141 – 160 of 348 Works in Soft Ilya Rozanov
- Soft Ilya Rozanov ×
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Only You Get to See Me Like This by Anonymous
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2026-03-10
“Cap needs to get laid more,” Drapeau muttered.
“Cap needs to get laid, period,” Comeau added.
“Dude, I bet he’s still a virgin.” Drapeau said with a snort. “You think he’s ever even seen a woman naked?”
A couple of players standing around them chuckled.
Shane felt his jaw tighten. He wanted to respond. Tell them off. Stand up for himself. But he couldn’t. Because there was some truth to what they were saying.
He did need to get laid more.
-----
Or, Shane Hollander hasn’t seen Ilya Rozanov in three months. Which means he hasn’t gotten laid in three months.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 9,268
- Chapters:
- 6/6
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #80817976
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dropping like flies by hollanov_1410
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2026-03-09
Shane came through the door with four cases of Pedialyte stacked in his arms. Ilya had asked him to pick up one on the way home. One. "Last time Niko had the flu, he liked the grape one best," Shane said, studying the cases with his brow furrowed. "But that was over a year ago. And his favorite Gatorade flavor right now is lemon-lime, so I figured it'd be safer just to get a variety pack—" Ilya stood beside him and watched him unload the cases. There were times—many times —when Ilya's feeling of endearment toward Shane was so overwhelming, so consuming, that the only way he could describe it was that he wanted to crawl inside his skin and live there. He settled for stepping in close and pressing a kiss to Shane's temple instead. Or, The flu sweeps through the Hollander–Rozanov household. Just as Shane thinks he's the last man standing, he goes down hard.
- Part 10 of Our House
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 7,036
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #80838261
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Slowly, the realization of what he is asking him to do sets in. “Shane,” he croaks, his voice breaking. I can’t hurt you. “Please,” Always so pretty when he begs. Even like this, all messed up and bloody. Ilya loves him more than life. “I don’t want anyone but you touching me." That finally did it. During the Boston vs. Montreal game, Marleau doesn't knock Shane out completely but still injures him. While a fight breaks out, Shane begs Ilya to help him, right there on the ice in front of the whole arena. Unfortunately, Ilya could never say no to him. [SECOND CHAPTER WITH REACTIONS NOW ADDED]
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 10,655
- Chapters:
- 2/2
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #79985826
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Question: Do you have nicknames for each other?
1 point: No, and I wish we did. 2 points: No, but I don’t really like nicknames, anyways. 3 points: Yes, he’s my shnookums and I’m his pookie-bear!
“What is… shnookums?” Ilya muttered. “And what is this type of bear?”On his flight to the cottage, Ilya completes Cosmopolitan’s “Situationship or Relationship” quiz for him and Shane.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 4,042
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #80691451
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if you ever try to leave me again by Anonymous
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2026-03-04
Shane heard a strangled shout tear free from his mouth, and then his body was moving without his brain’s input. He flew across the ice, ripping his gloves off and reaching for Ilya’s throat. He wrapped his fingers around the warm skin, feeling the flow of blood pulse harder with each beat of Ilya’s heart. His eyes raced across Ilya’s face, desperately looking for a sign that his boyfriend was still with him. Ilya’s eyes were wide and glazed, staring past Shane instead of at him. His face was losing color rapidly, turning a sickly shade of white that mirrored the ice beneath him. His mouth was open, loose and slack, mouthguard still jammed into his upper jaw. Shane watched in terror as Ilya grew limper in his arms.
——————————————————
During a Boston-Montreal game, Ilya's neck is cut by a skate, and Shane is forced to witness the love of his life bleeding out on the ice in front of him. All of the plans they have made seem to be slipping away before his eyes, right when they were so close to finalizing Ilya's transfer to Ottawa. As they race against the clock to save Ilya's life, Shane reckons with the secrets they have been forced to keep and fears that they might never get to live their truth out in the open.- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 56,772
- Chapters:
- 10/10
- Files:
- 2 versions
- AO3:
- #78629256
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Teary eyes try to focus as his hands reach to easily pick up his pajamas and two strong, warm arms ease around his waist. These touches aren’t unwelcomed, never are they unwelcomed. Shane eases back into his husband as his mind tries to wrap around the notion that Ilya always knows. He just knows when Shane’s day has been ‘too much.’
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 1,341
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #80485191
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Ilya Rozanov was an asshole. Everybody knew this. Sometimes, though, secretly, he wasn't.
Or, 4 times strangers were kind to one another, plus a few times Ilya Rozanov started publicly bashing bigots online.
- Part 2 of Ilya Rozanov, through the eyes of others
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 8,222
- Chapters:
- 2/2
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #80202061
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Entering an actual relationship near the very beginning of when they first meet, Shane is still paranoid about pictures of them getting shared so Ilya buys him a Polaroid camera instead to document their relationship all the way back from 2012. The only problem is that he never intended for Yuna to find the album.
---
“I know we can’t have pictures of each other, but I still want them,” he confessed, still fiddling with Shane’s hair for his own comfort. “And I thought maybe...if they were just ours, you might be okay with it.”Shane stayed silent, eyes glancing between his tense expression and the bag as he pulled out a Polaroid camera. His thumb was gripping it so hard he thought it might crack, his anxiety manifesting physically.
“Ilya...” He paused, finally sitting up a bit more. Enough that Ilya had no choice but to let his hand fall away from his hair or else, it would seem too clingy.
“Is fine, if you don’t like idea,” he clarified, even though the thought of being rejected terrified him more than he could possibly express. “Was just a thought—”
“I like it,” Shane interjected before he could spin himself into a tizzy he would deny ever feeling in the first place.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 5,192
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #80391666
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“Have you talked to Scott Hunter?”
“No—”
“I did. Briefly, after MLH Awards in June.”
“And… what did he say?”
“Hey,” Scott says, and when Ilya looks up at him he’s watching him with a softer, concerned expression. “Are you okay?”
------
Ilya wants to know how to do the hard thing- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 2,039
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #80320891
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During their annual two weeks at the cottage, Shane and Ilya both fall ill (and claim the other is responsible for it) resulting in two days of coughing and chugging electrolytes while neither of them admit how bad they feel. Even though he attempts to hide it, Yuna can hear her son coughing over the phone and decides to go check on him during his yearly 'silent retreat', entirely unaware that he had company. Or that his company came in the shape of Ilya Rozanov.
---
Even with the blinds pulled closed to keep the lights out she could still see Ilya Rozanov in her son’s bed; arms wrapped around him tightly. They looked asleep. Not just napping but deeply unconscious.Yuna supposed that was the effect of the half empty bottle of Nyquil on the nightstand.
She swallowed harshly, stepping closer to the bed. Her son was tucked against Ilya, face buried against his neck as a source of warmth and comfort. “Shane...” she whispered, shaking him gently. “Shane.”
He didn’t stir, breaths steady as he slept like a rock. Her eyebrows knitted together, gaze shifting to Ilya, who had his jaw resting on top of Shane’s head, one of his hands under his shirt to feel his skin against his palm.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 8,182
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #80325551
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throw a brick right into that stained glass by whatareyoulookingfor
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2026-02-25
When he returned he noticed that Ilya had already changed the sheets and was sitting on one side of the bed, staring at the wall. “You okay?” Shane asked. “Yes,” Ilya said. He sounded distracted. “Okay…” Shane didn’t buy it. Why does Ilya take longer than usual in the bathroom post-sex? Why is he just staring at the wall after he's changed the sheets? This Shane would never just roll over and go to sleep. or: A fix-it scene for after Fabian's show.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 3,941
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #80217861
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Shane meets the highly acclaimed Ilya Rozanov aka the text man, the weed man, and the fuck man.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 8,069
- Chapters:
- 2/2
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76571006
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When Shane suspects Ilya has the flu but he's away for a game, he calls upon his mother to make sure Ilya is well taken care of in his absence. ___ “I’m sorry I thought you were mama,” Ilya quickly said on top of her words, still unwilling to meet her eye. So this was where the majority of the silence stemmed from, then. Shame. She immediately sat back down, plate forgotten. Even with his head angled downwards, she did not miss the red flush on his cheeks and chin. YUNA “Hey, sweetheart. Isn’t the game beginning in two hours? What’s up?” Yuna huffed quietly into the receiver of her phone, amused, as she watched David mercilessly throw snow off of the roof of their car with a shovel. He caught her watching through the kitchen window, sent her a gloved thumbs-up, and continued to sweep it from the windshield as if he had a vendetta against the wintertime. “Mom— hi,” Shane’s voice was tinny and obscured on the other line, as it always was whenever he was so far away, but this time even more-so when combined with the noise of what must have been the locker room. Shane rarely ever called this soon before a game; his priorities often more-so aligned with keeping his teammates in check and completing pre- game interviews, not placating his nervous mother. Something was amiss, and she had a nagging feeling it was serious. “Is something wrong?” She asked, unable to contain it. She heard him sigh. That was never a good start. Somewhere near him, a teammate shrieked something incoherent. But she patiently waited him out as he tried to find the words. “It’s— Lily,” he finally said, clearly frustrated. Her heart ached. She hated that he needed to be so careful with his words when around anyone he knew personally. She hated that he couldn’t be open and honest and carefree. She hated that all of the men he surrounded himself with got to talk openly about their wives and girlfriends and children, and he was relegated to a code- word like an obsessive middle schooler. But she steeled that anger for another time. “She’s sick, I think. Since I’m all the way over here for another twenty-four hours at least, I was hoping you might be able to… check up on her.” The ‘her’ was strained. Yuna nodded gratuitously, despite the fact that her son couldn’t see her. “Of course. Of course I will. Do you know specifically what’s wrong?” “Flu, I think. H—she won’t tell me. She mentioned not feeling well a few hours ago, and I haven’t heard anything since,” then, quieter, more nervous: “she would never ask for help, but I know she needs it. She wouldn’t have mentioned anything if it wasn’t bad.” Yuna Hollander did not know her son’s boyfriend quite well just yet. He had only recently fully transitioned to living in Ottawa, and therefore only just becoming a common occurrence in their lives— perhaps even more common than her own son. She had had him over plenty of times with Shane by his side, but only a handful of times by himself: almost always to watch Shane’s games. While so much was obscured in shrouded ambiguity, though, she did know one thing for certain: that Ilya Rozanov seemed to be a very stubborn man. And that Shane himself would never reach out, asking for her help on his behalf, if he didn’t think he needed it. “I’ll be there in thirty minutes,” she decided. “I’ll send you updates, but focus on the game for now, okay?” Shane snorted. “Yeah, yeah. Text me, please.” “Of course, honey. I love you.” “Love you too.” ____ Ilya’s new-construction mansion in Ottawa, purchased with Yuna’s amateur but enthusiastic real-estate guidance, was imposing beneath the newly-fallen snow: large and dark and glassy. David had managed to free Yuna’s car by the time she’d gathered a bag of groceries and medication, and she was not particularly cautious on her speedy drive over. She did not bother with knocking. There was no doorbell, and the house was sprawling; she doubted Ilya would notice if she walked right in if he was in one of the back bedrooms. She put in the code Shane had given her and noisy kicked off her shoes to announce her presence, but it sparked no reaction from the silent, open-floor living space. She placed her shopping bags on the counter and continued down the hall, knocking on the large door she remembered leading to the master bedroom when she had last been given a tour by the realtor, months ago. “Ilya? It’s Yuna,” she called, forcefully. There was no answer. Suddenly nervous, her hand shook, just barely, on the handle. “I’m coming in.” The room was dark, save for the meager light coming from a lamp on the dresser. It smelled stale and musky, like a teenage boy’s room when left unattended and uncleaned for too long. It was not messy, though— but eerily empty, as though nobody lived there. No clothing, no photos, no decorations besides the essential bedroom furniture. The only sign of life was a curled-up lump on the bed, facing away from the door. Yuna walked over, crouching down beside the bed near Ilya’s sleeping face. His expression, though slack and peaceful, was marred by the pallor of his skin and the unsettling, uneven pattern of his breathing. She slowly reached up to comb a hand through his hair, and nearly yanked her fingers back when she found it soaking wet, heat radiating from his skull. When she had first become a mother, pregnant with Shane, she was mortified that she would have to do things like this: take care of gross, feverish bodies, change diapers. But when she held him in her arms for the first time, it was as though his body became an extension of hers, and that fear dissipated into only small queasiness during episodes of sickness. Though Ilya was not hers by nature, she felt that same unyielding courage in the face of just how gross his damp, sticky skin felt. She quickly yanked the mound of blankets and quilts atop him down to his hips to cool him down, pressing a hand to his back. His tee-shirt was soaked through with sweat. When she then felt his neck, the temperature there was no better. “Ilya,” Yuna, though a calm person in most situations, felt the tightening in her voice. Why hadn’t he woken up by now, with all of this prodding? His skin was hotter than she’d ever felt
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 5,579
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #80197161
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Shane desperately needs a job and applies to be a House Omega, not realizing it is for a member of the Russian mob.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 29,529
- Chapters:
- 20/20
- Files:
- 2 versions
- AO3:
- #77970626
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When Ilya finds out of his teammates has been using, his decision to turn him over to coach has the entire team penalized and they lose their momentum right before playoffs. To make matters worse, even after a press release clears the rest of the Raiders of any wrongdoings, the whole league still things Ilya is a cheater. Including Shane's team, who talks about it nonstop until one night he snaps and starts a fight with his own team on the ice.
---
Ilya stepped towards him, hand grazing his elbow to try to get him to loosen up a bit. “You said, earlier, that it was me,” he mumbled. “You fought because of me."“Just a bit,” Shane joked weakly, looking back up at him. “They just- they hate you, Ilya. My parents, my team, my fans. And I hear it so much in the locker room or during practice, but on ice I- I couldn't fucking stand it anymore.”
“Is sweet,” he murmured, threading his hand through Shane’s hair and nudging him to lay his head on his shoulder. “But their words don’t hurt me.”
Shane sighed, nuzzling against the fabric of his shirt for a moment. “Hurts me, though,” he said softly. “I don’t like hearing anyone accuse you of cheating.”
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 27,503
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #80009641
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i've been playing dead my whole life by Anonymous
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2026-02-21
“We knew when his words came in that he’d–” Yuna’s voice cracked around the idea, that specific word escaping her. “That he won’t have to know what it feels like to lose his soulmate.”
Because Shane was always going to go first. How must it have felt, to look upon her son and see those words, and know with complete certainty he would go first? Maybe it was better, having as vague of a word as Ilya did on his chest. At least he couldn’t think about it, couldn’t imagine scenarios in which it could be said.
“I assume,” Yuna said, pausing to take a deep breath as though to steel herself, “he said yours last night.”
Ilya nodded, admitting what he didn’t dare say out loud.
--
AU where the last words you ever hear from your soulmate are tattooed on your chest. Ilya and Shane still argue over the party, Ilya still already chose Shane, and everything goes so much worse after Shane leaves.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 10,373
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #79994411
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Twelve hours, Shane reminds himself. Twelve hours, and then he can come home and sleep for as long as he needs with nobody to disturb him. He can do this. --- Or, Shane gets sick and thinks he can hide it. Ilya sees right through him.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 7,852
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #79976646
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Carrying your love with me by Thiamsalpha
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2026-02-21
While Ilya is away in Moscow, Shane struggles with the quietness in their apartment. What starts as a moment of weakness turns into a nightly habit when Shane begins wearing Ilya's jersey to sleep.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 1,498
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #79971186
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Built For The Ice, Not The Lights by Anonymous
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2026-02-20
His heartbeat was too fast. His chest felt tight. The microphone foam brushed his knuckles and the texture was suddenly unbearable, coarse, wrong. Too loud. Too bright. Too close. Too much. He needed space. or After an intense game and overwhelming post-game media scrum, Shane hits sensory overload and has a meltdown. Ilya finds him hiding away and stays, grounding him through it and reminding him he doesn’t have to handle everything alone. The worst part wasn’t the game. Shane could handle the game. The game had rules. It had structure. It had the clean geometry of the rink, the crisp bite of steel on ice, the predictable rotation of shifts. Even when it was chaotic, it was a chaos he understood. Pucks moved in patterns. Bodies angled in lines. Systems nested inside systems. Shane had been mapping them in his head since he was a kid. Media Day did not have rules. Or rather, it had too many. “Just be yourself,” the PR woman had said with a bright smile that hurt to look at. “Relax. Smile. Keep your answers light.” Be yourself. Relax. Light. The hallway outside the locker room was already too loud. Reporters clustered like birds, their voices overlapping in sharp bursts. The lights from the camera rigs were brighter than usual, hot and white and relentless. Someone had turned the music up in the dressing room, bass thudding through his ribs. Shane stood at his stall, fingers curled around the edge of the wooden bench. He tried to catalog sensations the way his therapist had taught him. Too bright. Too loud. Fabric itchy at the back of his neck. The elastic in his compression shirt digging into his ribs. Sweat cooling too fast along his spine. He inhaled for four counts. Held for four. Exhaled for four. “Hollander!” someone called. “You ready?” He nodded automatically. He was always ready. Except today his skin felt like it was two sizes too small. The game itself was brutal. Fast, punishing, every hit to his body landing harder than it should. It was the kind of rivalry matchup that fed headlines for weeks. Shane scored once, assisted once, and blocked a shot that left a bruise blooming across his thigh. He played well. He played the way he always did, precise, relentless, methodical. But the crowd was louder than usual, a constant wall of noise pressing against his skull. Every whistle shrieked. Every horn drilled straight through him. When he sat on the bench, the smell of sweat and rubber and ammonia stung the back of his throat. By the third period, his thoughts had started to fragment. Too loud. Too bright. Too much. He missed a pass he would normally make without looking. His stick felt wrong in his hands, the tape uneven. His gloves were damp and suffocating. When the final buzzer sounded and the arena erupted, the sound didn’t feel like celebration. It felt like an explosion. They won. Someone clapped him on the helmet. “Media’s gonna love you tonight, Hollander.” The thought made his heart sink just a little. The hallway afterward was worse. The lights hadn’t dimmed. If anything, they were harsher. Microphones were thrust toward his face, logos flashing. Questions overlapped, voices stacking on top of each other until he couldn’t separate them. “Shane, talk about that second-period goal—” “Was that set play something you practiced—” “How does it feel to beat—” “How much pressure did you feel coming into—” Pressure. He felt pressure everywhere. In his ears. In his teeth. Behind his eyes. He tried to answer the first question. He opened his mouth. The words did not come out in the right order. “I—uh—the play, it was—” The lights flickered slightly as someone adjusted a camera, and the motion snagged his focus. “We practiced—no, I mean—” Someone laughed softly, not unkindly, but it sliced through him anyway. His heartbeat was too fast. His chest felt tight. The microphone foam brushed his knuckles and the texture was suddenly unbearable, coarse, wrong. Too loud. Too bright. Too close. Too much. He needed space.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 1,604
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #79941316
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Shane swallowed hard, tears still slipping down his face, but he managed another breath. Then another. Each one shaky. Each one fragile. But they were coming. Ilya kept his hand steady against his back, the other still lightly holding his forearm. “You’re okay,” he repeated quietly. “I’m right here.” Shane’s voice came out broken and small. “I'm sorry. I couldn’t- I tried- I needed-” His words dissolved into another shaky inhale, frustration and shame mixing with the remnants of panic. Ilya didn’t press him to explain. He knew Shane’s mind was still tangled in whatever storm had triggered this. Right now, breathing mattered more than understanding. “You don’t have to say anything,” he said softly. “Just breathe.” --- The pressure gets to Shane and he has an anxiety attack mid-game.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 6,187
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #79927841