1421 – 1440 of 1,829 Works in Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander
- Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander ×
-
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
-
Shane and Ilya go grocery shopping so they can make borscht. That's it, that's the fic. “No, no, fresh dill, fresh dill, Hollander. Put that back.” Ilya swats at the offending dried dill - who would dry dill? - in Shane’s hand, which had been coming dangerously close to the basket Ilya is currently carrying. “You want to make borscht you need fresh dill.” “Alright, fresh. Got it.” Shane’s mouth tips up at the corner, and Ilya knows he is not angry. This was his idea, after all – he had asked Ilya what he misses from home, and Ilya had struggled to come up with anything. Eventually, after what felt like hours, he had only been able to give the names of a few dishes. And Shane, ever attentive, and endlessly obsessive, has apparently decided that Ilya cannot go another day without borscht. So here they are. In a supermarket. Together. This, too, had been a debate, as most things in their lives are. They could have arranged for a delivery, but Ilya had been sure some of the ingredients would be wrong, replaced by people who did not know the difference between beets and sweet potatoes. Then Ilya had said that he would go alone, because he knew what to get. This, Shane had argued, defeated the purpose, because then Shane would not know what to get if he wanted to make it again and Ilya wasn’t around to come shopping. The solution then is this - the two of them in a supermarket together, shopping together, and pretending that they are just friends. They’re used to that, at least. Pretending. Not normally so public, like this, but pretending is not difficult for them, now. It’s in the way they angle their bodies, in the way they don’t let their fingers brush as Shane hands Ilya beets for inspection, each one having to be approved before it goes into the basket. Even with the charity slowly finding its legs, there are boundaries that can’t be crossed, even here. It helps that Ilya looks particularly grumpy. He hates Canadian supermarkets, with their bright lights and their music, their overly apologetic customers who apologise at the mere potential of bumping into someone nearby. He has said sorry more times today than he thinks he has ever before in his life maybe. And it makes Shane smile every time, which is the only reason Ilya is not going completely insane. They’re in the dairy aisle, arguing over what constitutes good sour cream - Shane has apparently decided he is now an advocate for the Canadian dairy farmers - when a shy voice says, “Excuse me,” drawing both of their attentions. Before them is a group of three boys, all around ten, Ilya imagines. The one who had apparently spoken is bright red, and Ilya’s expression softens as he spots the phone clutched in the boy’s hands. “You want photo, yes?” The boys nod, eager, and apparently relieved that they hadn’t had to ask aloud. Shane glances at Ilya, and then at the boys, and then back again. Ilya pays it no mind - the charity, again, is their cover, is it not? “Okay, you can have photo. But on one condition.” Shane looks positively alarmed now, and it has Ilya biting back a wider smile as one of the boys asks, nervously, “What?” “You must never cheer for Metros ever again, yes? They are terrible team, with very bad captain.” The boys stare at him for a moment, and then dissolve into giggles, shoving at each other as they step forward to crowd around Ilya and Shane. An adult - presumably a parent - steps forwards to rescue the boy’s phone. Ilya arranges himself on the other side of the boys, opposite to Shane - barely in touching distance. They look like nothing more than two people who happen to know each other through hockey. Ilya says to the group, “Say Centaurs rule!” and grins at the noise Shane makes. It’s all over fairly quickly, the parent thanking them profusely, Ilya reaching out to high five all of the boys, and then they’re on their own again - more or less. Shane grabs a sour cream, shoving it into the basket, and says, “You’re really good with kids.” It catches Ilya by surprise - so much so that he doesn’t even bother beginning the argument again, simply following Shane to the next aisle. “Is easy to be good with kids. Say things that make them laugh and then do what they ask. You are not good with kids?” “I’m alright with kids.” Shane glances back at him, adding loose bits to their basket. They have all they need for the borscht anyway, now. “I don’t know how to talk to them, I guess. Hayden always says I talk to his kids like they’re tiny adults.” “This is because Pike is idiot with four children who does not know how to -” “Ilya.” “Shane.” They check out in relative silence, after that, loading the car. Ilya slides into the passenger side and slides his hand straight into Shane’s, as though deprived of the feeling. He has been, and if the way Shane squeezes his hand back is any indication, he feels the same. It sets something in Ilya at ease, the way it always does when he is reminded that whatever he feels for Shane, whatever big something sits in his chest is reciprocated, and Shane feels it too. They don’t talk about kids again, or the picture. They discuss stats, instead, whose team is looking better, who has more of a shot at the cup this year. They both know it won’t be the Centaurs, but it’s nice to argue anyway, as though they are on teams of equal footing. This carries through their unloading of the car, their putting away of all of the things not required for borscht. And then all the ingredients are laid out, and Ilya is summarily banished to the other side of the island. Shane is learning, he insists. He will learn. Ilya lets him peel one beet, watching with a smile, before he says, “You need gloves.” “What?” Shane looks up with pink fingertips, expression baffled. “What do I need gloves for?” “Beets.” “The beets I’m peeling now?” Shane’s eyebrows pull together in an expression Ilya adores, one that makes him laugh.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 1,676
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 2 versions
- AO3:
- #76937821
-
5 times Ilya Rozanov ruined his Shane Hollander’s “good boy” image & the 1 time he does it himself.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 9,997
- Chapters:
- 6/6
- Files:
- 3 versions
- AO3:
- #76450746
-
Scott knows things will change when he kisses Kip on the ice.
What he doesn't expect is Ilya Rozanov, cigarette in hand, admitting that they might have something in common.
OR: The conversation with Ilya Rozanov after Scott wins MVP.
- Part 1 of My Moon
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 1,043
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76958231
-
Love You in the Dark by Anonymous
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2026-01-02
Shane Hollander returns from his rendezvous with Rozanov wearing a gutted expression and a shirt that isn’t his.
OR: Hayden Pike finds out the truth. Sort of.
A/N: Title from the Adele song.
- Part 2 of My Moon
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 858
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76964566
-
“Oh my god,” the intruder says, voice coming faster and higher-pitched. “Shane, what the fuck? Oh my god.” “Eeleeyah, come to my cottage,” Ilya mocks, voice muffled by Shane’s skin. “Don’t go to Russia. Come to my house instead. Is so private. No one will know…we will be completely alone. Together.” “Oh my god, is that Ilya Rozanov?” the intruder yelps like he's about to start hyperventilating. “Why is Ilya Rozanov half-naked in our kitchen, Shane?” “Okay, I know how this looks,” Shane tells Ilya, “But I mean, technically, we are still alone. Together.” or, At the cottage, Shane and Ilya meet eighteen year old Shane Hollander. This is really only a surprise for one of them. Everyone handles it as well as can be expected.
- Part 3 of my heated rivalry anon fics
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 9,618
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 4 versions
- AO3:
- #76957611
-
Once outside, he leaned forward and put his hand against the cold stone wall. His phone was still to his ear, the message still recording. “Ilya. Please. Please. I can’t do this. I don’t know what to do. Please. You can’t be dead.” His voice broke on the word. “I love you. I love you so much. More than anything. I need to hear your voice. I need you to…I need you…I need you…fuck. Please Ilya, please.” Shane took the phone away from his ear and held it between both hands as though he were praying. He realized he was on the floor and didn’t know how he got there. He was crying. He was fairly certain he was hyperventilating. His brain was desperately trying to grab at anything. Any thread of logic. Any idea of what to do next. I have to see him. Yes. That made sense. Shane needed to get to Tampa. Now. He would go there. He would find Ilya. Ilya would be fine. They would be together. He would see him. Tell him how much he loved him. He had to go. He had to go now. *** OR: What if Ilya lost his phone during the emergency landing, Shane couldn't reach him, he panicked, and chartered a plane to Tampa to find him instead...
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 12,838
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76841241
-
“Once upon a time,” Ilya couldn’t believe he was actually doing this, “an old man and his wife had no bread. They scraped the last flour from the corners of their house and made a round bun. And they called him Kolobok.” “Kolo—” “Ko-lo-bok,” Ilya repeated. “It sounds cute,” Shane said. “Can I call you that?” “Only after I retire and gain weight,” Ilya said.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 1,390
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76874051
-
“Well,” Ilya said eventually, voice low and thoughtful. “Your mother did not murder me. I think this is success.” Shane huffed a quiet laugh before he could stop himself. “High bar.” -or- Shane’s coming-out goes wrong but he and Ilya survive. Later, they argue over who fell in love first. Spoiler: things get a little heated.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 1,785
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76819051
-
When The Ice Breaks by LeviosaWitch
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2026-01-01
Shane hides a career ending injury from Ilya for months, terrified of disappointment and loss. When his body gives out, so does his carefully constructed facade. or Shane is stubborn and doesn't want Ilya to worry.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 32,618
- Chapters:
- 3/3
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76506186
-
An angry Montreal fan corners Shane at a bar after the events of the Long Game. Protective Ilya, and mild J.J bashing cause fuck that guy
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 4,723
- Chapters:
- 2/2
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #75387331
-
Third Round Draft Pick by arenasoundsystem (cutflowersounds)
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2026-01-01
"Mister Rozanov," the Centaurs' GM says, standing and holding out his hand for Ilya to shake. "Welcome to Ottawa." (Or: When the Centaurs play their first game on Boston ice, half the fans in the crowd are wearing number 81.)
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 1,995
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76790736
-
Ilya Rozanov is not okay, and he’s been hiding it for too long. One night in May changes everything and Shane is forced to face the cost of loving someone who is hurting. Luckily Hayden and his mom help him along the way. Or Ilya Rozanov tries to kill himself
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 2,924
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76830531
-
Members of both teams start to play detective with their captains odd behavior.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 6,128
- Chapters:
- 3/3
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #75785791
-
Shane Hollander learns Russian in secret, eventually it’s not a secret anymore. Shane Hollander was anything but a slacker. He took everything in his life seriously. He woke up at 5am for his morning run, then he’d spend half an hour in his home gym before showering, eating a well balanced breakfast, and heading to the rink for whatever the team had planned that day. He took his routine seriously, and in turn, everything else seemed to fall into place. He was fast, on his feet and on the ice. He was strong, to the point where he could effortlessly pin some of the biggest guys in the league to the boards and slip the puck off their stick and onto his own. He even managed to finish his daily sudoku in about 5 minutes every day. He took to French like a fish took to water, that’s why he was so frustrated when he first started picking up phrases in Russian. He couldn’t manage to wrap his mind around the language at first, couldn’t make his mouth move correctly to get it just right. He spent hours staring at himself in the mirror trying to find the right way to move his mouth for different words, recording his own attempts and comparing it to the audio guide on the app he’d downloaded. He’s not sure why he started learning Russian, maybe it was to get an edge over Rozanov, to know what he would mutter on the ice, or whisper against his neck as he pushed inside of him. Or maybe it was because he had two teammates who spoke Russian and he was the captain, he couldn’t have his teammates feeling ostracized, could he? (They had little to nothing to do with his decision, but he refuses to acknowledge that). He had come a far way from where he was the first year, where he used to stumble and trip over the pronunciations, he now glided through them perfectly, at least that’s what the teacher he had hired around year 2 said. He felt confident he could carry conversations now, banter back and forth with his friends. He doesn’t know for sure, because the only person on the planet that knows about his Russian hobby is his teacher, Tonya. They had just finished their session for this week, he always felt strange after a session, a weird ball of guilt and shame welling up in the pit of his stomach he didn’t fully understand. It might have something to do with the Russian currently texting him, but he tried to block that out. Lily: Are your legs still shaking from last time? You skate like baby deer tonight. He rolled his eyes before typing his response Jane: Fuck yourself, I was skating fine. He was, it wasn’t his best night, and it pains him to admit it, but he’ll play better on Friday and that’s all that matters. He still scored a goal and got an assist. Lily: You will be shaking again in a week, yes? ;) Jane: Someone’s full of themselves. And he knew the second he sent it, he had walked right into a trap, he expected the response before he got it Lily: You can be full of me too. Shane turned his phone off and felt the flush creep up his cheeks. He should be used to the comments by now, but he’s not. And it’s only gotten worse since he’s started learning the others native tongue. All the whispered comments he makes, the words grazing his skin as he takes him apart. Sometimes he feels guilty for not telling him he knows what he’s saying, and then Rozanov calls him beautiful again and his brain shuts off. Before he’d thought whatever he was saying would be dirty, so filthy that Shane wouldn’t even want to know, and there are plenty of dirty things that have tumbled out in Russian, but mostly it’s soft praise ‘you’re so gorgeous’, ‘your little noises are beautiful’, ‘my pretty boy’. It might be one of the reasons he still refuses to tell him he knows, because what if he stops saying them? He puts all his things back where they belong, his Russian language book goes back in the bottom drawer, stuffed under two hockey biographies he knows nobody will care to read if they end up snooping, and his notebook filled with phrases, tips and notes gets put back in a bag that sits on the floor beside his desk, filled with random papers and forms. As he walks around his house that evening he’s practicing what they had went over in his lesson, wrapping his tongue around the words until they feel perfect before moving on to the next. Maybe he’ll finally work up the courage to tell his Russian teammates soon, then they could talk to him without trying to grasp the correct words after a particularly hard game, or a gruelling workout. Probably not, but it would be nice. ==== He was making an early lunch for himself before an afternoon practice when he stubbed his toe on the island, it happened without him even noticing at first. He had been going over some of his notes, and was practicing a few phrases he had heard in a post game interview with a Russian goalie on Washington’s team. So it wasn’t that surprising when he muttered a quiet “fuck” in Russian. He was actually a little proud, curse words had been one of the first things he learned, before he fully committed to his secret lessons, he would listen to certain words Rozanov would say, wether it was a whispered praise just for Shane’s ears, or a frustrated exclamation during a game, he would file it away and repeat it in his head until he got somewhere he could search it up. Rozanov’s favourite seemed to be “fuck”. Which Shane understood, it sounded rough, and aggressive, it felt dull in his mouth whenever he had practiced, different to English cursing. Not to mention it worked for most settings the Russian would curse in. Shane hadn’t thought twice about his slip up, just rubbed his foot and went on about fishing up his rice and chicken before heading out for practice. Nobody was around to hear him, it was nothing.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 5,347
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76832806
-
the law of loving others by xiaomaomii
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2026-01-01
There are footsteps outside, a nurse probably, so Ilya readies himself for goodbye. It’s too soon. Too soon. How am I meant to leave him here? Bruised, without wrapping him up in that navy weighted blanket he likes. Without feeding him his stupid, regimented rabbit diet and his ginger ale? Without teasing him about his neatness habits and about the singular pass he missed in that game we played against each other years ago? Without kissing him all over–his cheeks, his lips, his eyelids, across his chest, and the curve of his spine. His scapula, where his wings must be hiding. Angel Hollander. Boring Hollander. Beautiful Hollander. That’s all he is, beautiful. Ilya’s chest feels full to bursting. If his heart were a machine, it would destroy him, and then the world, with love. OR, Shane gets hurt on the ice. Ilya does not take it well. He thinks, and thinks, and thinks.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 2,837
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76835406
-
“I'm serious. We can’t just—what, you want us to dress up and wander into Times Square like idiots? To celebrate the New Year? In public?” “See?” Rozanov grins wider. “You already understand concept." “You are unbelievable.” “And you,” Rozanov counters, leaning in just enough to steal Shane’s attention again, “are very boring.” ---Shane and Ilya, in the middle of their will-they won't-they, ring in the New Year together.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 11,865
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 2 versions
- AO3:
- #76838441
-
A rundown of Ilya's inner thoughts during the spooning sex scene the day after they confess their love for each other. Ilya's overwhelmed by Shane's mere existence and the enormity of his love for Shane, but Shane keeps him tethered to reality, where he is loved and wanted in ways that he could've never imagined.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 2,669
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76836896
-
Ilya Rozanov wants to come out as Shane Hollander's boyfriend, and that means he needs to sacrifice his homeland, Russia. He brings Shane on a farewell tour of Moscow and comes face-to-face with more emotion than he bargained for. Excerpt: “I want to do something that means a lot to you, today,” Shane said. Ilya looked up at him over their breakfast. They had room service deliver kasha with blueberries and milk for Ilya, and fish and rice for Shane. They had made a little spread at the table in the hotel room, the gauzy curtains beside them making the view of Revolution Square look ghostly behind it. The tourism book was on the bed, bookmarked as before, but Shane wasn’t looking at it – he was searching Ilya’s eyes. “It means a lot that you are here.” “I know, and I am so excited to keep doing things on our list. But I want to make sure that you get a chance to just…live? I guess? To say goodbye to the things that make Russia home? You know, in case you can’t…” He trailed off, but Ilya heard the rest of the sentence in his head, in Shane’s voice. “In case you can’t…come back?”
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 3,057
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76840776
-
Stay a little longer, the world can wait outside. by khakii
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2026-01-01
That’s why it wasn’t right. They had been very clear when this started: no feelings, just fun. That was why they always left before the other woke up, and never mentioned it afterwards. But that day, Shane didn’t want to leave. He wanted to be selfish for once, to stay without running away. To curl up beside the other one and fall back asleep, to fool himself, even if only for a moment, into thinking that the fantasy he was living was real. So, thinking no one would ever find out, he did it.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 1,500
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76848236