1 – 3 of 3 Works in Fanfic Anonymous

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  1. a year safe in your heart by

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

    2026-03-13

    “And you’re sure there’s nothing for you?” David says suddenly. “You’re not—you’re feeling okay? You’re not sick? Shane wouldn’t have any reason to think that you’re sick?”

    Ilya blinks and turns to him. “I am fine. Totally fine. Better than fine, even, before today.”

    “It’s just—Shane’s acting like you’re dying, Ilya.”

    “Not as far as I’m aware,” says Ilya. “And I do not think he would learn this before me.”

    —

    The summer before Ilya joins the Centaurs, Shane wakes up nervous. It doesn't stop from there.

    Language:
    English
    Words:
    54,996
    Chapters:
    6/6
    Files:
    1
    AO3:
    #78743291

  2. I’d like to make it with you by

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

    2026-01-01

    "God, Hollander. You are so… what is the word—?" "Boring?" Shane deadpanned with a knowing look. Ilya shook his head. "Vanilla." — Ilya thinks it's about time he and Shane started shaking things up in the bedroom. Now that they’re alone, unfettered from obligations to the hockey season, he wants to try new things.

    Language:
    English
    Words:
    7,871
    Chapters:
    1/1
    Files:
    1
    AO3:
    #76810421

  3. Yes, Chef by

    Heated Rivalry (TV)
    • T
    • ✓

    2025-12-28

    Shane is the head chef with one Michelin star under his belt. Ilya is a 3-times James Beard award recipient. Shane does not like Ilya. But what happens when they are forced to work together? one. Shane Hollander has been the executive chef at Constellation for exactly four years, two months, and sixteen days when Marcus tells him about Ilya Rozanov. "It's just for six weeks," Marcus says, like that makes it better. Like six weeks isn't an eternity when you're talking about sharing a kitchen with someone who has very publicly called your cooking "technically perfect but soulless." Shane's hands are steady as he continues breaking down the duck—breast, legs, wings—with the precision that's earned him a Michelin star and the kind of reputation that has servers whispering when he enters the dining room. "No." "Shane—" "No." He sets down his knife with controlled care. "You're telling me that Ilya Rozanov, who spent an entire episode of Chef's Table explaining why classical French technique is 'the death of innovation,' is going to come into my kitchen—" "Our kitchen," Marcus corrects, which is technically true since he owns the restaurant, but Shane's been running it since the doors opened. "—and what? Critique my mise en place? Reorganize my walk-in? Tell me that my sauce work is bourgeois?" Marcus has the grace to look uncomfortable. "The publicity would be incredible. Two of the most talked-about chefs under forty, working together for the first time. The Times would eat it up. We could finally get that second star." Shane's jaw tightens. He doesn't need Ilya Rozanov's chaos to get a second star. He needs consistency, precision, and a dining room full of people who appreciate the kind of cooking that makes grown men cry—not because it's weird or boundary-pushing, but because it's perfect. "He's opening his own place in the city next year," Marcus continues. "Some experimental concept. Farm-to-table meets molecular gastronomy meets—I don't know, interpretive dance probably. But he wants to spend time in different kitchens first. Learning, he says." "Learning," Shane repeats flatly. "Ilya Rozanov, winner of three James Beard awards before he turned thirty, wants to learn from me?" "He specifically requested you." That stops Shane cold. "What?" Marcus shifts his weight, suddenly very interested in the copper pots hanging from the rack above the prep station. "He said—and I quote—'Hollander's one of the few chefs in North America who actually respects his ingredients enough to let them speak.' Which, coming from him, is high praise." Shane feels heat crawl up his neck. He's read every interview Ilya's ever given, watched every episode of every show he's been on, even hate-read his cookbook cover to cover. Not because he's obsessed—he tells himself it's professional research. Know your compettition. Except Ilya isn't really his competition, not in any traditional sense. They operate in completely different spheres. Ilya's the kind of chef who serves deconstructed everything, who treats a plate like a canvas, who once made a dessert that was just three perfect berries, some edible flowers, and what he called "the memory of cream." It was pretentious as hell. Shane had thought about it for a week. "When?" Shane asks finally. "He arrives Sunday." Shane closes his eyes. "That's in three days." "I know." "We have the Marchand private dinner Saturday." "I know." "And you're just telling me now?" Marcus has the decency to look apologetic. "I was hoping to find the right moment." "There is no right moment for this." Shane returns to his duck, his cuts perhaps slightly more aggressive than necessary. "Fine. Six weeks. But he follows my rules. My kitchen, my systems, my standards." "Of course," Marcus says, already backing toward the door like he's afraid Shane might change his mind. "I'll send you his requirements." "Requirements?" But Marcus is already gone. Shane looks down at the perfectly butchered duck in front of him and has the distinct feeling he's just agreed to something that's going to change everything. The email arrives at 11:04 PM. Shane's in his apartment—a studio in Queens that's closer to the restaurant than anything in Manhattan would be, decorated with nothing but a mattress, a espresso machine, and about thirty cookbooks—when his phone buzzes.

    Language:
    English
    Words:
    7,853
    Chapters:
    1/1
    Files:
    1
    AO3:
    #76570456