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like the moon needs the stars by thepupperino
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2025-12-31
Today Shane is Ilya’s husband. Tonight he’ll be his mate.
- Part 1 of Hollanov A/B/O
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 2,616
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76813791
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I thought I'd uncovered your secrets (but turns out there's more) by promienny
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2025-12-30
Ilya Rozanov was a showy alpha, the type that glowed under the spotlight, specially in the rink. He spoke very outwardly, even if his english left him hanging sometimes, and got along well with the other alphas in his team. The picture was quite different with his opponents. They didn’t like one bit the shenanigans he got up to in the middle of games, some considering him one of the biggest assholes in the MLH, specially because he didn’t cower from using his liquor scent to overwhelm his opponents. Now, active hockey players that were omegas? Counting with Shane there were a total of one. Reading about the history of the MLH in the 90s he was aware there were at least three fully out omegas that partook in official games in the last 20 years, but none of them were first line players and quietly drifted into obscurity after the end of their short-lived careers. That made Hollander’s position specially tricky, since he wasn’t a fully out omega. or Shane Hollander has a big secret, being an omega in an alpha dominated field. And his attraction to Ilya Rozanov could put his whole career in jeopardy.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 12,144
- Chapters:
- 3/3
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76117226
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i'm your biggest fan, mr. hollander by orphan_account
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2025-12-30
Shane blinked away the easy haziness settling over his mind and turned, his mouth going dry and his heart stuttering to a stop in his chest as he pieced together what was happening. One of Shane’s extra jerseys – one used almost exclusively for photos – was pulled across Ilya’s body, clinging to his chest and shoulders and loosening around his waist where his body tapered in. “Oh my God,” Shane exhaled, fairly certain that he might be dying and this was the first glimpse of heaven he was going to get. Ilya turned slowly, grinning, and showed off the HOLLANDER spreading across his back and Shane’s number branding him. “You played so well, Mr. Hollander. I’m such a fan of you.” or, hollanov roleplay with ilya in shane's jersey
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 4,840
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76686331
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so you can sharpen your axe by KhloeKayHenstridge
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2025-12-30
Unfortunately for them, Shane and Ilya are at the cottage on a winter night and there is no wood left for the fire. Fortunately for Shane, Ilya has decided to take matters into his own hands and that means wood-chopping, shirtless. He cannot be blamed for what happens afterwards, he's just a man, after all.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 2,104
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76724411
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“Bad news,” Rozanov says, walking back into the bedroom. “I cannot leave. Weather is too bad.” “The weather?” Shane says. It’s not that he expected Rozanov to stay but if he wanted to, then as far as excuses go, weather sounds like a weak one. “There is a snow storm, Hollander,” Rozanov says. He spreads his hands wide. “I do not control the weather.”
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 5,856
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76729596
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Rozanov was fucking him carelessly, roughly and with both hands gripping his pelvis. Shane tried his best to meet the movements, take each burning sensation washing over him but it was too much and too little, leaving him whining hopelessly. ”Shut up, pet. I’m watching the game”, Rozanov groaned and Shane felt the palm pressing the back of his head. He couldn’t see the tv, what was happening there but was nearly euphoric under the dominant touch. Or: Shane had nothing in common with the hockey player, he just drifted there, under him
- Part 1 of hollanov x anger
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 1,607
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76730216
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stars fading but i linger on by princebutt
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2025-12-29
“I fucking said ‘hands’ Rozanov! Are you going to stand there day dreaming or come and run this hot food, for fuck’s sake!” The words jolt Ilya out of his revere, and he scoffs in the direction of the expo window. It sits far enough back from the dining room that (hopefully) the guests didn’t hear that little outburst, but close enough to his bar that he (unfortunately) did hear it. “What a fucking asshole,” Ilya mumbles to Svetlana, the server picking up his gorgeous old fashioned from the bar and balancing it with two soda waters on her cocktail tray. --- OR, Shane owns an upscale japanese restaurant in Ottawa. Ilya bartends there.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 5,120
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76627991
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Shane didn’t need it. Needs were high protein meals, 104 ounces of water a day, eights hours of sleep at night, hockey. He’d survived years without ever doing anything like it, so it wasn’t a need.
- Part 1 of someone special
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 1,606
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76673756
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“You know, we don’t have to have sex or whatever if you don’t want to.” Shane’s words stopped Ilya in his tracks. He leaned back slightly holding on to Shane’s neck. “You didn’t come for sex?” Shane laughed at Ilya’s sultry expression. “No, I mean yes. I did, obviously. I just—I understand if you don’t want to.” Ilya pulsated his hips upwards giving Shane a little bounce on his lap. “I want to.” —————— Ilya and Shane's reconciliation sex scene in Season One Episode Five- I'll Believe in Anything.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 3,080
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76636196
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Las Vegas 2.0 by WhoSpnLockAvengersx
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2025-12-29
Ilya and Shane were back in Las Vegas for a game, they talk about the “we didn’t even kiss” the last time they were here Basically I read Ilya’s pov on Rachel’s website and I wrote them talking about it and then it devolved from there
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 1,209
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76644981
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side effects may include: caring, falling in love, lying to yourself by renecdote
Heated Rivalry (TV)
2025-12-29
"Jesus Christ," Shane breathes, reaching out more slowly, fingers barely touching as he runs them over the bruising. He has bruised his ribs before; he knows how much it fucking hurts. "What's wrong with you?" Rozanov answers that question, maybe, but it's quick and acerbic and entirely in Russian. Shane fantasies, for a brief moment, about taking him by the shoulders and shaking him until his teeth rattle. "No, really," he says. "What was the plan here? You're practically allergic to wearing a shirt, but you thought you'd just fuck me from behind and hope I wouldn't notice that you didn't take it off?" You thought I wouldn't notice that you were in pain? Ilya is hurt. Shane doesn't care (lying). Sex is obviously the sensible thing to do here.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 2,553
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76648651
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Spinning in Circles with the Moon in Our Eyes by LaheyHale
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2025-12-29
Ilya couldn’t get enough. He was addicted to the sounds Shane made. He was hooked on his husband’s groans, moans, and whimpers; along with every variation of his name. He had never really thought much about how his name sounded before Shane, but now all he found himself able to think about is how Shane’s lips look wrapping around the consonants that spell it out, the breathy intonation behind every vowel. He’s intoxicated by the sounds he can feel reverberate through his chest and against his lips when they’re pressed close together, Shane demanding pleasure with the movement of his hips or surrendering to Ilya by falling into him, letting himself be manhandled and directed with Ilya claiming his lips as if he were a man starved. Not a day passed that Ilya did not think of the noises Shane made, or how he could get them to make more of them.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 5,429
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76620061
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ilya rozanov: ragebaiter supreme by hnjsngluvr69
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2025-12-29
It seems Ilya fucking Rozanov adheres to a daily schedule of tomfoolery. He’s always finding ways to irritate Shane with the stupidest shit. or, Ilya ragebaits Shane as a form of flirting. Somehow it works.
- Part 2 of hollanov <3
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 5,340
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76669636
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It’s a dick move and right now Ilya is glad he has a reputation as a dick, so no one asks too many questions. You’re supposed to pick someone that fucked up a bit, someone the team is already kind of mad at. Picking a team’s captain, especially when he hasn’t done anything wrong—you don’t do that. Or: Ilya notices that Hollander is off his game, and decides that a visit to the winner's room just might fix that. Ilya Rozanov has been watching Shane Hollander, and he doesn’t like what he sees. He’s been losing, for one thing. The Metros start the 2015 season with a string of losses, and though some of it is because of things outside Hollander’s control—an injured goalie, a rookie that keeps letting passes through—even the commentators are saying that Hollander hasn’t been himself, hasn’t been playing like everyone knows he can. He’s fumbling through games with none of his usual fire, and it has everyone scratching their heads and asking why. It’s been on the tip of Ilya’s tongue, to ask why. He’s opened their text thread more times than he can count, started typing out a question. Every time, he deletes it. They haven’t spoken since Las Vegas. The time has built up in the silence between them, calcified. No one likes losing. Ilya knows this, knows that if it were him he wouldn’t be handling it any better. He’d be handling it differently—he still remembers the bruised knuckles and sour stomach from his last losing streak, the fist fights in bars and the broken bottles of bad liquor —but he’d be a mess too. It still rankles though. Hollander is supposed to be the sensible one; he doesn’t get to crash out like this. It’s not right. Ilya needs to do something about this. ** Step one: in the next game they play against each other, crush the Metros in a humiliating 5 to 1 defeat. It’s not that hard to do. The Metros put up a token resistance in the first period, but they crumble after Ilya makes his first goal, and then all the momentum is on the Bear’s side. Hollander certainly doesn’t try all that hard to stop him. It makes Ilya’s teeth itch to see Hollander sleep walking through the game, taking abuse without even chirping back. He doesn’t look at Hollander as the seconds tick down, as the fans cheer and moan, as the talking heads once again loudly ask each other what’s gotten into Montreal’s golden boy. He only lets himself sneak a glance at Hollander after, when the spectators have all gone and the two teams are left behind in the empty stadium. Hollander’s not looking at him, just staring down at the ice. Well, all according to plan. He’s going to have to look at Ilya by the end of the night. Ilya offers the Metros his biggest winning smile, the one they put on the covers of magazines when the advertisers want him to play at being a charming rogue. “Was fun, yes?” One of the Metros—Renaud, he thinks—rolls his eyes. “Who do you want? For the Winner’s Room.” He pretends to think about it, gives himself a second so it’s not quite so obvious that he woke up today knowing that he needed to win, just so he could do this. “Let’s say… Hollander.” The Metros line erupts in angry murmurs and some of the hotter heads make abortive moves towards him, knuckles creaking as they grip their sticks. They’ve got a point. It’s a dick move and right now Ilya is glad he has a reputation as a dick, so no one asks too many questions. You’re supposed to pick someone that fucked up a bit, someone the team is already kind of mad at. Picking a team’s captain, especially when he hasn’t done anything wrong—you don’t do that. In fact, Hollander would be well within his rights to say no. Players have rights, after all. This isn’t the 80s; you can opt out. But Ilya knows Hollander won’t say no. The way his shoulders hunch in on themselves, the way he’s staring at the ice—Ilya can tell he’s carrying the entire loss on his back, this one and all the others, never mind that half his line men couldn’t find the fucking puck when it was right in front of them. Part of Ilya is hoping Hollander takes the out, tells him to fuck off. But only part. He stretches his smile wider, leans in to rest his chin on his stick. “If Hollander is too chicken, I can take your new kid instead.” He spares a wink for the rookie in question. The poor kid looks absolutely miserable, like it’s his fault that the entire team’s defense collapsed in the third period. “Yeah, no, that’s not necessary.” And finally Hollander is looking at him, glaring up through dark lashes. A bit of fire back in his eyes, and there’s a cut on his lip bleeding slightly. Ilya wants to bite it. “Shane, man, come on,” Pike says, placing a hand on Hollander’s shoulder. Hollander shrugs the hand off with a bit-back wince. “It’s fine. I can handle it.” Pike tries again. “Shane—” “I said I could handle it.” “Don’t worry,” Ilya puts in, “I promise I won’t break him.” Pike bites back a curse; Dagenais spits at him. But Hollander doesn’t say anything at all. He tries again. Leers at Hollander, licks his lips suggestively. “We’re going to have fun together, aren’t we, Captain?” Tell me to fuck off! Ilya wants to scream. Call me an asshole, you know you want to! But Hollander doesn’t say anything at all, just stares at him with those same wounded eyes before giving a dazed nod and turning away, back to the locker room. ** Yeah, okay, Ilya was laying it on a bit thick. So all in all, it’s not really a surprise when he exits the Raiders’ locker room and runs into three of the Metros waiting for him with murder
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 3,749
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 2 versions
- AO3:
- #76637506
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Ilya annoys Shane by smoking after one of their late night hotel meet-ups (before The Cottage), and Shane finds out that he actually doesn’t hate smoking as much.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 4,316
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76679321
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no place for the old by Anonymous
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2025-12-29
“So he break up with you because you are a million years old and dick doesn’t work?” Rozanov asks.
Or: Scott Hunter gets ragebaited into a threesome.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 2,616
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76633151
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Shane stilled and his hand gripped the phone in it so tight his knuckles turned white. It didn't hurt. Not even a little, but Shane still felt it. More than he should have. His body quickly heated up and a feeling in his stomach bubbled up too fast he almost felt nauseous. His thoughts however made him feel even more sick. He wanted Ilya to do it again. or Shane finds out he liked it a little too much when Ilya slapped him on the phone call.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 6,854
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76565431
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of human bondage by blossominribcage
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2025-12-28
Ilya’s brother gives him a call to congratulate him on his wedding. He might need some reassurance from Shane after he’s unwise enough to take it.
- Part 6 of ilya and shane’s silly adventures
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 5,005
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76571321
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Dialing You (Sorry, Darling You) by hollano_ov
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2025-12-28
Shane works in IT. Ilya’s computer always seems to be fucked up.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 13,303
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76313016
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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
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 5,880
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76566646