41 – 60 of 64 Works in Comfort
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Shane’s autism makes love complicated—until Ilya makes it safe. Shane Hollander loves deeply—but quietly. Crowded rooms, public affection, and the constant noise of the world weigh on him in ways he struggles to explain, especially when standing beside someone as open and radiant as his husband. Shane’s autism shapes how he experiences love, touch, and connection, often leaving him trapped in his own head, convinced he isn’t enough. Ilya knows better. Through gentle control, unwavering patience, and fierce devotion, Ilya becomes Shane’s anchor—guiding him back into his body, his breath, and the safety of being loved exactly as he is. Across moments of vulnerability, intimacy, and raw honesty, Shane must learn to voice his fears and trust that his differences are not a burden, but something Ilya cherishes. This is a story about quiet love, consent spoken and unspoken, and two men choosing each other again and again—softly, fiercely, forever.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 8,465
- Chapters:
- 4/4
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #77023166
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Shane and Ilya go grocery shopping so they can make borscht. That's it, that's the fic. “No, no, fresh dill, fresh dill, Hollander. Put that back.” Ilya swats at the offending dried dill - who would dry dill? - in Shane’s hand, which had been coming dangerously close to the basket Ilya is currently carrying. “You want to make borscht you need fresh dill.” “Alright, fresh. Got it.” Shane’s mouth tips up at the corner, and Ilya knows he is not angry. This was his idea, after all – he had asked Ilya what he misses from home, and Ilya had struggled to come up with anything. Eventually, after what felt like hours, he had only been able to give the names of a few dishes. And Shane, ever attentive, and endlessly obsessive, has apparently decided that Ilya cannot go another day without borscht. So here they are. In a supermarket. Together. This, too, had been a debate, as most things in their lives are. They could have arranged for a delivery, but Ilya had been sure some of the ingredients would be wrong, replaced by people who did not know the difference between beets and sweet potatoes. Then Ilya had said that he would go alone, because he knew what to get. This, Shane had argued, defeated the purpose, because then Shane would not know what to get if he wanted to make it again and Ilya wasn’t around to come shopping. The solution then is this - the two of them in a supermarket together, shopping together, and pretending that they are just friends. They’re used to that, at least. Pretending. Not normally so public, like this, but pretending is not difficult for them, now. It’s in the way they angle their bodies, in the way they don’t let their fingers brush as Shane hands Ilya beets for inspection, each one having to be approved before it goes into the basket. Even with the charity slowly finding its legs, there are boundaries that can’t be crossed, even here. It helps that Ilya looks particularly grumpy. He hates Canadian supermarkets, with their bright lights and their music, their overly apologetic customers who apologise at the mere potential of bumping into someone nearby. He has said sorry more times today than he thinks he has ever before in his life maybe. And it makes Shane smile every time, which is the only reason Ilya is not going completely insane. They’re in the dairy aisle, arguing over what constitutes good sour cream - Shane has apparently decided he is now an advocate for the Canadian dairy farmers - when a shy voice says, “Excuse me,” drawing both of their attentions. Before them is a group of three boys, all around ten, Ilya imagines. The one who had apparently spoken is bright red, and Ilya’s expression softens as he spots the phone clutched in the boy’s hands. “You want photo, yes?” The boys nod, eager, and apparently relieved that they hadn’t had to ask aloud. Shane glances at Ilya, and then at the boys, and then back again. Ilya pays it no mind - the charity, again, is their cover, is it not? “Okay, you can have photo. But on one condition.” Shane looks positively alarmed now, and it has Ilya biting back a wider smile as one of the boys asks, nervously, “What?” “You must never cheer for Metros ever again, yes? They are terrible team, with very bad captain.” The boys stare at him for a moment, and then dissolve into giggles, shoving at each other as they step forward to crowd around Ilya and Shane. An adult - presumably a parent - steps forwards to rescue the boy’s phone. Ilya arranges himself on the other side of the boys, opposite to Shane - barely in touching distance. They look like nothing more than two people who happen to know each other through hockey. Ilya says to the group, “Say Centaurs rule!” and grins at the noise Shane makes. It’s all over fairly quickly, the parent thanking them profusely, Ilya reaching out to high five all of the boys, and then they’re on their own again - more or less. Shane grabs a sour cream, shoving it into the basket, and says, “You’re really good with kids.” It catches Ilya by surprise - so much so that he doesn’t even bother beginning the argument again, simply following Shane to the next aisle. “Is easy to be good with kids. Say things that make them laugh and then do what they ask. You are not good with kids?” “I’m alright with kids.” Shane glances back at him, adding loose bits to their basket. They have all they need for the borscht anyway, now. “I don’t know how to talk to them, I guess. Hayden always says I talk to his kids like they’re tiny adults.” “This is because Pike is idiot with four children who does not know how to -” “Ilya.” “Shane.” They check out in relative silence, after that, loading the car. Ilya slides into the passenger side and slides his hand straight into Shane’s, as though deprived of the feeling. He has been, and if the way Shane squeezes his hand back is any indication, he feels the same. It sets something in Ilya at ease, the way it always does when he is reminded that whatever he feels for Shane, whatever big something sits in his chest is reciprocated, and Shane feels it too. They don’t talk about kids again, or the picture. They discuss stats, instead, whose team is looking better, who has more of a shot at the cup this year. They both know it won’t be the Centaurs, but it’s nice to argue anyway, as though they are on teams of equal footing. This carries through their unloading of the car, their putting away of all of the things not required for borscht. And then all the ingredients are laid out, and Ilya is summarily banished to the other side of the island. Shane is learning, he insists. He will learn. Ilya lets him peel one beet, watching with a smile, before he says, “You need gloves.” “What?” Shane looks up with pink fingertips, expression baffled. “What do I need gloves for?” “Beets.” “The beets I’m peeling now?” Shane’s eyebrows pull together in an expression Ilya adores, one that makes him laugh.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 1,676
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 2 versions
- AO3:
- #76937821
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“Shane. It is Tim Hortons. All Canadians like Tim Hortons. Everyone knows this.” Shane wants to explain. How it used to be good, how it used to be affordable, how he used to like going there after hockey practises as a kid, but instead he just says, “That is propaganda.” Shane knows the coffee will be bad, the donuts will be wrong, and the order will be missing something. Ilya doesn’t care. He just wants to see what Tim Hortons is like.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 1,719
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76741751
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In which Ilya, Shane, and their daughter sing along to Mulan at the cottage.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 1,297
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76688131
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“We are not taking the same flight,” he said, pushing Ilya’s phone away. “That would be insane.” “Oh, come on,” Ilya whined. “You are being too paranoid. Nobody cares if two people are on the same flight—we are friends, remember?” -- After Ilya gets an injury that puts him on the bench for a month, he convinces Shane to let him go watch a game against the Washington Capitals. Shane agrees, on one condition: they fly separately. Which works out, until he's stuck at the airport having a sensory meltdown and everything just keeps going wrong.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 6,137
- Chapters:
- 3/3
- Files:
- 2 versions
- AO3:
- #76626111
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Shane loves his mother and his team but sometimes those photoshoots and commercials can be overwhelming. The constant lights, the people in his face. The make-up artists, the stylists, his mother nit-picking at things. The director wanting retakes. He was tired. Overstimulated. A certain Russian hockey player makes things...better.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 2,296
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76575481
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Shane has had a long week and decides to relax by taking a bath and using a bath bomb to relax his muscles. He's so relaxed he takes a nap, not even registering the colour of the bath bomb he used... Inspired by someone, I dont remember who it was so if someone remembers the fic, please tell me. It basically had Shane taking some panadol or something cos he had a headache but he fainted and Ilya found him and thought he tried to overdose The rivalry between Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander was the kind of legend that fueled sports talk radio for decades. It was the stoic, iron-willed Russian Captain against the golden boy of Canadian hockey. On the ice, they were a collision of tectonic plates—heavy hits, sharp words exchanged through mouthguards, and a mutual disdain that seemed etched into their very bones. In reality, the disdain was the most expensive mask in professional sports. For over eight years, they had been a ghost story told in darkened hotel rooms and anonymous apartments. For two years, they had been "forever." They were boyfriends in the shadows, navigating a world of secret back entrances, and the constant, crushing weight of a double life. But tonight, the ice was far away. Ilya had just finished a late flight back to their shared sanctuary in Shane's quiet cottage outside of Ottawa, a home no one else knew Ilya was embraced in. The cottage was hushed, the only sound the hum of the refrigerator and the distant whistle of the wind against the glass. Ilya dropped his gear bag by the door, his shoulders aching from a grueling game against Toronto. He wanted nothing more than to find Shane, bury his face in the crook of his neck, and let the persona of "The Iron Rozanov" melt away. "Shane?" he called out, his voice raspy. No answer. A sliver of light spilled from beneath the master bathroom door. Ilya smiled faintly, rubbing the back of his neck. Shane must have beaten him home and opted for a soak to soothe his own battered ribs. Shane was a fan of rituals—expensive salts, high-end candles, anything to drown out the noise of being Shane Hollander. Ilya kicked off his shoes and padded toward the bathroom. "I’m home, malysh," he murmured, pushing the door open. "I hope you saved some hot water for-" The sentence died in his throat. The smile didn't just fade; it vanished as if it had never existed. The bathroom was thick with steam, smelling of hibiscus and cedarwood. But Ilya’s brain didn't process the scent. It processed the sight. Shane was submerged in the tub, his head tilted back against the porcelain, his eyes closed, his body unnervingly still. And the water-the water was a deep, visceral, terrifying crimson. It looked like a massacre. It looked like a life drained out into a ceramic basin. In an instant, the year was no longer the present. The luxury apartment dissolved. Ilya was twelve years old again, standing in a cramped kitchen in Russia. He was seeing his mother’s pale, limp hand draped across the ground, pills scattered everywhere. He remembered the silence of that day, a silence that felt like a scream you couldn't hear. The trauma, suppressed under layers of muscle, fame, and hockey padding, erupted like a geyser. "Shane!" The sound that ripped from Ilya’s chest wasn't a name; it was a sob, a fractured howl of pure, unadulterated agony. He didn't walk; he lunged. He hit the tiled floor on his knees with a bone-jarring thud, his hands shaking so violently he could barely grip the edge of the tub. "Shane! No, no, no-. Shane, wake up! Look at me!" Ilya’s large, calloused hands plunged into the dark red water, frantic and clumsy. He grabbed Shane’s shoulders, hauling him upward. His mind was a strobe light of horrors. Did he have a knife? Did he take something? Was the pressure of the secret too much? Did I miss the signs? "Please, pozhaluysta, Shane, don't leave me!" Ilya was hyperventilating now, the air coming in jagged, useless gulps. He dragged Shane’s limp upper body out of the water, pinning him against his chest, heedless of his own expensive sweater getting soaked in the red liquid. He was checking for wounds, his fingers searching Shane’s wrists, his neck, his chest, his eyes blurred by a thick veil of tears. "Stay with me, stay with me, I’ve got you-" "Ilya? Wh-what?" Shane’s eyes flew open, wide and disoriented. He sputtered, coughing as water splashed into his face. He felt Ilya’s heart hammering like a trapped bird against his back, felt the crushing, desperate grip of the man’s arms. "Ilya? What’s happening? Are we-is there a fire?" Shane scrambled for purchase, his hands splashing in the red water. Ilya didn't let go. He couldn't. He was rocking back and forth on the floor, holding Shane to his chest with a strength that was bordering on painful. His face was buried in Shane’s wet hair, and he was making a sound Shane had never heard bbefore, a low, broken whimpering. "You’re alive," Ilya choked out, the words barely intelligible. "You’re alive, you’re alive..." Shane finally managed to twist around in Ilya’s arms, his own heart racing from the sudden, violent wake-up. He looked at Ilya and his stomach dropped. The giant, stoic Boston Captain looked like a ghost. His skin was ash-gray, his eyes bloodshot and unfocused, and he was trembling so hard his teeth were literally chattering. "Ilya, look at me. Hey, look at me," Shane said, his voice dropping into a soft, urgent tone. He reached up, cupping Ilya’s face. "I’m okay. I’m right here. I just fell asleep. I was so tired, I-" Shane’s gaze flicked down to the tub, then to the red stains on Ilya’s clothes, then back to the tub. The realization hit him like a cross-check to the throat. The bath bomb. He had bought a new one at the boutique near the arena. "Midnight Rose," the label had said. It was supposed to be luxurious. He hadn't realized it would turn the water the color of an arterial spray. And he knew, God, he knew, about Ilya’s mother. Ilya had only told him once,
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 1,703
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76473816
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While David rifles through the pantry, Ilya takes a deep breath. This is not his family. He’s here for Shane, because Shane needs him. He doesn’t—he needs to be the steady one right now. Because if Shane sees him freak out then Shane will just freak out more, and that’s not fair. Especially not when, objectively, intellectually, Ilya knows that there’s nothing to freak out about now. But the truth is, Ilya is nervous. or, ilya and david share a moment while shane and yuna go outside. set during s1e6.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 1,481
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76461601
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A Safe Place by ThePromptWasntThisLong (shredded_potato)
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2025-12-24
High on painkillers, Shane is a giggly, handsy handful; Ilya is just trying to keep him still, if only he’d stop whispering “Daddy” against his neck. Or: Ilya came to the hospital to apologize, not to have his sanity systematically dismantled by a concussed, clingy Shane who won't stop touching him.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 4,098
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76028686
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Press conferences are easy. Shane could do them in his sleep. Right now, however, his body feels like it’s being suffocated by tight plastic wrap and his brain is already numb from overstimulation, and it’s taking everything in him not to lose his shit. [Or, in September 2015, Shane gets overstimulated during a press conference, and Ilya brings him back.]
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 2,628
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76298016
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Shane turned back to Ilya. “You say things to me that make me feel the same as when you kiss me,” he spoke softly, accentuating his words with motioning arms, “like the earth could give out from under you and you wouldn’t give a shit, because that way you could stay in the sunlight all the time. You love when it’s sunny.” He drew in a long, steadying breath. “And it makes me think you might love me like you love the sun.” Ilya thought his chest may burst open with the sheer force his heart beat with. “It was sunny today, yes? Did not make me feel like this. Not even close,” Ilya offered Shane his hand. Shane took it and Ilya dragged him to his chest. He pressed their intertwined hands against his heart. “Feel that? Only you, no sun. Would not want the earth to collapse. It would take you away, too. What do I do with just the stupid sun, if you are not there to block it out?” or; Shane visits Ilya when the Voyageurs are in Boston. They are down horrendous for each other. Also very much in love. So, pretty canon.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 11,273
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76272251
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call it what you want by ethaeons
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2025-12-23
Normally he would never. Normally he keeps this tight, locked behind his ribs, measured and careful and quiet. Normally every thought about Ilya gets sorted before it ever reaches his mouth. He makes sure nothing sounds like too much. But the medication has loosened something he usually keeps wound tight. It has softened the reflex that tells him to stop, to swallow words back down before they can do damage. His thoughts drift instead of snapping into line, and his feelings rise up faster than he can push them away. Once the words start, they do not want to stop. They feel good coming out, like easing pressure he did not realize was building. — hospital scene where high shane spills his feelings about ilya :)
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 6,176
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76247006
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“Okay, but I have to ask… who said it first?” Ilya tried to play it cool, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Who said what first?” “You know,” Haas chimed in, voice teasing. “I love you.” ——> the Ottawa Centaurs debate who said 'I love you' first.
- Part 2 of heated rivalry coda
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 1,845
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76188981
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Shane's in Boston to play against the Raiders until he gets an awful cold and Ilya offers to take care of him.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 4,171
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76116261
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The Not-So Heartless Monster by newtntommy
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2025-12-20
Ilya Rozanov is an asshole. It’s a fact of life. The sky is blue. Grass is green. The Bears are going to lose this season. Ilya Rozanov is an asshole. Hayden’s POV
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 1,646
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76052321
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Learning Curve by GreenGirl11235813
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2025-12-19
“You’re wearing a hole in my floor,” he says. “Sit down.” He expects pushback. A look. A quip. Instead— Shane stops." or Shane is anxious and overwhelmed, and has a meeting with Ilya near the beginning of their not-relationship, and it doesn't go as expected. Ilya is surprised to discover just how quickly and easily Shane goes under for him, when he isn't really trying, but is more than happy to care for him.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 3,823
- Chapters:
- 3/3
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76011691
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Shane doesn’t say he’s overwhelmed. He never does. He shows up instead—later than planned, jaw tight, movements clipped like every second is being audited. His bag lands by the door with more force than necessary. He stands there for a moment too long, as if waiting for instructions he hasn’t been given. Ilya clocks it immediately. “Hey,” he says gently, already closing the distance. “Come here.” Shane shakes his head once, sharp. “Just—give me a minute.” Ilya gives him thirty seconds. Then he takes Shane’s wrist—not tight, not demanding—and guides him further into the apartment. “Shoes off,” he says, voice calm, certain. “Jacket too.” or Ilya takes care of an overwhelmed and overstimulated Shane by letting him float away into subspace for a bit. Shane doesn’t say he’s overwhelmed. He never does. He shows up instead—later than planned, jaw tight, movements clipped like every second is being audited. His bag lands by the door with more force than necessary. He stands there for a moment too long, as if waiting for instructions he hasn’t been given. Ilya clocks it immediately. “Hey,” he says gently, already closing the distance. “Come here.” Shane shakes his head once, sharp. “Just—give me a minute.” Ilya gives him thirty seconds. Then he takes Shane’s wrist—not tight, not demanding—and guides him further into the apartment. “Shoes off,” he says, voice calm, certain. “Jacket too.” Shane exhales, something brittle easing. He does as he’s told. Good. Ilya takes the bag, sets it aside. He steers Shane toward the couch, presses him down with a hand on his shoulder. “Sit.” Shane sits. It’s small. It’s nothing. But it’s also everything—permission to stop managing, to stop anticipating, to stop being the one who has to decide what happens next. Ilya disappears into the kitchen and comes back with a glass of water, sets it in Shane’s hands. “Drink.” Shane does. His hands shake just a little. Ilya sits beside him, close enough that their thighs touch. He doesn’t ask questions. He doesn’t ask Shane to explain. He just starts grounding them back into the same room. “Phone,” Ilya says, holding out his hand. Shane hesitates. Then he hands it over. Ilya puts it face‑down on the table, out of reach. “Good.” Shane swallows. His shoulders slump, just barely, like a structure being allowed to fail safely. “I didn’t realize how loud it was,” Shane says finally, staring at nothing. Ilya nods. “It gets like that.” He shifts, pulls Shane gently but firmly against him, Shane’s back to Ilya’s chest. He wraps his arms around Shane’s middle, solid and warm. Shane stiffens for half a second out of habit —then melts. Ilya rests his chin on Shane’s shoulder. “You don’t have to think right now,” he murmurs. “I have you.” Shane’s breath shudders. “I don’t know what I need.” “That is okay,” Ilya says without hesitation. “I do.” He adjusts the blanket over them. Turns the lights lower. Presses a slow, steady rhythm into Shane’s side with his thumb, counting breaths Shane doesn’t realize he’s following. Minutes pass. Maybe more. Shane leans back fully now, trusting the weight behind him. “You’re good at this,” he says, voice soft, almost surprised. Ilya smiles into his hair. “You let me be.” Shane is quiet for a long moment. Then, barely audible: “Thank you.” Ilya tightens his arms, just a little. “Anytime.” Later—much later—when Shane’s thoughts have slowed and the world has shrunk back to a manageable size, Ilya asks one more thing. “Stay?” Shane doesn’t hesitate this time. “Yeah.” And for once, he doesn’t feel like he’s choosing. He feels like he’s being taken care of. Ilya doesn’t move for a long while. He waits until Shane’s breathing has evened out, until the tension has fully drained from his shoulders. Only then does he speak again. “Okay,” he says quietly. “Next thing.”
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 1,208
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #75848601
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As usual, Ilya waits for Shane for their post game hookup. There seems to be something off with Shane today, though.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 1,577
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #75800696
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the edges of your soul, i haven't seen yet by only_the_golden
Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid, Heated Rivalry (TV)
2025-12-13
Shane experiences a shutdown after a tough game. Ilya is there to pick up the pieces. Set sort of between Heated Rivalry and The Long Game (?) Title from 'Forever' by Noah Kahan
- Part 3 of Autistic Shane Hollander One-Shots
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 1,221
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #75719196
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something different bloomed by only_the_golden
Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid, Heated Rivalry (TV)
2025-12-13
Shane was diagnosed with autism as a kid, and kept it a secret once he decided he wanted to play hockey as a career. He decides it's finally time to tell Ilya. Set in Chapter 17 of Heated Rivalry. Title from 'You're on Your Own, Kid' by Taylor Swift
- Part 2 of Autistic Shane Hollander One-Shots
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 2,000
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #75675526
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