1 – 14 of 14 Works in Praise
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is just ten year plan to fuck by Anonymous
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2026-05-06
Shane fucking Hollander. Hockey’s Golden Boy. Long-time crush of Ilya Rozanov. Long, looooong time. A decade of being a fucking simp for this man. God, he was in trouble.
It should be pretty much illegal to go from their only contact being at face-off across the ice, to suddenly hosting Shane in his exclusive club—during a fucking event, no less. Ilya’s event.
He would never admit it, but he’s been stealthily trying to get Hollander to show up at his club for years now. Hell, Shane was the whole reason he invested in the club in the first place. Bought a fucking house here. Maybe that was an insane thing to do, but he didn’t care. Ilya was insane. Insane for Shane.
- Part 1 of kitten shane series
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 354,905
- Chapters:
- 26/26
- Files:
- 3 versions
- AO3:
- #80376461
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A look at the year that Ilya still played for Boston, except they explicitly state their dom/sub relationship, and explore that dynamic (and kink) together.
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When they first started, it was by accident. Ilya followed Shane’s lead; he read his body and responded with his own. Shane liked to be on his knees for Ilya, and Ilya liked to keep him there.
The first time it went wrong. Shane thought it was his fault. It wasn’t.
————
Now with 10k-word SMUTTY EPILOGUE
- Part 1 of Bellboy
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 63,639
- Chapters:
- 15/15
- Files:
- 2 versions
- AO3:
- #78253961
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Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov are both single dads trying to figure out life, work, and parenting without losing their minds or their kids. Shane’s raising his energetic son Kai, who’s basically a little whirlwind on the ice and at home, while Ilya’s daughter Anastasiya (Ana) is smart, sassy, and has him wrapped around her finger. They meet because their kids are involved in hockey and quickly start running into each other at practices, games, and playdates. Through shared chaos, ice rinks full of screaming kids, they start to rely on each other. Casual hangouts become coffee breaks, practice pickups become dinners, and slowly, what starts as friendship begins to feel a lot like something more.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 61,172
- Chapters:
- 15/15
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #78601916
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“This is why we need a sex tape. So you can see.”
“No way. You would leak it immediately.”
“Ilya grinned, ‘Can you blame me?'" - The Long Game, page 181.
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Shane and Ilya are so obsessed with each other they have to make a sex tape about it.- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 9,403
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #78122846
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handle with care by anincompletelist (soldouthaz)
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2026-01-16
So he’s there in the hotel room, and Ilya Rozanov has him pushed up against the door, and he’s saying all sorts of filthy things that should send Shane running and instead very much make him want to drop to his knees, which is also a relatively new feeling—and he won’t quit grabbing Shane’s face. It's the first time Shane realizes it’s going to be something that irreparably alters him for anyone else. It feels like a betrayal, somehow, that this is happening on home soil.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 5,731
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #77753526
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olive trees by anincompletelist (soldouthaz)
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2026-01-08
When his absence and abrupt reappearance causes Shane to drop during the NHL awards, Ilya realizes he has more power over Shane than he thought he did.
- Part 1 of i'll believe in anything
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 2,136
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #77314231
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Ilya: No goals. I am not sure you deserve the treat I promised you earlier ;) Shane: I don’t remember you saying anything about scoring. Only winning. Ilya: I don’t know, Hollander. I may have to be convinced. OR After Shane’s first game in the league without Ilya, Ilya rewards him for the team’s win. The Ottawa Centaurs had won their first game of the season 2-0 against their Florida rivals. Shane should be thrilled, the rink had been packed with fans cheering on their home team and Wyatt Hayes had shut out the other team with a few highlight worthy saves. Both Zane Boodram and Troy Barrett had scored goals, leading the team to victory, but despite all of this, Shane didn’t feel the same excitement he normally felt winning. While his teammates were celebrating, he had been rushing through his after game routine in order to get out of the locker room as soon as possible. It was the first season that Shane and Ilya weren’t playing together as Ilya had decided to retire after they’d won the Stanley Cup back to back over the last two seasons. When Shane joined the Centaurs during free agency 5 years ago, the team had begun creating a dynasty with the two best forwards in the league. Shane was forever grateful that he’d gotten to play with Ilya during those five seasons, but he wished they had more time together. Shane had been convinced that they would retire together, but Ilya was done with hockey and Shane knew that he had at least a few years left with the sport he loved. Despite Shane’s mixed emotions, he knew that Ilya was excited to focus on other things like the Irina Foundation, spending the day with their dog Anya, and finally being a hockey WAG. Ilya had spent the day stressing about his first impression as a WAG even though he’d already known a majority of the women who made up the group. Shane had managed to distract him before the game started and when Ilya had left the house to meet the WAGs before the game, he’d been thrilled to catch up on all of the gossip. Shane may have missed seeing Ilya on the ice, but he was excited to have someone waiting for him outside the locker room. He dug his phone out of his bag and powered it on, he disliked the distractions that came with it buzzing away from notifications during his pregame rituals or when he was trying to stay focused in between periods. As soon as the screen turned on, he navigated to his texts, sending a quick thank you to his parents and Hayden who’d sent him congratulations on the win. When he opened his thread with Ilya, he saw multiple messages waiting for him: Ilya: I cannot believe you missed that shot. Ilya: Congrats on the assist. It is still not a goal though. Ilya: Wow that save by Hayes was impressive. Ilya: I have started a bet with Harris about who will score a goal first. You or Troy? Ilya: You owe me $100 bucks. I cannot believe Troy scored before you. Ilya: No goals. I am not sure you deserve the treat I promised you earlier ;) Ilya: I am proud of you. Shane’s heart warmed at the teasing, happy that Ilya had taken the time to text him during the game even though he knew that Shane kept his phone off. He racked his brain, running through the various ways he could respond to the messages, before replying. Shane: I don’t remember you saying anything about scoring. Only winning. Ilya: I don’t know, Hollander. I may have to be convinced. Shane smiled and set his phone down to finish getting dressed. Once he was done, he turned towards his teammates and congratulated them on the win. A few of the younger guys were going to celebrate at a nearby club and attempted to invite Shane, but he passed on the invitation. He wasn’t a fan of the chaos that came with the scene and he had better things to do with his night. He exited the locker room, finding Ilya and Harris leaning against the wall and laughing. Shane was glad that Ilya didn’t have to be the only husband in the WAG group and that the Centaurs as a whole were extremely supportive of their relationship. It had been rough when they were outed to the league and Montreal had turned their back on Shane. Thankfully, he’d been accepted with open arms by the team he’d grown up rooting for. Ilya’s eyes lit up when he spotted Shane, waving him over. He walked up to the men and Ilya gave him a kiss. “You will never guess what Harris was just telling me,” Ilya said excitedly. “His parents found another dog at the orchard. It is a sign.” Shane looked at the two men suspiciously. He wasn’t going to say no to an abandoned dog and Ilya knew that, but part of him wondered if it was all a ploy for Ilya to bring home a dog from the shelter that he’d fallen in love with. It all felt too coincidental for a dog to appear at the orchard the same day Ilya suggested getting Anya a companion. “That’s awful. People who abandon dogs like that are evil,” Shane agreed. “Do you have any leads on who did it?” “My family set up cameras around the property because it was happening so often. They already have the license plate to the cops, but Troy and I were going to foster her until she found a home,” Harris said. “That’s great. What type of dog is she?” Shane asked. He wasn’t going to say no, especially now that Ilya was home all day, but he still wanted to see what he was getting himself into. “She’s a mixed breed. Not very big either. Here, I’ve got a picture.” Harris pulled out his phone and showed Shane a picture of a small dog curled up next to his dog Chiron. “Oh she’s tiny,” Shane cooed. He was already half in love with the dog himself now just from seeing the photos. Ilya looked thrilled as he took in Shane’s reaction. He probably could already tell that Shane was going to say yes. “I guess we could take her off of your hands,” Shane said, trying to come off as nonchalant. “Ilya has been wanting another dog anyways, and she seems like the perfect edition.” “I knew you weren’t going to be able to resist her cute face,” Ilya cheered. “I cannot wait to pick her up and spoil her rotten.”
- Part 2 of Ilya’s WAG Chronicles
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 1,913
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #77236311
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Rozanov's attention was always fleeting, never really guaranteed. Only resting on Shane for as long as he remained interesting. He could always find someone else. Someone less boring. The thrill and the danger of sneaking around had kept Rozanov around for as long as it did but now it seemed to have come to an end. And maybe it was better that way. OR: In which Shane goes into subdrop after Vegas and worries that Rozanov might have enough of their arrengement.
- Part 1 of My Heated Rivalry Headcanon
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 1,057
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #77015641
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Teasing: ‘Come on, then, Hollander. Crawl.’ On all fours, like a dog, like a bitch, Shane obeys. I want to be your pet, he thinks, wildly. I want to be your everything. I am an animal and I am yours. Nuzzle me and fuck me and tell me what to do, I don't care. If I am your dog, Ilya, then train me. Featuring some filth and whole lot of feelings, inspired by the phone call with Hayden in S01E06: Shane realises that he is kinkier than he thought. Luckily, Ilya just so happens to match his freak.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 9,017
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76733441
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Desperate for Ilya's touch, soft or rough, Shane makes a risky trip to Boston for a weekend to submit to the other man, eager and ready to be pushed to new limits.
- Part 3 of Hollanov D/s
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 4,449
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76575321
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And Shane wants to let go. He wants to let go so bad, but he can’t help but feel like something bad will happen if he does, that the universe is somehow going to punish him for this, that everyone will be able to read this submission on his face and deprive him of everything he worked so hard for. As if reading his mind: “Just us in here,” says Rozanov, glancing around for emphasis, voice a solid, anchoring whisper. God, Shane wants. Shane wants so much that it hurts, makes his whole body ache with emptiness, and what he wants more than anything after to be held and pushed into – by Rozanov – is to listen and submit – to Rozanov. He wants Rozanov, and it should be scary, but all he feels right now is a want, an impenetrable need that makes him swallow around glass shards stuck in his throat and slowly put his palms flush on the floor in front of his knees, watching Rozanov like he’s in a trance. or, being the best might be starting to take its toll on Shane, and Ilya knows how to help
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 14,231
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76471881
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“Shane Hollander,” Ilya gasped, faux-aghast. “You are wet. Wet like pussy.” Shane flushed and tried to squirm out of Rozanov’s grasp, to no avail. “S’just sweat,” he murmured. “It’s just fucking… hot in here.” Ilya’s strong grip tightened, vice-like, around Shane’s hip. His grin curled into something cruel, something bright and sparkling. “Is not hot. You are bad liar. Take it off.”
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 2,454
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76300946
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Ilya Rozanov forgets to take his Zoloft, god the pain. Shane cares for him.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 1,202
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #75869271
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After a high-pressure game, Shane Hollander is a live wire of anxious perfectionism, desperately insisting he's "fine." Ilya Rozanov knows better. He can smell the oncoming omega crash. When Shane's brittle control finally shatters, Ilya must use every ounce of his firm, grounding alpha presence to guide his omega through the collapse—from frantic resistance, to overwhelming relief, and finally, into the safe, quiet space of total submission and praise. (Or: The one where Shane falls apart, and Ilya is there to catch him.) Collapse Into Me __________________ The hotel room door clicked shut behind them, sealing out the roar of the arena, the flash of cameras, the echoing chants of both their names. Shane’s name had been chanted louder tonight. He’d been perfect. Flawless. A machine on the ice. And now, inside the quiet, opulent suite, he was methodically coming apart at the seams. Ilya watched him from the doorway, his own gear bag dropping to the floor with a soft thud. Shane had already marched across the living room, his movements sharp and economical. He placed his own bag by the closet with military precision, toeing it into a perfect parallel line with the wall. He shrugged out of his tailored dress jacket, folded it once, and laid it over the back of an armchair. His tie came next, the silk whispering as he pulled it loose, but instead of discarding it, he looped it neatly around his knuckles, over and over, a tight, anxious coil . To anyone else, he looked composed. Collected. The consummate professional finishing his post-game routine. But Ilya smelled it. Under the sweat and the sharp, chemical scent of the arena ice, Shane’s omega scent was thin. Wispy. Like burnt sugar and over-steeped tea, pulled too tight until it was about to snap. It was a scent Ilya knew intimately—the prelude to a crash. It was in the air between them, a frantic, fading sweetness that made the back of Ilya’s teeth ache with instinct. “Shane,” Ilya said, his voice deliberately calm. Neutral. He took a single, casual step into the room, not wanting to crowd him yet. “I’m fine,” Shane replied instantly, the words clipped. He didn’t turn around. He began to move, not toward the bedroom or the shower, but in a tight, precise line from the sofa to the window and back. Pacing. His dress shoes made a soft, relentless shush-shush on the carpet. “Just need to wind down. The second period, that turnover by the blue line—it was a misread. I saw Tremblay cutting in, but I thought he’d go wide, and if I’d just pivoted half a second sooner, taken the inside lane instead of committing to the boards—” “It led to a goal,” Ilya finished for him, staying where he was, leaning against the wall by the door. He kept his body loose, non-threatening. He unbuttoned his own cuffs, rolling his sleeves up slowly, an attempt to project normalcy. “You won, Shane. 4-1. You had two assists. You were the best player on the ice.” “It was a preventable goal,” Shane shot back, his voice tightening, rising a half-octave. The pacing quickened. Six steps to the window, a sharp pivot, six steps back. His hands flexed at his sides, the coiled tie cutting into his palm. “A stupid, careless— I knew their forecheck pattern. I knew it. I told Hayden to watch for it, I diagrammed it in the locker room. And then I fell for it. Like a rookie. They’ll see that on film. They’ll all see it.” His scent spiked, souring with the acid tang of anxiety. Ilya saw the fine tremor in Shane’s trapped hands before he shoved them into the pockets of his suit pants. He was still in the uniform of the public captain, the tie a little too tight, the crisp white shirt straining across shoulders held in rigid, defensive formation. Every line of him was vibrating with a energy that had nowhere to go but inward, turning toxic. Ilya pushed off the wall. “Come. Shower. The steam will help. We will order food.” He kept his tone practical, a lifeline of simple, physical next steps. “In a minute,” Shane dismissed, veering away from Ilya’s approach as if burned. He ended up at the minibar, staring at its glossy door as if it contained the answers. “I just need to think it through. Map it out. So it doesn’t happen again. If I can see the sequence, where the decision tree branched wrong, I can lock it down.” “You can think in the shower.” Ilya took another step, his voice layering with a gentle alpha rumble, a coaxing note meant to soothe, to pull him gently back from the edge. It had the opposite effect. Shane flinched, actually flinched, and took two rapid steps back, putting the bulk of an armchair between them. His eyes, when they finally flicked to Ilya’s, were wide and glassy with suppressed panic. The beautiful hazel was almost all pupil. “Don’t. Just— don’t, Ilya.” His voice cracked on the name. “I’m fine. I need space. I need to process. I can’t— I can’t think when you’re…” He gestured vaguely at Ilya’s entire presence. The ‘fine’ was a brittle lie, shattering even as he said it. Ilya could see the cracks spreading, a web of fine fractures across the perfect ice of Shane’s composure. Shane’s breathing was all wrong—shallow sips of air that didn’t reach his lungs, the rise and fall of his chest too quick and high. His knuckles were white where he gripped the back of the chair. The beautiful, controlled omega who commanded the ice with a whisper was being devoured from the inside by a frantic, scrambling thing, an animal caught in a trap of its own spinning thoughts. Ilya’s own instincts, usually kept on a firm, civilized leash, began to stir and then rise. A low- grade alarm pulsed through him, syncing with his heartbeat. His omega is in distress. He is not safe. He is not grounded. He is hurting himself. The analytical part of his brain, the strategist, concurred coldly: Shane was spiraling, his thoughts looping into a self-flagellating frenzy with no exit. He was seconds from hyperventilating, minutes from a full, shuddering omega crash that would leave him feeling raw, sick, and vulnerable for days. The time for gentle coaxing was over. The time for patient waiting had passed. Shane was too far gone to reach for the lifeline himself. Ilya would have to go in and get him. Ilya shifted. It was subtle, but in the charged, silent room, it was as loud as a thunderclap. He straightened to his full height, rolling his shoulders back, his spine aligning into a posture of pure, unassailable authority. He let his own scent bloom—not an aggressive challenge, but a deep, anchoring, deliberate wave of cedar, old leather, and steady, warm earth. An alpha’s scent of stability. Of claim. Of here, and now, and me. He poured it into the space, a tangible force meant to counter the thin, panicked sweetness choking the air.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 4,409
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #75628616