mare 🦭

I'm Mare! if thats not apparent through my username, an obvious play on gethsemane (sleep token, not the actual bible), happy to introduce myself.

she/they, sexuality is just a suggestion...

also, I speak spanish! feel free to take advantage of that lmao

I've always written and have a few publications on my Ao3, but I'd like to be more consistent, even if my mental health makes things hard. I'm hoping to find a community here that can keep me motivated, or at least, some moots who share my plethora of interests.

Speaking of interests, here's what tickles my fancy...

For the sake of interest, i will mainly be posting stuff related to Heated Rivalry for now.

I have no strict DNIs, just be civil and a good human, that's all.

Even though ive been on here for eons, i have no clue how to build a community of my own nor used to posting consistently 😢

id KILL for fic prompt submissions. be brave, be wild, i do not judge. I will handcraft your asks and be the happiest camper.

I may update this as time goes on, but for now, thank you for getting through this post!!

i get that My Dinner With Hayden isn’t the best representation of either hayden or ilya character wise, but omg.

one of the first insults that ilya threw at hayden was simply that he had no class which cracks me up every single time.

it’s the fact that it wasn’t even a low blow, just an observation on how he carries himself that gets me.

shane lying awake thinking about all of the awful sex he put those poor, few overly eager female participants through in the same way rodrick’s mom made him apologize for the dirty magazine.

“im sorry women” 🙁

Thinking about how sensory-seeking Shane found out he enjoyed being crushed by his 220-pound hockey star husband.

Ilya, with severely bruised ribs, would have gotten too cocky and tried hoisting Shane up underneath his thighs, carrying him to the couch.

Shane protested about the state of his ribs from the last game, half-heartedly kicking at him during the short journey to said couch, but with him being just as clouded with lust, his efforts weren't very insistent.

Ilya's plan was to hurriedly undo his lover, bending him over the arm of their living room sectional.

But as he was attempting to lower him softly onto the furniture so as not to hurt him, a sharp pang of pain traveled from the side of his mangled torso and seemingly straight into the opposite shoulder.

They went down in a tangle of limbs, Ilya right after Shane in an attempt to cushion whatever the couch couldn't, though out of shock of never having dropped Shane after all these years, he didn't do a very good job.

Thankfully, Shane's whole body draped along the length of the couch cushions, softening the blow of his entire frontal plane.

His backside was another story.

Something between a squeak, a yelp, and a grunt escaped both of them simultaneously as Ilyas' entire body smacked Shane's all at once. They bounced a bit at the sheer force, and Shane's skull bumped Ilyas' chin at the impact.

Instinctively, Ilya willed his body to get straight back off his husband, whom he hoped was not smushed beyond repair, but his ribs did not yield. Shane realized, as he always did, that Ilya was in too much pain to move, and the soft, frustrated swear under the Russian's breath sealed the deal.

After a moment, Ilya heard Shane mutter into the couch cushions.

"I'm not going to say I told you so, but that was a bad idea, and you know it. "

Ilya smiled against Shane's back as, in his own way, he was telling him so.

"Probably, yes."

As Ilya lay there in defeat, Shane suddenly realized his nerves were... calm.

It felt as if his blood was finally running in the right direction, and his skin belonged where it lay on his figure.

It was as if someone was granting him the longest check against the boards of his life, but it was here, in his living room, with the man he loved more than anything.

Even with his lungs pressing against his chest and back, Shane took such a deep breath that he felt relieved.

Ilya, unfortunately, took the sigh as a sign of discomfort, so he mustered the strength to try and rise again, wincing at his own pain and the pain Shane must be feeling at being so compressed.

Frantically, at the small loss of pressure, Shane wriggled out one of his arms from underneath himself and pressed one down on Ilyas' bent arm.

"No, stay. Please"

He could practically feel Ilyas' eyebrow shooting upwards, and his head tilting ever so slightly in tandem, but he didn't really have an explanation as to why he wanted the full weight back on top of him. He just knew it felt right.

All he could say in reassurance was, "Feels nice."

And that was all Ilya needed to hear to, in fact, after some reshuffling for comfort, stay right where he was.

a part of me died with fat harris today.

I have my second full length Hollanov fic posted on Ao3!

I love my small community here, and it would mean the world to me if you checked this one out!

All fluff and comfort, I promise :)

Splintered Wood and Woven Strands by gethsemare

- - - - -

“How did you do that?” Shane inquired, still in slight disbelief at the handiwork.

“I have very skilled fingers, you know this.”

An eye roll and a bitten inner cheek were all his remark earned.

“Seriously, Ilya, when did you learn how to part hair and shit?”

OR: After Shane grows his hair out, he has trouble managing it for an event, and Ilya comes to the rescue in the sweetest, most unexpected ways.

Do y'all know that full-body drop that happens right when you get comfy and are on the verge of sleep?

Of course it’s happened to Shane and Ilya; who hasn’t experienced the phenomenon?

It's always been normal for Ilya to rest against Shane, his head against his broad chest, while familiar fingers work around his curls, soothing both of them simultaneously. Once in a blue moon, while watching Boston game tapes for the hundredth time, Ilya will begin to nod off and feel his heart suddenly drop to his ass, though too tired to make a joke about startling in his boyfriend's arms and just lulling back to a comfortable, hazy, sleepy headspace.

Shane would have let out a soft snort, lowered the TV volume to let Ilya get some much-needed rest, and forgotten about it in the morning.

It is only after a certain point that it starts to mean something to both of them, together.

It is now a few weeks into the new year of 2021.

They are now fiancées, cuddling in their respective positions, making everything feel so much warmer, so much headier.

Shane has a hardcover book propped up against his chest, looking sleepily over the frames of his glasses as the stats threaten to slip off the page and join him and his equally exhausted Ilya in sleep.

Things have been better between them, evening out as their breathing does too. Ever since the weeks after the emergency landing.

The one that grips Ilya in a split second with such fervor that he thrashes against Shane's lax body.

That minuscule, split-second feeling of free-falling in his own bed just returned with a vengeance he didn't know was possible. It isn't until his breath hitches that he realizes that he gripped his lover's forearm, his fingernails leaving fleshy dents in the tan skin, as if the body behind him was the very armrest he used as a lifeline.

In a clouded daze, he leaps to pat the bed around him frantically to find his phone-- to let Shane know how he feels-- to tell him he loves him--

But the cool metal of the ring on the hand grasping his shoulder firmly, turning him to face the man he didn't know he would ever have like this, snaps him out of his panic.

Instead, looking into his fiancée's eyes through the glasses he loves so dearly breaks a dam in him he didn't know he'd ever have to let loose.

Ilyas eyes burn in simultaneous embarrassment and relief, a confusing mix of too big emotions for such a small bodily nuance. But all he knows now is that the book is hastily tossed onto the duvet, and he is being cradled against a bare torso, and his tears are flowing easily in the divot of Shane's collarbone.

He is being rocked back and forth, but so slowly, so steady, unlike the ungodly turbulence he endured such a short lifetime ago.

He can faintly register coos and sweet nothings coming from right above his head, but the simple muttering of "you're safe, Ilya" finally gets him to sleep, where the panic hadn't let him before.

In the morning, he explained to Shane what he felt, though he tried playing it off as stupid, pushing for both of them to forget it.

But just like Ilya could never forget the rapid free-fall that high in the air, Shane could never forget the small yet heartbreaking twitch on their mattress that meant so, so much more.

It happens again, a repeat of that night, because of course it does: the body always remembers things we want so desperately to forget, even if it's reminding them in the comfort of their own bedroom. Reminding them of how important and monumental that day in January was, and how it gave them the chance to even be in the same bed with cool rings around their fingers and necks when it matters most.

And of course, Shane is there to hold him throughout every drop, his personal lifeline.

the harsh reality dawning on me that i fold up my taco bell wrappers after i eat each item like shane folds up his clothes after each article comes off

i feel that one night at a bar after a centaurs win (after shane and ilya are married), someone would tipsily bring up hotel room phone sex.

none of the teammates, most of them now married, are unaware of the trials and tribulations of the thin walls and the awkwardness that plagues the first couple minutes of it.

the conversation soon steers into the guys being jealous of ilya and shane for being able to share a hotel room and never having to deal with it.

with ilya on shane’s lap, he reaches back and gives him a short and reaffirming squeeze on the nape of his neck.

nobody in that room truly knew how long they had to get by on solely video calls. how those few minutes in hotel rooms across the country meant the world to them.

but with a few beers and cocktails with little umbrellas in them, ilya didn’t want to open the can of worms of doom and despair.

instead, he leaned his head back and belly laughed when Bood complained about his phone sliding off of his makeshift pillow phone stand for the 7th time in one session, and offered a bit of advice.

“seriously— you all have skype sex like cavemen. hollander here.” he said as he tugged on his husbands earlobe that was now turning a bright shade of fucsia, “ introduced me to the wonders a tripod will do on our second time.”

absolute silence fell over their group.

choruses of remarks resembling fuck, its genius.. why didn’t i think of that.. erupted.

- -

with a few beers of his own in his system, he sent the amazon purchase link to the entire team group chat that same night.

the one from all those years ago just so rozanov could see his dick and his glasses at the same time.

the amazon fulfillment center had never been so confused on why over a dozen different grown men were buying a 13 year old tripod within a 20 minute timespan to be delivered within 30 minute distances of each other.

shane’s extensively researched, measured, specific vitamins and supplements in a color coded weekly pill organizer taken at the same time every night v.s ilyas costco bottle of chalky flintstone vitamins

i can totally see ilya relentlessly sending shane reels about those pheromone horn-inducing chocolates.

it’s a bunch of shitty ads from haphazardly sponsored straight gym-bros, but the “100% satisfaction rate from over 1M+ customers” sell ilya immediately.

when shane does eventually check his DMs, he slaps a hand over his entire face, attempting to cover his eyes in utter disbelief and his mouth to stifle a laugh, all at once.

shane was never a practiced “sex god” before ilya, but it didn’t take a genius to know the chocolates were hokum. (maybe that’s why ilya did believe in them, who knows.)

eventually, after a few months of the ADs tactics getting more frequent and ridiculous in nature by the day, shane decides to give Ilya exactly what he wanted.

on his next grocery run, he makes a stop by the candy aisle, the baking section, and the gift department.

back in his car, he carefully sets out his most important items from the transaction in the empty passengers seat, with the princess being with Anya at the vet.

the store brand milk chocolate bar, with no branding stamped in the center of the large squares, gets dusted in a even poof of edible glitter spray, carefully re-foiled in gold paper, and put in a brown paper box with a sleek black bow on top.

it’s fool (ilya) proof, really.

- - -

Anya comes through the door halfway supported by her harness and halfway by pure spite. being the little angel she is, she always has to have light sedation before appointments, and clearly, it hasn’t worn off much.

but when she is settled in her bed, ilyas pout of affection for his daughter quickly turns sinister as his eyes lock on the kitchen island, mirroring his favorite scene in The Grinch, that yuna had insisted on watching last christmas.

sliding over to the counter in socked feet, he tore the lid off of the box after reading the note in his husbands handwriting.

“in shower, you know what these are. ;)”

it took all his resolve not to eat one right then and there.

- - -

“shaneeeee, i think it’s workinggggg” he sing songed, making his pointer and ring finger walk slyly onto shane’s thigh, and then up and around his crotch.

their chocolate ceremony had only been concluded— shane checked his smart watch— 8 minutes before.

he didn’t think the square had even hit the russians stomach acid yet, not giving the placebo effect a fighting chance at being disproven.

sitting side by side on their couch, shane decided to tease the slightest bit.

“mm, i don’t know ilya, im not feeling a thing. this is why i don’t use instagram. 50 bucks plus shipping and handling fees, and im not even half hard. we should throw the rest away.” he sighed, cocking his eyebrow ever so slightly at the last sentence.

he might have spent 20 bucks to dress up a 3 dollar chocolate bar, but that didn’t mean ilya would back away from a challenge, a sexual one at that.

“no, they will work, trust me. reviews don’t lie.” he said, determined, and shane knew his ruse had worked.

- - -

undeniably, shane had cum three times on their couch, not even making it to their bedroom.

Ilya, had only finished twice, but he was more focused on trying to convince shane on the fact the pheromones he hadn’t eaten in the first place had an impact on him.

later in bed, shane had a flash of an image of him in a willy wonka hat as Ilya raved about how the chocolates effected his erection strength and stamina.

he would have to play chocolatier more often.

we know shane has a skin care routine. not necessarily because he’s bougie or spending money on imported creams, but for the simple fact of its routine and studied benefits.

after being domestically involved with ilya for some time, especially in the summers at the cottage, he is diligent about applying sunscreen to every inch of his boyfriends exposed skin: the waiting 15 minutes before jumping into the lake, reapplication every 2 hours, the heightened risk of skin cancer speech every time the blonde fusses— the whole nine.

with the speech also addressing how the daily use of sunscreen is best, especially on Ilyas face, (keeping it youthful was more of a selling point than the cancer probability) he had curated a smaller routine of his own, in which SPF was a (according to shane,) crucial last step.

side by side, they would apply their creams and serums each day, though Ilya would finish his abrasive applications before shane as he didn’t have as much to rush through. He never caught the tail end of Shane’s routine.

one spring, around Shane’s birthday, Ilya decided to replenish all of his skincare as one of his many gifts.

he took note of every bottle, asking Svetlana when had any questions, trying his best not to royally fuck this up.

he placed orders on about 3 different wellness sites, concluding his spree, when he realized that a sunscreen wasn’t on his list.

with shane laying next to him, glasses on and nose practically almost in his book, ilya padded into the bathroom and investigated.

on the counter, in the row of small containers, no SPF was found.

in the trash bin, no SPF was found.

in his travel toiletry bag, no SPF was found.

his curiosity grew larger than he could contain, trumping the desire to purchase every single product as a surprise.

walking back out into their bedroom, he crossed his arms and probed,

“malysh, where is your face sunscreen? is missing.”

shane didn’t look up, but his eyes doubled in size, clearly no longer absorbing any hockey statistics in front of him.

his teeth grazed his bottom lip, an internal turmoil arising, and his whole face reading: ‘ i don’t want to say the truth, but i’m going to, be gentle i don’t like it either’.

“i don’t wear facial sunscreen.” is what finally came out, in a hollow, meek tone.

Ilyas jaw dropped to the floor, and shane expected his tongue to roll out comically onto the hardwood at any second.

years of (loving) nagging about how he would burn to a crisp or how he would develop sunspots before his 40th birthday replayed like an ironic, doting film reel in ilyas brain.

before ilya could make any sort of unhelpful comment, shane seemingly began to become suddenly upset at this finding. like this deep, dark, UV ray secret had been weighing on him this whole time.

the canadian began to feel childish over the way his voice threatened to catch, but he closed his book and spoke down into the hardcover.

“i know, i know!” he said wetly, “ i don’t want to get skin cancer or burn or be wrinkly prematurely— i tried!”

“tried what?” ilya asked simply, gently coming over to sit on the corner of the bed, extending a hand to shane’s blanket-covered ankle, confusion and all.

“sunscreen. i can’t handle the way it feels on my face. it makes it all heavy and tight and my eyes burn when i rub them when the lights get too bright,” he confessed, with the last part coming out with the most emotion of all- “and it smells weird!”

Ilya had to bite the inside of his cheek promptly to keep him from giggling at the moral upset, but he knew all too well that Shane really was beating himself up over his lack of sun protection.

they both knew that he couldn’t help the way the product made him feel, like a heavy greasy weight on an exposed nerve all day, Ilya was just giving the situation more grace.

after a few minutes of comforting his boyfriend, convincing him he wasn’t a “fraud” as he kept muttering, he stepped out and called Svetlana once more after conducting his own Google research.

-

on his birthday, Shane unwrapped over 2 dozen bottles of sunscreen from every store imaginable- even ones from places he had never heard of.

sprays, serums, lotions, powders, creams, you name it— were picked out and purchased with care.

Shane smiled as he opened each one, inspecting the boxes carefully at the sweet gesture from the blonde massaging the nape of his neck beside him, giving him all the time in the world.

his smile grew the widest when Ilya lastly handed him a pack of unscented baby wipes, promising to be on standby with them as he tried each sunscreen out so he could wipe away any option that felt icky immediately.

shane hollander maxxing (just got my formal autism diagnosis)

just caught a blurry glimpse of connor in the new criminal minds season ad and now have an irrepressible urge to watch all 19 or whatever seasons just for a scrap of context / to appreciate his episodes even a tiny bit more