Hi there! Call me Mel or my username. Hurtling towards my 30s. she/they. Please don’t ask me for donations, as I’m barely getting by myself rn. I don't original post that often. Chronic fandom hopper, but I always come back to FFVII. Occasionally reblog nsfw.
I’m having thoughts about the Shane trying to keep to himself when he’s unwell.
Imagine the Metros have just played a game, managing to scrape a win that should have been easy, but Shane feels like death warmed over so it was far harder than it should have been. The game wasn’t in Ottawa, but it was only an hour or so away. Due to their schedules, Ilya and Shane haven’t seen each other in 10 days, and because they’re only an hour apart, they were going to meet half-way or something. But Shane messages, calling it off, not wanting to compromise the Centaurs chances of any wins. Even if it kills him not being able to see his boyfriend.
As soon as he’s back in the hotel, he strips out of his suit, throws on Ilya’s hoodie (thank god Hayden knows, he needs his comfort clothes right now) and just collapses beneath the covers, trying to pretend he’s not shaking from fever even though Terry gave him some good medicine.
The phone buzzing in his hand tells him Ilya’s still arguing with him, trying to convince Shane to tell him where he is, and blearily, he replies - one eye squinting open, one-handed, ignoring the countless typos. But before he wins the argument, he’s being dragged to sleep. He’ll apologise to Ilya later.
Across the room, Hayden’s been watching Shane stubbornly fight Rozanov’s efforts, and when the snoring starts, he breathes a sigh of relief that Shane’s actually going to get some rest. He’s rarely seen Shane look so bad - or sound so congested. But even from the other bed, he can still see ‘Lily’ going crazy on Shane’s phone.
Briefly, he considers sending ‘Lily’ a picture of his man - all flushed and cuddled up under the blankets, just to prove to him that he’s alright - but he knows Shane would kill him.
Then his phone starts vibrating, instead, and, yup. That’s ‘Lily’s’ number.
“He’s alive, Rozanov,” he answers quietly. “Just fell asleep. Terry gave him the good stuff. Besides, he was exhausted.”
“Okay,” Rozanov says, the relief audible in his sigh. Then, in a tone that Hayden knows means trouble, Rozanov says his name.
“No,” he interrupts, before Roz can get any further.
“Just listen—"
“Look man, if Shane wouldn’t let you, why would you think I would?”
“Because Shane is being stubborn angry kitten and not thinking straight. Please, Pike. I need to see him.”
“He needs rest, Rozanov, not whatever you had planned,” he rolls his eyes.
There’s a loaded pause. “You think I would not take care of him? You think I would not bring him water, or pain killers, or tissues? Or just keep him warm? Like you would Jackie?”
And Hayden just blinks for a moment, thinking about all the ways Rozanov has proved time and time again that he adores Shane. Thinking about how Shane’s shivering, even in his sleep. Thinking about the fact that if Shane were to let anyone look after him, it would be Ilya fucking Rozanov.
“No, I— I know you would, man. Sorry, that was me being a dick.” He bites his lip. “Shane might not like it, though, us conspiring against him.”
“He is being, what is word, noble. But if he is angry, I will handle.”
Hayden barely hesitates before blowing out a breath. “Okay. Yeah. We’re at the hotel nearest the rink. I’ll meet you in the lobby.”
“On my way.”
The first thing that Shane notices when sleep lets him go long enough to form a coherent thought, is that he’s finally warm. The chill from the ice had seemed to seep into his very bones earlier, refusing to leave no matter how hot he turned the shower, or how many layers he threw on. Now, surrounded by the exact opposite, he can’t help but sigh, burrowing closer into the softness.
When the softness chuckles, he can’t help but frown, drawing back slightly.
“You are very much like kitten, Hollander,” a rich, deep voice rumbles in his ear, sending relief rippling through him. “What would your fans say?”
“Ilya?” he croaks, immediately breaking off to cough. The murmuring of concerned Russian as he’s pulled upright confirms it.
“Hush, moya lyubov, I have you… that’s better,” he croons in Shane’s ear when the coughs eventually stop.
“I told you not to come,” Shane says hoarsely, even as he buries his head back in Ilya’s chest, trying to catch a bit of his scent through his blocked nose.
“Mm. A silly thing to say. As if I would leave you like this when you were so close.”
“But you’ll get sick.”
“Uh, no. This is Canadian disease. Very weak. Does not affect Russians.”
He sniffles, hating the wriggle of worry in his stomach. “I know that’s not true, asshole.”
“Prove it,” Ilya murmurs, squeezing him gently.
“Still,” he can’t help but force himself back a little. “Your team is doing well, and-”
“Hollander,” Ilya says, exasperated and so fond, slipping his huge hands around Shane’s face. “You are my boyfriend, yes? We take care of each other, yes? So no hiding. Besides,” he ducks down to press a kiss to Shane’s forehead. “I missed you.”
He bites his lip as he stares into Ilya’s eyes, worrying it between his teeth. But then the last pretense of energy evaporates, and he collapses back onto Ilya’s chest, the milimeters between them suddenly too much.
“Missed you too,” he whispers.
“Of course,” Ilya dismisses, his trademark smirk audible in his voice. Shane can’t help but roll his eyes, which turns out to be a mistake when his head twinges.
“Mm. Drink I think, then lie back down. Lots of sleeping for you to do,” Ilya says, as if he could tell. Maybe he could. He always seemed to be able to read his mind.
And Shane wants to protest. Wants to fight to stay awake so he can actually enjoy seeing his boyfriend, and he wants to know how the hell Ilya even got here and if Hayden can hear them (he can’t, he’s bunking with J.J.). But his eyes are still so heavy, and Ilya’s still so warm, and the meds and tough game earlier are knocking him on his ass. When Ilya starts running a hand through his hair, it’s game over.
“No fair,” he yawns into Ilya’s chest.
“Sleep, moya lyubimyy, I will be here when you wake.”
“M’kay…”
The sound of a key card opening the door has Ilya awake in moments.
“Easy, man. Only me,” Pike’s voice, hushed over Shane’s soft snores, reaches him. Slowly, he lets out a breath.
“How is he?” Pike asks as he throws on clothes.
“Mm. Fever is better. Just… sniffly, I think. He slept well.” He allows himself a light touch of Shane’s hair. “He will be back to beating everyone in no time.”
“Too fucking right,” Pike grins.
There’s quiet for a while, just Pike packing away his things, and then some of Shane’s, before Pike speaks again.
“It was good,” he says, too focused on his suitcase for it to be nonchalant. “That he had you here, last night.”
Ilya watches him for a minute.
“It was good he had a friend who would make it happen,” he says quietly.
Pike nods. “Well, you know. Anything for Shane.”
“Mm,” Ilya hums, staring at Shane’s thick lashes, trying to commit each one to memory. “Yes. Anything for him.”
yeah i drive the truck that isekais all those lonely 20yo NEETs and bored salarymen. it’s a really hard job. they keep sending me to workplace counselling after each hit. “it’s normal to feel guilt at ending someone’s life,” they say. how do i tell them that’s not what makes me feel guilty? “but it’s okay. he’ll live a better life in another world.” yeah, with 100 girls who could have lived normal lives but got drafted into being in these boring dudes’ harems. how many women’s lives have i ruined. and they don’t even know. they don’t even know
Sounds like you need "His Soul is Marching On to Another World; or, the John Brown Isekai" by CabbagePreacher, an actual fic on AO3 about famed abolitionist martyr John Brown getting isekaied to such a world and going on a rampage abolishing harems.
I've read posts and fic where Shane and/or Ilya have people post on Twitter or Reddit about sleeping with them, and EVERY flavor of that is very funny/lovely.
Sex god Ilya, Shane who was mid at best with women, Ilya who is like the cryptid of Bostons club scene (everybody has a story, some are charming some are hilarious), etc.
I bring you: somebody who made it a point to sleep with as many hockey players as she could writes a tell-all book named Puck Bunny.
She ranks Ilya with a great dick, amazing body, but like 6/10 cause he didn't eat her out but asked for oral, kinda pushy but also kept asking if it was okay, not much chatter and he left immediately after showering ALONE at her place??
Shane gets a 9/10. He's hot, solid dick, didn't seem interested in penetration, but was happy to eat her out until she tapped out and did it like he was gonna be getting a grade. When she was done they showered together and he just jacked off then offered to wash her hair. Gave her some solid interior design advice and a kiss goodbye.
Shane is torn between complete humiliation and pride because he beat Ilya at sex with a woman. Ilya is torn between seething jealousy that somebody slept with Shane and told the world, and dread that people think he's a SIX. That he wouldn't go down on a girl!! That he was uncertain and rude???
"Shane, we need to release the sex tape so they can understand context. They need to see me be throat goat. Hear me ask you if you like so I can hear you beg for more. Shane stop laughing."
(is this funnier if she publishes when they're still in the pre-tunamelt times or while they're dating or after they're out/married?)
For those who don't know: Ikumi Nakamura is the woman who was senior artist on Bayonetta, and designed the titular character along with Hideki Kamiya. Their greatest moment of bonding was over their insistence that Bayonetta keep her glasses on at all times.
Nakamura cannot go to horny jail. She is the warden.
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