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  1. I can make you every promise that has ever been made by

    Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid, Heated Rivalry (TV)
    • M
    • ✓

    2026-01-11

    It's time for Shane and Ilya to face the music. Featuring the missing conversation with his parents. His parents meeting Ilya. And then, they need to tell Hayden.

    Language:
    English
    Words:
    8,015
    Chapters:
    3/3
    Files:
    2 versions
    AO3:
    #77486436

  2. making love out of nothing at all by

    Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid, Heated Rivalry (TV)
    • E
    • ✓

    2026-01-03

    A drunken night after the NHL awards in Vegas leads to unexpected consequences for Shane and Ilya. A married in Vegas fic.

    Language:
    English
    Words:
    10,916
    Chapters:
    1/1
    Files:
    2 versions
    AO3:
    #76998991

  3. play along by

    Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid, Heated Rivalry (TV)
    • M
    • ✓

    2026-01-01

    At Scott Hunter night, Ilya gets pulled into a drunken game of truth or dare with Scott and his teammates. “Come on, it’ll be fun,” Vaughn said, elbowing him hard in his side. A pretty woman was cuddled into his side on the couch, Gloria, and she gave a cute little giggle at this. On Vaughn’s other side, another Admiral sat, Huff, who was just rolling his eyes as well. Ilya scowled at him. “Is game for horny teenagers, no?” “So?” Vaughn shot back. “What, can't take the heat, Rozanov?” “I’m in,” Kip said hesitantly from where he is tucked under Hunter’s arm like a little baby bird. Hunter smiled down at him soppily, and something in that adoring look between them softened Ilya. “Fine,” he grumbled, taking a sip of his vodka and averting his gaze. Fuck, but he missed Hollander. “Hell yeah!” Vaughn cheered. “Alright, Scott, it's your night so you get to go first. Truth or dare?” Hunter gave his teammate a half-hearted glare but sat back, expression contemplative. “I guess, truth?” Vaughn smirked, and Ilya felt his spine straightening, his radar for mischief going haywire. Maybe this would be fun after all… “Who said I love you first?” Rozanov let out a booming, incredulous laugh. “Oh my God, Vaughn, you are so boring.” “I was low-balling,” he argued back. “You gotta ease them into asking for the juicy stuff, Rozanov.” He blew a raspberry at him, which made Vaughn give a startled laugh. At the railing, Matti Jalo looked amused. He’d always liked Jalo. His chirps were actually funny, unlike the rest of the old, boring Admiral players. “Fine, Hunter, answer boring question,” Ilya said, waving his hand dismissively. Bennett, who was nursing a soda, shook his head at him, bemused. Ilya winked at him. Bennett wasn't so bad for a goalie. Still weird, and ancient, obviously. Slow. But a decent guy. Hunter looked down at his boyfriend. “I did,” he admitted. “It was, well everything happened pretty quickly, for us.” Ilya fought the urge to roll his eyes again. Hunter was just as lame as he’d always suspected. He shoved the ball of envy back down his throat, pummeling it back into place. “Booo, next,” he said instead. Hunter bristled a little at that, but Kip laid a quelling hand on his arm, giving Ilya a searching look. He looked very pretty, actually, with his slightly mussed hair and lined eyes. A little sexy, even. He wondered how Hollander would react, if he showed up with eyeliner on… Ilya filed the thought away for another time, glancing between Hunter and Kip and the rest of the Admirals who had turned up here to support them. They were all still a little suspicious of him. Even as he sat here in a gay bar in Las Vegas, playing a kid’s game with them, while the rest of the league's best and brightest stayed away. He couldn't really blame them. He understood the wariness. Hunter glared a little but then relented, casting his eyes to Bennett. “Eric,” he said. “Truth or dare?” Bennett shifted and asked for a dare, and Ilya couldn't help but study him, wondering what truth he was hiding from. Though, he could probably guess. He kept playing with his wedding ring, and he was like a thousand years old. His money was on the wife or retirement. Maybe both. Bennett was dared to go and dance with someone for thirty seconds, which he did with absolutely zero shame, sidling up to the first guy who batted their eyes at him while they all stood at the railing, cheering him on. It seemed that Bennett liked them young, and pretty, and well, male. Interesting. Bennett's cheeks had a light dusting of pink on them as he returned to the cheers of the table, sliding back into his seat with a sheepish grin. The truths were mundane, the dares barely even risqué. Until, suddenly, Hunter was turning to him, and there was this look in his eyes, slightly knowing, a lot smug. Ilya had chosen dare. Bennett wasn't the only one hiding from uncomfortable truths. “I dare you to call Hollander, on speakerphone, and use a pickup line on him.” He felt his eyebrows rise as the table all burst out laughing. That felt… very targeted.

    Language:
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    Words:
    1,340
    Chapters:
    1/1
    Files:
    2 versions
    AO3:
    #76850331

  4. not common sense (but I'm haunted) by

    Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid, Heated Rivalry (TV)
    • M
    • ✓

    2025-12-26

    Ilya is jealous and lashing out. Shane goes after him. A tentative kind of fix-it fic for Episode 4. He didn't want to admit that he was seething with jealousy. Seeing Hollander had only made it worse. He hadn't looked at Ilya, not once the whole game. He’d barely even been present. They’d both had probably the worst game of their entire careers, and Ilya tried not to read too much into that. It didn't matter. Hollander was just distracted by his fucking movie star girlfriend. It was Ilya who was fucking miserable and heartbroken and furious with himself. Of course, it only got worse when he realized that of all fucking bars they could have picked to commiserate in, it's the one where Shane Hollander and Rose Landry are, her smiling up at him with her pretty smile while she dances. And it hurt. But it also made him want to lash out, to be mean. He grabbed his drink from the bar, stalking closer. Like a second sense, Shane looked up at his approach, stilling like a deer in headlights. Ilya smirked, dropping his eyes to where Rose Landry had her hands tangled in the white shirt Hollander was wearing. “Well, well, well,” Ilya said, eyes glittering maliciously. “I guess the rumors are true after all.” Shane looked startled. The “fuck off, Rozanov” was automatic, though his eyes were intense as he looked up at him. Searching. Just a little bit scared. Of what he might do. Or say. And Ilya was an asshole. But not that much of an asshole. He looked down further. “Hello, Rose Landry,” he said. Her smile was friendly but confused, and when she offered her hand, removing it, Ilya noted, from Shane's abs, he took it, kissing the back of it and winking at her. This, he can do. The flirting. Just Rozanov being a dog, as usual. His teammates were probably watching and pissing themselves laughing. “Hi.” She looked, he thought absently, very beautiful in her dress. “This looks very cozy, mmm?” he said, wiggling his eyebrows at them both. “Didn't know you had it in you, Hollander.” He sounded as bitter as he felt, probably. Rose's brow furrowed at that, and she looked back at Shane. He could see her putting two and two together. Ilya smiled. “You two have fun, now.” He winked at Shane. Shane glared back. Cold laughter dripped from his lips as he turned away. “Shane?” he heard Landry say. “Ignore him, Rozanov is just an asshole,” Shane muttered back. Ilya paused. He shouldn't look back. He could feel his eyes stinging. Orpheus at the entrance back to the overworld, Eurydice behind him. He closed his eyes. Around him, bodies moved to the loud thrum of the music, happy, laughing, dancing, a buzz of energy that couldn't penetrate the cold, empty, gaping cavern that was his chest. It was inevitable. He couldn't have stopped himself from looking even if he wanted to. He was weak, undisciplined. He glanced back. Rose Landry was dancing again, pressed to Shane's front, eyes closed as she moved to the music. But Shane was still. And he was looking back. And his eyes. Ilya shuddered at the look in his eyes. Desperate. Lost. Sad. Ilya drank his fill, and gave the opposing captain a single nod. Acknowledging the distress, filing it away as hope choked him. Shane’s lips thinned. He needed to get out of here. He needed to go and get so fucking obliterated that he didn't remember his own name, let alone Shane's. Tearing his eyes away, he sought out Cliff, telling him he was leaving. The team made an assumption, a wrong one, but Ilya didn't correct it. The vodka was cheap, burning the whole way down because America could do nothing right, certainly not making a vodka that was drinkable. But he was too fucking heartbroken to care, inconsolable in his grief and anger and self-loathing. It was, of course, when he was two-thirds of the way through the bottle when his phone lit up with a text. Ilya set the bottle aside on the damp tile of the shower floor, standing up on shaky knees and scrabbling for it. The case was slippery in his hands, and he almost dropped it. And then he was staring. Jane: I hate this. Me fucking too, Hollander, he thought bitterly. He brought the phone to his forehead, squeezing his eyes closed. It was fucking three in the morning. Why the fuck was Hollander

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    Files:
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    AO3:
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