1201 – 1220 of 1,556 Works in Shane Hollander Loves Ilya Rozanov
- Shane Hollander Loves Ilya Rozanov ×
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When the Time Comes by Rivulet027
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2026-01-02
Ilya and Shane discuss moving Ilya's niece to Ottawa.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 1,142
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76964036
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Shane Hollander and his quirks lived through a lot. And Ilya is being great about it. This is a story insight into Shane's quirks, how he deals with them and how is being loved by Ilya about it.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 2,936
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76954606
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you're still young, that's your fault by residentrookie
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2026-01-02
Shane just might be the world's most enthusiastic hockey dad, but when Ilya points out their son might not be enjoying the sport as much as Shane thought, he struggles to reevaluate his expectations.
- Part 1 of the hollander-rozanov family
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 7,345
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76955391
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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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A missing scene set during Episode 6 of Heated Rivalry, exploring the quiet moments after Shane’s parents learn about his relationship with Ilya—and the foundation of the bond that will grow between Ilya and the Hollanders.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 1,200
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76958491
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Shane takes care of Ilya after he starts a fight in his most recent game and discovers that the reason Ilya starts the fight is just because he’s a big softie Or, Ilya gets hurt being overprotective of Luca
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 1,062
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76963161
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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 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
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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
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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
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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
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“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
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“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
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“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
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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
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“You don’t…?” Rozanov trails off. “You don’t remember?” “Nope.” Shane says, popping the ‘p’ sound. “Amnesia. Oh my god, when I woke up, Rozanov, I thought we were filming that commercial. Do you remember it? Apparently it was a long time ago but to me it’s today. Fucking crazy.” or, after Shane's injury he wakes up with no memories of his hockey career or of his relationship with Ilya.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 12,807
- Chapters:
- 3/3
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76145091
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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
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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
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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