441 – 460 of 654 Works in POV Shane Hollander

  • POV Shane Hollander ×
  1. They're down to the final countdown before Ilya leaves the cottage. Shane's mom arrives with fresh food from the local market and... unrequested supplies. OR Ilya stays at the cottage longer than originally planned. Yuna Hollander just wants her boys to be safe and well. To Ilya's delight and Shane's horror, she brings them sex-related items.

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    AO3:
    #77248406
  2. anchored to you by

    Heated Rivalry (TV)
    • ✓

    2026-01-07

    After a bad hit, Ilya insists he’s fine. After all, he's survived way worse than a concussion. Shane doesn’t believe him—and shows up anyway. Shane was wedged into the middle of the couch, his dad to his left, his mom’s feet tucked beneath her on his right. The Raiders game hummed through the living room, the volume a notch too loud, the voices of the commentators confident in that polished, charismatic way. His mom reacted a half-second ahead of the play like she always did, his dad chiming in here and there. Shane nodded when he was supposed to, smiled when they did, and kept his hands loose in his lap so no one would notice how tightly his fingers wanted to curl as he watched Ilya glide across the ice—fierce, effortless, commanding attention every time he came into frame. Midway through the second period, the Raiders finally managed to set something up in Ottawa’s zone. The puck moved back to the point, a quick pass across the blue line before a shot was fired through traffic. The shot was low and messy, the kind meant to create chaos more than score outright. The Ottawa goalie dropped into a butterfly and kicked the puck away with his pad, sending the rebound skidding into the crease. Ilya was already there, parked in front of the net, jostling for position with a defenseman, his back half-turned. The rebound hit him before he even had time to react—clipping the inside edge of his skate and redirecting just enough to slip past the goalie’s outstretched leg and dribble over the line. For a beat, the arena and everyone inside of it seemed confused. Then the horn went off, the goal light flashing as the puck settled in the back of the net. Shane watched Ilya turn in a slow, bewildered circle, stick lifted like he wasn’t entirely sure what he’d just done. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Shane’s dad groaned, already dropping his head back against the couch. “That’s not even skill. That’s just dumb luck.” His mom laughed, sharp and pleased. “Luck still counts,” she said. “You don’t get those goals unless you’re in the right place. Say what you will, but Rozanov is good at that. He’s always driving the net and causing chaos.” Shane nodded, keeping his expression neutral. “Yeah,” he said. “An ugly goal’s still a goal.” Shane kept his eyes fixed on the screen, but inside he was grinning. He could already picture it later—his phone propped up against the lamp on his bedside table, Ilya’s face filling the screen, hair still damp from his shower and pretending like the whole thing had been deliberate. He’d talk about the importance of positioning, about instincts, about reading the play, like the puck hadn’t bounced off his skate while he wasn’t even looking. Shane imagined himself leaning back on his bed, watching Ilya sell it with that infuriatingly smug face, the pause before the shrug, the way his mouth would twitch like he was daring Shane to call him on it. Obviously I meant to do that, Hollander, he’d say, completely serious. Shane would laugh, remind him of the replay, maybe even send him a link to the video. Ilya would protest, offended on principle, but secretly pleased. Shane felt the grin settle deeper in his chest, a quiet, private thing. He stayed still on the couch, expression carefully mild, already looking forward to later—when the game would be over, when the call would connect, when it would be just the two of them on opposite ends of the screen. It had been longer than he liked since the last time Shane had seen Ilya in person. A road trip that stretched on and on, cities blurring together, flights and back-to-backs stealing whatever gaps they might have had. Over a month now, which felt ridiculous to miss someone this much when they talked almost every day, but the distance had a way of changing the math. Calls flattened things. Screens cut Ilya down to the shoulders and face Shane already knew by heart. Their last time together had been quick, almost stolen. A night squeezed in between travel days, Ilya’s suitcase half-unpacked on the floor, the room smelling faintly of hotel soap and the cigarette Ilya swore would be his last. They’d ordered takeout, eaten it out of the containers, knees knocking under the sheets. Shane remembered the weight of Ilya’s arm slung over his shoulders later, the solid, anchoring heat of his bare skin, the way Ilya had gone quiet in that rare, unguarded way that meant he was tired enough to stop performing. Shane and Ilya had talked about getting together when Ilya passed through Ottawa—had lingered on the idea longer than either of them admitted out loud. Shane had stared at the map on his phone, thumb hovering, quietly calculating the drive. Two hours. Maybe a little more with traffic. Doable. Tempting. He’d been the one to shut it down. “Don’t be stupid,” Shane had said, fond but firm, even as part of him didn’t want to let it go. “I’ve got an early flight the next day out of Montreal. We’d barely get any time.” It had sounded practical. Responsible. Like the right call. He’d memorized that last night instead, like he’d known this stretch was coming—how Ilya fit against him, how steady he felt when he finally let himself rest. He’d stood in the doorway the next morning and watched Ilya pack with methodical care, all focus and muscle memory, like leaving was just another drill to get through. … On the ice, the noise blurred. Ilya’s ears rang in a low, persistent hum that followed him as he skated back into position. He shook his head once, subtle. The goal still echoed in the arena, teammates tapped his helmet. He grinned widely when he was supposed to, lifted a hand to the crowd that booed him, played the part. All he could think about was the shit Shane was going to give him later. The image came uninvited: Shane’s mouth tilting up, eyes bright with it, already lining up the jokes. Great move, he’d say. Really subtle. Ilya huffed out a breath through his nose and forced his focus back to the red line, the faceoff dot, the geometry of the ice. Thinking about Shane during a game was always a mistake.

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    AO3:
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  3. Bottom of the River by

    Heated Rivalry (TV)
    • M
    • ✓

    2026-01-07

    Shane is kidnapped so he can be a rich man’s Omega even though he’s already married and mated to Ilya Rozanov.

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    AO3:
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  4. Shane Hollander has wings. Ilya Rozanov loves him. There's no 'despite' about it. Wings as a metaphor for autism. Because. Fuck it. Or The mortifying ordeal of letting the people who love you care.

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    AO3:
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  5. Even If I Was by

    Heated Rivalry (TV)
    • T
    • ✓

    2026-01-07

    Ilya somehow unstraps Shane’s helmet with one hand, pulling it off and doing the same with his own. Then, he grins, sharp and wolfish and handsome. “Scott Hunter has nothing on this,” He says, and surges forward.

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  6. Twelve years after filming their first CCM ad together, Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov are asked to return for a follow-up campaign. The offer sparks reflection and conversation about privacy, visibility, and what it means to exist openly as a married couple in the NHL. --- “Okay,” Farah said, brightly. “So. CCM reached out.” Shane straightened instinctively. He and Ilya were both sponsored by CCM, they had been for years. Would CCM pull their sponsorships now that they were publicly out? Would they only want to keep working with one of them now that they were married and would be playing on the Centaurs together this season? “They want you two for a new ad campaign,” she continued, eyes sparkling. “A twelve-year retrospective referencing the one you shot together the summer before your rookie year.”

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  7. [But Shane wants to know what puts Ilya in the mood for it. He wants to know when sending a picture of his own dick dripping spit will get Ilya absolutely wild and when it will be just a pleasant little start to things. When making his blowjobs sloppy will have Ilya falling apart and needy and when it will just leave Ilya pleased with himself and mouthier than usual. He wants to know what will get Ilya staring at Shane’s mouth like he might die if he doesn’t find out what will come out of it next, and what makes him look like he can’t wait to put something in it. Because the thing is, Shane knows an implied challenge when he hears one. Especially ones from Ilya Rozanov.] OR, Sometimes there’s a particular thing Ilya wants, something Shane doesn’t mind giving him when Ilya wants it. If he can figure out when Ilya wants it. Which he will. Because it’s definitely all about when Ilya wants it. Definitely…definitely that.

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  8. Shane had made so much progress in the past year and a half. Between therapy and playing for Ottawa, he was in a much better place mentally. And yet. Yet, today, he felt like his body wasn’t his own, like his bones weren’t fit together quite right, like his muscle and flesh and all the bits underneath were just wrong. “It’s the,” he started again, squeezing his eyes shut to block out the knowing look in Ilya’s. “It’s the idea of putting it on my plate, in my mouth. It’s not good… For me.” Shane and Ilya host Christmas dinner for the first time, and Shane struggles with the sweet potato casserole. Takes place following the events of The Long Game

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  9. Rozanov rolled his eyes. “Yes, because it is so silly to want to know where you are going. I know you looked up every last detail, you are not high and mighty.” Hayden found himself chuckling. “Yeah, Shane, you're not all high and mighty. I bet you managed to find the blueprints of the rental, just to make sure it was to your standards.” “What the fuck is this? You two are teaming up on me now?” Shane tried to sound offended, but his delight pushed right through. “Ah, is only because we know you are full of shit.” Rozanov nodded, very sure of himself as per usual. --- the pikes join ilya and shane on vacation to the bahamas, and everything that happens is actually way easier than any of them expected. hayden gets hit on, jackie appreciates some quality relaxation, and hollanov go on like they always do.

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  10. Shane is still wearing the suit when Ilya shows up for their first hook-up or Shane wears a suit to a blowjob

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  11. “Why are you out here alone?” Ilya asks. “Who left you here?” Hesitantly, Shane’s eyes cast up at the apartment building. Ilya follows his gaze, confused. “I’m sorry,” Shane says softly, “I went home with someone.” Ilya’s head snaps in his direction. “What?” -an episode 4 au where shane goes home with the bartender instead of rose, and it goes very, very poorly-

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  12. 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.

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  13. The Quiet Fight by

    Heated Rivalry (TV)
    • G
    • ✓

    2026-01-06

    After the longest season of his career, Ilya retreats to the cottage with Shane, expecting rest, recovery, and a month of stolen peace. Instead, exhaustion lingers. Small things feel wrong. And the body that has always carried him through pain begins to falter in ways he can’t explain. As concern grows and outside eyes begin to notice, the life Ilya and Shane have carefully built—careers, borders, futures—starts to feel fragile. When a medical crisis shatters their summer before answers arrive, love is no longer something they protect quietly. It becomes something they fight with. A story about what happens when the body speaks before you’re ready to listen, and the people who refuse to let you face it alone.

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    AO3:
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  14. “And then this is Shane on his first day of school,” Yuna said, whipping out another photo with a flourish. “He was so nervous, do you remember, honey? We had to hold your hand all the way up to the classroom door.” Ilya gazed at the photo, not bothering to conceal his obvious delight. It struck Shane suddenly that he’d never seen any photos of Ilya as a child. Had never seen what he had worn on his first day of school, never seen the gap-toothed primary school days. He wondered if his hair had used to be lighter. If his mother had held his hand tight on his first day at school as well.

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  15. “Which one is yours?” Shane scans the ice for his daughter’s jersey number. Ilya had been really smug about it when they brought it home. She has your last name, Hollander, he’d said, let her have my number if she wants. Is better, anyway. “That one,” he says, pointing at the clump of white jerseys. “Number 81. Mila.” “Oh you’re Mila’s dad!” The woman looks delighted. “I’m Maddie’s mom. Jane.” She holds her hand out, and Shane has to bite back a grin. He takes her hand. “Shane,” he says, shaking it. “Nice to meet you.”

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    AO3:
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  16. The first time Ilya coughed up a flower, he was kneeling over a toilet in the penthouse of the Fontainebleau Las Vegas, for entirely the wrong fucking reason to be kneeling over a toilet in Vegas. There was no point in trying to pretend it wasn’t happening. He wasn’t an idiot. Hadn’t he seen his own mother waste away, coughing up clumps of clean white chamomile stained shocking scarlet? Hadn’t he known, on some level, that he was fated to follow in her footsteps one day, to throw his entire heart and soul into loving a person who would never — could never — love him back? No, Ilya knew what this was. He also knew he’d never set foot on the ice again if anyone found out. Blindly, he reached for the toilet paper, wiped his mouth, and then flushed the whole thing. Petals, too. He didn’t want to know what kind they were. Pizdets. It should’ve been a fucking maple leaf. ❁ ❆ ❁ ❆ ❁ the Hanahaki AU, in which Ilya loves Shane Hollander’s stupid face so much it makes him sick (literally)

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    AO3:
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  17. When an injury puts Ilya in a coma during the Ottawa Centaurs third game in the Stanley Cup final, Shane must decide whether he can handle the pressures of leading the team to victory with the worry that at any moment Ilya's condition could go from bad to worse. * Shane didn’t want to go home. It was one thing to be in another country clinging to the unfamiliarity of the people and the places to try and rationalise that this was a strange nightmare. But when he had to wake up in his bed alone and walk streets with people wearing Ilya’s jersey that pathetic hope would be extinguished. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. The next game was the 11th, and if they hadn’t won by then they would have done by the 13th. Either way, by the time Ilya turned 32 on the 15th he was supposed to be a two-time Stanley Cup winner. They would spend the summer at the cottage, bathing in the joy of success and each other and forgetting that there was a world out there that demanded things of them. Title from Walt Whitman's 'O Captain! My Captain!' RIP Walt Whitman you would have loved hockey yaoi.

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  18. come back by

    Heated Rivalry (TV)
    • T
    • ✓

    2026-01-05

    if Ilya came back to see Shane in the hospital while he's recovering from his concussion

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    AO3:
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  19. When she’s sixteen, Ilya’s niece is forced to leave Russia. She finds a home and a family with the Hollander-Rozanovs.

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    AO3:
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  20. The realisation hits him in a jarring instant like a splash of cold water. Ilya has been in his position already - with his parents, with Hayden and Jackie. Already had to go through the worry of meeting the people that Shane loves, has felt the weight of it, the fear of getting it wrong. Svetlana, from everything Ilya has said, is one of his most favourite people in the world. One of the few people he has left, really. And Shane has to, has to , give a good impression. OR Shane Hollander’s first time meeting Svetlana Vetrova.

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