101 – 120 of 228 Works in Panic Attacks
- Panic Attacks ×
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this, the tale of reckless love by justhockey
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2026-02-10
He wasn’t ready for this. Maybe he never would have been, not in two, or five, or ten years. Maybe he would have spent the rest of his life holding this secret inside, not telling a single soul about the way his heart beats for his biggest rival. Or maybe, in a year or ten or once he’s retired, he might have come out publicly. Might have shared his truth with the world. But that was supposed to be his choice. To tell or not to tell, to hide in the shade or step out into the sunshine. It was supposed to be his decision, and now it’s been taken from him.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 7,437
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 3 versions
- AO3:
- #79273551
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I'm Powerless, Don't Remind Me by Anonymous
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2026-02-09
Anya’s barking continues. At this rate, he will need to check on her at the very least to stop the headache that is slowly forming behind his eyes. “Anya! Come on!” Shane calls once more as he sets his phone down on the small table next to his seat, along with his half-finished coffee. Suddenly, before he can register what is happening, Shane feels a strong arm snake around his torso. Rough fibers scratching the exposed skin of his stomach where the hoodie remained unzipped, leaving him exposed. Just as a cry of shock starts to work its way up his throat, a gloved hand reaches around his mouth, smothering anything that would have left his lips. The arm around his middle tightens, and he feels the hard, cold tap of metal against his waist where he assumes his attacker’s hand is. 'A gun'.
....
“Grab him. I’ll start the car and we can get out of here.” Joe says over his shoulder as he makes his way to the front door.
....
'Ilya. Please.
Or
It should have been a quiet morning alone. Pulled violently from his home Shane realizes he must try and fight his way out, and hopes Ilya realizes what happened before it is too late.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 35,161
- Chapters:
- 6/6
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #78818466
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Forty-eight people boarded the charter flight from Raleigh. Only one woke up in a Savannah hospital.
Ilya Rozanov is the unbreakable Captain of the Ottawa Centaurs. Now, he is also the sole survivor of a tragedy that the NHL would rather treat as a PR nightmare than a massacre. With a shattered body and a ghost team, Ilya finds himself at the center of a corporate conspiracy fueled by blood money.
But he isn't alone. Shane Hollander has always been his greatest rival. Now, he’s his only anchor. Because sometimes, the only way out is through.
Complete!
More Details on the Main Character Death TagHey! The MCD tag is STRICTLY for the death of the Centaurs team, right from the beginning. Neither Ilya nor Shane die at any point in the fic.
- Part 1 of Miracles
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 115,531
- Chapters:
- 40/40
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76901141
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Ilya has a panic attack
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 2,427
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #79122831
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The edges of the picture had begun to bend; Shane was like a firework on the very verge of a convulsive explosion. The skirting of the doorway and the hand there gripping it were each as white as the other, and although the phone in his pocket rang and rang Shane made no move to answer it. It had been ringing since he’d last been an idiot, around seventeen minutes ago- when he had sent that stupid fucking message to Ilya Rozanov: “We didn’t even kiss”. _______ Or, its 2014 and the NHL has returned to Vegas. Shane sends that text and falls head-first off the deep end with a bottle from the hotel's mini fridge. Ilya must try to bring him back.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 7,782
- Chapters:
- 2/2
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #79090536
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More hands, then Hayden's voice. "Oh shit. I've got you, man. Meg—what—" The walls tilted, or maybe Shane did. He couldn't feel his feet. "Fuck. Okay , okay, we're going down, Meg, grab his other arm—" Then, voice raised, "JJ!" Shane lost some time. Or, Shane learns about a family emergency during a game in Ottawa and shuts down. Ilya is there to help. Shane swiped the towel quickly over his visor and squeezed a quick shot of cold water into his mouth. Everything hurt, in the way that everything always hurt in games toward the end of the season. He just had to get through this last period and hold on to their lead, then he could go shower and refuel with a few thousand calories and bleed off the adrenaline by sleeping 10 hours in Ilya's arms. Sitting on the bench, intentionally bringing his breathing back under control, Shane worked at a painful muscle knot beside his knee. He'd have to see a trainer about that one soon. "Hollander." Shane was automatically on his skates and halfway to jumping the boards when he realized he wasn't being sent in. Theriault made eye contact, face neutral, and jerked his head behind the bench. Shane paused, confused, and turned. Hayden, sitting beside him, frowned. One of the Metros' communications staff hovered just inside the tunnel. Shane registered an unusual look on her face. "Shane?" Hayden questioned. "I don't know." Coach jerked his head again toward the tunnel, so Shane took a quick glance back at the ice—at the blur that was Ilya—and headed toward the tunnel. A spike of anxiety at the change in protocol made his stomach roll. "Meg? What's wrong?" "Shane. Sorry to pull you away. Don't worry—it's okay." Shane thought that that's what you say to people when there's a reason to panic. "Okay." He knew his voice was flat in the way that made other people uncomfortable, sometimes. He didn't know what else to sound like, with a thick curl of panic crawling up his throat. "Your mom called a few minutes ago. Your dad was having some chest pains, so they went to the ER. They're at Montreal General." Shane blinked at her. "My dad?" His ears were ringing. "Yeah," she said, gently. "I'm sure they've arrived by now. I told her we'd pull you for the rest of the third period so that you can keep up to date." "Okay." He heard Hayden's voice behind him, questioning. Couldn't make out the words. "I'm gonna throw up," Shane said faintly. "Oh, crap—" A scramble. Gentle hands guided him a few more steps away from the rink, then there was a trash can in front of him. Someone pried his hockey stick out of his hands. Shane's diaphragm heaved, expelling mostly water and electrolytes and the remains of his pregame protein bar. More hands, then Hayden's voice. "Oh shit. I've got you, man. Meg—what—" Talking. Shane spat drool and acid, and tried to inhale. His throat clenched. The breath burned and wheezed like he was trying to suck in air through a straw. Someone pulled off Shane's helmet. He heaved again. Spat. Couldn't drag in enough oxygen. His breath sounded like that kid from middle school who carried an inhaler during gym class, wheezy and painful. The walls tilted, or maybe Shane did. He couldn't feel his feet. "Fuck. Okay, okay, we're going down, Meg, grab his other arm—" Then, voice raised, "JJ!" Shane lost some time. ----- Blink. Someone had taken off his skates, pulled off his jersey, unstrapped his pads. He was leaning against the wall, Hayden and JJ kneeling in front of him, pale. Meg hovered anxiously behind Hayden, phone to her ear. "Shane, your dad—" No. Shane couldn't listen to that. Reflexively, his neck jerked, pulling away from whatever Hayden was saying, cracking painfully into the wall. The pain bloomed at the back of his skull, whiting out any thoughts that bubbled up to the surface. That helped, so he did it again. "No! No, Shane, hey, stop that, stopstopstop—" More time passed. ----- Blink. The scene had changed. He was in a trainer's room, now. Still on the floor, listing a little to one side, knees bent. His face was wet. He reached up a heavy hand, touched his cheekbone, looked at his damp fingers. Tears, not blood. People were talking. "I don't fucking know, Roz! He's just not fucking here right now. I'm trying to tell him—no, I'm not touching him, you think I don't fucking know my best friend—" "Hayd." Shane's voice sounded weird. Hayden stopped pacing and dropped into a crouch in front of him, phone to his ear. Nobody else was in the room.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 1,795
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #79146476
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Two Bludgeoned Bodies Found in Remote Parking Lot by Anonymous
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2026-02-08
Shane's POV for I Like Jane For You
Something is up with the people in Shane’s life this week. He imagines some worst-case-scenarios, but his imagination isn't even close.
- Part 3 of Haydenov Phone Swap
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 12,852
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 3 versions
- AO3:
- #79139066
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Panicking in that dreaded elevator, Shane ends up going back to the one place where he knows the pain will go away: back to Ilya.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 2,337
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #79062981
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“I’m right here. And you are okay, and you are safe, and healthy, and you are at home, yes? It is quiet, and nobody is there, nobody is bothering you. And the world is full of stupid idiots, but you are not one of them. And I am here. When you need me, I am here.” --------- or: The whole world thinks Shane is gay because of some stupid internet rumors, and he doesn't even have to confirm it. He's losing control of his entire life and he needs somewhere to put what little he does have. Ilya has open hands.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 37,065
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 2 versions
- AO3:
- #79024196
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One Touch, And I Was A Believer by amysteriouspuddle
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2026-02-05
It had all got too real. That wasn’t what they were. They met up a couple times each year, took what they needed from the other, and then left before the afterglow could fade. They did not – could not – have any more than that. And they certainly did not call each other by their forenames. That would imply that they meant more to each other than either had ever expressed, that Rosanov was more than just Rosanov, Shane’s arch rival on ice and absolutely nothing off ice. And that could never happen. - Or, Hayden's reaction to Shane coming back to their hotel room freaking out and in Ilya's clothes in ep 4.
- Part 1 of They Don't Know About Us
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 4,262
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #78943266
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The command had sliced through him like a knife, and Shane had very nearly opened his mouth. It didn’t just paralyse his jaw, his entire body locked up, shock rippling through him. No matter how many comments were made, neither of them had ever been so evil as to order him so directly. Not since- But then Ilya Rozanov had tackled both of them to the ground, flinging his entire body weight at them, skates flying into the air. - AU where Shane just wants to play hockey but biology and shitty teammates make it nearly impossible. Ilya just wants to have some good competition on the ice. They make it work (eventually).
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 75,287
- Chapters:
- 8/8
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #77013786
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Take me out the dark (take me home) by Anonymous
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2026-02-04
Ilya rounded the desk, and his heart didn’t stutter but simply stopped. For an endless second everything stilled around him. Shane had found them, his letters and his journals. And the world turned sideways slowly slipping away from Ilya’s grasp. Like someone had taken away the solid ground underneath his feet, leaving him falling indefinitely. His entire focus narrowed on the pages Shane was clasping in his hands and the shoe carton next to him.
He had always promised himself that one day he would show Shane, he would tell him about all of it. But he had never wanted it to happen like this. For Shane to just stumble across the pages that carried his darkest thoughts and simple truths of his life. Never wanted him to read those alone or ever. Because Ilya wasn’t sure he was strong enough to revisit all the open wounds he had spilled on those pages.
---
Or Shane and Ilya spend some time at the cottage between Christmas and New Year’s and unravel their past once and for all.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 40,342
- Chapters:
- 4/4
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #76323236
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Ottawa, 2010. Canada wins the championship, and Shane slips away from the overwhelming celebration for some peace and quiet. Russia loses, and Ilya runs from his father’s furious disappointment to have a panic attack in the stairwell. Neither boy is really looking for company, but for a tentative few hours in the middle of the night, they find solace, acceptance and a first kiss, first time prelude to something heated and risky in each other’s arms. **** Ilya leaned in with lips pursed and Shane jerked away, “Whoa! What the hell are you doing?” “You do not want kiss?” Ilya frowned. “You stare at my mouth all night, same as after draft. I thought you wanted kiss.” “No.” Shane’s eyes were wide. “That’s insane.” “Okay.” Ilya stood up, hiding how bad the rejection hurt. “I misunderstand. Sorry. Do not worry, I will not say anything about–” “Wait.” Shane’s grabbed Rozanov’s arm at the last second, gathering all his courage, “Y- yes.” “Yes.” Ilya repeated. “What is yes?” “I mean yes.” Shane pulled him back in slowly, carefully, his heart racing. “Kiss me?” January 2010 Ottawa, Canada The party was loud. The championship had been hard won and well earned and the celebration was out of control. The players were cheering, jumping, hugging one another high off the win, the boys were spinning, laughing, shoving one another drunk on the adrenaline, some actually were high off smuggled in weed and others actually were drunk off punch spiked from not very secret flasks, and the coaches and chaperones were all too busy congratulating each other and themselves to pretend to care. Champions. Trophy winners. They were at the top of their game and feeling on top of the world, and the fever pitch excitement combined with the delirious exhaustion of a too long, too intense, too physically mentally emotionally grueling few weeks of tournament shook the walls of the multipurpose conference room on the basement floor of hotel. The noise was deafening, the chaos of it all dizzying, the crush of people and body heat and clamor of conversation suffocating and in the very middle of the room– –in the very middle of the room, team Captain and tournament MVP and all around Canadian Wunderkind Shane Hollander stared down at his glass of electric red punch and tried his fucking hardest not to throw up. “Hollander! We did it! We fucking did it!” Someone pushed into him, fell into him, grabbed him into a messy, sloppy hug and planted a messy, sloppy kiss on his cheek. Teammate. A buddy. Shane had played with him for years. “Shane Hollander! Second in the draft son, good for you! You make us all so proud!” Someone shook his hand, squeezed his palm, pounded at his shoulder. A parent. A chaperone. They’d known Shane since he was sixteen. “Wouldn’t be the player he is without a great coach!” Right in his ear, bellowing over the noise. Shane knew he was supposed to smile, supposed to agree, supposed to pound the no doubt spiked punch and whoop at the top of his lungs and let go – let loose– now that the work was over and the tournament was finished and he had another trophy and medal to put in his room. Instead, “I gotta find the bathroom!” he announced to no one in particular, cos no one fucking cared. They were lost in the party, reveling in the victory, but it was too much hammering against Shane’s head, too much crushing around his body and his stomach was twisting, head pounding, chest too tight, holy shit he had to get out somewhere and get some air. Out of the multipurpose room and into the hall. Down the hall and right past the bathroom. He ditched the cup of punch in the nearest water fountain and broke into a jog down the generically ugly carpeted corridor and by the time he crashed through the door leading to the stairwell, Shane was running. Gasping. He yanked at his tie and scrubbed at his face, rolled his shoulders and popped his neck and told himself to breathe. Started up the stairs to get to his fourteenth floor room and told himself to breathe. Huffed a self deprecating sort of laugh because Shane Hollander jogging up fourteen floors worth of stairs instead of partying with his teammates was exactly the sort of over dedicated, wet blanket, fitness and work ethic obsessed bullshit everyone expected from him so– so whatever. When his parents asked sort of sad and sort of resigned about why he hadn’t stayed to celebrate with his teammates and revel in the end of his juniors era, when they told him he probably should really definitely enjoy these moments of silliness and fun while he still could cos come fall he’d be playing professional and have to lock in, when his parents couldn’t hide how they worried about him isolating and clicked their tongues about him avoiding his long time teammates in favor of running stairs alone, Shane would call it a work out. He’d call it dedication. He’d brush it off and wave them away and tell them he might have gotten second at the draft but he was gonna be first in the league, rookie of the year, and to make that happen, he couldn’t party, he had to train. He certainly wouldn’t tell them how the noisy crowd and pushing unhinged behavior made his skin crawl and lungs seize up and head hurt, no way. There wasn’t anything wrong with him. He was just dedicated. Just focused. It was fine. He was fine. Nine, ten, eleven, floors up and Shane actually started to feel fine. The stairwell was soothingly monochromatic and cold enough to be clarifying, easing the clamor in Shane’s head until he felt like he could think again. His shoes didn’t make any noise on the concrete steps and landing after corner after landing after corner was empty, the doors to the adjoining halls all closed, it was a half hour till midnight so anyone who wasn’t partying in celebration was sequestered in their rooms mulling over their loss and packing for the trip home. It was nice. Peaceful. Space to move and space to breathe and twelve floors up Shane was starting to feel like maybe he wouldn’t just collapse face first onto his bed and scream, maybe he’d have the mental energy to watch a movie or read a little bit in his book, or– Noise in the stairwell up ahead, and Shane slowed at the door for the thirteenth floor landing, paused waiting to see if he heard the noise again, then peeked around the corner bracing himself so he could try and be passably polite to whoever had inadvertently interrupted his single minded dash up the stairs. Ilya Rozanov. It was Ilya fucking Rozanov sitting just below the next landing blocking the stairwell with his body turned sideways taking up a whole step, an unlit cigarette in one hand and his phone in the other… and tears on his face, reflecting the light from his phone, tracking down his cheek and dripping off his chin, landing wet on the cold concrete below. Shit. Shane came around the corner cautiously, curiously, fidgeting with the string on his hoodie as he asked, “Rozanov?” Ilya jumped when someone spoke at him from just a few feet away. He hadn’t heard any door open, he hadn’t heard any footsteps coming up the stairs and he jumped cursing when the empty echoing cold of the stairwell was shattered by the unexpected intruder.
- Part 5 of Heated Rivalry
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 7,284
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #78900926
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“I can’t- I can’t breathe” Shane sobbed, “Hayd, I can’t… Illya” “Illya” Hayden repeated, “Shane I am going to call Illya just try to take a deep breath for me. Please” “Hmmm” said groaned as he struggled through a shuddering breathe, “Illya-” -- Shane's team is being shitty on a road trip and it all get to be a little too much. Illya is called and Hayden is a great friend.
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- English
- Words:
- 2,626
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- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #78897701
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After Vegas, Shane is convinced Ilya is done with him, and finds another man to sleep with in a desperate hope to fix whatever is wrong with him. Except Shane drops hard after his one night stand, and accidently picks up a call from Ilya while he's sobbing on the floor of his hotel room.
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- English
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- 3,145
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- AO3:
- #78868346
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How to Lose Your Boyfriend in One Sentence (The Worst Idea Ilya’s Ever Had) by Anonymous
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2026-02-04
Ilya suggests Shane can sleep with other people because he’s trying to be selfless. Shane storms out because he thinks Ilya is trying to get rid of him. They both spend the next several hours spiraling in different cities: Shane in a Montreal bar, Ilya in his own head.
Shane tries to prove a point and almost throws up instead.
Ilya drives to Montreal like he’s about to commit a felony.
And Hayden Pike has to witness all of it.Or, two idiots in love speedrun an almost breakup and accidentally end up engaged.
- Language:
- English
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- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #78897791
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A reporter in the front row raised his hand, then stood without being called on. His voice shook just a little when he spoke, but his eyes were shining, and his face flushed with excitement.
“Scott - are you aware of the online speculation about your sexuality? About you being gay?”
Or:
Ilya Rozanov helps Scott Hunter escape a post-game press conference that went wrong because of Reddit.- Language:
- English
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- 4,983
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- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #78906611
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the golden age of mosaic broken hearts by writinginasnowglobe
Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
2026-02-02
If you ask anyone who knows even the slightest bit about hockey, they would say that Shane Hollander is one of the nicest players out there. A generational talent with talks of a dynasty. If you ask Ilya Rozanov, he’d announce loudly that Shane Hollander is the best thing that happened to him. Don’t get it wrong; he’d still call him boring and polite and “very Canadian” and only the second best hockey player in the league. But there’d be a sparkle in his eye and a soft smile on his lips, and it wouldn’t be hard to see the pure adoration the man had for Shane Hollander. He’d mock him with “golden boy Shane Hollander,” but there’d be a thread of something hidden in his voice. Almost as if he doesn’t truly believe it. Or, Shane Hollander left Montreal. He's not sure if all of him did, though.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 7,494
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 2 versions
- AO3:
- #78762066
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The Centaurs are on a Roadie and have to pull over at a shitty motel to wait out a crazy storm. Shane hates storms with a passion because they are essentially a sensory clusterfuck for him. On top of that, they aren't the only ones who needed to get off the road leaving Wyatt and Bood sharing a room with the couple. Or Shane and Ilya being cute, Wyatt and Bood watching. Shane also has really bad anxiety so if you like that you will like this.
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- English
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- 4,483
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- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #78687336
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Scott felt like his lungs were collapsing. He’d had the wind knocked out of him plenty of times, but tonight there had been no hit, no fall. His heart was pounding and his chest wouldn’t open up to let him get enough air. This had to be a heart attack. He must be dying.
He sank down onto the cold ground, hoping faintly that he’d landed somewhere out of the way. The last thing Scott needed was for Kip to be the one to find his body.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 5,481
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #78736291