61 – 80 of 97 Works in David Hollander & Ilya Rozanov
- David Hollander & Ilya Rozanov ×
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He wasn’t the father of the year, but David thought he might be a pretty good one, and maybe, someday, he could be one to this kid too. *** Or, what David and Ilya talked about while Yuna and Shane were outside at the Hollander cottage
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- AO3:
- #76990831
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A clearing of the throat, and Ilya looked away from the doorway, meeting David's gaze. He tried a smile that sat awkwardly on his lips, more grimace than not, and David did the same. "Rozanov," he started, and Ilya's grimace deepened. "Ilya." "Right, sorry," David said uncomfortably. _____ What Ilya and David talked about while Shane and Yuna were outside.
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- AO3:
- #76897876
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#GetWellSoonShane by minniekitten
Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid, Heated Rivalry (TV)
2026-01-02
Shane has a bad case of flu. While Shane receives much needed love from the everyone, the Internet discovers how close Ilya Rozanov and David Hollander are.
- Part 1 of The Hashtag Series
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- English
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- AO3:
- #76794931
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I Want a Mom (and Dad) That Will Make It All Better by Anonymous
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2026-01-01
Shane went outside to apologize to his mom and got the apology that he needed from her.
Ilya stayed inside with David. He needed something in that moment too.
Ilya & David missing scene, David POV
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- AO3:
- #76852836
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want you to know who i am by byulelle
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2025-12-31
Ilya couldn’t help it, gently collecting the small girl into his arms as she easily wrapped her arms around his neck. She was so light, lighter than she should be for a five year old, and yet the burden she carried had nearly weighed her down just as easily. Ilya swears he'd carve out a future where she would never shy away from the sunshine, where she would never question or second guess whether she deserves the calm, the warmth, the love that she receives. Their deaths weren't her fault, never was, never would be. "Uncle Ilyushka is here now." Svetlana calls the Hollander-Rosanovs to inform them Andrei and Alexia have been killed. And that Katarina, his niece, has less than a week before she's officially filed in foster care. Nobody wants to grow up in Russia's foster system. And Uncle Ilyushka of all people, would not allow it.
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- AO3:
- #76782131
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however small, however hidden by sidequesting (blowmymind)
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2025-12-31
“You are asking me to be careful with his heart.” It’s not a question. He knows he’s gotten it right, this time. A minuscule nod from Shane’s father. A breath. A small correction: “No, I’m telling you.” Ilya's never gotten a shovel talk before. There's a first time for everything.
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- AO3:
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Wherever I'm with you by Anonymous
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2025-12-30
He drives to the airport with an unshakeable urge to pull over and turn around. He smokes four cigarettes in a row before he boards the plane, then chews an entire pack of gum on the flight to try and cover the worst of the smell.
He exits the airport half-hoping that Shane has chickened out of the whole thing. Then he spots him, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel in the most boring suburban dad car Ilya has ever had the misfortune of laying his eyes on, and he’s so happy to see him that his legs feel unsteady beneath his weight.
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Or, the cottage, Ilya's version: an extended ep 6 featuring my take on what happened in the gaps we didn't see.
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- AO3:
- #76732301
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David wasn’t kidding when he said that with Ilya in his life now, he was blessed with another son, and he was going through with that promise with a father-son trip. Which is how they find themselves in the place that had originally drafted Ilya: Boston, MA. Or, David Hollander takes Ilya on a good ol' American vacation like he deserves.
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Ilya tries to breathe. Shane is the one who panics. In fact, Ilya has been so calm over the past hour. So, so calm. Soooooooo so so so amazingly calm that maybe Shane will reward him with a very nice blowjob later. Ilya has been calm because Shane needs a rock to lean on, but Shane is gone and now Ilya is panicking. This is his only chance to rectify the first, shirtless impression he made on Shane’s father. “Do you still read New Yorker?” OR: Ilya, on the confluence of Shane with David, Yuna, and Svetlana.
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- AO3:
- #76703756
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Show me how I can Get this calloused hand In that velvet glove - Learning how to love - Rumer --- Love comes with condition, or so Ilya Rozanov thought. Until he met the Hollanders.
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- AO3:
- #76638976
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the blade of father and son by rubyjean_jacket
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2025-12-29
David loves hockey, he does, he just doesn’t love it the way Yuna and Shane do, in that all- consuming, world-defining way of theirs that binds the two of them together tighter than just blood. Sometimes, David feels like he’s missing out. Mostly, though, he’s glad they have something to share, something that’s uniquely theirs. David loves hockey, he does, he just doesn’t love it the way Yuna and Shane do, in that all- consuming, world-defining way of theirs that binds the two of them together tighter than just blood. Sometimes, David feels like he’s missing out. Mostly, though, he’s glad they have something to share, something that’s uniquely theirs. David doesn’t have something like that with Shane. He loves Shane, he really does, loves him more than breathing, but… Shane knows that Yuna loves him because they speak hockey to each other and understand each other perfectly. David should be able to keep up with them —he played hockey at McGill—but he can’t, somehow, because his relationship with hockey is fundamentally different. For Yuna, hockey is as intrinsic to her as her Japanese heritage: something deep inside her, tied to ideas like belonging and identity. For Shane, it’s much the same. For David, hockey is a sport he was good enough at that he kept playing it until he couldn't play it anymore, and then he did something else. When Shane is three, Yuna buys him skates. “Isn’t it a little early?” David asks. Yuna shakes her head. “You’ve got to start them early,” she says, unlacing the skates, “so that skating is as natural as walking.” David wants to ask why any of that is necessary, but he doesn’t, because he knows why, even if he doesn’t understand it. Because Yuna loves hockey with her whole self. In those early days, David finds himself praying to a God he hasn’t believed in since childhood that Shane will love hockey like Yuna does, because David’s pretty sure it would break her heart if Shane saw hockey the same way David did, through unromantic eyes. His prayers are answered. Hockey is everything to Shane; he loves it with his whole self. He is a difficult kid, or maybe David and Yuna are just unpracticed parents. Shane is particular. He cries a lot, and he fusses over everything, and he doesn’t have any friends because he doesn’t like talking about anything but hockey, doesn’t like doing anything but hockey. And Yuna is happy to indulge him, and David is happy to indulge her. So Shane heads down the same path David was on, some twenty years before, only the world has changed a lot since then. Things are a lot less private. Strangers have opinions on Shane’s style of play and make predictions about where he’ll fall in the draft. Shane is a child. He should be playing Grounders with his friends, laughing and smiling until his face hurts. He should have friends. Instead, he has teammates and coaches and spectators and tag-alongs and rivals, and David doesn’t think any of it is very healthy at all, actually. Shane melts down all the time, over everything. He doesn’t want to eat dinner. He doesn’t want to have a bath. He doesn’t want practise to be over. He doesn’t want to miss a game. He doesn’t want new shin pads. He doesn’t want to go to school early. He doesn’t want to go to school at all. Surely, this behaviour isn’t normal. Surely, David and Yuna aren’t just failing at every turn. Surely there’s a reason why Shane is so… impossible. Why the world seems to stymie him. “I think Shane might be autistic,” one of Shane’s teachers says at Parent-Teacher night, and David doesn’t know what that is, but he’s filled with relief that there’s a word for what they are struggling with, that there are families like theirs out there, children like Shane; that they aren’t alone. Yuna doesn’t see it that way. David should’ve known she wouldn’t. “Don’t tell me what my son is,” she says, angry in the way that she never is. “There’s nothing wrong with him.” But there is something… maybe not wrong with Shane, but different. David tries to bring it up to Yuna, but she shuts it down every time. “How would you know?” she says, with that same anger. “You’re never here. Don’t tell me what my son is.” Yuna’s son. Like David is nothing to Shane, nothing to either of them, intruding on the two of them. Sometimes, at practises, other parents ask David which kid is his, and they are always surprised when the answer is Shane. He must take after his mother, they say, which is their way of saying that he doesn’t look white. “Our son is hurting!”
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- AO3:
- #76634166
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The missing conversation between Ilya and David where David shares some things and Ilya starts to think that there might just be a space in this family for him.
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The Blue Pillow by masterroadtripper
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2025-12-28
When they pulled into the garage of their house in Ottawa, Ilya gently prodded Shane to, “shower, get yourself ready.” Of course, that could mean just about anything, and that was why Ilya phrased it that way. If Shane wanted quiet, wanted to cuddle in the quiet, he could pull on his most ridiculous flannel pajamas and curl in close. But if Shane wanted him, wanted the one language that never failed between them anymore, then Shane knew what he had to do. And Ilya had a sense that he already knew what Shane would choose. They had no match that day, just training with the Centaurs, but Ilya knew Shane had woken on the wrong side of the bed. One of those mornings where the light coming between the cracks in their window blinds felt abrasive. Where none of his clothes were right. Where he’d shower before leaving for the rink and then again once he got there, the first not having counted because he’d already ruined it by existing in the world. Lunch would be an ordeal that Ilya watched for the sole purpose of ensuring that Shane ate something. Anything too warm or too textured would be left untouched, until he inevitably defaulted to a bowl of chickpeas and spinach because at least those two foods behaved predictably and did exactly what Shane expected them to do. The buzzer made him flinch every time it went off when they got ready for some drills in the afternoon, sharp and unavoidable, and on the drive home Shane picked at the skin around his fingernails until it lifted in long, thin pieces. Ilya had learned the signs long before he understood them. Back when they’d first started this, so many years ago now, he’d thought Shane was perhaps slightly difficult. Different. That was what everyone said. They were never cruel enough to say anything more than that then, though Ilya would later learn how quickly that restraint would wear thin once winning stopped making up for inconvenience. When he was particular to the point of peculiarity, or quiet to the point of unease, Ilya would watch those big brown eyes tracking everything and everyone on the ice. There were times when Shane didn’t speak at all. Not out of sulking or stubbornness, not as some calculated refusal, but because the words simply never arrived. His mouth would open and close again, the thought intact but unreachable, and he’d turn his head slightly away from Ilya, his gaze fixing on something neutral like a lamp or a building out the window. Ilya knew now that Shane could and would go nonverbal, though at the time he didn’t have the English for it, didn’t have any language beyond the uneasy certainty that pushing would only make it worse. What Shane did have language for were systems. Rules. Things that behaved if you treated them correctly. Folding his clothes with precise, almost reverent care. Lacing his skates the same way every time. Eating the same meals, parking in the same spot, walking the same routes through the increasingly familiar away cities as if repetition might smooth out their edges. Ilya knew that people mistook Shane’s steadiness for control, for leadership even, and Ilya knew that Shane let them. That it was easier than admitting how much effort it took to appear normal to the world that wouldn’t see him that way. At the time, Ilya hadn’t known why the rituals mattered so much, why deviation hit Shane like a personal failure instead of a minor inconvenience. No one ever called it anything because the league loved men like Shane. Players who were disciplined, controlled, and relentlessly prepared. What Ilya had known, back then, was that sex was simpler, even if it was riskier. He had gambled. All those years ago, he’d noticed that the only time Shane ever truly came alive, ever seemed able to meet Ilya where he was, was on the ice. Skates carving into the rink, their shoulders colliding. Physicality seemed to give Shane something that his words never quite managed to do. It was the way through to him, Ilya had realized, a way out. So if Ilya wanted more, if he wanted anything, it would have to start there. It would have to be physical, Ilya knew almost right away. After that first, sharp “fuck off” chirp from Shane in the showers after the CCM commercial before their rookie year, even though Shane’s voice had been rough and startled, Ilya knew he was onto something. Not because Shane had said “not here” to him after he’d turned to face Shane front-on, but because he’d said anything at all. Because he’d stayed. Because he’d opened his hotel room door. Because as soon as Ilya had gotten his hands on him, had gotten his mouth on Shane’s, it was like Ilya had cracked the code and had found a way to get through to Shane like he’d only otherwise been able to on the ice. Shane might not have been able to speak it, might not have been able to admit it even to himself, but Ilya knew he’d found the way in much better than he had in the hotel gym. They didn’t have to talk. They never did. Sex, touch, pressure, heat, it all seemed to cut through that weird noise he could see crossing Shane’s features in a way that made Ilya realize that was more immediate to focus on than anything else. They were good at it. They always had been. And for a long time, Ilya mistook that relief for resolution, believing that whatever was breaking Shane down during the day could be burned off at night, leaving nothing behind that would ever need to be named. Eventually, Shane tried to explain. Not all at once, and not easily. He put a name to what he'd had been dealing with since he was a kid, and said it like it was something fragile, easily mishandled, as though he weren’t entirely sure Ilya would know the word, or what to do with it if he did. He did. David had mentioned it to him before. It had been the first time they’d talked properly, out at the cottage a few days after they’d accidentally outed themselves to Shane’s parents. David had taken Ilya aside, not unkindly, but with a careful seriousness that felt earned. He’d told him that Shane’s mother had been… less understanding. That as both his mother and his manager, she struggled with anything that might make Shane less than his best. Less marketable. Less predictable. Anything that threatened the version of him the league found easiest to celebrate. David hadn’t spoken badly of her, but instead, he’d just looked tired. He said that all he’d ever wanted for Shane was for him to be happy, and that only part of that happiness could be hockey, no matter how much it had come to define him. He wanted Shane to be loved, for who he was, not for what he could produce, and he wanted Ilya to be able to love him too. Regardless of hockey. Regardless of autism. Not in spite of it, but without fear of it. So when Shane finally said it himself - "I'm autistic, Ilya" - sitting beside him with his hands folded tight in his lap, eyes fixed somewhere just past the horizon, Ilya understood what it had cost him. This wasn’t new information, not exactly, but it was Shane offering up something that had so often been treated as liability, asking without quite asking to be held there without being diminished. Shane admitted that hockey was the first language he’d ever known, quite literally. Ever since the first game his father took him to when he was four, perched high in the stands with the cold seeping through his boots, the arena roaring loudly around him, Shane had chewed
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The moment Yuna rises from her seat, Ilya knows Shane is going to follow. He is good, his Shane. A good hockey player; a good partner; a good son. A good person. On his best day, Ilya might consider himself to be one of those things. It's purely quantitative; he has the accolades to prove it. But today is far from his best day, so when Shane grabs the grey cashmere sweater draped like a shroud around Yuna's vacated chair and leaves Ilya with David peering blankly at him across the table, he braces for a storm. — Ilya and David's conversation at the dining table.
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- AO3:
- #76616636
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They’d considered it—Shane being gay. It’d been an option. But Ilya Rozanov and the way Shane looks at him like he’s the love of his life has blindsided them. Blindsided both of them, and there’s almost nothing Yuna likes less than being blindsided.
She’s not mad, David wants to say. We’re so proud of you. We’re so happy for you. We just didn’t know.
Somehow we missed it, you falling in love.
or, what David Hollander and Ilya Rozanov talk about while Shane and Yuna are outside in episode six.
- Part 2 of my heated rivalry anon fics
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- English
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- 5 versions
- AO3:
- #76616841
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He loved the idea of them being his family after years of having none, and he wanted to make them happy, so he added second, third and fourth presents for each and every Hollander into his cart, and felt better and better with every next swipe of his card. or, a little peek into the first Christmas Ilya spends with Hollanders.
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- #76530721
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So, you like New Yorker? by oxfordcommachameleon
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2025-12-27
“So,” Ilya cleared his throat, the word sounding too loud in the stillness. “Shane tells me you like New Yorker.” Shane’s dad looked at him from where he was rinsing out a glass in the sink, visibly surprised that Ilya had spoken first. “Oh. Yes,” he said after a beat. “I like to read in the mornings. I love the crossword. Do you read The New Yorker too?” “No.” “Oh.” or While Shane is outside with his mother, Ilya finds unexpected understanding and warmth in a quiet kitchen conversation with the man who helped raised the boy he loves.
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- English
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- AO3:
- #76503241
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It’s winter in Ottawa and Ilya has hunkered down in his big, empty mansion to weather a nasty flu. Then his phone buzzes. — Guardian™ Security Alert: Movement detected at front door — (1) Missed Call: Yuna Hollander Or: The Hollanders have a new son to take care of. Ilya has no idea what’s going on.
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- 2 versions
- AO3:
- #76507061
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During Ilya's first season in Ottawa, Shane asks his dad to pick Ilya up from the hospital after a mild injury. Or: Ilya doesn't realize that the Hollanders are a package deal. David, in his way, tries to remedy that. It's late when his phone buzzes. Not so late that he's asleep, though he probably should be, because it's been a very long evening and he's never been able to switch off when a game doesn’t go well. It used to be just Shane that he’d be up late worrying over. He’s seen plenty of injuries, Shane’s been skating since he was two years old, but it doesn’t get easier when it’s your kid. And now, there’s two of them. It was different last year when Ilya played for Boston. He and Shane were so new—to them, at least—so they’d just text. Yuna would ask how he’s feeling in the family group chat and Ilya would always reply that he’s fine, make some comment about an opposing player he’d get back next time, always put on that brave front or direct attention back to Shane. But now, two summers and then some, not to mention the foundation, it’s different. They know Ilya now. He comes over for dinner every other week—once a month with Shane when their schedules match, once a month alone—and always insists upon doing the dishes with Yuna, trying very hard to follow her rapid-fire stream of consciousness and well-intended micromanagement of his career, the occasional yet accidentally painful questions she blurts with no filter. It takes nearly six months of regular dinners for the man to relax when Shane isn’t present, something that troubles Yuna but Shane (and David) insist isn’t to do with something they’ve done wrong. They know that he’s good at cards but prefers playing Yahtzee and he refuses to play Sorry! on principle. (“Why call it Sorry? I am not sorry you are losing.”) They know he’s quiet sometimes, that there’s a shadow in his eyes. Especially when Shane is gone. When that happens, they share a glance, save doing dishes for the morning, and turn on old reruns of game shows he saves on the DVR to drone on in the background. Yuna can’t stand them, so she watches for five minutes before growing bored, wandering off. She always throws the fluffy pink blanket from the hallway closet over Ilya before she retreats to her office or the bedroom, only coming out if Shane calls. Speaking of: David reaches for his phone, slides his finger across the screen to answer. “Hey, Shane.” ”Hi Dad,” Shane sounds tired. Montreal played tonight too, but this kind of tired, this weight, it’s different. “You talk to Ilya? That was a nasty tumble into the boards.” Shane sounds far away. It’s quiet though, so he must be back home. “Doctors just read the scan. Looks okay, thankfully. They want him to stay overnight for observation since he doesn’t have anybody at home, but,” Shane trails off. “Is, um,” he pauses again, sounding a little nervous. “Is Mom asleep?” Ah, he thinks, knowing where this conversation is headed. “Yeah, she turned in about an hour ago when Ilya texted the group chat. Did you tell him to—“ “He doesn’t want to be a burden,” Shane blurts, honest to a fault, then “Fuck. He’d be so mad that I said that.” “You are calling me to pick him up, right?” David’s already grabbing his keys from the bowl at the edge of the kitchen counter, has one foot shoved into his boots. It’s freezing this time of year, but the garage is warm enough that he won’t need to wait for the car to warm up before he hops in. ”I—yeah,” he agrees. “Okay,” He answers, easy, pointedly ignoring Shane’s sigh of relief. “We’ll pretend the other part didn’t happen. Your game go alright? Saw you got three assists, not bad. Mom was screaming at Tampa like they’d personally insulted her when you got hooked, though.” ”Yeah, game was good,” Shane is totally tuned out, but he usually crashes hard on the second night of a back-to-back and this game went to a shootout. He’s supposed to drive out to Ottawa in the morning. He'd make the drive tonight, even though he shouldn't, which means Ilya has probably talked him down. “Just tired. Worried.” David hits the button for the ignition and the car comes to life as the garage door opens. He can hear the subtle beep as the call switches to Bluetooth. “I’m in the Audi, and there’s no snow on the roads so I’ll be there in forty. Want me to call him when I get close? You sound like you’re going to conk out any second.” ”Would you?” “’Course, kiddo.” “Thanks, Dad. I’ll text him that you’re already on your way so he can ask for the discharge paperwork.” And so that Ilya can’t try to call and stop him, Shane doesn’t say. — ❄ — It’s just after one in the morning when Ilya puts his bag in the trunk. He’s quiet, squinting against the bright white of snow flurries and yellowy parking lot lighting. David hands him a pair of sunglasses when he throws himself into the passenger seat, in lieu of a greeting, the extra pair he kept in the glovebox from two seasons ago when Shane had his most recent concussion. “Is mild,” Ilya insists, staring straight ahead. He takes the glasses, holds them loosely in his fingers, but refuses to put them on. “Three days rest, team medic clears me, back on ice in a
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- 1
- AO3:
- #76528941
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Wanna Witness Your Eyes Looking by imnewintown
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2025-12-27
“So, how do you feel about Chicken Parmesan?” Of all the things Ilya could have guessed David Hollander would say, that was not one of them. Maybe “Sorry for accidentally interrupting a beautiful moment with your boyfriend and then immediately leaving. That was probably stressful.” Or the opposite end, “Why do you think you're worthy of my perfect son after publicly whoring around for years?” Both scenarios were unlikely, he knew, but the chicken parmesan really came out of nowhere. Ilya cleared his throat and tried not to fidget with his crucifix. “Is good.” -------------------------------------------------------- Or, the missing convo between Ilya Rozanov and David Hollander
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- English
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- 1,190
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- 1
- AO3:
- #76505566