101 – 120 of 151 Works in One Shot
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Ilya realises that Shane doesn’t just respond to his needs during sex. He's taking orders – and getting off on it. They both are. Get on your knees. That had been the first time Ilya had tested Hollander's boundaries directly. He had noticed during their first couple interactions that Hollander seemed to like the guidance that Ilya gave him. Ilya relished in it; Hollander was the first person who seemed to actually listen to him and do what he was told to do. It was thrilling. But Ilya didn’t realise the depth of Hollander’s submissive streak right away. The first time he had invited him to drink more water, that day in the hotel gym, Hollander had done it immediately. Ilya had figured that Hollander had just had permission to take more than what he thought he was allowed to and didn’t think anything of it. When Hollander had admitted that being with Ilya was his first time being with a man, Ilya assumed that he was shy and nervous, his brown eyes docile and timid. Ilya was determined to make it as easy as possible for Hollander to explore – whatever this was. He remembered being nervous with Sasha, and how Sasha had coached him patiently in how to fuck men. Ilya had been so focused on being good in bed that he hadn’t had too much time to be truly terrified, which was great for him, but Ilya could tell that wasn’t Hollander’s motivator. And that first night in Hollander’s hotel room had left Ilya with questions. The way Hollander had immediately dropped to his knees once Ilya had pressed his thumb into his mouth was...something. Like he’d been given some sort of unspoken permission to do something Ilya would have never told him he couldn’t do, and once he got it, he came alive. Ilya had never experienced someone become so dazed before, so lost inside sex that the outside world didn’t even seem to exist anymore. His eyes...it was like Hollander wasn’t truly in his body. The way Hollander hadn’t asked for reassurance, for guidance, the way he needed to know if what he was doing was good but refused to ask Ilya outright was surprising, but Ilya could feel that he needed it. He'd praised him, of course – Ilya had never come so quick in his life, and he was sure Hollander would have known from that alone that he was good at sex, despite his inexperience. Or maybe in spite of it. But when he stared into those big, sad brown eyes, surrounded by the prettiest freckles he’d ever seen, Ilya could tell that Hollander was less worried about the sex being good, and more worried about Ilya feeling good. It was an important distinction to someone like Ilya, who spent most of his free time bringing people to orgasm because watching the exact moment they fell apart because of him was better than any drink or drug he’d ever taken. Knowing that he was responsible for someone losing control like that, crying out his name, was powerful. He felt powerful in those moments. Useful. And somehow, none of those moments felt anywhere near as heady as when he had made Hollander cry out for him, his strong hands buried in his hair, desperately trying to yank him off his cock as he came, unable to push Ilya off of him because his body was completely at Ilya’s mercy. Nothing had ever felt as good as watching Hollander’s eyes become faraway, filled with unshed tears, red rimmed and desperate as he stared up at Ilya, waiting to take whatever he would give him. Because Hollander didn’t need him. He wanted him. Ilya could feel the difference. He needed more. And he was certain Hollander needed more, too. Ilya tested the boundary again the next time they hooked up. He gently requested Hollander get on his knees, just to see what he would do, and Hollander dropped to the floor so fast Ilya couldn’t believe it. He'd half expected Hollander to tell him to go fuck himself, or to get on his knees instead. But Hollander had hit the ground so hard Ilya had flinched at the sound of his knees hitting the floor, barely able to breathe as Hollander desperately pulled his sweatpants down and suckled at his cock so fast Ilya nearly came right then and there. So, he’d been curious. More than curious. Fixated. Obsessed. Unable to stop thinking about what Hollander would let him do to him. He found himself wishing the women he would meet in every city would somehow reveal themselves to have the same quirks so Ilya could indulge himself with them, and stop thinking about fucking Hollander. But he couldn’t. Ilya couldn’t stop thinking about Hollander, and god knows he’d tried not to think about him. Tried not to think about when he’d ordered Hollander onto his stomach, how he had flipped over immediately for him, despite being nervous. He'd tried not to think about how when Ilya had asked him if he’dbeen fucked before, Hollander had tensed, but when he pressed a finger against his hole, he’d relaxed completely under his touch. How when Ilya had tried to find out if Hollander was a virgin, he had offered up that he fucked himself with a dildo. How when Ilya had pressed two fingers inside him that night, Hollander had scoffed and said he could take more than that, but refused to tell Ilya how big his dildo was. How when Ilya fucked him, Hollander’s eyes would become wetter and more intense, how all he could do was stare at Ilya through heavy breaths and frantically touch every part of him, moaning his name. The more Ilya tried not to think about Hollander, the more he became consumed by him. Ilya needed to know what else he could instruct Hollander to do. Within reason, of course. Ilya just wanted to give Hollander everything he didn’t know he needed.
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Ilya Rozanov ✅ @ilyarozanov posted a story • 6h [Image: Photo taken from the team's chartered plane window overlooking a view of a beautiful clouded horizon.] going places you cant even pronouns 😂✌ Shane’s Book Reviews @shollander_24 replied to your story: shollander_24 *Pronounce Or how Ilya Rozanov romanced one Shane Hollander, book enthusiast, up and down the bowels of Instagram (and succeeded).
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sweet potato casserole, halved by crackedskies (mirroredskies), mirroredskies
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2026-01-07
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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shane hollander just needed to run to the grocery store to pick up some ginger ale and snacks before his next few days in boston with his team. it was simple, and as long as he didn't get side-tracked, it would be quick. but when does a grocery store trip ever end up with only a few things? OR shane hollander faces off against a group of little girl scouts and ends up buying over fifty boxes. (but at least he gets to see ilya!)
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if Ilya came back to see Shane in the hospital while he's recovering from his concussion
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The Devil Wears Rozanov by noedovenest
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2026-01-04
"On the ice, he acted quick. Found the puck fast, moved to the net faster. Years of experience had honed his reflexes into second nature. But here, off the ice, wearing ROZANOV on his back like some doe-eyed puck bunny in the stands, his brain short-circuited completely." Or: Shane accidentally wears Ilya’s shirt into the locker room. “Oh.” Ilya rested his head back on the pillow, looking over at Shane. “So you are the asshole.” A wide smile stayed frozen on Shane’s face. He couldn’t help it. “No, it’s still you.” “No, it’s not me.” Ilya feigned offense, thumb stabbing toward Shane. “You’re the asshole.” He sat up an inch and cupped his hands around his mouth. “Everyone! Shane Hollander is an asshole!” Shane’s grin was starting to hurt his cheeks, his laughter coming easier than it had in months. He gave Ilya a playful shove, sending him tumbling back into the pillows. In an accent that had begun to fade, Ilya added, “I am feeling too good to lose tonight, anyway.” “Oh yeah?” Shane turned onto his side, propped on an elbow. “’Cause I’m feeling pretty good too.” “No shit,” Ilya murmured, sliding a hand beneath the sheets to squeeze Shane’s thigh, spurring an echo of pleasure that still clung to the edges of his mind. Sunlight soaked their bare chests, a rarity when their time together was usually isolated to late nights and unfamiliar hotel rooms. It felt better than Shane was willing to admit. Almost normal. The thought sobered him. In reality, they were both supposed to be on the ice in a few short hours. He grabbed his phone from the nightstand, eyes widening. “Shit, Ilya. We’re late.” Ilya’s eyelids had gone heavy, an arm flung over his face. “Hm?” “I need to get back to my hotel for pickup,” Shane hissed, kicking the sheets aside. Behind him, Ilya groaned, long and dramatic. How he’d earned the captaincy with his complete indifference to punctuality baffled Shane. Then again, no one seemed to mind when he kept dragging Boston to victory night after night. It took effort not to marvel at him in those brief moments from the bench, the way he made it all look effortless. Their clothes lay in a heap by the bedroom door. He hadn’t even folded them. Shane scooped up half the pile and tossed it across the room, a pant leg smacking Ilya in the cheek. “Sorry.” “Liar,” Ilya groaned, expression pinched as he slipped free of the sheets and stretched, arms reaching overhead. Shane was already tugging on his sweats, shirt slung over his arm, when he caught sight of Ilya dangling off the edge of the mattress. Light brown curls stood in every direction, a faint sheen still clung to the dip of his spine, a wrinkle pressed into his skin. For a moment, panic gave way to something softer. There were few things he allowed to disrupt his routine, and Ilya had held the top spot since they were eighteen. Shane crossed the room in a few long strides, leaning in to press a firm kiss to his lips. “See you soon, Rozanov.” Ilya’s hand came up, cupping the back of his neck and pulling him closer, deepening it. "Stop trying to distract me,” he murmured against Ilya’s mouth. “Stop trying to leave,” Ilya countered, fingers twisting into Shane’s hair, tugging lightly. It was almost enough to convince Shane to crawl onto his lap and see how quickly they could fit in round two. Or was it three? Shane bit back a sigh. “Tonight?” Ilya’s jaw ticked. “Tonight.” The distance Shane was forced to put between them had grown harder to bear lately, recent confessions weaving new threads into place. He’d ask him soon, about the cottage. Two uninterrupted weeks, no deadlines, no schedules breathing down their necks. Ilya would probably say no. But what if he didn’t? “Go,” Ilya said at last, breaking the kiss. Part of Shane was grateful, because he wasn’t sure he had the willpower to do it himself. The absence of Ilya’s touch settled in immediately, a dull ache that followed him as he turned for the door. There was a mindset Shane liked to settle into before a game, and he was struggling to reach it. It was clouded, inevitably, by the memory of Ilya’s hands roaming over bare skin, teeth at his neck, the way he’d murmured filthy encouragement as they found their rhythm and slipped into Russian when they lost it. Maybe it was for the best that they didn’t make a habit of afternoon meetings. This was torture. Traffic was thick, and Shane tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, eyes flicking to the clock again and again. Was time moving faster today? By the time he’d parked and sprinted up to his hotel room, there was barely enough time to pull on dress pants and shrug into a high-end suit jacket over a wrinkled shirt. It didn’t quite meet dress code, but he’d rather take the hit for that than further fuel Hayden’s theory that he’d been late because he was with a woman named Lily. A woman Shane had vehemently denied existed. His protests had sounded less convincing lately, and maybe he’d stopped caring if they did. Theriault waited outside the bus, and Shane was already apologizing before the coach could get a word in. “My bad, Coach.” “First for everything I suppose,” Theriault grunted, giving him a look that lingered somewhere between concern and curiosity. Shane was the captain. He was supposed to set
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Ilya's past catches up with him, except this time it's planned his future too.
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- AO3:
- #77032191
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So Kiss Me Where I Lay Down by goindownshipping
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2026-01-04
What if the infamous "We didn't even kiss" text actually got sent? And what if it was Ilya that sent it to Shane? Or: Ilya experiences a tiny bit of dom drop and Shane comes to the rescue.
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- English
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- 1,167
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- 1
- AO3:
- #77054791
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Lay Your Head on Me by madeleineh32
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2026-01-04
Shane had made a joke, a passing quip, that if only they could somehow defy biology and reproduce naturally, that their child would be an unstoppable force of a hockey player. Hereditary. Genetic. Those were the words he’d used. Ilya knew what they meant. Or: Ilya thinks about what may have been passed onto him from his parents, and Shane comforts him. Ilya inhaled a shaky breath. He was, perhaps, overthinking. But also maybe he wasn’t. It had been an innocent, playful conversation about kids. Shane and him often spoke of their hypothetical children, joyfully imaging their lives post-hockey. They weren’t quite there yet, but it was something that, for a while, had been definitely mapped out in their future. So why was he breathing like the room was going to run out of oxygen? “Ilya?” Shane rested a careful hand on Ilya’s thigh. They were sat outside, the evening chill only just beginning to settle on their skin. The fire Shane had made was still flickering, though, casting a warm orange glow upon both men. “M’fine.” Ilya’s words were stilted, decidedly un-fine as he choked them out. He puffed out his cheeks, exhaling again, slower this time, furiously swiping at his eyes which were beginning to prickle with the threat of tears. He would not cry about this. “Come here,” Shane murmured, pulled Ilya sideways. He was like putty, folding immediately and nestling his head in Shane’s lap. It was warm, safe as Shane interlaced his fingers through Ilya’s hair. His other hand ran up and down Ilya’s arm, over the goosebumps that had raised the skin on his biceps. He sniffed once, then again. Blinked. Let his eyes lose focus as he watched the flames licking the sides of the fire-pit. “Is stupid,” Ilya muttered. “No.” “Da.” “What is it? You don’t… want kids?” Shane asked carefully, his voice measured. Ilya could tell, though, from years of hearing Shane’s voice in every capacity, that it was tinged with fear, fear of the answer. Ilya’s sure Shane knows that’s not the case; they spoke about kids often. Ilya loved kids, was great with them, and Shane knows that. He huffed out a laugh. Swiped at his eyes again. Nudged his head further into Shane’s lap, let Shane’s hand tighten against his scalp. He brought his other hand up and pressed it against Ilya’s forehead. Shane knew that always grounded him for some reason, having the pressure on his head. Stopped the noise somewhat. “When we say we adopt - of course. That is okay. I want that.” He hears Shane exhale, feels him relax slightly. “But when you say…” his English seemed to fail him. It always seemed to when he got like this. He shut his eyes, sighing with frustration. Shane had made a joke, a passing quip, that if only they could somehow defy biology and reproduce naturally, that their child would be an unstoppable force of a hockey player. Hereditary. Genetic. Those were the words he’d used. Ilya knew what they meant. “Take your time.” Shane’s hands wander back into Ilya’s hair, more gentle than the earlier pressure. “About our child being best hockey player. Genetics. DNA. Heredit–” He groans in frustration again. “Hereditary,” Shane finishes off softly. “Da. That.” Ilya’s hand reached up and he wraps his fingers around Shane’s wrist. “I was thinking. I am glad we cannot have baby. Together.” Shane’s confusion is palpable even without Ilya being able to see his face. He liked this about Shane. He liked being able to explain things to him in a way that made sense, because it made things make more sense in his own head, too. Shane just hums, urging Ilya to continue. “We know I am depressed, yes?” Shane’s fingers curl into his hair. “Like my mother. Maybe not same, exactly. But similar. Probably… hereditary.” He says the word slowly, testing it on his tongue. He hates the way his accent wraps around the syllables. He wishes Shane knew Russian, fluently. He wishes that he could ramble away, go off on tangents, not have to think everything through in both Russian and then English. He wishes he could speak perfect English. Perfect accent like Shane when he speaks French. Perfect Shane and his perfect genetics. He wishes he didn’t get wound up like this. He spirals so easily these days. He wishes he wasn’t so depressed. He wishes his mother hadn’t been depressed. Stop fucking spiralling. He feels his heart rate pick up again, hears his breathing go shallow. “Ilya.” Shane’s voice is grounding. It’s stern, without being unkind. He inhales again, deeply, his fingers pressing more into Shane’s wrist. “Sorry.” His voice is thick, and his mouth feels dry. Shane presses his hand against Ilya’s head again, and he leans into the pressure. “We’re managing it, though.” Shane’s voice is quiet as he cuts through the easing tension that hangs in the air. “Together.” “Yes.” Ilya pauses before speaking again. “Dementia is also hereditary,” He lets his words sit between them, hears Shane exhale as the other shoe drops. “That’s what you’re worried about?” Ilya lifts his hand in a shrug. “Yes, Shane. I think that is something anyone would worry about, no?” He doesn’t mean to sound like an asshole, especially not to Shane. “Okay, asshole.” Shane’s voice doesn’t hold any venom, only fondness, a little sad, even. Ilya almost smirks. They sit in silence for a moment, Shane carding his hands through Ilya’s curls, the crackle of the fire the only thing filling the absence of words for a moment. He speaks again.
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- AO3:
- #77083736
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Anyway, Don't Be A Stranger by Pickle_Chips
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2026-01-04
Svetlana sat there, gorgeous as always, curls catching the light, wearing his new Ottawa jersey. At least this time, Ilya thought gravely, she wore pants. - Svetlana meets Shane Hollander. Ilya thinks all in all, it could have gone worse. -
- Language:
- English
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- 1/1
- Files:
- 2 versions
- AO3:
- #77048451
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Sometimes Shane can't understand what Ilya is saying. Can't figure out how to get the sound from his ears to whatever part of his brain can translate the sounds he can recognize as English. Sometimes it's easier when Ilya speaks Russian, when Shane knows he isn't expected to respond. It's nice. But Shane doesn't think there's anything better than Ilya singing to him, soft and sure.
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- AO3:
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“I just need some air,” Yuna says as she emerges from the kitchen. She’s out the front door before anyone can say anything else. David watches her go, knowing from experience that she needs at least five minutes alone in situations like this. OR Yuna and Shane leave David and Ilya alone. The missing scene from episode 6: The Cottage.
- Part 2 of Heated Rivalry Missing Scenes
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Should Have Known Better by Pickle_Chips
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2026-01-02
“But you should get tested, it’s important. I go every three months. Like the dentist. My dick is very healthy.” “Well…good, I guess.” Shane didn’t have a rebuttal. It was a good point actually. “Wait, you go to the dentist every three months? I thought it was supposed to be six?” “You cannot possibly be this boring, Hollander.” — Shane is tired, but he’s not missing a chance to see Ilya after a New York charity game. Canon compliant, deleted scene type short fluff. Shane wouldn’t miss a night with Ilya. He wouldn’t, and he wasn’t about to pretend he would. After all these years, he had made his peace with what his priorities were. He’d miss dinners, and parties, a movie premier (once), calling his mom, after game rituals, drinks with his teammates, well deserved ice-baths, and almost anything else (provided it didn’t effect his playing) for an hour with Rozanov. He wasn’t proud. But tonight… well he had missed about all of those. And Shane was frankly cranky. He had skipped lunch because, well. He had preferences for how he liked sex and hadn’t seen Rozanov in more than two months. Then he had played a brutal game against the Bears. It was a skirmish, for charity, so it shouldn’t matter but he hated the blood boiling feeling of watching Ilya across the ice, seemingly unphased by seeing him, crooked smile coming as easy as ever. He hated the taste of copper in his mouth as he took a bad fall in the fourth quarter. His hamstring hurt. His knee hurt. His ass hurt, and not in the fun way. He had watched his teammates commit to huge pasta dinners and he watched them go with more than a twinge of jealousy that came directly from his stomach. He took a shower, and he found himself fantasizing both about Ilya (a familiar kind of shame) and the take-out he was going to smash after (brand new.) He had basically stormed through Rozanov’s hotel room door about an hour ago. His hair was still damp from his after game shower. He thought he even registered a look of surprise on Rozanov’s face before slamming into him, and then slamming into the couch, all things hard and fast and crashing. He vaguely noted that this room wasn’t up to Ilya’s standards, maybe he had booked a second room just to fuck in. Fine. “Holla-oof,” Rozanov had greeted him, before being cut off by Shane basically tossing him against the flimsy Hilton wall. He looked as delicious as ever, Shane noted with more than a bit of envy and annoyance,he had also clearly just showered with low slung joggers and a black T-shirt Shane thought he must get tailored to cling to his biceps just so like that. Ilya had responded to his violence in kind, strong hands gripping Shane and lifting him off the ground, slamming him onto the hotel couch in a way that felt unstructurally sound. Shane bit his lip. “Out for revenge for your loss, Hollander? I can show you some moves, if you’re looking for a mentor.” Ilya had quipped, making quick work of Shane’s jeans. Shane didn’t have time for this, he grabbed him by the nape of his neck, pulling him down. Somewhere under the primal taking and shoving and kissing with teeth Shane felt a deep gratitude that Rozanov seemed fine with anything he threw at him. On the ice it was like he could read his mind in the worst way, blocking him, always one step ahead, one millimeter closer, but here Shane felt greedy for it. He pushed and Ilya was there to catch him. He bit and Ilya bit back, He didn’t need to explain, say “I want it rough tonight,” he didn’t need to say anything. It was choreography. It was a play. Rozanov knew his positions so well. Shane thought he was going to get exactly what he wanted, Rozanov, hard and fast and with minimal posible quips, until about 15 minutes ago when he had his leg hauled up on Rozanov’s shoulder, everything slicked and aligned and perfect and- “Wait,” Shane had said, reluctantly, “stop.” His leg was killing him, throbbing pains shooting through the muscle of his thigh. Somewhere in the back of his mind he registered how instantly Ilya stopped, no comments, no hesitation. Shane had been with girls who needed to be stopped five, six times before they got the hint. He wondered if this meant he had literally never stopped Rozanov before, and surmised that probably he was mostly saying “yes yes please” with every cell in his body instead. “Not good?” Ilya asked, sliding his hand from under Shane’s ass up his leg to his ankle, which rested on Ilya’s shoulder. “No,” winced Shane, “it’s uh, god it’s really good-“ Ilya smirked, Shane scowled, “My hamstring, I think I sprained it tonight.” Recognition flooded Rozanov’s face, and if he would allow himself the luxury of imagining it, Shane thought he saw a smidge of relief there too. Ilya surveyed him, laid out beneath him, raw and hard and breathless, and ran his hand up his inner thigh with a practiced ease. “Here?” He asked, rubbing his thumb down the tight muscle. Shane shivered, winced. “Yeah, but I could, turn - “ But Ilya was already moving away from him, perfect naked ass lit by the mediocre hotel lamps. “You need ice.” He called over his shoulder, “This terrible hotel is for business meetings. It has a fridge.” Shane blinked taking in the suite for the first time. It did look like a business hotel, they had crash landed on the living room portion but there was a small fridge where Ilya was heading, with a hot plate and a sad looking Mr. Coffee. “I don’t want ice,” Shane called, reaching for a forgotten couch pillow to cover his erection. Damn Ilya for seeming perfectly at ease this naked, coming back holding an ice pack and his cigarettes, dropping both on the hotel coffee table. He stole the pillow out of Shane’s hands and spread his legs. Shane could feel himself blushing. “You’re in a bad mood, Shane Hollander.” Ilya told him dryly as he gingerly moved Shane’s dick away from the cold and pressed the ice pack just right into Shane’s thigh. It actually felt much better, Shane could feel himself unclench. Ilya reached for his cigarettes but struggled stupidly trying to light them and still hold the ice pack against Shane’s thigh. Shane sighed, took his lighter, lit it for him. Ilya looked sincerely delighted by this, like he might even laugh. Shane scowled deeper. “What has crawled up your ass?” Rozanov asked, moving his leg to stretch it out in just the way you were always taught in sports medicine.
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- 2 versions
- AO3:
- #76915391
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the law of loving others by xiaomaomii
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2026-01-01
There are footsteps outside, a nurse probably, so Ilya readies himself for goodbye. It’s too soon. Too soon. How am I meant to leave him here? Bruised, without wrapping him up in that navy weighted blanket he likes. Without feeding him his stupid, regimented rabbit diet and his ginger ale? Without teasing him about his neatness habits and about the singular pass he missed in that game we played against each other years ago? Without kissing him all over–his cheeks, his lips, his eyelids, across his chest, and the curve of his spine. His scapula, where his wings must be hiding. Angel Hollander. Boring Hollander. Beautiful Hollander. That’s all he is, beautiful. Ilya’s chest feels full to bursting. If his heart were a machine, it would destroy him, and then the world, with love. OR, Shane gets hurt on the ice. Ilya does not take it well. He thinks, and thinks, and thinks.
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- AO3:
- #76835406
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Shane is a reporter for The New Yorker. Ilya works as a political consultant at the Russian Consulate. They’ve known each other since being rivals on the hockey team in college. It took a while for them to become friends, but since they have, the pair have gotten close. Very close. As their bachelor years dwindle, they decide to try to set one another up with their best girlfriends. It doesn’t go as they’d hoped. Or, Hudson inspired me to write a When Harry Met Sally AU. Happy New Year.
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- English
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- AO3:
- #76868701
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To Be Remembered, Is To Be Loved by BrokenColors
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2026-01-01
Shane Hollander forgets his marriage. Ilya Rozanov doesn’t forget how to love him. As Shane recovers from a concussion that fractures his memories, the life they built together resurfaces in quieter ways. Through routine, touch, shared space, and an intimacy that refuses to disappear. Love, it turns out, doesn’t always need memory. Sometimes, it just needs time. -------- tl;dr - Hollanov's Amnesia AU in which Shane's last memory is July 2010, a.k.a the first time they hooked up in Toronto after shooting the commercial. Problem is, it is 2022, and they have been married for almost a year, but Shane cannot remember the past 12 years of his life with Ilya.
- Part 1 of To Be or Not To Be
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 13,876
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- 1/1
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- 1
- AO3:
- #76882061
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Everybody knows you by Em_otionalstar
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2026-01-01
A very self-indulgent little oneshot of New Years Eve at the cottage! Very far post-canon
- Language:
- English
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- 2,061
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- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76886416
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Shane Hollander is Really, Really Sexy by jeepeerscreepers
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2025-12-31
After Shane Hollander collabs with Calvin Klein for a sexy shoot, he’s the next big thing. Ilya, his secret lover, is not happy about this. After all, Ilya’s never been much of a sharer. OR Ilya owns tf out of Shane!
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 3,439
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76759141
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i watched you fall from grace (you were graceful) by worstthingiveeverdone
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2025-12-31
Ilya and Shane reflect on the past. OR: Time didn’t quite heal old wounds. Spoilers for The Long Game specifically. But also random spoilers for other books too, probably. I don’t know I read them all at the same time and now my brain can barely differentiate what happened when.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 4,950
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76762346
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Shane leaves after an argument. Ilya is left with his thoughts.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 3,447
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76781341