1 – 4 of 4 Works in Nickies_Nonsense

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  1. Snapshots by

    Heated Rivalry (TV)
    • T
    • ✓

    2026-01-21

    It was clear by the tone of Shane’s voice that he was not doing well, he was panicking and he was begging for Ilya to fix it and he wished for nothing more than to catch the next flight to Montreal and hold Shane in his arms and fucking fix it but he knew that was impossible. Or, Shane navigates being a transgender professional athlete and Ilya is by his side every step of the way.

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    AO3:
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  2. Cracks in the Facade by

    Heated Rivalry (TV)
    • T
    • ✓

    2026-01-04

    If he could just get everything right then he wouldn’t be having these problems, he told himself. If he could stick to his shitty fucking diet which he hated, and his grueling workout routine, and manage his schedule to fit in more brand deals and advertisements, if he could fit in extra hours of practice, and on and on and on. Of course, he thought with spite, this would all be better if he could fucking sleep. Or, Shane is falling apart and Ilya is there to pick up the pieces. “I- I’m sorry, I think this season has just been more stressful than usual,” he had tried to tell Rose Landry as she gathered her clothes from the side of the bed. “Of course,” she’d said and offered him a small smile. They both knew he was full of shit, but one thing wasn’t a lie: this season had been stressful. Shane could feel his control slipping despite his best attempts. No matter how many times he tried to tell himself that he needed to get his shit together his grip on normalcy was loosening. If he could just get everything right then he wouldn’t be having these problems, he told himself. If he could stick to his shitty fucking diet which he hated, and his grueling workout routine, and manage his schedule to fit in more brand deals and advertisements, if he could fit in extra hours of practice, and on and on and on. Of course, he thought with spite, this would all be better if he could fucking sleep. It started about a month ago with one restless night and had spiraled from there. Usually Shane fell into a deep sleep after a long day of practice and workouts and whatever else he was doing but lately he just lay in bed, heart pounding, thoughts racing, and definitely not sleeping. Or, if and when he did manage to fall into a fitful sleep his dreams consisted of his own worst nightmares: losing the cup, everyone finding out about him and Ilya, the flash of cameras in his face, or once even a dream that featured Ilya somewhere in Russia being hurt because of Shane. Always, the dreams concluded that whatever bad things were happening were because of Shane and Shane had a hard time not believing that himself. He’d wake up in empty hotel rooms, a twisted scream escaping his lips, panting and sweaty and alone. Of course people had noticed, Rose had noticed before they broke up and Hayden kept asking him if he was okay at practice and Shane brushed them all off. He was fine, he had to be. So what if he wobbled on his skates and always felt like he was seeing through a thick layer of fog. The only person he really wanted to see, the only person who he could imagine would treat him normally, would probably never want to speak to him again. Not after he left, not after he’d dated Rose fucking Landry. God, he needed to get some fucking sleep, he thought, burying his head in his hands and blocking out the fluorescent lights. “Hey,” Hayden said cautiously, “you alright buddy?” Shane snapped his eyes open, “I’m fine,” he growled. Hayden took a step back, his hands raised in surrender, and Shane couldn’t even bring himself to feel bad for snapping at his best friend. “Okay, I’m gonna go get some snacks, maybe try to get some rest on the plane?” Hayden offered, disappearing into the chaos of the airport. Yeah, Shane thought sarcastically, because it's that easy. On the flight to Florida he determinedly ignored Hayden’s concerned looks in favor of reading one of his hockey books until his best friend fell asleep and Shane looked at him with envy. By the time they landed he was ready to collapse into a hotel bed and hopefully never wake up but he knew both of those things were impossible. When they dropped their bags off in their rooms Shane caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror hanging next to the bed. He looked like shit, he thought, carding a hand through his dark hair in an attempt at looking presentable. Even in his newly styled clothes there was no hiding the dark purple circles under his eyes, the new lines of stress wrinkling his forehead, or how pale he’d gotten. “You look like shit,” was the first thing Ilya Rozanov said to him, coming over to sit next to Shane at the bar. “Fuck off,” Shane responded, even as his hands shook as he raised his glass of ginger ale to his lips. Rozanov hummed, “and you're sure you can play tomorrow? Or I need to score all the goals for both of us?” He said with a smirk. Shane glared at him but he was pretty sure he wasn’t imagining the undercurrent of concern in the Russian’s voice. “I’m fine,” he muttered. “Okay,” he didn’t sound convinced, “see you tomorrow then.” “Y-yeah, see you,” Shane muttered as he hastily stood up and left. Fuck. That night he lay wide awake, staring up at the ceiling above him. Rozanov was here, and he didn’t seem to completely hate him. That had to count for something, right? So why couldn’t he calm the fuck down, why was his heart still racing with anxiety? He blinked at the sleeping figure of Hayden in the bed next to him, passed out without a care in the world. Why couldn’t he just be normal like that? Instead he watched the clock tick ever closer to sunrise until it was six am and time to get up. “You gotta eat something man,” JJ pointed out. They were sitting in the hotel lobby and Shane was picking at an orange, peeling it slowly.

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  3. who’s gonna kiss the black-haired boy? by

    Heated Rivalry (TV)
    • E
    • ✓

    2026-01-01

    He felt Rozanov’s eyes drag over him lazily, uncaring that Shane was watching him. He’d never been looked at like this, with such…hunger. It made his stomach flip but he did not close his shorts-clad legs even when he felt Rozanov’s eyes drift lower then lower still. His eyes didn’t waver, didn’t flinch at the lack of a bulge that they both knew should have been there. —- Shane Hollander is the first transgender gay hockey player in the league and absolutely no one can know but Ilya Rozanov seems like a good secret keeper.

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  4. forgive my northern attitude (I was raised out in the cold) by

    Heated Rivalry (TV)
    • G
    • ✓

    2025-12-30

    Fuck, he couldn’t let Hollander see him like this. An echo of his fathers voice played in his head, “ты слаб, Ilya.” You are weak. —— Ilya has a hard time accepting help from anyone, especially when he’s sick. Good thing Shane Hollander doesn’t take no for an answer. Ilya arrived at the cottage before Shane. His boyfriend had one more game in the afternoon before he could get there for their long weekend getaway so Ilya had packed for both of them and made the drive himself. It was weird being in the cottage by himself, he thought as he put their bags down and stared out the window admiring the view of the lake. Then his stomach churned and he groaned walking away to sit down heavily on the couch. He’d started to feel…not well this morning but he insisted that Shane go to his game and he’d powered through the long drive to get here. The cold, clean air of the cottage would be good for him, he thought, and anyway it's not like Ilya ever got really ill. Shane was a different story with his weak stomach and frequent migraines that he’d inherited from his mother but Ilya was always healthy. A workhorse, his father had said once. Strong, Capable, Dependable. But maybe, he could just take a little nap now he thought to himself as he lay down on the couch and closed his eyes. That way he’d be ready to ravish his boyfriend when he showed up. He woke up hours later to darkness and a pounding in his head. Ilya squinted, grabbing for his phone. It was already six pm. Fuck, Shane would be here soon. It took too much effort to swing his legs off the side of the couch and he swayed as he stood up, holding onto the back of the couch for support. “Blyat,” he cursed under his breath as his head throbbed and his vision blurred dangerously. His stomach lurched and he remembered why he’d woken up in the first place. He rushed to the bathroom and made it just in time to fall to his knees on the tile and puke up his meager lunch. Trembling, he stood up and hastily brushed his teeth with shaking hands. Fuck, he couldn’t let Hollander see him like this. An echo of his fathers voice played in his head, “ты слаб, Ilya.” You are weak. Ilya carefully made his way back to the couch, trying not to irritate his stomach or his head anymore than he already had. He sat perched on the edge of the couch, head in his hands, until he heard a knock on the door. Shane let himself in and Ilya stood up, trying to muster up a proper greeting. “Hi,” he breathed. He must have failed because Shane’s smile faltered and his hands came up to cup Ilya’s cheeks. “Are you feeling okay?” He said, his brow furrowing in concentration like Ilya was another puzzle for him to solve. Ilya pouted at him, “now you say I look bad.” “No, no, not that it’s just…you're really pale, are you sure you're okay?” Ilya sighed, “I was a little sick before, I’m fine now.” Shane looked like he didn’t believe him so Ilya pressed forward, crushing their mouths together and raising one hand to grip the back of Shane’s head, running his fingers through his hair. At the small noise his boyfriend made in response Ilya instantly felt better. He stepped back, pulling them both towards the couch when a sudden sharp pain went through his head. It felt like someone punched him in the skull and Ilya dropped Shane’s hands, swearing and sitting down on the couch as the room spun. “-lya?” Shane was saying, his fingers tugging at where Ilya had his head buried in his hands. “Are you okay?” Shane said. All he could do was shake his head carefully in response. Shane sat down next to him on the couch, rubbing comforting circles on his back until Ilya was able to speak again. “Sorry.” ты слаб “No,” Shane insisted, “don’t be sorry, fuck its my fault, I thought you looked sick this morning and I left anyway.” “I’m-” he started to say before Shane cut him off. “If you say you're fine, I swear to god Ilya.” “Okay,” he muttered, a small smile curling at his lips, “Mr. Nurse.” “Whatever,” Shane huffed, he pressed the back of his hand to Ilya’s forehead and Ilya leaned into it despite himself, the cold felt so good. “You're burning up,” Shane pointed out. Ilya hummed in response. “Okay, let me see what meds we have here,” Shane said, standing up and walking away towards the kitchen. Ilya missed him immediately. He returned a moment later with a glass of water, a handful of little red pills, and a thermometer. “Open,” he said, holding up the thermometer.

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