Like it’s not even a bless you but it means so much to I/lya he unconsciously leans into it every time and they are so dear to me oh my god anon i love your brain
I/lya is the king of fits and I feel like S/hane would LOOOOOVE it. Especially when they spend their summers at the cottage. S/hane has set up multiple air purifiers throughout the cottage, but it only helps so much. S/hane blesses I/lya even when they’re in separate rooms, whether it’s over text or hollering throughout the house. I/lya finds it sweet and a little hilarious. 
Haha that’s definitely an amazing headcanon! Honestly I am weak for S/hane blessing him when they are in seperate rooms (i like that scenario in general!). It also proves that I/lya feels really comfortable around S/hane because in my head he usually stifles until he’s comfortable around people! So the fact that he sneezes so loud that you can hear it in the other room. Yeah
