Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers | Heated Rivalry - All Media Types, Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Boston Bears | Boston Raiders Team Ensemble & Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander, Original Male Character(s), Boston Bears | Boston Raiders Team Ensemble (Game Changers), Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Coach LeClaire (Game Changers)

Additional Tags:

Coming Out, Post-Book 2: Heated Rivalry (Game Changers), Post-Episode: s01e06 The Cottage (Heated Rivalry), Boston Bears | Boston Raiders (Game Changers), takes place at the beginning of Ilya’s last year with boston, OMC is an asshole, just another coming out fic by shelfthereader, Hockey Captain Ilya Rozanov, ilya’s main goal is to make boston pretty okay, and the new trade is making it very hard, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, idk guys i think that's all its a pretty straightforward coming out fic with bits of hollanov

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-06-13 Words: 1,656 Chapters: 1/1

how to make boys next door out of assholes

Summary

If there was one thing Ilya was proud of during his time as Captain in Boston, it was the community he created. Yes, they were a good team, but under Ilya’s leadership they’d become a decent one too.

He didn’t have time for locker room bullshit. Racism. Homophobia. Hazing. It was immature and unnecessary. The first step in having a successful team, in his eyes, was the safety of “his” players. During his first speech as captain, he made it clear that the nonsense would not be tolerated.

The guys weren’t perfect, but they didn’t ask questions.

Until, of course, Jeremy Stone joined the roster.

Or: Ilya is one homophobic "that's so gay" away from losing his shit (and coming out in the process)

Notes

This started out as a lil drabble to post on Tumblr because I needed it out of my brain. I needed to focus on Luca Series, after all. But then the drabble came close to 300 words and I went, “might as well make it a 1k oneshot.” And now we’re here 1.6k words later with a writing style that I under-utilize.
Thank you to my beta Gin for the insight into Ilya’s mind and Carken, my buddy/beta who is always cheering me on. Thank you to the Game Changers Library Server for the thousand-person hype squad. And, of course, to my Luca Series readers who are being incredibly patient with me as I overhaul the next bit of the plot.
Enjoy this lil piece that’s mostly just me airing out my grievances about dumb men.

Bitch Count: 1
Fuck Count: 10
Shit/Bullshit Count: 7
Ass/Asshole Count: 5
Gay Count: 5

Note: I stopped giving a shit about proper hockey practice timeline. They’re on the ice when I say they’re on the fucking ice.

Title from "Young Volcanoes" by Fall Out Boy because I'm nothing if not predictable.

If there was one thing Ilya was proud of during his time as Captain in Boston, it was the community he created. Yes, they were a good team, but under Ilya’s leadership they’d become a decent one too.

He didn’t have time for locker room bullshit. Racism. Homophobia. Hazing. It was immature and unnecessary. The first step in having a successful team, in his eyes, was the safety of “his” players. During his first speech as captain, he made it clear that the nonsense would not be tolerated. 

Boston was going to be different. 

For the most part, the guys understood. They listened to Ilya, cleaned up their acts, and that was that. 

The guys weren’t perfect, but they didn’t ask questions. 

Until, of course, Jeremy Stone joined the roster. 

He was an American defenseman traded to Boston from Dallas during the off season before Ilya’s last year as a Raider. He was enough of a player, and they needed the defense, but Stone was everything Ilya didn’t want in his locker room. 

At the beginning of the first full team practice back, Ilya made the same speech he always did: Watch your mouth, don’t be an asshole, and don’t fuck with the rookies in a way that would permanently alter their brain chemistry. 

The Raiders vets nodded along, some mouthing the words to the familiar bits, while the rookies loosened up when they were assured that the hazing would be kept to a minimum. Overall, the new guys accepted the terms laid out in front of them. 

Everyone, of course, except Stone. 

“What’s the point in all this?” Stone muttered, seemingly to himself. However, it was said at a volume that convinced Ilya otherwise. 

“Did you not hear what I said the first time?” Ilya asked, trying to keep his cool. 

“I guess,” Stone blew him off. “But not hazing the rookies? They’re not five. They can handle it. You get hazed, and then you haze the rookies. It’s how it goes.”

“Uh, uh, uh,” Ilya tutted disapprovingly. “Have you not heard the saying ‘we’ve always done it this way’ is most dangerous phrase?”

“Where did you hear that, Cap?” Marleau asked from his stall. 

“Probably read it in a fortune cookie,” another joked. 

Ilya waved it away. “Does it matter where I heard it? The point is, we respect our team here. There is no place for bullshit. Got it?”

Got it, the team echoed. 

The team, except Stone. 

****

“How was your first day back?” Shane asked during their Facetime call that night. 

“The same. Boring. Half of them act like it is first time on ice.”

Shane rolled his eyes fondly. “Yeah, yeah. What about the new guy, Stone? Is he as bad as they say?”

Ilya shrugged. “He’s not great. Average dumb hockey player. Has ego the size of Canada and thinks everything is joke. We will fix that.”

“Oof.” his boyfriend winced. “Is there any hope?”

“Maybe,” Ilya replied. “Depends on his listening skills.”

***

There was no hope. 

In the span of a single week, the levels of bullshit recorded in the locker room of the Boston Raiders hit an all-time high. 

Jeremy Stone was dumber than fucking rocks. Every time he opened his godforsaken mouth, a truly revolting string of words spewed forth. Most of the time, he talked about women like they were prizes to be won, but, on occasion, he would add a gay joke in poor taste, for flair. 

Ilya loved his team, because before he had a chance to call out Stone’s behavior, a teammate would let out a sigh of dude, quit that shit, or a similar sentiment, and move on with their day. Stone would glare at the back of his teammates’ heads, but would never say more on the matter. 

But it kept fucking happening, and Ilya had no idea what the fuck to do. 

It came to a head the day after they played Montreal for the first time that season. 

Ilya was exhausted, grumpy, and missed his boyfriend. Ilya and Shane didn’t mean to stay up until the ungodly hours of the morning, but it was the first time in weeks they had seen each other in person, and Ilya had to relish all of the time he had with that sweet, beautiful ass. 

Shane, of course, rolled out of bed easily. It took three separate bribes and a dirty, dirty promise for Ilya to move a singular blanket. 

“Why?” he moaned, latching onto his boyfriend’s back in the kitchen. “You just got here.”

“You know how this job works,” Shane chided gently, stroking Ilya’s hand. “Besides, you have practice this morning. You can’t miss this one, especially because of that performance last night.”

That performance being losing to Montreal after a double overtime. 

“Ugh, you are no fun.”

Shane turned in Ilya’s arms to grant him a peck on his cheek. 

“It wasn’t my fault your defense fell apart in that last period. Now—” he grabbed a plate of fruit, eggs, and toast that he was preparing—“eat up. We both need to get going.”

After a fast breakfast that led to one final slow shower, the pair embraced before they parted ways. 

“When do we see each other next?” Ilya murmured into Shane’s neck. 

“Right before Christmas, I think,” Shane replied, sounding sad. Ilya hated when Shane sounded sad. 

“That’s too far.”

“I know. I know.”

With one final squeeze, Shane let go first. 

“I love you, now go kick some hockey ass.”

***

Ilya’s ass was the only one that was being kicked. Thank fuck it was an off-ice practice, with mostly tape and gym time, or else he would be on the ground in fetal position. His feet felt like lead, and his eyebags were Armani. There was a solid chance that the next person who spoke to him would either be yelled at or kicked in the balls. It depended on how well he liked the person. 

When they got to the tape room, Ilya pretty much zoned out. He would get a copy to watch through on his own time, which was enough for him. 

He was just getting comfortable when he heard it. 

That was so fucking gay. 

It took a moment for Ilya to compute what was going on. Coach was talking about the second overtime period, right when, oh–

Right when the defense fell apart. 

Jeremy Stone was off the ice at that point, which made him believe that he had the right to talk shit about the play. 

In the most homophobic way possible.

The energy of the room shifted and Ilya looked around. Marleau had muttered an exasperated, “Dude”, while Coach LeClaire looked to the sky, probably asking for patience before tearing into Stone. There were players fidgeting in their seats, avoiding any and all eye contact with Stone, who was slung lazily across his chair. Ilya couldn’t see his face, but he could assume it was some flavor of boredcockyannoyedalphamale that he always wore.

Ilya couldn’t take his shit anymore. 

“You are done,” he announced, standing. “Shut the fuck up.”

Stone scrambled into a more respectable position. “What?” 

“Can you not hear?” Ilya huffed. “You are done talking.”

“Are you for real?” Stone asked, affronted. “I didn’t do anything! It was just a joke!”

Were Americans just that stupid?

Ilya spread his arms and gestured to the room around them. “Where is joke? No one is laughing.”

Stone scoffed. “When did you get so soft? Is the big, bad Russian scared of jokes now? And why does it even matter? It's not like there’s a gay person in the room!”

Oh he fucking did not. 

Now, if Ilya had both more sleep and a sense of self-preservation, he probably wouldn’t have done what he did next. But he didn’t have either, so anything was free game. 

So, contorting his face, Ilya gave Stone the bitchiest glare he could muster. A glare that was found not only in the dark sharpness of his eyes, but in the deep furrow in his brows and the slight dip of his frown. A glare that opened his soul to be seen by those around him; that said, are you sure about that, bud? Think about that again. 

Before anyone on the team could interject, Ilya continued, making his way to the front of the room:

“I said once this year. I have no tolerance for bullshit. It does not matter if you do not think someone is there to hear it. They are. Always. Watch your fucking mouths. Next time I hear “that is gay” about something that is not, there will be problems. Yes?” 

When he was done, Ilya surveyed the room. It seemed to him that most of the group understood exactly what he was saying. There were teammates nodding along to his impromptu speech. Teammates shocked at what their Captain just admitted. Teammates uncomfortable about having a gay captain. 

And Jeremy Stone, who, rendered speechless, gawked at Ilya like he was some sort of specimen. 

“Stop staring, Stone,” Ilya ordered with a roll of his eyes and a deep sigh. “I am no fucking zoo.”

Stone clamped his mouth shut, and Ilya turned to Coach LeClaire, who was still awkwardly standing at the front.

“I am sorry, Coach,” Ilya said. “We will continue, yes?” 

LeClaire blinked once, and turned back to the screen, which Ilya took as a signal to go back to his seat. 

When the fury-filled adrenaline faded, Ilya would probably regret his actions. He and Shane had a plan for a reason, and he would never forgive himself if it was his fault they derailed. 

But that was later. 

For now, he would relish in the idea that he now had less to hide. He loved his team, even when they were a group of idiots. Because they were his idiots, and he could never be more grateful.