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A strong arm caught him easily, guiding him back against the shelves. The force was inhuman but controlled and gentle. The vampire leaned in, close enough that Shane could feel the chill radiating from him. “I did not come here to frighten you,” he said softly, forehead nearly brushing Shane’s. “I came to ask you on a date.” The library had settled into its late-hour stillness. Most of the overhead lights had been extinguished, leaving only a handful of brass-shaded lamps burning overhead, their yellow glow casting long shadows across the reading tables and towering shelves. Dust hung faintly in the air, visible when Shane shifted beneath the light. The place smelled of old paper, leather bindings, and furniture polish. Shane sat alone at one of the long oak tables, collar loosened, sleeves rolled to his forearms. He scratched absently at the back of his neck as his eyes dragged over the same line of text for what felt like the hundredth time. The words refused to stick. His head throbbed faintly, and the wire frames of his spectacles pinched at his temples. The clock mounted high on the wall ticked loudly in the quiet. He let out a muted groan and dropped his forehead against the tabletop, careful not to knock his books over. “Now then,” came a voice from the aisle, firm but not unkind. “You know better than that, young man. No sleeping in the reading room.” Shane lifted his head and found the librarian approaching, a stern woman in sensible shoes pushing a cart stacked neatly with returned volumes. Her hair was pinned tight at the nape of her neck, her eyes sharp behind round lenses. “Sorry, ma’am,” Shane murmured, rubbing his face with both hands. There was no arguing it. He snapped his book shut, slid it into his satchel along with his notes, and cinched the strap tight. His studies could wait until morning. Tonight, his mind was finished. He shrugged into his dusty brown leather jacket, smoothing it down out of habit, then slung the satchel over his shoulder and made his way toward the heavy front doors. Outside, the cold greeted him sharply. Winter had settled in earnest, the air biting and dry as it rushed over his face. His nose stung immediately, cheeks flushing red as he exhaled into his cupped hands. The street was quiet, save for the distant hum of an automobile somewhere far off. He lingered beneath the stone archway, shifting on his feet to keep warm, before stepping out onto the path. A cloud of smoke drifted across his vision. He coughed softly and turned his head, squinting into the gloom. For a moment, he thought it was just shadow pooled against the building. Then he saw the ember. A bright orange glow flared briefly, illuminating a cigarette between pale fingers. Shane blinked and did a double take, turning fully now as the rest of the figure resolved itself under the lamplight. The man stood half-hidden near the wall, tall and broad-shouldered, coat collar turned up against the cold. Curly, light-colored hair fell loosely across his forehead. Even in the dim light, his skin appeared unnaturally pale. Shane felt suddenly aware of himself. Of the emptiness of the street. Of the late hour. The man was…handsome. A shiver ran down Shane’s spine. He gestured awkwardly toward the cigarette. “I don’t think you’re meant to smoke here,” he said, voice hesitant despite knowing full well he was right. “Oh?” The reply was smooth, accented, foreign in a way that made Shane’s shoulders tense. “There’s a notice,” Shane added, pointing toward the sign affixed near the entrance. He nodded once, lips pressed thin, and quickly walked off without waiting for a response. The following night arrived without ceremony. Shane found himself once again leaving the library late, satchel heavier this time with completed work. The path ahead was lit by tall streetlamps, their bulbs flickering softly as he walked beneath them. The cold crept through his coat, sharp and persistent. But it wasn’t the cold that made him uneasy. It was the feeling. That unmistakable prickle along his spine, the sense of being watched. Of footsteps that weren’t quite there. He told himself it was foolish, just nerves and imagination, but he didn’t turn around. Then a voice spoke from behind him. “Are you going to ignore me forever?" The words were smooth, carrying a thick Russian drawl that slid down his spine like ice. The sound of it echoed faintly in the open street. Shane yelped, nearly jumping out of his skin as he spun around, bag slipping off his shoulder. “What the fuck—?!” he shouted.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 6,944
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76932081
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Shane and Ilya attends a Japanese wedding ceremony. Ilya wears a traditional kimono. Shane proceeds to froth at the mouth.
- Part 2 of
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 6,425
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76937416
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Ilya is fairly certain that you don’t accidentally walk in on your roommate half naked this often. Shane, for his part, seems completely uninterested in correcting that assumption. The semester has only just started and Rozanov has lost count of how many times hes walked in on Hollander getting dressed in their dorm room. Its becoming a bit of a problem. "Stop making this habit, Hollander," he groans and raises his hand to his eyes. But he allows himself a small gap between his fingers to get a look without his roommate noticing. Across the room, Hollander stands in a white towel and is frantically pushing clothes around on his bed to presumably find something to wear. He shifts and leans awkwardly, his towel opening to reveal a long stretch of muscled leg and the curve of Hollanders ass. "I swear, Im not," he says defensively. "You just have terrible timing." "Change in washroom. Like others," Rozanov mumbles. And he peeks again despite himself but immediately regrets it and snaps his fingers closed when he catches a quick glimpse of the dark hair between Hollander's thighs and the length of his soft cock. Feeling like being an asshole, and also maybe hoping to see more, Rozanov drops his hand and gives Hollander a once over. Hes blushing now and piling a shirt and pair of trousers into his arms. "You could just knock, like a normal person." "Is my room too, Hollander," he says, temper rising at the notion. "I know that, but still. Ease up, eh?" "Easel up, eh?" Rozanov mocks his accent back and makes his way over to his side of the room. Hollander just huffs and with a final survey of his bed, he finds a white pair of socks and makes a beeline for their shared washroom. "I'm going to get dressed in the washroom, now." “Good job, Hollander,” Rozanov calls after him. “Here is gold star for you.” When the sound of water starts in the bathroom, probably Hollander brushing his teeth or shaving his non existent facial hair, Ilya takes off his own hoodie. His fingers dig into the dark green material and he pulls it over his head and tosses it down onto the floor beside his bed. Next he tugs off his shirt, a simple t-shirt, white and featuring a Canadian band he liked as a kid, Billy Talent. Something he listened to a lot on his walkman, enjoying the way the English rolled around in his mind. He rubs his rough hands down the center of his torso, up and down the planes of skin and then he thinks... Maybe, perhaps, Hollander could do with a taste of his own medicine. Rozanov would be lying if he claimed he hadn’t imagined it before. Hollander flustered and pink, probably caught off guard. Hollander looking at him like that. The sight of him in a towel alone is enough to wind something tight and aching in Rozanov’s gut. If Hollander pushed--if he teased-- Preferably beneath him. The bathroom door opens. Hollander steps back into the room, fully dressed now, hair neatly combed. He stops short when he sees Rozanov shirtless on his bed. “Why are you undressed?” Hollander asks. “You just gave me shit about that. Like, two minutes ago.” He smells like mint and coconut and Rozanov hates that he knows that. Rozanov pulls his hand from his abdomen which has by now trailed far lower than he intended, "Is nothing. Leave me alone, Hollander." Brown eyes fall to where Ilyas hips sit in his jeans and he catches onto Hollanders eyes to let him know hes been caught. "Okay," is all he says, and settles into his bed. The next evening, Rozanov waits in their room. He knows that Hollander is supposed to be back from an extra hockey practise shortly. And he also knows that he'll be filled with adrenaline, his hair and skin damp with sweat. Thinking about it has him half hard in his trousers already. Eagerly, he shimmies out of them until theyre pooled around his ankles and he unbuttons his shirt with trembling fingers. The shirt finds its way to the floor. In only his white boxers and socks, he sits up on the edge of his bed. From his nightstand, he takes out a magazine he keeps burried under a pile of nonsense school work.
- Part 7 of heated rivalry: explicit collection
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 1,589
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 2 versions
- AO3:
- #76965581
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Ilya tries to soft-launch the idea of retirement to Shane. Or: “Don’t have panic attack,” he starts with a squeeze of his fingers around his, which is probably a bad place to do that, the starting. He makes an effort to speak faster, “After we win Cup, I quit.” There. “Quit what?” Shane searches his eyes, bouncing between left and right and back. Ilya can’t help but laugh at his husband, as if the concept of ‘quitting’ and ‘hockey’ in the same sentence has never occurred to him before. It probably hasn’t. While he takes a deep inhale, Ilya adjusts his hold on the bag of ice on his angry, swollen knee that is in the middle of a suicide mission in protest of Ilya playing a professional sport in his late thirties. “Hockey.”
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 22,545
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76945421
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I could be the one, or your new addiction it’s all in my head but I want non-fiction Ilya said Shane was bad at sexting. Shane, never one to back down from a challenge, decides to prove him wrong.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 3,260
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76951271
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say the magic words by thesleepyskipper
Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid, Heated Rivalry (TV)
2026-01-02
“Come here.” It was impossible for Shane to deny a single one of Ilya’s commands. “Get on the bed.” Ilya edges Shane within an inch of his life and Shane has an accidental slip of the tongue as a result (in the best possible way).
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 3,090
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76952971
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Shane does a photoshoot for an athletic magazine. Ilya is not in fact okay about it.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 6,533
- Chapters:
- 2/2
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76312196
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Surrender, take my crucifix by DaughterofLegends
Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid, Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers | Heated Rivalry - All Media Types
2026-01-02
Prince Ilya of the Rozanov Empire and Shane Hollander, son of the First Minister of the Council of Vampire Hunters, have been playing a dangerous game ever since stumbling upon each other at an abandoned citadel bordering their lands several years ago. And maybe while the first few attempts to kill each other, as expected by their respective nations, were real, now . . . it looks less like attempts on each other's lives and a lot more like foreplay to earn Shane's submission. -- Sacrilegious and Kinky Vampire/Vampire Hunter AU (no spoilers) Happy ending!
- Part 1 of Fighting Puritanism, one smutty Hollanov AU at a time
- Part 1 of weep for the damned, for their love is sweet upon the tongue
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 7,112
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76959646
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Shane hires a sex worker to figure out if he likes men. Spoiler: He is not only gay, but he also falls in love with the sex worker.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 7,881
- Chapters:
- 7/7
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76898651
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Feels So Good When You're In It (My Heart's On Fire) by Chaoticity
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2026-01-02
This is exactly what Ilya needed. He couldn’t help himself, really. His boyfriend’s lithe, soft body was so malleable in his hands. The feeling of control surged through his core, but at the same time, a spark of something blinding white and beautiful raced through him even faster: reverence. OR: a somno Hollanov fic (everyone cheered)
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 4,056
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76911086
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“Il—y-ah!” Ilya let out a soft chuckle. “I know,” Ilya breathed. “Come for me, Hollander. Be a good boy and come.” Shane’s eyes rolled back at the words, lashes fluttering. His entire body went rigid for a moment—then his orgasm hit like a fucking tidal wave. The suite was dark except for the faint glow of the city through the half-drawn curtains. They’d been at it for hours—at least that’s what Shane thinks, he couldn’t tell at this point. It began as slow, deliberate teasing that had started in the shower after the game and eventually migrated to the king-sized bed. Ilya had taken his time, working Shane open with his fingers and tongue until Shane was a begging, writhing mess. He’d already come three times—once on Ilya’s tongue, once riding three of Ilya’s fingers, and once just from Ilya stroking him slow and merciless while whispering filthy praise in his ear. Each orgasm had left Shane more sensitive, more undone, until he was trembling all over, skin flushed hot, cock half-hard again and leaking like a faucet, despite how spent he felt. Now Shane was on his back in the middle of the bed, legs spread wide, knees bent and hooked over Ilya’s hips. Sweat cooled on his chest; his hair stuck to his forehead. He was breathing fast, little hitched breaths, eyes glassy and fixed on Ilya like he was both terrified and desperate for what came next. Ilya knelt between his thighs, stroking himself slowly, slick with lube and Shane’s earlier release. He leaned down, braced one hand beside Shane’s head, and brushed a thumb across Shane’s wet lower lip. “You sure?” Ilya asked, voice low and rough, but gentle. “You’re already shaking, malysh. We can stop.” Shane shook his head immediately, eyes going wide and even more glassy as if he were about to cry, which, he probably was. “No—no, please. Want you inside me. Need it.” He whined with the most adorable pout playing on his bottom lip. Ilya’s jaw flexed. He could see how close to the edge Shane already was—how every touch made him flinch and gasp, how his thighs trembled against Ilya’s sides. But the plea in Shane’s voice was unmistakable. “Okay,” Ilya murmured. He lined himself up carefully, nudging just the head in. “Breathe for me. Slow.” Shane tried. He really did. But the second Ilya started pushing in—slow, relentless pressure— Shane’s whole body jerked. A broken whine tore out of him, high and overwhelmed. His hands flew to Ilya’s shoulders, nails digging in hard. “Fuck—” “I know,” Ilya soothed, stopping halfway, letting Shane adjust. “I know it’s a lot. You’re doing so good for me.. Just breathe.” Shane’s legs shook harder, heels digging into the mattress. Tears slipped down his temples into his hair. He squirmed, hips twitching like he couldn’t decide whether to push down or pull away. “Ilya—” “Shh. Look at me.” Ilya waited until Shane’s watery eyes met his. “If you need to stop, just tell me, Shane. You’re doing so good.” Shane nodded frantically, another tear falling. “Want it. Please move.” Ilya did—slow, careful thrusts at first, sinking deeper inch by inch until he was fully seated. Shane’s back arched off the bed instantly, mouth open on a silent cry. His whole body trembled violently, thighs clamping around Ilya’s hips. “Fuck—fuck—Ilya—” “There you go,” Ilya whispered, starting a gentle rhythm. “Such a good boy..” Shane whined so loud at that Ilya thought he was going to have to put his hand over his mouth. Every drag of Ilya’s cock over his oversensitive prostate made Shane sob dryly. He couldn’t stop moving—hips rolling, back bowing, hands scrabbling at Ilya’s back like he was trying to anchor himself. Tears streamed freely now, not from pain but from pure overload. “OhmyfuckingGod,” Shane choked out all in one breath, voice cracking. “Can’t—Ilya—“ “You can,” Ilya said firmly, keeping his pace steady, deep but not fast. He leaned down closer, forehead pressed to Shane’s. “Sound so good for me, дорогой. Such a good boy for me..” “Nnngh..” Was the only response Shane could give as his cheeks flushed the prettiest shade of pink as drool slipped out of the corner of his mouth. Shane’s legs wrapped tighter around Ilya’s waist, heels digging into the small of his back as if trying to pull him deeper even while his body tried to squirm away from the intensity. His cock—hard as can be with the head being dark red and wet—leaked steadily against his stomach, untouched. “Il—y-ah!” Ilya let out a soft chuckle. “I know,” Ilya breathed. “Come for me, Hollander. Be a good boy and come.” Shane’s eyes rolled back at the words, lashes fluttering. His entire body went rigid for a moment—then his orgasm hit like a fucking tidal wave. His entire body convulsed—violent, full-body shudders that made the bed creak. Ilya wrapped both arms around him—one tight across his back, the other sliding up to cradle the back of Shane’s head. He pulled Shane’s face down into the curve of his shoulder, tucking him close to hold him through it because he knew Shane would be absolutely spent after. His back arched impossibly under Ilya’s weight, hips grinding helplessly as wave after wave tore through him. Muffled, wrecked sobs vibrated against Ilya’s neck. His eyes rolled back again, fluttering shut, breath coming in sharp, desperate gasps.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 1,098
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76960816
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There’s a muffled shout from next door. And another. Hollander, Luca thinks, and then wishes he hadn’t been able to tell. Even his earbuds don’t completely drown out the noises, the steady thump of a headboard against the wall. Rozanov groans, followed by Hollander- Luca turns the volume up higher as he scrolls through TikToks his little sister has sent him. (or five times the Centaurs hear Shane and Ilya having sex, and one time no one hears)
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 2,827
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76962821
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If he hadn’t been tied to the bed, arms and legs secured with burgundy silk to each of the four posts, he was sure he would have been floating away. “Moy posyl'nyy,” my bellboy. ------ They have time, Ilya intends to use it. ** can be read as a stand-alone **
- Part 2 of Bellboy
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 2,108
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 2 versions
- AO3:
- #76963046
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Shane made a decision a long time ago: he wants hockey, needs it, and he wants it for as long as he can get it. He's going to play till he can’t anymore, and he’s going to do all the right things so no one can ever argue otherwise.
But also: he knows his body well, and he’s worried about an emerging pattern.
Or: the Shane abortion fic
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 10,478
- Chapters:
- 2/2
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76843136
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Should Have Known Better by Pickle_Chips
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2026-01-02
“But you should get tested, it’s important. I go every three months. Like the dentist. My dick is very healthy.” “Well…good, I guess.” Shane didn’t have a rebuttal. It was a good point actually. “Wait, you go to the dentist every three months? I thought it was supposed to be six?” “You cannot possibly be this boring, Hollander.” — Shane is tired, but he’s not missing a chance to see Ilya after a New York charity game. Canon compliant, deleted scene type short fluff. Shane wouldn’t miss a night with Ilya. He wouldn’t, and he wasn’t about to pretend he would. After all these years, he had made his peace with what his priorities were. He’d miss dinners, and parties, a movie premier (once), calling his mom, after game rituals, drinks with his teammates, well deserved ice-baths, and almost anything else (provided it didn’t effect his playing) for an hour with Rozanov. He wasn’t proud. But tonight… well he had missed about all of those. And Shane was frankly cranky. He had skipped lunch because, well. He had preferences for how he liked sex and hadn’t seen Rozanov in more than two months. Then he had played a brutal game against the Bears. It was a skirmish, for charity, so it shouldn’t matter but he hated the blood boiling feeling of watching Ilya across the ice, seemingly unphased by seeing him, crooked smile coming as easy as ever. He hated the taste of copper in his mouth as he took a bad fall in the fourth quarter. His hamstring hurt. His knee hurt. His ass hurt, and not in the fun way. He had watched his teammates commit to huge pasta dinners and he watched them go with more than a twinge of jealousy that came directly from his stomach. He took a shower, and he found himself fantasizing both about Ilya (a familiar kind of shame) and the take-out he was going to smash after (brand new.) He had basically stormed through Rozanov’s hotel room door about an hour ago. His hair was still damp from his after game shower. He thought he even registered a look of surprise on Rozanov’s face before slamming into him, and then slamming into the couch, all things hard and fast and crashing. He vaguely noted that this room wasn’t up to Ilya’s standards, maybe he had booked a second room just to fuck in. Fine. “Holla-oof,” Rozanov had greeted him, before being cut off by Shane basically tossing him against the flimsy Hilton wall. He looked as delicious as ever, Shane noted with more than a bit of envy and annoyance,he had also clearly just showered with low slung joggers and a black T-shirt Shane thought he must get tailored to cling to his biceps just so like that. Ilya had responded to his violence in kind, strong hands gripping Shane and lifting him off the ground, slamming him onto the hotel couch in a way that felt unstructurally sound. Shane bit his lip. “Out for revenge for your loss, Hollander? I can show you some moves, if you’re looking for a mentor.” Ilya had quipped, making quick work of Shane’s jeans. Shane didn’t have time for this, he grabbed him by the nape of his neck, pulling him down. Somewhere under the primal taking and shoving and kissing with teeth Shane felt a deep gratitude that Rozanov seemed fine with anything he threw at him. On the ice it was like he could read his mind in the worst way, blocking him, always one step ahead, one millimeter closer, but here Shane felt greedy for it. He pushed and Ilya was there to catch him. He bit and Ilya bit back, He didn’t need to explain, say “I want it rough tonight,” he didn’t need to say anything. It was choreography. It was a play. Rozanov knew his positions so well. Shane thought he was going to get exactly what he wanted, Rozanov, hard and fast and with minimal posible quips, until about 15 minutes ago when he had his leg hauled up on Rozanov’s shoulder, everything slicked and aligned and perfect and- “Wait,” Shane had said, reluctantly, “stop.” His leg was killing him, throbbing pains shooting through the muscle of his thigh. Somewhere in the back of his mind he registered how instantly Ilya stopped, no comments, no hesitation. Shane had been with girls who needed to be stopped five, six times before they got the hint. He wondered if this meant he had literally never stopped Rozanov before, and surmised that probably he was mostly saying “yes yes please” with every cell in his body instead. “Not good?” Ilya asked, sliding his hand from under Shane’s ass up his leg to his ankle, which rested on Ilya’s shoulder. “No,” winced Shane, “it’s uh, god it’s really good-“ Ilya smirked, Shane scowled, “My hamstring, I think I sprained it tonight.” Recognition flooded Rozanov’s face, and if he would allow himself the luxury of imagining it, Shane thought he saw a smidge of relief there too. Ilya surveyed him, laid out beneath him, raw and hard and breathless, and ran his hand up his inner thigh with a practiced ease. “Here?” He asked, rubbing his thumb down the tight muscle. Shane shivered, winced. “Yeah, but I could, turn - “ But Ilya was already moving away from him, perfect naked ass lit by the mediocre hotel lamps. “You need ice.” He called over his shoulder, “This terrible hotel is for business meetings. It has a fridge.” Shane blinked taking in the suite for the first time. It did look like a business hotel, they had crash landed on the living room portion but there was a small fridge where Ilya was heading, with a hot plate and a sad looking Mr. Coffee. “I don’t want ice,” Shane called, reaching for a forgotten couch pillow to cover his erection. Damn Ilya for seeming perfectly at ease this naked, coming back holding an ice pack and his cigarettes, dropping both on the hotel coffee table. He stole the pillow out of Shane’s hands and spread his legs. Shane could feel himself blushing. “You’re in a bad mood, Shane Hollander.” Ilya told him dryly as he gingerly moved Shane’s dick away from the cold and pressed the ice pack just right into Shane’s thigh. It actually felt much better, Shane could feel himself unclench. Ilya reached for his cigarettes but struggled stupidly trying to light them and still hold the ice pack against Shane’s thigh. Shane sighed, took his lighter, lit it for him. Ilya looked sincerely delighted by this, like he might even laugh. Shane scowled deeper. “What has crawled up your ass?” Rozanov asked, moving his leg to stretch it out in just the way you were always taught in sports medicine.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 2,906
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 2 versions
- AO3:
- #76915391
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"Can I tell you stuff that *is* fun?”
"Sure," Kip invites. "Like what?"
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Kip and Scott get to know what makes each other tick.- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 1,274
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76934116
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Instead of Shane, it is Ilya who suffers a concussion during the Boston-Montreal game in April 2017. Dazed and agitated, Ilya briefly starts speaking and responding only in Russian and the medics can’t calm him down. Luckily, Shane started studying Russian after Ilya spoke to him in Russian on the phone from Moscow. For no particular reason. Certainly not because he’s fallen in love with Ilya Rozanov.
In Montreal with lingering concussion symptoms, Ilya is advised not to fly home for a few days, and the hospital won’t release him without assurances that he has someone to stay with him until his symptoms improve. Luckily, Shane conveniently has a condo in Montreal no one knows about and a few days before he has to travel again.
But Ilya’s symptoms don’t resolve after a few days. Which is okay; Shane can handle it. He can take care of Ilya, study Russian, lead his team into the playoffs, and keep Ilya’s continued presence in Montreal a secret. He can do everything, no problem. He is Shane Hollander after all.
or
A whump fanfiction that is secretly a fix-it.
- Part 1 of Return-to-Play
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 49,003
- Chapters:
- 20/20
- Files:
- 9 versions
- AO3:
- #75757396
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setting in a honeymoon by unearthedlove
Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid, Heated Rivalry (TV)
2026-01-01
Ilya brings out two pairs of wings and says he wants them to dress up as the main characters from Ember & Ice. “You want us to dress up as who from what?” “Dane and Finn. They are sexy fairies from sexy book called Ember & Ice.” (Or: Shane and Ilya make a bet to decide who will pick their Halloween costume. It ends with interesting results.)
- Part 5 of future hollanov fics
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 6,356
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76880496
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“Say yes,” Ilya says, and he can hear the pleading quality of his tone, hoping that Hollander doesn’t notice. He can hear and feel the way Hollander breathes from Ilya’s throat, no doubt taking in his scent. Ilya hasn’t ever given much thought to his scent before now; omegas seem to enjoy it, yes, but he’s more conscious of it right now, because does Hollander enjoy it? It’s quiet, so quiet Ilya almost misses it, and yet so loud that it might as well be a shout in Ilya’s ears when Hollander mutters, “Yes.” Ilya feels a rush of endorphins flood him, a ringing in his ears of yes good fuck take—but he wills himself to remain calm, to not scare Hollander off. “Then come, omega,” Ilya hums, curling his fingers around Hollander’s nape possessively. “Let’s get you fucked.” OR Ilya's POV
- Part 2 of just this once
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 9,351
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76864771
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can you stay up all night? by huacheesecake
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2026-01-01
“I want a baby” Shane confessed, voice trembling, Ilya’s eyebrows scrunched together, and Shane’s omega, so sensitive from being bared open, completely raw, took that as rejection. Shane started to sob, uncontrollable tears flooding his vision as he was engulfed in Ilya’s scent, burning softly like cedarwood. Ilya pulled back, stroking Shane’s teary freckles, “Of course, we can my love” he said, “We can look at the options. There is surrogacy; however, is not very ethical. There is adoption-” “No” Shane whispered, “I want your baby. I wanna have your pups.” Or Shane really wants to have Ilya's baby. He's also really horny.
- Part 1 of thirty-four, thirty-five
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 5,841
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76854926