621 – 640 of 984 Works in General Audiences
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Shane distantly contemplated how much he would ache tomorrow, the tightness of his muscles already becoming a sure thing. Tomorrow. What an impossible thought, when he was currently present in a way that he rarely got to be in his day to day life.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 1,792
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #77042726
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five times Ilya initiates on ice PDA and the one time Shane does
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 1,839
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #77079811
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GRWM: Ilya’s Version (ft. The Most Exhausted Man in Canada) by slec
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2026-01-04
The one where Ilya becomes a beauty influencer using Shane’s $300 moisturizer, and Shane tries (and fails) to remain invisible. Inspired by Hudson's GRWM
- Part 1 of GRWM (Hollanovs)
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 3,491
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- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #77035801
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Yuna Hollander notices something amiss with Ilya. They work through his grief together.
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- English
- Words:
- 2,166
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- 1/1
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- 1
- AO3:
- #77056301
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Looking at Pictures of You (Boring) With Your Dad (Who Is Also Boring) by SirLadyBlueletter
Heated Rivalry (TV)
2026-01-04
My take on what Ilya and David did while Shane and Yuna were outside. Also, Yuna becomes fond of Ilya against her better judgement less-than-rational hostility.
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- English
- Words:
- 1,135
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- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #77051246
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MLH Star Shane Hollander Reveals Secret Tattoo Plans and Talks His Worst Injury | Thirst Trap | ELLE Canada by netflixing
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2026-01-04
MLH Star Shane Hollander Reveals Secret Tattoo Plans and Talks His Worst Injury | Thirst Trap | ELLE Canada Join ELLE as we ask our favorite celebs a set of 10 questions — they can answer truthfully, or take a shot instead. Cheers! ——— SHANE: (coughs) God, that tastes like battery acid, are you sure that’s even alcoholic?
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- English
- Words:
- 1,458
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #77056126
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I'll Make Up for All of Your Tears by probsnothawkeye
Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid, Heated Rivalry (TV)
2026-01-04
I'll build a house / out of the mess / and all of the broken pieces / I'll make up for all of your tears / I'll give you the best years or Shane was so tired of hiding. Tired of being scared. Tired of hurting Ilya because he was hiding and scared. Hockey had always been Shane’s life– it had been the thing he loved most for so long. But now he loved something more– loved someone more. Ilya was far more important than hockey could ever be, and Shane let Ilya believe that wasn’t the case. Like an idiot.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 1,929
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #77055726
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Don't Make Me Beg by thethickofit
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2026-01-04
“Shane.” Ilya’s hand wraps around his forearm like a vice. “Pull over.” “What?” Shane asks cautiously, careful to keep his eyes on the road. If Ilya's suggesting what he thinks he's suggesting... Ilya’s grip tightens, and Shane realises that he isn’t suggesting anything at all. “Pull over," he repeats. "Please.”
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 2,340
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #77026796
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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
- Language:
- English
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- 3,922
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- 1/1
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- 1
- AO3:
- #77061116
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Shane was aware of his obsessive-compulsive tendencies, but he wasn't looking to fix them. Or: he had already found everything he needed to manage it.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 1,685
- Chapters:
- 1/1
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- 1
- AO3:
- #77062111
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Ilya's past catches up with him, except this time it's planned his future too.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 4,874
- Chapters:
- 1/1
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- 1
- AO3:
- #77032191
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Why does Shane Hollander stare at Ilya Rozanov? Shane clears his throat hard, panic rejoining his bloodstream. “But I don’t like stare stare. It’s just professional awareness. Team situational awareness. Hockey reasons.” “Yes,” Ilya nods gravely, eyes glinting. “Very serious hockey staring.” Shane groans. (The one where Shane and Ilya take on Web's Most Search Questions about them.)
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- English
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- 1/1
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- 1
- AO3:
- #77071616
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“Hollander, you are stupid idiot,” Ilya says, his fists clenching in his jacket pockets as Shane stares at him from the hospital bed with that loopy smile on his face. “What do you mean?” Shane asks, his voice airy and light, though Ilya picks up a hint of concern. Ilya closes his eyes and inhales deeply. “You take your eyes off of puck, you look back at me.” OR A retelling of the hospital scene.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 1,551
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- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #77075566
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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.
- Language:
- English
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- 1,335
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #77083736
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The raised line of the back of Shane's left shouder. Ilya had noticed it in the shower back on that faitful day. He ran his hands over it hours later in room 1410 with Shane beneath him. He's caressed it thousands of times over the years, but never asked from where it was. The story of how Shane got his scar.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 1,639
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #77103791
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Vanilla Sweetness Like I'm Sixteen by sunsetmagnolia
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2026-01-04
Shane must have a weird look on his face when he turns around, because Maeve is watching him like something hilarious just happened. “What?” he asks. “Thank you Shane,” she repeats in a bad imitation of Rozanov’s accent. “He doesn’t say thank you to Hayden?” “What do you think?” In which Ilya is a menace at his local coffee shop, but only to Hayden.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 4,326
- Chapters:
- 2/2
- Files:
- 2 versions
- AO3:
- #76874831
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No one wanted to go to Ottawa! Except Ilya Rozanov, it seemed. -- An outside view on Ilya's decision to go to play in Ottawa. Ilya's agent leads a hard life.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 3,191
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #77098896
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Maybe, Finally by beyondtheclose (BeforeEternity)
Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid, Heated Rivalry (TV)
2026-01-04
The fact that Kat's gay uncle she isn’t sure she has spoken a word to in her life is the captain of this particular hockey team has nothing to do with anything. It’s just another tourist activity while she's in Ottawa. There’s no guarantee that she’s even going to see him as more than a speck on the ice. She takes another deep breath. She has tickets for the signing. She’s planned what she’s going to say. It’ll be fine. Kat Rozanova, freshly 18, travels to Ottawa with one goal in mind: to meet her uncle.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 3,275
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 2 versions
- AO3:
- #77105341
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Ilya has a secret. Kip has a slightly smaller secret.
The boys have each other's backs (Except Ilya is 100% a brat about it)
- Part 4 of Troublemakers
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 5,120
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #77062066
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You're a WAG now, it isn't always fun and games by peiceabread
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2026-01-03
When a message in the "WAGs + Shane and Ilya" group chat reveals that a teammate is cheating on his wife, the Ottawa Centaurs locker room becomes a hostile environment. Ilya Rozanov takes the betrayal personally, especially when said teammate decides to take his frustrations out on Shane. Or: The one where the team excommunicates a cheater, Ilya throws a punch, and Shane just wants to get home to his dog.
- Part 6 of Ilya and Shane as WAGs
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 4,432
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #77022401