41 – 55 of 55 Works in First Time
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In the frozen shadows of Montreal, Dr. Shane Hollander is the city’s most brilliant trauma surgeon, precise, untouchable, and relentlessly perfect. He lives by rules, ethics, and the suffocating expectations of a life he’s never dared question. That is, until Ilya Rozanov crashes into his emergency room like a storm straight from Siberia.
Ilya is a ghost from a brutal Russian mafia dynasty: rich beyond measure, dangerously charming, and running for his life
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 48,616
- Chapters:
- 10/?
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #77454851
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Stuck in this, so let's do it together by Anonymous
Game Changers | Heated Rivalry - All Media Types
2026-02-08
Here lies Ilya Rozanov. Cause of death: Shane Hollander speaking Russian and not kissing him.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 6,320
- Chapters:
- 4/4
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #78921496
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Ottawa, 2010. Canada wins the championship, and Shane slips away from the overwhelming celebration for some peace and quiet. Russia loses, and Ilya runs from his father’s furious disappointment to have a panic attack in the stairwell. Neither boy is really looking for company, but for a tentative few hours in the middle of the night, they find solace, acceptance and a first kiss, first time prelude to something heated and risky in each other’s arms. **** Ilya leaned in with lips pursed and Shane jerked away, “Whoa! What the hell are you doing?” “You do not want kiss?” Ilya frowned. “You stare at my mouth all night, same as after draft. I thought you wanted kiss.” “No.” Shane’s eyes were wide. “That’s insane.” “Okay.” Ilya stood up, hiding how bad the rejection hurt. “I misunderstand. Sorry. Do not worry, I will not say anything about–” “Wait.” Shane’s grabbed Rozanov’s arm at the last second, gathering all his courage, “Y- yes.” “Yes.” Ilya repeated. “What is yes?” “I mean yes.” Shane pulled him back in slowly, carefully, his heart racing. “Kiss me?” January 2010 Ottawa, Canada The party was loud. The championship had been hard won and well earned and the celebration was out of control. The players were cheering, jumping, hugging one another high off the win, the boys were spinning, laughing, shoving one another drunk on the adrenaline, some actually were high off smuggled in weed and others actually were drunk off punch spiked from not very secret flasks, and the coaches and chaperones were all too busy congratulating each other and themselves to pretend to care. Champions. Trophy winners. They were at the top of their game and feeling on top of the world, and the fever pitch excitement combined with the delirious exhaustion of a too long, too intense, too physically mentally emotionally grueling few weeks of tournament shook the walls of the multipurpose conference room on the basement floor of hotel. The noise was deafening, the chaos of it all dizzying, the crush of people and body heat and clamor of conversation suffocating and in the very middle of the room– –in the very middle of the room, team Captain and tournament MVP and all around Canadian Wunderkind Shane Hollander stared down at his glass of electric red punch and tried his fucking hardest not to throw up. “Hollander! We did it! We fucking did it!” Someone pushed into him, fell into him, grabbed him into a messy, sloppy hug and planted a messy, sloppy kiss on his cheek. Teammate. A buddy. Shane had played with him for years. “Shane Hollander! Second in the draft son, good for you! You make us all so proud!” Someone shook his hand, squeezed his palm, pounded at his shoulder. A parent. A chaperone. They’d known Shane since he was sixteen. “Wouldn’t be the player he is without a great coach!” Right in his ear, bellowing over the noise. Shane knew he was supposed to smile, supposed to agree, supposed to pound the no doubt spiked punch and whoop at the top of his lungs and let go – let loose– now that the work was over and the tournament was finished and he had another trophy and medal to put in his room. Instead, “I gotta find the bathroom!” he announced to no one in particular, cos no one fucking cared. They were lost in the party, reveling in the victory, but it was too much hammering against Shane’s head, too much crushing around his body and his stomach was twisting, head pounding, chest too tight, holy shit he had to get out somewhere and get some air. Out of the multipurpose room and into the hall. Down the hall and right past the bathroom. He ditched the cup of punch in the nearest water fountain and broke into a jog down the generically ugly carpeted corridor and by the time he crashed through the door leading to the stairwell, Shane was running. Gasping. He yanked at his tie and scrubbed at his face, rolled his shoulders and popped his neck and told himself to breathe. Started up the stairs to get to his fourteenth floor room and told himself to breathe. Huffed a self deprecating sort of laugh because Shane Hollander jogging up fourteen floors worth of stairs instead of partying with his teammates was exactly the sort of over dedicated, wet blanket, fitness and work ethic obsessed bullshit everyone expected from him so– so whatever. When his parents asked sort of sad and sort of resigned about why he hadn’t stayed to celebrate with his teammates and revel in the end of his juniors era, when they told him he probably should really definitely enjoy these moments of silliness and fun while he still could cos come fall he’d be playing professional and have to lock in, when his parents couldn’t hide how they worried about him isolating and clicked their tongues about him avoiding his long time teammates in favor of running stairs alone, Shane would call it a work out. He’d call it dedication. He’d brush it off and wave them away and tell them he might have gotten second at the draft but he was gonna be first in the league, rookie of the year, and to make that happen, he couldn’t party, he had to train. He certainly wouldn’t tell them how the noisy crowd and pushing unhinged behavior made his skin crawl and lungs seize up and head hurt, no way. There wasn’t anything wrong with him. He was just dedicated. Just focused. It was fine. He was fine. Nine, ten, eleven, floors up and Shane actually started to feel fine. The stairwell was soothingly monochromatic and cold enough to be clarifying, easing the clamor in Shane’s head until he felt like he could think again. His shoes didn’t make any noise on the concrete steps and landing after corner after landing after corner was empty, the doors to the adjoining halls all closed, it was a half hour till midnight so anyone who wasn’t partying in celebration was sequestered in their rooms mulling over their loss and packing for the trip home. It was nice. Peaceful. Space to move and space to breathe and twelve floors up Shane was starting to feel like maybe he wouldn’t just collapse face first onto his bed and scream, maybe he’d have the mental energy to watch a movie or read a little bit in his book, or– Noise in the stairwell up ahead, and Shane slowed at the door for the thirteenth floor landing, paused waiting to see if he heard the noise again, then peeked around the corner bracing himself so he could try and be passably polite to whoever had inadvertently interrupted his single minded dash up the stairs. Ilya Rozanov. It was Ilya fucking Rozanov sitting just below the next landing blocking the stairwell with his body turned sideways taking up a whole step, an unlit cigarette in one hand and his phone in the other… and tears on his face, reflecting the light from his phone, tracking down his cheek and dripping off his chin, landing wet on the cold concrete below. Shit. Shane came around the corner cautiously, curiously, fidgeting with the string on his hoodie as he asked, “Rozanov?” Ilya jumped when someone spoke at him from just a few feet away. He hadn’t heard any door open, he hadn’t heard any footsteps coming up the stairs and he jumped cursing when the empty echoing cold of the stairwell was shattered by the unexpected intruder.
- Part 5 of Heated Rivalry
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- English
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- 7,284
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #78900926
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“Why are you here?”
“You see,” Rozanov drawls, “twenty-two years ago, my parents decide they fuck and –”
“Ugh. Shut up.” Shane scowls. “No, I mean – why here?” why now?
The smirk slides off Rozanov’s face. “They want –” he swallows, bringing one arm up to drape over his eyes. “The team I play for. During lockout. They… disagree about rest of season. Tell me I stay.”
“But they can’t do that!”
Rozanov gives him a sardonic smirk.
When Rozanov’s Russian team doesn’t want to let him return to the MLH after the 2012-13 lockout, Shane finds himself pulled into a harebrained scheme to make sure his rival is safe – and it might just work. Now he only has to navigate a secret pretend relationship while also facing the condensed MLH season. But needs must, right?
- Part 1 of a 'convenient' solution
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 42,749
- Chapters:
- 11/11
- Files:
- 2 versions
- AO3:
- #76820661
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Snow and Saskatchewan by LadyElspeth
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2026-01-25
Oh no, Shane thought. Oh God. No. Ignoring his clammy palms, he scanned the tiny hotel room, wondering where he could even lay his bag. Then, after a breathtaking second, he forced his eyes to meet Rozanov’s. With a mischievous smirk, Rozanov was sitting casually on the only bed, arm draped over the pillows—including the pillow that Shane had to sleep on. And Rozanov’s muscular chest and arms were on full, shameless display. Shane might just die. “So,” Rozanov said, “you and me, we sleep together?” Or: Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov were stuck in the same hotel room in Saskatchewan after the International Prospect Cup ended—and there was only one bed.
- Part 12 of Hollanov
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- English
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- 9,609
- Chapters:
- 2/2
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- AO3:
- #77864346
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Did I dream that we were perfectly entwined? by lestrvnge
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2026-01-12
There were only a few Omegas within the NHL. Even with all of the league’s efforts to become more inclusive, it was still very bigoted. The statistics of the Omega players did not lend itself favorably either. The majority never made it longer than five years and none had ever been centers. More importantly, an Omega had never played for the Montreal Voyageurs. His career was over before it even started. Or What if Shane Hollander presented as an Omega the same night as being drafted?
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- English
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- 10,643
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- AO3:
- #77567061
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Ilya Rozanov has seen the tape on Hollander, seen his blazing speed and his quick hands, his almost psychic ability to know where the puck will be. Hollander is a magician on the ice, the best prospect in the world except for Ilya himself. But up close, Hollander looks young. Soft. Western. He has big eyes and freckles across his nose like a little kid. He is attractive in the way that many young men are attractive, his face not yet hardened by the work of the real world, and he seems nervous to be out here, nervous to be seen with Ilya. Because Ilya has been forced to learn everything about Hollander, Ilya knows that Hollander is older than him, not much, a few weeks. But looking at him, Ilya feels weary and old. He hates that.
- Part 1 of Bad Thing
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- English
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- 10,838
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- AO3:
- #77188526
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“So,” Ilya says at last. “Why do you hire a professional Dominant?” Shane is grateful for Ilya’s timing. If he’d been drinking just then, he probably would have choked and spat tea all over the pavement. “I don’t know. I liked the idea, I guess.” He swallows and risks a quick sideways look at Ilya. “Why do people usually hire you?”
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- English
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- 4,886
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- 1/1
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- 1
- AO3:
- #76980626
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On New Year's Eve 2010, Shane Hollander went to a party with his teammates and had the best kiss of his life, but didn't remember the face of the boy. Year after year, he attended the same party, hopefully trying to meet the love of his life. But at the same party, his archrival, Ilya Rozanov always appears and troubles his plans. After some encounters, he started to connect some interesting coincidences.
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- English
- Words:
- 9,792
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- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76797516
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“Hollander,” Ilya’s accent is thick, voice low. It makes Shane a little weak in the knees. “Did you dress up for me?” --- OR: Shane wears the suit to their first hookup. Ilya is very pleased (and amused) by it.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 4,179
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 3 versions
- AO3:
- #76786051
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I thought I'd uncovered your secrets (but turns out there's more) by promienny
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2025-12-30
Ilya Rozanov was a showy alpha, the type that glowed under the spotlight, specially in the rink. He spoke very outwardly, even if his english left him hanging sometimes, and got along well with the other alphas in his team. The picture was quite different with his opponents. They didn’t like one bit the shenanigans he got up to in the middle of games, some considering him one of the biggest assholes in the MLH, specially because he didn’t cower from using his liquor scent to overwhelm his opponents. Now, active hockey players that were omegas? Counting with Shane there were a total of one. Reading about the history of the MLH in the 90s he was aware there were at least three fully out omegas that partook in official games in the last 20 years, but none of them were first line players and quietly drifted into obscurity after the end of their short-lived careers. That made Hollander’s position specially tricky, since he wasn’t a fully out omega. or Shane Hollander has a big secret, being an omega in an alpha dominated field. And his attraction to Ilya Rozanov could put his whole career in jeopardy.
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- English
- Words:
- 12,144
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- 3/3
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76117226
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what are you willing to do? (kiss it better, baby) by subbyjeongguk
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2025-12-29
shane knew two things: he'd never kissed anyone before, and he really could not stand ilya rozanov. (college!au with hockey rivals hollanov and virgin shane with forced proximity)
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- English
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- 10,631
- Chapters:
- 1/1
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- 1
- AO3:
- #76635986
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“Holy shit, dude,” Hayden whispers, too loudly, as he pulls Shane away. “No way you were just talking to Ilya Rozanov.” “Uh, yeah. We just met. Wait, did he lie to me?” Shane asks, looking back over his shoulder where Ilya is now standing next to a short but very muscular woman with long black hair. “What does he play?” Hayden stops, so Shane does too. “You don’t know who that was?” Shane makes a face that says ‘no shit’, and waits for an answer. “Dude. You are so innocent. Ilya Rozanov, ‘Russia’s Greatest Love Machine’?” Hayden says, like it’s obvious. Shane looks at him blankly, and then Hayden laughs. Not like, a chuckle. He full on cackles, bending over like he can’t even contain it. “Man, he’s like prolific.” “At what?” Shane snaps, because he’s getting really sick of not being in on the joke. “He’s a porn star, man.” “A-” Shane says, swallowing thickly. “What?” --- Ilya is a porn star, Shane is a hockey player, and their paths cross.
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- English
- Words:
- 21,214
- Chapters:
- 2/2
- Files:
- 4 versions
- AO3:
- #75526046
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In the end, it takes so little to break Shane...A bad day, a bout of jealousy, and Ilya telling him to get on his knees.
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- English
- Words:
- 3,856
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- 1/1
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- AO3:
- #74008196
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Shane didn’t know he was an omega when he walked into Ilya Rozanov’s hotel room
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 2,437
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #69032591
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