5501 – 5520 of 6,100 Works in Ilya Rozanov
- Ilya Rozanov ×
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It's the "We didn't even kiss" scene that's all you need to know. The first few hundred words cover scenes we’ve seen (the awards show, the bathroom) and then diverge. (og title was Teach Me How to Love.)
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 13,969
- Chapters:
- 2/2
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #75792936
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I just binged the book and the show and I thought Shane should cry while being called a slut, have this
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 2,307
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #75898681
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“Trying to get me high, Rozanov?” Shane had teased, and had to shoot a hand out to Ilya’s elbow when the other man’s brow furrowed infinitesimally. “Joking, I’m joking.” “Okay,” Ilya acknowledged, but he remained, waiting for Shane to respond to the offer. “I just don’t want to be too high to- you know.” Ilya’s eyes had widened. “Shane Hollander, you are pervert.”
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 3,972
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #75895066
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and should i wedded be by intertwingular
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2025-12-17
INSIDE HOCKEY'S ROYAL WEDDING NHL stars Ilya and Shane Rozanov-Hollander tie the knot. or, the Vogue Wedding Article
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 5,166
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #75898236
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Butt Cream and Sprankle Glitter by ThePromptWasntThisLong (shredded_potato)
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2025-12-17
“Arti-SEE-anal butt cream cake,” Ilya says, louder, stubbornly proud. “What? Why you laugh? They say it is arti-SEE-anal butt cream frosting. I say same thing.” Shane pinches the bridge of his nose. “Buttercream, Ilya. Butter-cream.” A sprinkle-shot challenge, a toddler-esque fight with JJ, and a fake fireplace later, Shane realizes this might be the best birthday ever. Shane spends the afternoon leaning against the kitchen counter with loops of icing ideas running through his brain, because he knows Ilya has been pacing for ten minutes straight. Pacing is not new in their apartment—post-game pacing, pre-game pacing, pacing whenever Shane leaves a stray sock on the floor—but this pacing is special. Ilya mutters words in Russian, then French, then some mashed-up bastardization that probably counts as a new dialect. His phone screen glows in his palm, speaker volume turned up so loud the hold music hisses thinly through the kitchen. “‘Froosteenk,’” he snarls at the air, rolling his eyes to the ceiling like the light fixture personally offended him. Shane leans on the island and smirks. “It’s ‘frosting.’” “That is what I say.” Ilya swipes his hand through the air. “Froosteenk.” “Listen, it’s froooosting. Lengthen the vowel.” Ilya scowls harder and jabs the phone screen. “Do not correct me. I know words. I am four languages.” “You are four languages,” Shane says. “You are also saying ‘frosting’ like it murdered your mother.” Ilya spins, the cord on their kitchen window blinds tangling around his forearm as he walks. The operator finally picks up—some cheerful woman whose voice sits at the pitch only golden retriever puppies can hear. “Hello, this is Kara at Sweet Slice Bakery. How can I help—” “I want big cake with…with…” Ilya loses it, hand waving, brows furrowing. “You know. Happy birthday Shane. Chocolate inside. White…” He hesitates. “White…froosteenk.” There is a tiny pause from Kara. “I’m sorry?” Ilya huffs out a breath, glances at Shane, then stomps toward him with the phone held out like it might catch fire. “They make me talk nonsense. I have NHL contract but cannot say cake.” He thrusts the phone at Shane’s chest. Shane takes it, biting his lip to stifle laughter, and switches to the smooth, effortless tone of a man conquering cake orders. “Hi, sorry, uhm, he wants a chocolate cake with vanilla frosting, twelve-inch round, simple ‘Happy birthday, Shane’ in blue piping.” He listens, nodding, wraps an arm around Ilya’s waist when Ilya leans against him like a scowling oak tree. “Pickup Friday morning works.” Kara sweetly confirms and the call ends. Shane hangs up, sets the phone on the counter, and turns toward Ilya with blatant glee. “There. Cake secured. And no one accidentally ordered ‘frosted sin’.” Ilya’s eyes narrow. “That is what she thinks I say?” “You mangled it so hard it sounded like ‘frosted sin.’ Which...honestly sounds delicious. Maybe you invented a new dessert.” “I am terrifying athlete. I fight bears in Siberia.” Ilya grabs Shane by the waist and lifts him until his butt hits the counter. “Little stubborn Hollywood boy should fear me.” The smug retort Shane stored up dissolves when Ilya leans in and kisses him, a smooth mouth pressing against Shane’s and humming softly. Shane curls his fingers in Ilya’s hair and nips his lower lip. “My big, scary Russian,” he murmurs against the kiss, tone thick with affection, “defeated by buttercream.” Friday morning rolls in with the bakery’s doorway chime squealing like a bird with a sinus infection, and Ilya ducks his six-foot-three frame beneath the string of paper cupcakes hanging across the ceiling. He announces himself to the bewildered teenager behind the counter by slapping both palms on the glass and declaring, “We are here for froosteenk doom.” Shane, who is still rubbing sleep out of his eyes, takes a leisurely half-step forward. “We’re picking up the Hollander order.” He flashes the employee a smile so easy the kid practically levitates to the back room. Ilya folds his arms, eyes on the cake boxes lining the counter, chest puffed like the bakery is his arena. “Ask them for extra…sprankle glitter,” he says under his breath. “Sprankle glitter?” “You know. The crunchy little sugar people.” “Sugar…people.” “Yes. You put on top. Sprankle glitter.” Ilya nods with solemn conviction. Shane has no idea what sprankle glitter might be, but he would arm-wrestle every pastry chef in the city if that is what it took to keep this glower directed at desserts. “We’ll see what they have,” he says, palms up, when the box is presented like a sacred relic. The design is simple, blue script gliding over white icing, perfect for the team dinner they’ll hold later. Ilya stares at the words, the corners of his mouth twitching upward, his thumb rubbing over the cardboard lid like he just landed a hat trick. The kid looks at Ilya the way people look at grizzlies in national parks. “Do you, um, need anything else?” Ilya clears his throat. “Do you sell sprankle glitter?” Shane can’t help himself. “He means sprinkles.”
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 2,533
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #75488651
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i think he fell in love (he said he trust me with his life) by meltinggoose
Heated Rivalry (TV)
2025-12-17
Fuck, he would dose that scent if he could- lick it off of Shane’s lips and neck like good Russian vodka ---- Scott's words on the ice trigger Shane's first heat.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 10,254
- Chapters:
- 2/2
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #75536746
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first-person plural possessive by oliviacirce
Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid, Heated Rivalry (TV)
2025-12-17
"Sorry, what?" Shane tore his eyes away from Ilya. Wyatt snorted, amused. "You know you can go over there, right? The days of gazing longingly at each other and hoping nobody notices are behind you, buddy."
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 8,326
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #75935346
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Maybe You're a Bad Idea, But I'm Loving Every Minute of It by Waste_the_night
Heated Rivalry (TV)
2025-12-17
'He forces his eyes up to the array of moles along Rozanov’s chest and arms. The highlight of tonight’s ‘boring sex’ as Rozanov put it. Shane wants to connect the scattered marks all over his body. He wants to build a topographic map of Ilya Rozanov and burn it to memory. “Your beauty marks…” He sits up on his elbows. “My what?” He looks down his body, like he’s trying to figure out what Shane is talking about. Shane climbs into his lap, cupping Rozanov’s face in his hands. “Beauty marks… these.” He pokes the prominent mole that rests on his cheek. The one Shane has been dreaming about since the moment they met as teenagers.' ----- AKA - Shane is a little bit obsessed with Ilya's moles... Sex ensues.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 3,808
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #75934086
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“More,” Rozanov grunts in English, but Shane is transfixed on the bead of sweat rolling down his temple, down to his tense jaw. “Say more, Hollander.” “Mm, more–” “No, more– Блять–” “No more?” “Ни хрена себе– Say more Russian, Hollander.” or, Shane knows how to say about four words in Russian, and Ilya loses his mind
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 5,246
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #75944821
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Don't wanna wait on it by mickeysmyheart
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2025-12-17
Once Shane’s on the road, Ilya undoes his seatbelt causing Shane to react immediately. “What are you doing?” he asks as Ilya moves over the middle console and gets his hands on Shane. “Just relax,” Ilya tells him. He works quickly to undo Shane’s pants and get his half hard cock out of his pants. “Fuck,” Shane moans as Ilya wraps his hand around it. “Ilya, I’m driving.” OR Shane and Ilya go to the cottage for the weekend for Yuna & David's wedding anniversary party and Ilya gets a little impatient on the way there.
- Part 3 of In a world post TLG
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 3,794
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 2 versions
- AO3:
- #75932746
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I Will Follow You Into the Dark by andmynewlymeltedheart
Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid, Heated Rivalry (TV), Heated Rivalry- Rachel Reid
2025-12-17
Ilya Rozanov is looking for a fight, and Shane Hollander is looking for Ilya.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 5,424
- Chapters:
- 3/3
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #75628566
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“You’re contracting me to join FanMail?” Shane Hollander stares at his Coach in disbelief, “FanMail.” “It’s a new initiative to have all of you interacting more with fan spaces,” Coach Wiebe sighs, “it’s not just you, it’s the whole team. Something a little more personalised for the fans and you get a little money on the side too. Can’t be so bad, eh?” Or; Shane Hollander has joined the Centaurs and is told he has to start a FanMail page to make video requests for fans. What could go wrong?
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 2,698
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #75892671
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Away from the rink and under a different kind of heat. The island felt like a dare. Palm fronds leaned low over white sand, the air thick with salt and sweetness, the ocean breathing in slow, blue laps. It was the kind of place that looked fake until you stepped barefoot into it and realized it was real—and that made it worse, somehow. Shane had always done better with things that hurt a little. Cold rinks. Sharp edges. Rivalries that burned hot enough to keep him upright. Ilya, apparently, did not have that problem. He was already sprawled on a lounge chair like he’d been born to tropical vacations instead of raised on ice and spite, sunglasses pushed up into his curls, skin gleaming with sweat and sun. He tipped his head when Shane came closer, smile lazy and dangerous. “Relax,” Ilya said. “Your shoulders are up by your ears.” Shane snorted and dropped his bag onto the sand. “You’re the one who booked this place.” “Together,” Ilya corrected. “We agreed. A truce.” Shane looked at him. Really looked. No gear, no boards between them, no roar of a crowd. Just Ilya, bare-chested, smug, and devastatingly at ease. Out in the open, like they’d promised. Like they’d both been terrified of. “A truce,” Shane echoed. “For one week.” Ilya grinned. “Plenty of time.” That should have been a warning. They didn’t last an hour before the rivalry crept back in, curling around their ankles like a cat that pretended not to care but absolutely did. It lived in the way Shane challenged Ilya to swim farther out. In the way Ilya beat him back to shore and laughed, breathless, water slicking down his torso. “You cheated,” Shane said. “You’re just slow,” Ilya shot back. “Age.” “I’m the same age as you.” “Details.” They lay on their towels afterward, sun beating down, the sound of waves filling the space where trash talk usually lived. Shane closed his eyes, letting the heat sink in. His skin prickled, already pinking. “You’re going to burn,” Ilya said. “I’ll live.” Ilya propped himself up on one elbow. Shane could feel his gaze like a physical thing, dragging slow and unapologetic. “I have sunscreen.” “So do I.” “Yes,” Ilya said, “but I offered.” Shane opened one eye. “You offering now?” Ilya’s smile shifted. Less lazy. More intent. “I am a generous man.” Something in Shane’s chest tightened. He sat up, grabbed his own bottle from his bag, and held it up. “I’m good.” Ilya made a little tsk sound. “Stubborn.” “Competitive.” “Sexy flaw,” Ilya said lightly, then reached out and plucked the bottle from Shane’s hand. Shane sputtered. “Hey—” “Already touching,” Ilya pointed out. He flicked the cap open with his thumb. “Too late.” Shane could have taken it back. He didn’t. He let Ilya pour a cool line of lotion into his palm instead, watched his eyes track the motion. The air shifted, thickened. “Front or back?” Ilya asked. Shane swallowed. “Back.” Ilya’s hands were warm. The contrast made Shane hiss as sunscreen spread across his shoulders, firm palms working it in. Not clinical. Not rushed. Fingers dragging, thumbs pressing into muscle like Ilya was memorizing him. Like he’d earned the right. “You’re tense,” Ilya murmured, close enough now that Shane could feel his breath. “Still think I’m going to stab you in the back?” Shane laughed, a rough sound. “You would.” “Only if you deserved it.” Ilya leaned in, just a fraction. His hands slid lower, down Shane’s spine, stopping at the small of his back. He lingered there, deliberate. Testing. Shane’s pulse kicked. “You done?” “No,” Ilya said softly. “Sides.”
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 2,011
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #75919556
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If this is Christmas, Ilya will start to believe in that stupid man who lives with polar bears and makes toys.
He'll believe in anything, any God, any religion, if Shane Hollander’s body is its temple.
Or: the sugary highs and lows of Christmas Day through the years, from Ilya Rozanov's perspective.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 10,093
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #75911086
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Well, baby, I surrender to the strawberry ice cream by rachelrae
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2025-12-17
“Puppy!” Came Jade's happy cry as Chiron licked her face. Both of Hayden's twins lay giggling on the floor of the Ottawa locker room, a squirming puppy bouncing between them. “Can we get a puppy, Uncle Ilya?” Ruby's voice rose even louder as she spoke, eyes pleading towards Ilya. Shane heard the door slam open behind him. Hayden Pike, his best friend and beloved father, staggered to his side. Out of the corner of his eye, Shane could see him taking in the mess in front of them. “Well, shit.” Or What if Shane and Ilya's relationship was revealed to the Ottawa Centaurs before Hayden's video. It was still Hayden's fault though.
- Part 1 of HR Alternate Relationship Reveals
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 2,725
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 2 versions
- AO3:
- #75942151
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i know most people do by Anonymous
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2025-12-17
“Do you want to fuck Svetlana?
Shane dropped his phone. “What? No. Are you fucking crazy?”
“I am not crazy,” Ilya said. “But I would like to be fucking. Maybe both of you. At once.”
“Too bad you only have one dick then,” Shane said, incredulous.
“My innocent sweet boy, Hollander. Never had a threesome before?”
“I could barely handle one girl at a time,” Shane confessed. “Much less two. Because, Rozanov, I am gay.”
+++
Ilya and Svetlana propose a threesome for old time's sake. Shane learns that sometimes, experimentation can be very, very rewarding. An exploration of identity and desire and, ultimately, being true to yourself.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 12,644
- Chapters:
- 2/2
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #75911851
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Shane and Ilya are getting to know each other, and the boundaries of the relationship are expanding, to a small dark lake in Ottawa.
They go skating.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 947
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #75945976
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“I don’t want to look at you right now.” Ilya’s voice is raw but firm. “I don’t want to talk to you. Go home.” Leaving the towel bunched up on the counter, he tries to leave. No fucking way. Shane steps into his path and stops him. There is no way he’s letting Ilya walk away like that. And why the fuck is Ilya the one who is upset? He’s the one who brought up that stupid party in the first place. And he’s the one who can’t answer one fucking question. “Would you choose me?” Shane discovers how tired Ilya is of hiding and how much it hurts him that no one knows. Shane also discovers that he’s the asshole in this scenario and decides to change that, fuck the consequences. He can panic about it another day.
- Part 1 of How Hollanov's Friends Find Out
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 8,865
- Chapters:
- 3/3
- Files:
- 2 versions
- AO3:
- #75830021
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While Shane is in New York securing a large donation for the Irina Foundation, Ilya's in Montreal trying to get his daughters to a figure skating competition on time. A long day in two cities—but they get through it together, apart.
- Part 4 of hollandad & papanov
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 2,202
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #75844861
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He tries to hold it in, he really does, but something about the gentleness of Ilya’s touch, which is like nothing Shane’s ever experienced before, causes a sob to escape his lips and before he knows it there are tears streaming down his cheeks, and Ilya looks at him with shocked eyes. . Or: Shane struggles with expectations, introspection, and wanting to tell Ilya everything and nothing at the same time.
- Part 1 of Tangible
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 2,822
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #75880386