Why_so_sassy



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    Still, there’s something that sticks in his chest about all of this, feeling like somehow, he’s failed. Baby should have turned on her own by now. What is he doing wrong? Everything else about the pregnancy so far has been textbook. He’s done everything right- his diet, his exercise routine, prenatal yoga, Lamaze class, protein shakes, oil massages-

    Seriously, he's done every single thing the pregnancy books advised him to do. He hasn’t missed a single one.

    Yet, somehow, he’s failed at this. And this is pretty fucking important. If she’s not head down, he can’t safely deliver her. And if he can’t do that-

    Christ.

    Shane exhales again, rubbing his hands deliberately over the aching stretch of skin on his belly. He pushes against her stubborn little foot, low on his side. 

    “Why don’t you wanna flip, little girl?” he asks softly, brows furrowed. “I did the stupid elephant walk and I burned moxa at my feet. I’ve done the stretches, I let your dad massage my belly, I’ve tried everything. What am I doing wrong, hm?”

     

    -or, shane is 36wks pregnant with their first baby, and she's being stubborn about flipping head down-

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    04 Mar 2026

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    The knock at his door comes about five minutes after Shane gets home, three minutes after Shane pees on the stupid sticks, one minute after Shane looks at the fucking pink plus signs, and about thirty seconds after tears spring to his eyes.

    Shane Hollander, professional hockey player and captain of the Montreal Metros, has a bun in the fucking oven.

    Or Shane and Ilya's enemies-with-benefits arrangement has some unintended consequences.

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    25 Feb 2026

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    “Russians don’t blush, starshine.”

    “And guys don’t squirt, Ilya.”

    A snowboarding trip turns into a filthy, intimate challenge when Ilya decides to prove a point—repeatedly—in the most overwhelming ways possible.

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    21 Feb 2026

    Bookmarker's Notes

    Slopes 🔥

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    “I’m sorry,” Shane whispers against Ilya’s hair. “I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t—”

    Shane cuts himself off with a faint stutter in his breath that Ilya feels in his own chest.

    “Please,” Ilya begs, but he isn’t sure what he is even asking for.

    He wants Shane to leave. He wants Shane to stay. He wants Shane to hold him and never let go.

    Ilya feels Shane’s fingers fist in his curls, holding tight as if Ilya could ever bring himself to pull away.

    Shane doesn’t know that Ilya could never, that he cannot fathom turning his back to take even one step away from him.

    All he can do is push Shane away, make him walk first, and pick up the pieces left behind.

     

    Or an alternative to that fight from the long game, but instead of Shane leaving as Ilya asks, they actually talk it out

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    20 Feb 2026

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    "So, an inside date?"

    "Yes. I googled."

    "You googled?" Shane sounds skeptical, even though Ilya knows that Shane knows how much Ilya loves a good google search.

    "Yes. I searched 'HELP how to plan romantic Valentine's Day with secret arch rival hockey player boyfriend when we can't leave his home and also he is very boring.'"

    "You did not."

    "Okay," Ilya admits, kissing the curve of Shane's shoulder, "That was not my exact search."

     

    Or: Valentine's Day 2018, in an apartment somewhere in Montreal.

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    17 Feb 2026

    Bookmarker's Notes

    Valentine’s Day