this is a sneezekink blog, and it is 18+ (minors DNI) -- if you stumbled across this silly little blog, welcome!
consistency is my downfall, so i float back and forth between posting and disappearing (my posting usually correlates with my hyperfixations, whoops). with that said, i'm always happy to yap when i have the time & energy!
current interests: h/eated r/ivalry, t/he p/itt, E/R
NO emeto, non-con, minors, transphobes on my blog (i don’t mind if you’re into emeto as long as it’s tagged ~ no judgement! im just emetophobic)
Ar/cane
H/eated R/ivalry
Idiot (Part 1, Part 2) — Shane has the flu, but he’s the Metros’ team captain; he can’t possibly take a day off, right?
Blessed with Rivalry — NSFW. Kink!Shane watches a sneeze compilation of none other than Ilya Rozanov
sooo instead of working on one of my ten million wips… i started a different honeymoon rhinitis sh/ane fic… and it’s like 1.4k words? i think?
i wrote it in the depths of last night when i should have been sleeping sooo it’s a little rough and ready ~ would any of you lovely people be willing to beta read it?
fandom: H/eated R/ivarly
wc: 1.8k
disclaimer: Inspired by a video I saw on YouTube. There are no snz spellings in this, but it's full of sneeze talk. It's also mostly a transcript style. If any of the numbers sound unrealistic... Well, we can't all have a sneeze kink which helps us to know how many times do we sneeze a year.
I eventually plan to make a second part, maybe of just of the comments under the video BUT if you guys are up to it, you can also comment under this like you would comment if it was a video; I think that would be a really funny game.
Honestly, H/arris thought making this video was stupid enough, but people on YouTube seemed to love it when another team made something similar. So, overall, H/arris was pretty happy with how he edited the short. It was fine, really; it just… seemed weird. He wasn’t really sure if the question was interesting enough, and honestly, it wasn’t a question he ever thought of asking someone.
But also, the video already had a bunch of views, likes, and comments, so maybe it wasn’t a total disaster after all.
Harris sighed and then clicked play. Maybe if he watches it enough times, he will understand what the apparel is. Or not - but he liked to understand what viewers wanted because it made it easier to work on videos for the team’s social media. It’s not like he contributed to the rapidly growing follower base to his editing skills. He suspected it had more to do with both Ilya and Shane being on the team now.
The video started playing. Harris recorded this one like a month ago, but for some reason, it took way too long to edit. He remembered, clear as day, when they filmed it; it was during winter, and it was so cold outside that Harris was freezing even with his warmest clothes.
video transcript of ‘Cens vs sneezing’
<The camera is pointing at the bench from the back. It’s clear that there are a lot of people on the ice still, but a bunch of rookies are sitting next to each other, looking at the older players running drills on the ice. The camera gets closer and closer, and then suddenly it’s a side view at the end of the bench. The rookies look up; Nils Holmberg, Julian LaPointe, Alex Young, and Luca Haas are sitting like little kids. They are all wearing hockey gear and looking expectantly at the camera. It’s clearly visible that Luca is kicking his legs like a little kid.>
[LaPointe]: What is your question today, Harris?
[Harris, off-camera]: How many times do you sneeze a year?
<It doesn’t sound like a hard question, but the rookies all pause, and they look like they are deeply thinking. Young even starts to count something using his fingers.>
[LaPointe]: I don’t know, like 50?
[Holmberg]: You only sneeze 50 times a year?
[LaPointe]: I mean, yeah? Is that too much? Wait… how many days are in a year?
[Young]: Like 365?
<LaPointe looks like he is thinking very deeply; meanwhile, all of the other rookies look at him, amusement in their eyes.>
[LaPointe]: Okay, I mean, I guess my answer is around 300? I don’t know; I never counted, but I don’t sneeze every day, probably, but it’s not like I never sneeze, so…
[Holmberg]: Yeah, that sounds accurate. I will say 365. Like a sneeze every day, you know? Like, sometimes it’s zero, but sometimes it’s two, so?
<Luca Haas is still silent; he looks like he is deeply in his head, thinking about something. His blond hair is completely in his eyes, and he is squinting a little. He scratches his nose while he is thinking. Next to him, Young looks uncertain.>
[Young]: Mine’s like 700? I mean, I mostly sneeze two times in a row, so…
[Haas]: I mean… I honestly never thought about counting my sneezes, but it has to be triple digits. I feel like I sneeze every day and I always sneeze three times, so three times 365 is like… 1100?
<Haas looks uncertain, saying the number, and he’s clearly blushing. Next to his face, there is an edited photo of a calculator with the number 1095, and a classic, celebrating GIF.>
CUT
<The scene switches from the bench to outside the locker room. There is loud music and yelling coming from behind the closed doors, and it just gets louder when the door opens and then quickly shuts. The cameraman walks back a few steps as he realizes there are more people coming out of the locker room. Boyle, Dillon, and Chouinard stop and look at the camera, clearly expecting a question. All three of them look a little sweaty, bundled up in warm clothes.>
[Harris, off-camera]: How many times do you sneeze a year?
[Boyle]: Like, all year?
[Harris, off-camera]: Yeah, approximately.
[Dillon]: Is this like a trend?
[Harris, off-camera]: Yeah. The Admirals had a similar video.
[Chouinard]: It has to be around 200? Like, not one every day, but that’s like a pretty normal number.
[Dillon]: Yeah, I think mine is a little more, so I’m gonna say 250?
[Boyle]: Why are we acting like it’s a competition? Roz will win anyway.
[Chouinard]: I don’t know; it’s fun. What’s your number, Boyle?
[Boyle]: I don’t know. At least 200. Okay, you know what, I’m gonna say 250. I don’t sneeze that much.
CUT
<Some time clearly passed, maybe it’s even a day later because Boyle can be seen in the background, walking away. He’s clearly wearing different clothes from before. The locker room’s door opens, and Boodram walks out, laughing with Dysktra about something.>
[Dysktra]: Okay, Harris, I am ready for today’s question.
[Boodram]: It better be interesting.
[Harris, off-camera]: How many times do you sneeze a year?
<Pause. They clearly don’t expect this question, but it takes a little time, and Boodram is already laughing. He seemingly likes the question, or it just made him think of something funny.>
[Boodram]: Honestly, this feels like a targeted question. I don’t know, man? Like, once a day? Maybe a little less.
[Dysktra]: I don’t think you sneeze once a day. I think you are like… the least sneezy person I know.
[Boodram]: Hmm… maybe, yeah. You’re right, it’s definitely less. Fine, let’s go with 210.
[Dysktra]: That’s weirdly specific.
[Boodram]: I just gave a random number, smart***. Just say something.
[Dysktra]: Fine, if yours is 210, then mine is gonna be 283.
[Boodram]: And you say mine is specific…
CUT
<The video cuts back to the bench, except now it’s the cameraman sitting there, recording the ice. Troy Barrett skates over, and he looks all smiley and happy; there’s a faint blush on his cheeks.>
[Barrett]: Hey, b..
[Harris, off-camera]: I’m recording. I have an important question for today’s video.
<It’s clear on Troy’s face that he knows all about Harris’ important questions, and he definitely doesn’t think they are that important or exciting. He rolls his eyes and then rests his elbow on the barrier.
[Barrett]: Shoot.
[Harris, off-camera]: How many times do you sneeze a year?
[Barrett]: <laughing> Oh, yes, that definitely sounds like a really important question.
[Harris, off-camera]: What is your answer?
[Barrett]: I don’t know. What is my answer?
[Harris, off-camera]: I mean, I am asking you, so…
[Barrett]: Fine. Like, twice every day? What is that, like 700?
[Harris, off-camera]: <snorts> C’mon! You totally sneeze more than twice a day! Haasy said 1100, and you do sneeze more than him!
[Barrett]: I thought you were asking me?
[Harris, off-camera]: Yeah, but if you’re not gonna tell the truth, what can I do?
[Barrett]: Fine, okay. 1300. Happy.
[Harris, off-camera]: Happy.
CUT
<It’s clearly the end of practice. People are walking down the corridor, happily chatting with each other. Most of them look at Harris, expecting him to ask a question. Harris just shakes his head off-camera; he’s still missing three people from the next video.>
<Speaking of missing people. Wyatt Hayes gets stopped right in front of Harris. He looks really unhappy; his blond, curly hair is completely flat, and he looks really pale and tired. His nose is red, and he is clearly sniffling.>
[Harris, off-camera]: Ah, I was looking for you!
[Hayes]: <sniffs> Shoot. But hurry up, I need to get a tissue.
[Harris, off-camera]: How many times do you sneeze a year?
[Hayes]: This feels targeted.
[Harris, off-camera]: I asked everyone except you, Shane, and Ilya.
[Hayes]: Like, how many times do I sneeze in general, or right now?
[Harris, off-camera]: Yeah, like generally, per year.
[Hayes]: <his breath hitches, and he turns away from the camera, to direct a strong triple into his elbow. He stays like that for a few seconds, hitches again, and sneezes another two times.>
[Harris, off-camera]: Bless you! So, your final answer is?
[Hayes]: Thanks, sorry about that. Great, now people will think I did that on purpose. < He points at the camera, very seriously> I swear, I didn’t do that on purpose! I’m just sick! But yeah, I don’t know. I sneeze… like a lot? I think I’m a pretty sneezy guy, and I have allergies. Plus, every time I get a stupid cold it’s all in my nose, so… What was the most said?
[Harris, off-camera]: Troy said 1300, but I feel like you sneeze more like Troy. I mean… You sneeze a bunch in a row, so…
[Hayes]: Yeah, I do… Hmm, okay. You know what, I’m gonna say 2000. That sounds unrealistic, but it’s not, so.
CUT
<Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov step out of the locker room. They are holding hands and seemingly in deep conversation. They both stop once they notice Harris standing there with the camera. Ilya immediately smiles.>
[Rozanov]: Harris! Did you bring Chiron with you?
[Harris, off-camera]: No, not this time, sorry. I’m actually making a video, and you two are the only ones missing, so I wanna record that if that’s okay with you.
[Hollander]: Yeah, sure. What’s the question?
[Harris, off-camera]: How many times do you sneeze a year?
[Rozanov]: This is targeted!
[Hollander]: <blushing> Ilya…
[Harris, off-camera]: Roz, I asked everyone. You guys are the last ones.
[Rozanov]: I never sneeze. Russians do not sneeze. Shane, tell them.
[Hollander]: <still blushing> I mean, you do sneeze a lot.
[Rozanov]: Is lie.
[Hollander]: Ilya, oh my god, shut up and answer the question.
[Rozanov]: No, you answer it first.
[Hollander]: Oh my god, Ilya! Okay, fine. Like, probably around 1500? Maybe? I don’t sneeze that much when I’m healthy, but I have seasonal allergies, and I get pretty congested when I am sick. so. Yeah.
[Rozanov]: Fine. Yes. Mine is around that too.
[Hollander]: Ilya, you know that’s not true! If mine is 1500 yours is at least… I don't know! 4000! 5000! C’mon.
[Rozanov]: I don’t sneeze that much.
[Harris, off-camera]: You literally sneeze like… ten times in a row, Roz.
[Hollander]: At least.
[Rozanov]: I do not!
<Cut. First, there’s a clip from an older interview. It’s from when Ilya was still with Boston. To no one’s surprise, he is sneezing into closed fists, painfully stifling every little burst of sneeze.>
<After this, the video cuts back to Ilya and Shane, still bickering. An “one eternity later” meme fills the screen. When it disappears, Shane and Ilya are still on camera. Shane looks smug, while Ilya is clearly unhappy.>
[Rozanov]: Fine. My husband says I sneeze 5000 times a year, which is absolutely ridiculous, but I wanna **** *** tonight, so I gotta say what he says.
<Harris laughing can be heard in the background. Shane looks completely red, he is blushing hard, while he looks at Ilya, scandalized. The video starts to darken, and then it completely blacks out.>
Hey, I’ve been seeing some weird shit on this side of tumblr again— so I’m posting some more metaphorical rent-lowering gunshots to keep this blog free from bigots and predators.
This is a trans and queer blog. If you’re going to misgender and patronize queer folks or their queer characters, or be a terf in general, you can get tf off this blog.
This is an adult kink community. If you’re going to post kink content involving minors, fictional or not, you can get tf off this blog.
If you’re going to be racist, zionistic, a nazi, or any other brand of bigotry, you can get tf off this blog.
If you’re going to sexually harass and pressure folks into giving you content to jack off to, despite their clear boundaries + autonomy, you can get tf off this blog.
You are not entitled to any body, nor any content, just because you want to get hard. You are not entitled to mistreat and harass folks in this community. You are not justified in being a bigot and a bully, all while hiding behind a screen like a coward.
We are not available for your mistreatment, nor your predatory bullshit. Get tf off this blog.
Now then! Back to our regularly scheduled programming.
il/ya getting sick during tlg and deciding not to tell sh/ane because there’s nothing he could do anyways…
the two of them won’t see one another for ten days, and by then il/ya will be over his cold
feverish and miserable and hurt over his and his boyfriends circumstances, he somehow manages to convince himself that it’s better this way— suffering in silence
because no matter how much he wants to hold sh/ane, to press so close to his chest that the two seem inseperable, they are hours away from one another
he sleeps away a couple of days, replying to sh/ane’s texts (though distantly, and with less and less coherence as his fever gets worse). he’s barred from practices, the team doing their best to provide him support— which, naturally, backfires. every plan of theirs splinters into something that il/ya construes as pity or disgust rather than care
sh/ane only finds out that il/ya is sick when it’s announced that he won’t be playing in the centaurs upcoming game
immediately, his boyfriend’s recent behavior clicks: dodging calls, answering texts with less and less enthusiasm, reverting back to caution rather than allowing himself to be vulnerable
the worst part is that il/ya concerns had come true. as much as sh/ane wanted to care for his boyfriend, there was little he could do aside from call and listen to il/ya’s misery. sh/ane could bless il/ya, use sweet pet names, let soft spoken reassurances fall from his tongue in both english and french…
but he couldn’t hold him. he couldn’t make him feel better. he couldn’t provide him any comfort beside the distant promise that they’d see each other soon
sh/ane writing a grocery list and mealprepping... meanwhile, il/ya’s bumbling from room to room (waiting for sh/ane to finish being fussy over his list) and sneezing every few minutes
sometimes they come in threes or sets of two. on occassion, they’re intermixed with nose blows
sh/ane blesses il/ya under his breath and adds “tissues x3” to his list
As do I, friend. As do I. ;) (also this is the BEST and MOST RELATABLE ask ever, put it on a tshirt!!!)
Long story short I’ve been struggling with this part for TWO MONTHS and I am grateful for @lilies-and-hyacinths’s perfect post for helping me come up with an idea for a (similar-yet-different) ending. Super NSFW <3333
Warming Up (Part 2/2) (H/eated R/ivalry, Shane)
Part 1
———
“Fuhhhuck…!”
Day three of this cold was absolutely killing Shane.
The fever that had kept him sweating and shivering throughout the night had broken, thankfully; he was glad that it no longer felt like his bedsheets were trying to rub his skin off. But he’d woken the next day with a voice so garbled by congestion from his stuffy nose that Ilya had wordlessly handed him the tissue box after he’d said “Good bordidg.”
His morning nose blows were nothing more than pitiful little squeaks that had Ilya cooing at him and calling him mysh. “Mice can bite too, y’kdow,” Shane grumbled. “Not this little mouse of mine,” Ilya replied with a few kisses to his cheek. “Try mbe,” Shane threatened, rubbing a finger under his nose against a growing itch. He had to pull away with three breathy, dazing “issh’Heww!” sneezes; Ilya took pity on him and didn’t push his teasing, pulling him close to his chest as Shane blew his nose productively.
Hours later, the two of them were on the couch in the living room. Shane had far given up the pretense that he was feeling okay, and had spent the entire day slumped against Ilya’s side, tissues pressed to his leaky eyes and nose. His coughs and sneezes were harsh and had Ilya brushing his disheveled hair out of his eyes. Not such a little mouse now, Shane thought as he buried his face in his handful of tissues while building up for more wrenching sneezes.
“Bud’ zdorov.” Ilya rubbed his thumb against Shane’s thigh as Shane blew more loudly than usual, desperate to force out his congestion. Ilya had been scrolling through Instagram, showing Shane pictures of their teammates’ continued celebrations. Baker had proposed to his girlfriend. Jimenez was in Maui. Luca Haas was back in Zurich with his family, grinning like a madman in one picture, his pale face flushed red with drunkenness. Good for him, the kid needed to let loose a little. (Shane ignored the irony of that statement.)
“More medicine for you soon. In…” Ilya checked his phone. “…twenty-five minutes.” He put an arm around Shane, squeezed, then kissed the top of his head. “And I will heat some soup if you are hungry, it will warm up your chest and help that terrible cough.” He frowned and placed a warm hand against Shane’s sternum.
Shane swallowed hard against the lump forming in his throat. God, he couldn’t quite believe Ilya sometimes. He could be the ultimate pain in the ass - stubborn, impulsive, likely to grab Shane’s controller when he was beating him in FIFA and make him chase him around the house for it - but when it came to Shane’s well-being, Ilya was a better caretaker than Shane could have ever imagined. He kept track of when Shane needed to take cold medicine, blessed him sweetly after every sneezing fit, gave him foot and back rubs to help him relax, and kept him fed and hydrated. Sometimes, Shane reminisced about the times when he’d thought he could never have something like this. He wanted to give his younger self a hug sometimes. The kid had been so wound up tight. (Shane ignored the irony of that statement.)
Ilya placed a hand at the nape of Shane’s neck and rubbed gently. “What do you think we should do for our days with the Cup?”
Shane paused as he reached for another tissue. He’d been thinking about that a lot. “We’ll have to take it to Game Changers at least once,” he said after blowing his nose again. “And then, maybe—”
“I was thinking I could fuck you while it watches,” Ilya interrupted.
Shane’s breath caught, and he coughed and sputtered as Ilya placed a hand on his back. He had to scramble for another tissue to wipe at his nose for about the eighty-first time that day before he cried out, “The Stanley Cup?!”
Ilya shrugged. “This is so blasphemous to you? Is just a shiny piece of metal.”
“It’s made of a silver and nickel alloy,” Shane corrected, then: “there is no way in hell we are fucking in front of the Stanley Cup, Ilya.”
“Why not?”
“B-because it’s the Stanley Cup!”
“And you are Shane, and I am Ilya. Besides…” Ilya got very close to Shane’s ear and whispered, “I think you would like to.”
“I…wouldn’t,” Shane said, crossing his arms. His cheeks were growing very warm.
“No?” Ilya trailed his fingertip against the shell of the ear he’d just whispered into. “You do not want to be filled up by your husband with the greatest trophy in all of sports in the room?”
“Ilya,” Shane said weakly.
“The trophy we earned together? Hm, we could get the Conn Smythe in there too…that one, you earned all by yourself,” he purred. “All your greatest achievements in one room. Your trophies, and your trophy husband.”
Shane found himself getting very, very hard.
Ilya’s eyes flicked downward, because he was so goddamn psychically in tune with Shane’s dick. “Oh…you do want this,” he said, not sounding surprised at all. “You want this very much.” He traced the lightest touch down Shane’s tummy and brushed his fingers just against his crotch, and Shane whined. He barely even noticed that his nose was leaking. But Ilya did, and his blue eyes flashed with concern.
“Oh, your nose,” he murmured. He grabbed for a tissue and delicately dabbed beneath Shane’s nostrils. Shane froze in place, mesmerized by Ilya’s low voice and the care in his touch.
“Your beautiful nose…” Ilya’s mischevious smile returned. “It is so red too…I wonder if it will feel hot if I kiss it…” He leaned in pressed a long but gentle kiss to a stupefied Shane’s nose. “Mm, yes, very hot. Sore too? From all the tissues?” Shane nodded, eyes wide. “My poor Shanya…” Ilya cupped a hand to Shane’s cheek, kissed between his eyes, then rested his chin atop Shane’s head.
Feeling overheated and overwhelmed by how goddamn sensual Ilya was being, Shane let out a shaky breath into Ilya’s neck to calm himself. Instead, it sent him into a rough coughing fit that had him curling into his shoulder and Ilya rubbing up and down his arm.
“Okay, sweetheart?” Ilya said, and Shane blinked his tears away to find Ilya once again looking very worried at him.
“Okay,” Shane said, and, not wanting Ilya to stop his indulgent teasing, he rubbed at himself a little to reach full hardness again.
Ilya immediately caught on, eyes widening before he resumed speaking in the husky voice that drove Shane absolutely fucking insane with desire. “Tell me the truth, Shane. Do you feel very bad?”
Shane, not sure if he could speak, swallowed and nodded once more.
“Do you need someone to help you feel better?”
Shane nodded a third time, more vigorously, then sniffled and scrunched up his nose. Ilya’s eyes followed the movement of it, and he grinned wickedly. “Moy malen’kiy krolik…”
Shane thought he might melt from the heat that had overtaken him, body and soul. “Ilya,” he said again, voice cracking.
Ilya hooked his thumbs into Shane’s pajama pants. “You are definitely feeling up for this?” he confirmed, looked at Shane with such care that he felt like a fucking treasure.
Like a trophy.
Shane’s nodded for a fourth time, feeling like one of those bobbleheads given to fans during a game, then sighed deeply as Ilya pulled his pants down. Ilya looked at Shane’s dick and made an impressed-sounding noise that made Shane’s cheeks heat with pleasure. “Eager,” he said. “So wet and so eager for me, Shane…even when you are not feeling at your best…”
Ilya took Shane in hand, and the feeling seemed to ignite something in Shane’s nose. “Ihh-Ilyahh—!” he warned, feeling itchy and horny and sneezy and loved all at once, and Ilya immediately released him as Shane turned to the side.
“God bless you,” Ilya said, grabbing a handful of tissues from the box and holding them to Shane’s flushed face. “Blow.”
Shane obeyed, dizzy from the tender eroticism on display from his husband. He winced at how wet his blows were, and how he needed multiple rounds to clear his nose. Ilya kept swapping out tissues, somehow realizing every time Shane needed more (although - oh god - he could probably feel how soaked through the paper was). He didn’t seem to care at all that he was handling Shane’s snotty tissues. He seemed to be happy to do it, actually, judging by how he encouraged Shane to keep blowing, then kissing his forehead when he was done. And through all of this, Shane’s pants were still down and he was still hard as a rock.
Fuck, who knew that being taken cared of could be so…hot?
“Ilya?” He said in a gravelly, wrecked voice once Ilya had wiped Shane’s nose clean. Ilya raised a brow.
“If I, uh. If I sneeze again…” Shane took a breath in and out through his less-congested nose. “Can you…can you hold me while I…”
“Hold you…? Oh.” Ilya looked down at Shane’s dick and grinned back up at him. “You are filthy, Shane Hollander.” He gripped Shane again and started to pump up and down. “So, so filthy…”
“Ohh…Ilya, please,” he groaned, allowing himself to be as loud as his throat would let him as Ilya jerked him off. “I-I need…”
“I will give,” Ilya promised with a sharklike grin. “And if you sneeze again, I will give more. Won’t be long, I think…” He was watching Shane’s face, and before Shane could ask him what he meant, his breath was hitching against an itch that was tickling the tip of his nose like a feather. Ilya kept his hand around him, not stopping how fast he was going as Shane—
“HIZSCHhhew! a-ahh!” Ilya squeezed him as he sneezed, and for a moment Shane thought he might pass out from the ecstasy of it. “Oh ghh-god! ISHhhhuhh! hy’ISHhhh, hihh-hihh-hISHhhhew!” Ilya squeezed him after every sneeze, praising him with “yes, honey”s and “one more, kotyonok”s as he sneezed helplessly, without the usual foresight to sneeze into his elbow, and so Ilya was almost certainly getting sprayed as Shane rocked forward and back.
“aschhh’ooo! ahh’hhiew! hah, ah—!” One more squeeze, and Shane would—would—! “AHH’CHOO!”
Shane cried out as his orgasm hit him like a puck to the face, and he rode it out until he was completely smushed into Ilya’s shoulder, heaving gasps and coughs and heavy breathing the only sounds in the room. When Shane finally lifted his head, having wiped both his nose and his tears on Ilya’s shirt, his husband immediately began tending to him. Ilya cleaned both his upper and lower body with tissues, then kissed him all over. “Bless you,” he said tenderly, and Shane bit his lip to stop his tears (he’d had enough drippage for one day).
“Thagk you. Thagk you,” he repeated when Ilya took his hands. “I love you so buch.”
“Ya tebya lyublyu bol’she.”
“Ndot possible.” Shane moved to stand up, but stopped dead when he saw the damp spot at the crotch of Ilya’s shorts. “Wait, did you…?”
Ilya blushed. “You are not the only one who is feeling better after that,” he said with a shy smile.
sorry for dissapearing ~ life hit me with a brick and took away all the snz from my brain. i haven’t had much energy for tumblr aside from the occasional scroll, but i hope you’re all doing well!!
s/hane h/ollander growing up perfectionist, dedicated, hardworking, never misses a day of practice, finishes games even when he’s sore and bloody, never takes a break. everybody oohs and aahs over his endurance and inability to quit and he usually likes that, likes the praise, likes that feeling of his muscles burning when he pushes himself past his limits yet again
cue s/hane h/ollander, who finds the concept of being forced to take a sick day and rest, being cared for, being babied even, so overwhelmingly and unutterably sexy. can’t even put it into words, he finds it so hot. would never ever be able to admit out loud even to his husband
cause he’s ashamed of it, is the thing. he’s supposed to be better than that. he’s supposed to be able to grit his teeth and do the work, and he always can, because he surpasses expectations for a living. he’s the best player in the fucking league, for god’s sake
and when his husband clicks his tongue and pulls back from their morning kiss and says “you feel a bit warm, h/ollander, no practice today” so matter of factly, with no room for debate, like it’s just a fact that the amazing s/hane h/ollander is allowed to take a day off work for a little cold and brewing fever… well. s/hane maybe gets this warm feeling in his gut, like arousal but also like that feeling he gets when i/lya calls him moya lyubov and kisses his forehead before bed. that feeling of being loved, being protected, being allowed to be weak and vulnerable and being covered anyway
I mean. he still jerks off about it from his sickbed and maybe tackles i/lya with a kiss the minute he brings up soup for s/hane that evening. but he also gets a little in his feels about it, too
(he does not have to say it in words. i/lya already knows, the way he knows everything about his husband, and he doesn’t mind to indulge it one bit. he likes it, even. s/hane so rarely lets himself be cared for outside of the bedroom, i/lya will pounce on any opportunity to show his love)
