local bitchy shane enthusiast

No one show this photo to Shane Hollander

Well yes !! I’m addicted to it !! Completely !! I’ve got it in a few of my ficlets hehe but I could talk about it foreverrrr

Ilya loves to praise shane, to coo and sweet talk him, to let him know how Ilya loves him, how he cares for him, how precious he is to him. And Zaychik, it’s perfect, Shane does remind him of a little bunny, cute and sweet but also determined and kinda sneaky and well there’s the easy fucks like a rabbit jokes. But also Ilya love how the word feels so perfect for Shane, soft in his mouth, adoring. It just spills out.

Shane in Ilya’s lap, riding him, keeping Shane deep and pressing as he rolls his hips feverishly, working in dizzying movements that are making Ilya’s head spin.

“Fuck, you’re so good you’re so fucking good, my Zaychick take me like you’re made for it huh? Perfect for me”

But then sometimes it’s sweet and comforting, a tender word between them. Shane on his tummy with Ilya sprawled over top of him, heavy and pressing him down into the bed, sliding into him in deep stretching weighted thrusts. The slick sound of it, the two of them holding hands either side of Shane’s head, fingers tangled up, playing with each other. Ilya’s face tucked over Shane’s chin, faces close together, noses knocking, sharing breaths, shaky small gasps. They’ve been going at it for ages, a long stretch of fuck it’s too good I don’t wanna come yet, staying on the sparkling edge of it together, biting and kissing and pressing closer and closer. Shane lets out a small squeak that makes Ilya’s chest squeeze with fondness and Shane’s eyes blink open just so from where they had been blissfully closed just before. Gold brown warmth sinking around Ilya, homehomehome and Shane smiles this dopey happy little grin, hums and mumbles “I fucking love this” his voice dripping with such pleasure such joy as being tangled up with Ilya, being fucked by him.

“Yeah zaychik? Love cock?” Ilya asks and kisses Shane’s nose, cheek, top lip.

“Your cock” Shane clarifies and Ilya groans, shoves his face into Shane’s neck.

“Fuck my sweet needy little zaychik, you love this so much huh? Me so much? Made to take me like this” Ilya cooes and Shane just nods and nods and happy sigh of “yeah. yeah I do” a breathy joyful confession and Ilya feels Shane’s toes curl and wriggle wriggle against his ankle.

“My perfect zaychik” Ilya croons, stroked his fingers down over Shane’s flushed freckled cheek. “So beautiful, huh? So sweet, my zaychik huh? Belong to me don’t you?”

Thank you for ASKING baby!

I think Ilya uses bunny and zaychik a lot! It’s not as rare as sweetheart, but it’s also not all the time all the time. I think Bunny is more playful, sweet, and Zaychik is total adoration. His sweet little bunny.

Here are some examples because I think that will help explain better.

Shane gets fucked up during a game, he’s dark mottled bruises all up his side and chest. He walks out from the shower in just a towel and Ilya sees them properly for the first time. “Oh bunny. Come here let me see”

Shane half asleep on top of Ilya, forcing big hard blinks and wriggling to try keep himself awake, eyes attempting to keep themselves on the movie Ilya had selected. “Just sleep bunny” Ilya whispers into the top of his head, hand petting his hair

It’s Valentine’s Day, and Shane’s gotten Ilya a kinda embarrassing amount of bouquets, large a bright flowers in huge bundles. Ilya pulling Shane into a tight cuddle, nuzzling his face down into Shane’s hair. “You’re so sweet bunny, thank you”

Shane fucked out and soft, loose limbs smudged across the sheets, laying on his stomach, Ilya’s pillow clutched to his chest. Ilya had stepped out to grab them some water, walked back into the bedroom to Shane curled around Ilya’s pillow. Big sleepy slow blinks as his eyes focus on Ilya walking toward him. “Missed you” Shane sighs, and Ilya’s heart explodes. It’s been two minutes. Max. Ilya getting Shane up into his arms, laying on his chest, cheek pressed to his peck, Ilya bringing the bottle to Shane’s mouth for little sips. “My zaychik” kisses all over his face

Shane’s said four words since he woke up fifteen minutes ago. He’s sat at the counter, stool pulled up to it, hunched tiredly over a bowl of cereal. He’s in his scrub pants and no shirt, as usual for pre shift dinner to avoid any spills or smells on his top.

Ilya is leant in the doorway of Shane’s kitchen. He’d finished his short shift at three in the afternoon, been at Shane’s place by half past.

He’d let himself in quietly, (using the key Shane had given him two months ago now to come go and he pleased) very careful as he moved around the home, to stay quiet and not wake Shane from his pre night shift sleep as he changed into the sweats he bought with him.

Shane would be up at four thirty to stretch, shower, do his skincare change and then out in the kitchen by five. Ilya had folded and stacks Shane’s clothes from the dyer, and filled Shane’s waterbottle while he waited for his boy to wake up.

They’d have and hour and half before Shane would have to leave before shift, it wasn’t much, but Ilya hadn’t seen Shane outside of in passing at work in a few days and he’d missed him. The chance to kiss and cuddle and sit with his boy was worth it. Ilya was curled up on the couch when the door to Shane’s bedroom clicked open, and his Shane had shuffled out, in his scrub pants and socks, rubbing at his right eye with his fist.

Ilya had gotten so absorbed in real housewives that he’d not even realised the time, and his eyes darted to his phone. His stomach flipped a little at the 5:21 on the screen. Ilya’s eyes darted back to Shane, who had come to a stop at the end of the couch. He’d leant down and pressed his lips on Ilya’s head, mumbled “hi baby” and sniffled before shuffling onward to the kitchen before Ilya could reply.

Ilya watched the slump of his retreating boyfriends back. This was bad, late out of bed and no kiss on the lips. Ilya had managed to sit still for all of five minutes before he was climbing off the couch and following after Shane. He wanted to give him space, to wake up, to settle, to seek out Ilya when he was ready for him. But Ilya had missed him, and a Shane out of pattern was unpredictable.

It bought them to now, Ilya leant in the door with Shane bringing spoonfuls of cereal to his mouth, the soft clink of his spoon and the distant noise of the tv the only sound in the room.

“Sleep okay?” Ilya asked softly, and then went about making Shane’s pre shift coffee- half to do something with his hands and half because Shane was already late to get up, late to have his coffee in hand warm and fresh ti help wake him up.

“Mmhm” Shane hummed, nodded, muffled a yawn into his hand.

“Work ok?” Shane asked then, voice low and scratchy with sleep. Ilya turned to look at him as the coffee machine spluttered and spilled smooth coffee into Shane’s mug. Shane had a pillow crease down his cheek, his eyes were hazy with the edges of sleep, chest flushed with sleep warmth. Ilya wanted to bundled him up whole, maybe bite him a little. Maybe kiss and suck at the warm skin of his neck while he got him all cosy in his lap and touched him until that bunch of his shoulders dropped and the loosened into something softer, warmer, loose limbed.

Shane looked at him with expectant brows and Ilya bit down a smile as he turned the espresso shot into an iced long black. Of course Shane would check on him with the few words he managed to get out, those somehow worked past the tangle in his brain.

“Was good, not too busy” Ilya shrugged and crossed the kitchen to place the coffee in front of Shane, looked down at the grumbly shape of his boyfriend, he could feel his stewing radiating off him. Ilya placed a gentle hand on the back of Shane’s neck, rubbed the pads of his fingers up against Shane’s hairline. He dipped his head to kiss the top of Shane’s head.

“Thank you” Shane mumbles and its wobbly, and ha lingers, pets at Shane’s neck but Shane doesn’t lean back into him, doesn’t chat to him about last nights shift in slow hazy words, doesn’t catch Ilya’s hand to hold while he eats. Ilya hums, and pulls back.

Sometimes his Shane is quiet and sometimes his Shane needs space; especially on his last shift on a block of nights. Ilya is familiar with the way they untangle you, leave you spacey and backwards. Like you’re jet lagged or a toddler or a tiny bit drunk and hungover at the same time.

Ilya strolls out of the kitchen and goes to mute the tv, incase the sound is too much, and then goes to his bag for the three item he’d thrown in there for Shane this morning. He wordlessly makes his way back to the kitchen where Shane is rinsing his bowl, his backpack sitting unzipped on the bench, now containing his lunch bag.

Ilya places the small box of peppermint tea inside the bag (Shane said it helped with the bloating and nausea he sometimes got on nights and shane had texted Ilya with many sad faces that he was out of it last night) and well Ilya had stock for Shane at his place so it just made sense to bring some.

He lays the jumper he has in his arms over the top of the bag. It was Ilya’s, a sweatshirt he’d had for years, worn in thin and comfortable, soft in that way that only came with time. Shane’s favoured jumper to take of Ilya’s when they were at his place. Shane could decide if he wanted it for work- but at least the offer was there.

Ilya takes himself back to the couch, sits down and clicks the volume up to a soft murmur. Tells himself that he’s doing well not to hover, even though he kind of needs a smile and a kiss from Shane before he leaves to feel confident that is boy is alright. But then again, maybe he’s simply too tired for that- or overstimulated by Ilya’s presence. And yes Ilya’s missed his boy, but even if his time with Shane, being in Shane’s orbit consisted of only this, that was okay- they knew, time together between shifts like this, in overlap, they were just whatever they could find energy to be together.

Two weeks ago Ilya had come home with such a migraine post work that date night with Shane had been a cool shower and then laying in the dark of Ilya’s room in silence with the fan on, not touching because Ilya’s skin felt throbby.

A week before that, both post a 12hr day they had drunk wine directly from one shared bottle, and ate Thai food on the floor in front of the tv as they ranted about their equally fucking cursed days. It would change, what they needed but, what they needed would always be from each other, to exist together.

Ilya is halfway through a text to Sveta, when he suddenly blinks and oh, that’s a lap full of Shane. He’s warm and heavy and no longer shirtless, in his scrub top and Ilya’s jumper and he’s shoving his face into Ilya’s neck, tucking his arms in between their chests and his thigh pressing to either side of Ilya.

Ilya lets out a soft breathless laugh, knocked out of him the the weight of Shane, but then, then he feels the ripple of Shane’s shoulders, hears his big drawing breath in the way it’s coming faster than usual. Oh. Oh Shane.

It’s Sunday. His clock on the bedside table reads 9:00 A.M. He doesn’t have to be anywhere, but Shane says it’s good to get out of bed everyday. But Shane is in Montreal and what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him—and anyways, Shane does not know what it feels like to be made of concrete and rocks.

Even though it is 9 o’clock in the morning, it’s dark in his room, no sun shining through his window.

Ilya rolls his head to the side to look out the window, and finds the suburban Ottawa sky is overcast and there’s rain spitting from the dark clouds. His body feels heavier looking at the dreary sight.

His phone vibrates on the bedside table. He doesn’t move, he’s made of concrete and rocks and he used all his strength to look out the window which just made everything worse.

It stops vibrating and Ilya finds himself letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. His head feels like it’s filled with cotton, and his eye lids are drooping every so often as he stares at the gloomy day.

Ilya thinks that his mama would stay in bed on days like this too.

Sometimes Ilya would sneak into her room, careful not to make too much noise and alert papa or Alexei, and he would wiggle behind her as she lay staring out the window watching the sad Moscow sky. He would press his tiny little nose to her back and breathe in her smell, and wrap one slender arm over her torso. Sometimes she would grab his hand to hold, but sometimes she didn’t. Ilya now knows it was because she was made of concrete and rocks too.

Ilya does not feel sad. He feels numb. Indifferent. So what if he sleeps all day? It’s Sunday. He has no practice, no game, no plans, no nothing. His boyfriend is in Montreal. His best friend is in Russia. His mother is dead. Everyone is busy, or away, and they do not need Ilya bothering them.

His phone buzzes again. He ignores it.

Can you guess what chapter of The Long Game I'm on lol

Had to stop in the middle of reading and draw this. This was such a cute moment I actually teared up. And now I'm scared to continue cuz I'm worried about Ilya's mental health

I'm looking for a fic I read a while ago but can't find now, where instead of shane it's ilya that gets injured, but he gets injured really badly (his throat gets cut by a skate) I feel like it was multi chapter and I remember shane maybe went in the ambulance with ilya. I also remember that he stopped the bleeding on the ice by thinking of an older similar injury. Thank you!!!

Do you remember if this is when they play together or still in a secret relationship? Here is what I could find otherwise.

if you ever try to leave me again 

During a Boston-Montreal game, Ilya's neck is cut by a skate, and Shane is forced to witness the love of his life bleeding out on the ice in front of him. All of the plans they have made seem to be slipping away before his eyes, right when they were so close to finalizing Ilya's transfer to Ottawa. As they race against the clock to save Ilya's life, Shane reckons with the secrets they have been forced to keep and fears that they might never get to live their truth out in the open.

taking it on the chin 

Ilya Rozanov takes a skate blade to the face in a game against Montreal. The skate blade belongs to Shane Hollander.

78 Seconds 

At the Montreal - Boston game in April 2017, it is Ilya who is injured instead of Shane.

my heart is half beating in your chest 

Ilya shift to side in hopes of tipping the puck in, and an Edmonton defenseman lunges forward with his stick lifted in hopes of blocking the shot. The puck rings off the crossbar, and Ilya drops.

Shane: How many reps are you doing baby?

no motorcycle (i will be so mad if you crash and die)

no pilots license (i will be very mad if you fly into a mountain and die)

no smoking (i will never forgive you if you get lung cancer and die)

no fast cars (i will be so mad if you die in a high-speed crash)

go to the dermatologist (i will be very mad if you get skin cancer and die)

take your antidepressants (i love you so so so much)

i was working at a little cafe where I could deny service over bad behavior, harassment etc. & mask mandates had just ended a week before & already people were being weird about me still wearing mine—an N95, the kind shaped kinda like a duckbill.

so this man walked in, looked at me sooo scathingly, laughed at me, and said “damn. never known a woman to choose…practicality over looks.”

And I just said, “oh. you can go, you’re not getting a drink.” And he said, “what???”

I said, “sir, you just walked in at 6 am & called women impractical and me ugly in one sentence.”