User______28
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Shane Hollander disappears from the NHL at twenty with a career-ending “injury.”
Four years later, he’s the new assistant coach for the Ottawa Centaurs when Ilya Rozanov signs with the team. His former rival. His secret hookup. The father of his daughter.
Ilya doesn’t know Lily exists and Shane plans to keep it that way.But three-year-olds don’t keep secrets, and neither do pale blue eyes.
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Bookmarked by User______28
04 Jan 2026
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Mike Wheeler refuses to come out to his friends and family after finally getting with Will, and it costs him his angel. So, now he has to make it right.
(Read first part of this series to have a deeper understanding, or don’t, idgaf)
Series
- Part 2 of Pray Until the Church Burns
Bookmarked by User______28
02 Jan 2026
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Will and Mike become friends with benefits. Which is a totally reasonable arrangement that they’re both completely content with, obviously.
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- English
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Bookmarked by User______28
31 Dec 2025
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“Holy shit, dude,” Hayden whispers, too loudly, as he pulls Shane away. “No way you were just talking to Ilya Rozanov.”
“Uh, yeah. We just met. Wait, did he lie to me?” Shane asks, looking back over his shoulder where Ilya is now standing next to a short but very muscular woman with long black hair. “What does he play?”
Hayden stops, so Shane does too.
“You don’t know who that was?”
Shane makes a face that says ‘no shit’, and waits for an answer.
“Dude. You are so innocent. Ilya Rozanov, ‘Russia’s Greatest Love Machine’?” Hayden says, like it’s obvious.
Shane looks at him blankly, and then Hayden laughs. Not like, a chuckle. He full on cackles, bending over like he can’t even contain it. “Man, he’s like prolific.”
“At what?” Shane snaps, because he’s getting really sick of not being in on the joke.
“He’s a porn star, man.”
“A-” Shane says, swallowing thickly. “What?”
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Ilya is a porn star, Shane is a hockey player, and their paths cross.
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- 2/2
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Bookmarked by User______28
24 Dec 2025
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He nuzzles against the exposed skin of his neck, inhaling the scent that clings to his suit jacket collar. It’s perfect.
“...Hollander,” He hears Rozanov say, urgent like it’s not the first time he’s said it. “Shane,” he follows it up with, and that snaps him out of it. He’s never called him that. Shane, reluctantly, lifts his face a little, eyes glazed over as he meets Rozanov’s eyes.
“What?”
“You stink,” Rozanov says, concern dripping. “No, you—fuck. You reek. What is—” Ilya’s fingers lift up, tugging at the scent patch, revealing more of the spot beneath it. Even Shane can smell himself at that point. He does reek. Reeks of heat, of Omega, of honey and sweetness, of something that would melt on your tongue.
Shane reefs himself back. The Omega inside him aches, mourns, whimpers at the loss of contact. It’s needed, though. He scrambles back, hand slapping at his neck to force the peeled patch back down over his scent gland. He backs up till his spine knocks against the bathroom stall.
“You are in heat at award show? Why would you hide this? Why would you not call out sick? Are you—are you insane? You care this much about trophy?”
OR Shane goes into heat in Vegas
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Bookmarked by User______28
14 Dec 2025