881 – 900 of 1,231 Works in Mature
- Mature ×
-
“It’s a mystery,” he added, quieter. “Small town one.” The silence stretched again, but it didn’t scrape at him the way it usually did. It just hovered, fragile. Shane waited for the joke. For the comment about it being boring or pretentious or a waste of time. He waited for the familiar sting. It didn’t come. Instead, Ilya nodded once, slow and deliberate, like that answer had settled something. “Okay,” he said. “I can do that.” or Shane and Ilya have spent months dancing around each other, teasing, competing, and sharing quiet, stolen moments. Between hockey practice, frat house chaos, and long nights watching Twin Peaks, the tension finally breaks—and neither of them can deny what’s been there all along.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 10,073
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #77280796
-
What are you doing, dude? by Swoonoveryou
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2026-01-07
Shane is still wearing the suit when Ilya shows up for their first hook-up or Shane wears a suit to a blowjob
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 2,017
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76806326
-
Shane Hollander Can Pull by orphan_account
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2026-01-07
The MLH starts live-streaming a Mic'd up player every week. Unfortunately, Ilya forgets he's being streamed live to half a million people. Meanwhile, Shane Is gearing up to punch the next person to say he can't pull.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 4,734
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #77284991
-
“The woman with you was beautiful.” The comment felt like whiplash. “What?” “The woman with you.” Shane was with a woman? The only parts of the night he could remember were Ilya’s ass, his eyes, his laugh, and when Hayden spilled an entire pint of beer down his shirt. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 2,707
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #77286096
-
"What is it about you specifically that inspires such vitriol among the other teams’ fans?” Ilya shrugs easy with one shoulder, tries to make sure the pull of his lips strikes the right balance of contrite and nonchalant. What do they even want him to say? He leans closer to the microphone shoved towards him, starts. “I don’t know, maybe…" He considers his next words. Imagines his coach’s reaction. What his teammates will say. The headlines the media will pick. He says them anyway. --- On Ilya and Shane and their different media strategies, set to the backdrop of their slow- moving romance.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 2,352
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #77285486
-
you make it so easy (to fall so hard) by brunettereader
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2026-01-07
Ilya knows that, between him and Shane, he's the more affectionate of the two. He's not sure if it's because he's from Europe, where everyone greets each other with a hug and a kiss on the cheek, or if it's because he grew up so starved for love and affection that he can't do anything except show Shane how much he loves him at any chance that he has. So, yes, he knows that he's the one most likely to kiss Shane on the cheek when he skates by him at practice or come up behind Shane when he's cooking dinner just to wrap his arms around him or fall on top of Shane while he's reading on the couch, desperate to have his skin touching Shane's. But, Shane… Shane loves Ilya differently. It's quieter. More intentional. — Or, five times that Shane loved Ilya in his quiet way, and one time that he loved Ilya loudly.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 12,986
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 2 versions
- AO3:
- #77242946
-
in this essay i will (survive attempted murder by the universe) by Anonymous
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2026-01-07
Ilya Rozanov has three problems: 1) he’s an NHL superstar 2) he’s hopelessly in love with his supposed rival, and 3) apparently writing fanfiction about it has cursed him with biblically proportionate bad luck.
Between engine failures, fractured ankles, choking incidents, apartment floods, broken noses, fire alarms, and getting stuck in elevators, a reasonable person would stop writing.
Ilya Rozanov is not a reasonable person.
(A documentary of one man’s war against the AO3 author’s curse.)
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 3,875
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 2 versions
- AO3:
- #77286711
-
Shane has a system. It includes a forgotten sweater. Sometimes, confrontation was a soft gray sweater, puddled next to a bed. Shane had spent the better part of his life only confronting people on the ice. It was so much easier to be pulled along the rest of the time, nodding at the right times and smiling faintly when he wasn't sure if something was meant to be funny or not. Sometimes, he pushed back a little with his parents because he knew they'd still love him, even if his rare shows of mild defiance bemused them, but otherwise, he found it best to keep his opinions to himself. Head down, watch the puck, tune the rest of it out. Until Rozanov. "You like this," Rozanov challenged. "You want this?" Shane did. Fuck, but he wanted it. He wanted Rozanov's jackal grin and cackle. He wanted his bite and his shove. Rozanov, who had never backed down from a fight, who liked to instigate them whenever he could. Shane wanted to devour that fire and have it for himself. It was so much easier to tell Rozanov to fuck off when they were in bed than it was anyone else in much more sensible situations. "What happened to nice polite boy?" Rozanov mocked as Shane arched underneath him, cursing and clawing at him. "Fuck you," Shane breathed out. "Harder." "Please," Rozanov nipped at Shane's bottom lip. "Say it." "No," Shane grinned at him, too wide and wild. "Rude," Rozanov declared and laughed, adjusting his position minutely, before going harder. And then Rozanaov left with an obscenely filthy kiss, licking the envelope on the promise of another time. Both of them were still tacky with sweat and come. A shower would be smarter, but there was a flight to catch. Traces of Shane would be stuck to Rozanov for hours, lingering under his tank top and painted on under his pants. The thought was enervating and Shane got up to shower alone, touching all the slightly sore places where Rozanov had been like following a hiking trail deep into the woods. Damp and exhausted, Shane shuffled back into the room and spotted the sweater. For a moment, he froze. Would Rozanov still be close enough to return it? Surely not. The race for the red eye would've already begun. Had he left it here on purpose? If so, for what? A taunt? A question? Or had he discarded it entirely by accident in his rush? Shane picked it up and ran his hands over the material. It was probably cashmere, if only because Rozanov would like something expensive like that. Shane started folding it automatically until it was a neat rectangle in his hands. Then Shane was stuck. Did he pack it in with his things? Carry it with him for months until he might see Rozanov again? And do what? Return it? Was that a thing he could do? Oh, sorry, you left this on the floor last time you fucked my brains out. I didn't know if it needed to be dry cleaned, so I didn't wash it. What was the protocol on that? Shane stood mostly naked in front of a bed that was drenched in their hit and run passions, dithering over returning a sweater. "Fuck you, Rozanov," he said tiredly to no one at all. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, Shane hung his head low, rolling it from side to side, trying to undo the sudden tension in his neck. His fingers dug too hard into the sweater. There was a stray hair caught at the neckline, a tiny vein of gold in gray stone. Shane plucked at it, pulling it out. As soon as it was free, it curled up again, clinging around his finger. There was no one here to watch. No one to see. Nothing to hear. Shane still hesitated. Then very slowly, he lifted the sweater to his nose and sniffed. Cigarette smoke, a hint of sweat, and all too familiar cologne. That's what Rozanov's hair smelled like too, the brush of curls over Shane's face almost like another hand caressing him sometimes. Fuck. Shane never fully unpacked after away games. There wasn't a point. Instead, he had a careful system with a laundry bag and neatly stacked clean clothes beneath. The sweater should go in with the dirty laundry. Instead, he folded it between his clean hoodies, pressed there like a flower caught between pages of a book. If there had really been a confrontation with the sweater, Shane was almost positive he'd lost. When he finally got home, the sweater should've gone to live in a drawer in his apartment until he was sure he had a chance of seeing Rozanov again. But Shane didn't usually unpack the clean clothes from his suitcase. It was part of the system. He only had to assess what was still there and add things back in before leaving. Even his little bathroom bag had had the same refillable containers since rookie season. Top off as needed. So, the sweater stayed in his luggage. Shane didn't think about it. Much.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 4,403
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 2 versions
- AO3:
- #77272646
-
Ilya wants kids and after seeing him with his niece, Shane is going to make that happen.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 3,473
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #77179441
-
Will they carve their names together? by Cinderella323
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2026-01-06
The 2017 all stars. The first time they were teamed up together. And where their fellow hockey players became fearful of the idea they could be on a team together. But it's never gonna happen, right?
- Part 1 of Carved into History.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 1,075
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #77194116
-
Dinner parties are never boring in the Hollander Rozanov household. “Rose wants to meet for dinner,” Shane said as his feet pounded out a steady rhythm on the treadmill. From his spot on the weight bench, Ilya grunted his acknowledgement. He finished his set before racking the barbell and sitting up. He took a swig from his water bottle and wiped the sweat from his face. “I don’t want to go out,” he said after a bit. Finished with the towel, he balled it up, shot it at the hamper and missed. Grumbling, he went to pick it up. “Good thing you play hockey and not basketball,” Shane quipped. Ilya flipped him off. “Why don’t you want to go out? Are you ok?” “Up here?” he tapped his temple. Shane nodded. “Yes. Am ok,” he said. “But I do have this other pain. Right here,” he palmed one of his ass cheeks. “I call it Shane.” Shane flipped him off this time. “Invite her here,” Ilya said. “Is more private. We will cook for her.” Shane stumbled on the treadmill. He hit the stop button. “What?” Ilya shrugged. “I like Rose.” “You give me shit about dating her all the time!” “Because I am teasing you, Hollander,” Ilya said, sauntering over to hold Shane’s sweaty face in his hands. “You are very cute when you are riled up.” “I am not riled up.” Ilya reached down to cup him through his shorts. He grinned and arched his brow. “It’s from exercising,” Shane muttered, a blush rising under his freckles. “Sure, Jan.” “You’ve been hanging out with Harris too much.” “Invite her over and maybe I will give you reward for being such a good boy,” Ilya said, giving his cock a slow stroke. “I hate you,” Shane whined, his forehead hitting Ilya’s shoulder. “Mhm,” Ilya said, shrugging him off. “Text her now, please.” Shane wasn’t sure what he wrote but it ended up getting the point across because his phone buzzed a second later. “What did she say?” Ilya asked, resuming his ministrations under Shane’s shorts and following the line of his neck with his mouth. “She said—oh fuck—” “She said oh fuck?” “No, asshole. She said—uhhhokayyy.” “She said okay or you are saying okay? This conversation is very confusing.” “She said yes! Fuck!” “Good,” Ilya said, abruptly removing his hand from Shane’s dick and giving his ass a resounding smack. “We need groceries! Your reward will have to wait. Hit the showers, Hollander! Very busy day ahead of us!” “Svetlana texted me,” Ilya said later that same day. He was playing a video game while Shane read one of his boring hockey books on the couch. “Oh yeah? How is she?” “She is on her way here.” Shane sat up a little. “To the cottage?” Ilya shook his head. “Ottawa.” “What is she doing in Ottawa?” Ilya shrugged. “Didn’t say.” “You don’t think she’s scouting, do you?” “Unlikely,” Ilya said. “Well…invite her over for dinner too,” Shane suggested. Ilya shot him a look. “What? I like Svetlana!”
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 2,481
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #77210086
-
don't leave me this way by frenchleaves
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2026-01-06
The sound of joy has begun to settle down into a tense silence, some muttering and asking about what was going on. “Be careful with his head,” Hayes is saying, voice thick with something. It is disturbing to see him so serious. Bood nods, and starts moving a lump out of the seat. Ilya raises an eyebrow, confused. “Who is passed out in my seat?” That is when Ilya finally sees what Bood and Hayes are crowding over. It is himself, his own body, passed out and slumped against the seat in the row in front of him. There is a worrying amount of blood coming out of his nose and a cut by the back of his head. Head wounds are terribly dramatic, but Ilya feels worried about this one. Mainly because he’s floating around like a ghost. ilya gets hit on the head during the emergency landing in Tampa and thus begins his week- long stint as a ghost. whatever bad thing that can happen, the proceeds to do so. it's definitely not fun for ilya, and definitely not fun for shane either.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 36,172
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #77170376
-
Do You Wanna Know a Secret by mylifeandstory
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2026-01-06
Hayden and Jackie get in a massive fight and after a series of unfortunate events, J.J. sees Shane and Ilya together and thinks it’s Shane and Hayden having a sordid affair. Shane lets him think that. Ilya is not happy.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 4,536
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #77217421
-
It's the morning after Shane and Ilya confessed their love to one another. The cottage is calm, warm and slow in the morning, and they both feel lighter. This is their forever now. They have every intent to steep in it, soak in doing even the smallest tasks together. or Shane and Ilya are disgustingly in love and at complete ease. It's a full morning in the bubble they have spent years earning. There was a stillness in the cottage in the morning after Shane and Ilya said ‘I love you’ for the first time. It was impossible for the sun to miss any part of the house. It was lit entirely in the early morning light, the sun not fully risen. It painted every surface a warm orange and melted the blue sheets of Shane and Ilya’s bed into a deep brown color as the two slept. Ilya had fallen asleep on Shane’s chest, having slotted himself between Shane’s legs and pressing his chest to Shane’s stomach. Shane’s hand was tangled in Ilya’s curls, having fallen asleep while playing with them, and breaths escaped his lips as he slept deeply. Ilya stirred first, as he had fallen asleep first, and he quickly took in the state they were in. The sun had woken him. He still wasn’t acclimated to the natural lighting that the cottage provided. His eyes blinked open and he felt his heart race as he woke up. It wasn’t unusual for him to wake with a wave of anxiety, usually from a nightmare he had no recollection of by the time he opened his eyes. The only evidence was his pounding heart and uneven breath. He felt the thin layer of sweat on his back and pulled his outstretched hand toward his body, it closing onto Shane’s bare waist instead of his own and he took a deep breath. Right. He’s here. Shane’s here. Ilya relaxed his shoulder, he hadn’t even noticed how tense they were. He licked his lips and he could feel how dry his throat was. They must have sweat throughout the night. Shane was a large heater, which Ilya still needed to get used to. He wanted to get to it. To be able to complain about Shane being too warm. But for now, he knew to relish in it. The privilege to sleep so close to Shane, to be so close he could taste his sweat when he breathed him in. Ilya lifted his head and Shane’s hand slid from Ilya’s hair to the nape of his neck as Shane took in a deep breath. Ilya smiled, he couldn’t help it. Shane, he discovered, always woke up by opening one eye at a time. As if he were trying to catch the sunlight off guard. Shane’s right eye slowly opened as his left squeezed shut. Ilya pressed his lips together, trying to hide his smile which he assumed was shit-eatingly wide. But he couldn’t as Shane’s cheeks warmed to a blush and his left eye opened. They locked eyes, Shane’s still a bit droopy from sleep. “Good morning.” Shane managed, his voice was grovel and a bit rough, he definitely wasn’t used to talking so soon after waking up. “Morning.” Ilya whispered back, leaning up to kiss Shane. “Ah, we haven’t brushed our teeth.” Shane lifted his hand between their mouths. “Yes, but I love you and you love me. So we kiss with dirty mouths.” Ilya kissed Shane’s hand. “Ilya.” Shane warned. “Shane.” Ilya lifted his eyebrows. “Please.” Shane lifted his back. “Fine.” Ilya sighed, dropping his head to Shane’s chest and peppering kisses onto his chest instead. “Let’s brush our teeth.” Shane let out a little noise and Ilya smiled against his skin, wanting more than anything to just stay in bed all day and kiss their confessions into each other’s mouths until it felt normal and stale because they had spent so many goddamn years stopping themselves from saying it. From feeling it. But he knew that Shane wouldn’t allow that, that he would want to freshen up, be as clean as they could be before they tasted each other again, and that is why he loved Shane. Ilya planted a hand on either side of Shane and pushed himself up, leaning back onto his heels to admire Shane as he was laid out on his back. “You look pretty.” Ilya caught his bottom lip between his teeth in a teasing grin. “Shut up.” Shane sat up, swinging his leg around Ilya and standing up rather gracefully for someone who had just woken up. “Hm, never.” Ilya tilted his head, though Shane’s back was to him, and crawled off the bed. Shane turned toward Ilya and offered his hand once they were both standing, Ilya’s heart could burst at how casual and normal it felt to slip his hand into Shane’s and intertwine their fingers so they could walk into the bathroom together. Ilya walked half a pace behind Shane so he could admire the slight curve of Shane’s back as they walked. Shane’s back was absent of any flaw, not a scar or freckle in sight, just a perfect plain of warm, rich skin. Ilya wanted to kiss every inch of it. The bathroom wasn’t far, maybe even too close to their bed for Ilya’s liking, so Shane was already letting go of Ilya’s hand. Ilya pouted slightly and caught Shane’s gaze in the mirror. Shane smiled and rolled his eyes and Ilya smiled back. “Do my toothbrush?” Ilya asked cutely and Shane scrunched his nose. “Please?” “You have hands.” Shane shot a half-assed glare in the mirror, but immediately softened when Ilya wrapped an arm around him and pressed his fingertips against his plush belly. “Yes, but they are busy.” Ilya kissed Shane’s shoulder, knowing he had won whatever this little chirp was, and turned to hug Shane’s side fully, planting more kisses onto his shoulder and arm. Shane only hummed happily, pulling Ilya’s toothbrush from its holder, where he had insisted Ilya to put it only three days before, wet it, squeezed toothpaste on, then wet it again before he held it up to Ilya. Ilya planted a wet kiss on his shoulder then turned, opening his mouth for Shane. Shane huffed and nudged Ilya’s chest with his elbow. Take it. Ilya just jutted out his chin and opened his mouth a bit wider. Shane rolled his eyes and pushed it into Ilya’s mouth. Ilya quickly caught it with his left hand and began to scrub, resting his head on Shane’s shoulder as Shane prepared his own toothbrush. Shane’s eyes were down, but Ilya lazily brushed his teeth as he waited for Shane’s eyes to shoot up to the mirror to analyze his own face. Shane did exactly that, but his eyes shifted to Ilya’s gaze immediately. The analytical look in his eyes softened to nothing but a swirling pool of a rich hot chocolate and Ilya smiled around his toothbrush.
- Part 1 of I Love You...
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 8,262
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #77219511
-
Shane figures going on a run despite explicit orders from his doctors and his dom can't hurt. He finds out rather quickly that it really, really does.
- Part 2 of Heated Rears
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 3,012
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #77207481
-
“Or Mexico,” Ilya says. “So you can be so boring and not drink tequila.” He expects Shane to maybe laugh, or get bossy and tell Ilya to get on with it. He does not expect him to go stock- still in his arms and fall completely silent. “Shane?” “I – I,” Shane stammers. “I don’t want to go there.” He doesn’t sound happy any more, at all. He sounds scared and confused. Ilya’s mind has started to race but he forces his voice to stay calm. He has only heard Shane mention Mexico twice, once to say his parents were going there on holiday. Once when Ilya asked about other men Shane’s been with. --- Ilya and Shane talk about Shane's encounter with another guy that time in Mexico. Shane doesn't have good memories. Ilya takes care of him.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 2,487
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #77228026
-
Shane Hollander accidentally becomes the internet’s favorite “work wife.” Ilya Rozanov thinks this is the funniest thing that has ever happened and commits to the bit with horrifying sincerity. It started at the press conference in Tampa. Shane Hollander sat ramrod straight at the long table, hands clasped in front of him, the living embodiment of Canadian restraint drilled into his bones since minor hockey. He answered questions about Montreal’s power play the way a man answers a fire drill: calmly, correctly, and without a flicker of surprise. Every response sounded memorized, a careful blend of polite deflection and measured praise for his teammates, calibrated to say nothing memorable unless it involved a goal or a fight. He was excellent at it, so professionally dull it bordered on art. Three seats down, Ilya Rozanov was putting on an entirely different show. Fresh off a hat trick that had buried Montreal yet again, Ilya lounged in his chair like the building had been constructed around him. His tie was already loosened, his top button undone, because rules were for people who needed them. One arm draped along the back of the empty chair beside him, he dissected his own brilliance in that lazy drawl that made reporters lean closer and fans either swoon or grind their teeth. When the inevitable question about their rivalry landed, because it always did and always would, Ilya’s gaze slid sideways for a fraction of a second, just long enough for Shane to feel it land low in his gut like a body check he had not braced for and absolutely should have seen coming. “Rozanov, you and Hollander seem to find each other all over the ice every time you play. Is that something you actively look for, or is it just instinct at this point?” “Of course,” Ilya said, his accent thickening as he took his time with it. “I always know exactly where Hollander is on the ice. Is like…” He paused, tilting his head as if searching for the right English word, though Shane knew damn well it was already chambered. “Is like built-in radar.” A couple of reporters chuckled. Someone from TSN, a voice Shane recognized even while refusing to look up, leaned into it with the grin of a man who thought he was about to strike gold. “You two have been going at each other for years now. That’s quite the partnership you’ve got, alongside one hell of a rivalry.” Ilya tasted the word partnership before answering, eyes flicking to Shane again. Then he turned back to the room, savoring it like good vodka. “Partnership,” he repeated, letting the r stretch. “Yes. Good word. We understand each other very well.” He leaned forward, elbows on the table now, his voice dropping into that conspiratorial register that made everyone listen closer than they meant to. “Sometimes I think Shane knows what I’m going to do before I even decide. Is very… intimate, the way he reads me.” Laughter rolled through the room, easy and appreciative, the sound people make when they think they’re sharing a harmless joke about hockey jargon. Shane felt his face heat instantly and was grateful for the bright lights masking it. He reached for his water bottle on instinct and took a swallow, which turned into a mistake the moment Ilya added, almost casually, “He always knows exactly where I should put my stick.” Shane choked hard enough that the moderator glanced over in concern. He waved a hand, coughing and thumping his chest as if he could knock the humiliation loose, eyes watering as he fought for air. A few reporters shot him sympathetic looks, and someone asked if he was alright. Ilya, the absolute bastard, did not bother pretending to care. He sat there with that faint, infuriating smirk curling at the corner of his mouth, eyes half-lidded and gleaming like he was replaying every filthy thing Shane had whispered to him in a hotel room two nights earlier. “Wrong pipe,” Shane managed eventually. He took a second, more careful sip, kept his gaze firmly forward, and silently begged the floor to open up and end him before the next question landed. The next morning, The Athletic ran the headline: “Work Spouses: How Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov’s Rivalry Became the MLH’s Most Intense Partnership.” By the time Shane was half dressed, brushing his teeth and doomscrolling in front of the hotel mirror, the internet had already done what it always did. Twitter had stripped the phrase down to its most inflammatory core and decided he was now a “work wife.” Shane stared at the screen, toothpaste foaming at the corners of his mouth, then stared at it again as if the words might rearrange themselves out of basic decency. “What the actual fuck,” he told his reflection, voice muffled around the toothbrush. It did not get better. When he reached the Amalie Arena and filtered into the Metros’ locker room for pregame, the familiar smell of tape and sweat did nothing to settle his nerves. He had barely dropped his bag when his phone buzzed in his pocket. Lily: hello wife
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 3,844
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #77210276
-
At some point, Shane crawls into bed, feeling raw and open like a wound. He horrifyingly wishes more than anything that Ilya were there. That thought is shocking enough that it snaps something inside, and Shane decides that he absolutely, 100% does not have time to deal with what happened tonight. He puts the entire thing — the rough hands, the tongue on his ear, the gravelly voice telling him to take it — into a box in his mind. And buries the box as deep as he can. *** Or, a different take on Shane's experience with the "big, strong top" from Mexico
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 3,620
- Chapters:
- 2/2
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #77229996
-
Dancin' with my eyes closed by stargazingstormtrooper92
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2026-01-06
"Sorry. Just realized something just now.," Ilya laughs. "What?" "Loons," Ilya says and laughs again. "Loons?" Yuna repeats confused. "When I went to the cottage last summer Shane made fun of me because I never heard the loon call before. I was so scared. I called it stupid canadian wolf bird," Yuna lets out a little laugh, Ilya continues - "I just realized that these ducks on my baby blanket, they look like..." "Loons," Yuna finishes with smile tugging on her lips. "Yes. Loons. Shane will make fun of me," Ilya groans but not maliciously. He takes the blanket out of Yuna's hands and brings it to his face, trying to see if it still smells like home, like his mom. But the smell was gone and his heart lurches. (...) "Tell me the stories. All of them." *** Or: Ilya has the flu when he recieves a package from Svetlana containing his childhood memorabilia from Russia. Mother son duo Ilya Rozanov and Yuna Hollander strikes again ❤
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 11,633
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #77228631
-
A few days before Shane’s seventeenth birthday, he told his parents he’d broken up with Elise. “It just didn’t work out,” Shane said, not really looking at either of them; instead, he was staring at the TV, obviously not really watching the hockey game he’d put on. There was a faint rosy tint to his cheeks. Or: in which Yuna and David try to figure out what's going on with their son through the years while trying to be good, supportive, non-overbearing parents.
- Part 1 of
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 13,274
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #77230831