16 Works by totheverge
Listing Works
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Summary
One side of his brain is going: this is insane, don't do this, just stay in this room, what can he do? Whether you like it or not, he's hurt you, and chances are you've hurt him too, because you can't read a situation for shit, so what are we trying to do here? Get some fucking sleep instead.
The other side of his brain is going: He's hurt you, and you've probably hurt him too, and what if this is your only chance to talk about it? What if Paris makes the difference?
Five months after Sochi, Shane's set to play a charity hockey game in Paris. So is Ilya.
They run into each other in the lobby of their hotel the night before. Twelve hours stretch out in front of them, and Ilya suggests something different: no phones, no expectations, no past, no hockey. Just the city, and whatever they can be when nobody else is watching.
It's obviously a terrible idea, but Shane says yes, anyway.
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"So this is it?" Ilya spits out eventually. "You want to fuck me in the fucking woods? What if I don't want that?"
The stranger hums again and moves back. Easily, swiftly, he reaches out and gropes at Ilya's crotch. Easily, swiftly, he finds what he wanted to find. "Seems like you're willing."
Ilya gulps. "And after? What happens after?"
"I don't know," the man says.
or: Not all is as it seems.
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For a moment, Rozanov is not stuck in Boston.
He's right there, dick in hand, wrist twisting on the upstroke. Saying, "Not enough, more," until Shane can fuck both fingers in with ease and tease a third.
Saying, "Stop."
Saying, "Spread yourself open for me, Hollander, let me see you."
"Fuck," Shane breathes out.
When Hayden invites Shane over for dinner on their unexpected night off due to two feet of snow, Shane declines. Instead, he goes to his Montreal apartment, alone, disappointed and desperate.
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"You like this," Ilya says with wonder. He hangs it somewhere in the space between a question and a fact.
The blade runs down Shane's sternum and dips into the space of his ribcage. He breathes out until his stomach caves in, spelling out an invitation for the dagger to trace the valley around his belly button. Even though the metal has warmed, the soft sound of it against skin still makes Shane groan and his dick twitch.
"Yes," Shane whispers. Hangs it somewhere in the space between an affirmation and a plea.
the one where Ilya sees a screenshot he wasn't supposed to see and turns it into an unexpected birthday surprise.
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They'll think, I'd take a bite. They'll think, Give me ten minutes with him.
Ilya's jaw is clenched when he finally replies.
Lily: You are not really wearing this, Hollander
Jane: I am. My stylist thinks it's good for my public image. I thought I looked okay
Lily: You look more than okay.
or: Shane looks too good for the NHL Awards. Maybe he needs to be reminded that there is only one person he's going home with, and who can take him apart like this.
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Once upon a really bad day, Ilya Rozanov decides to follow a set of steps to make himself feel better:
1. Hold something cold
2. Put on shoes and walk to the end of the street
3. Put on one song that makes you feel something
4. Write the three worst thoughts in your head and read them out loud
5. Call someone and say “I need you to talk to me for five minutes” -
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Late at night, early in the morning; it doesn’t matter. Regardless of the time, Shane is thinking: what would it be like? To always be of use.
To strip his captain jersey and the control that comes with it, but not the responsibility.
Sometimes—often, he lets himself imagine it. Whether he lets himself think about the feeling (to be needed like this, to be the only thing that can help Ilya find release and relief) or about something more palpable depends on the night.
or: Shane just wants to be useful, at all times, not just on the ice.
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Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov got married in secret and for two whole years, they lived their life quietly.
They broke apart quietly, too.
The worst part is that none of it feels right. Not their continued rivalry on the ice, not the divorce papers on Shane’s table, and definitely not the idea of saying goodbye. There are too many wounds untouched, too many things left unsaid, and too much love between them still.
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The first time it happens is an accident.
Every other time after that is not.
or: Shane’s nails dig into Ilya’s back and leave eight perfect marks. It starts a dangerous game of leaving each other's bodies marked, and it only escalates over time.
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Ilya Rozanov never imagined he would be learning to play hockey at the age of 25, but when he sees an ad for a five-week course, he signs up.
He ends up being the only adult in a line-up full of kids with dreams of going pro. That's not him - not anymore - yet something keeps him coming back each week: their coach, Shane Hollander.
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tender, bruise by totheverge for softhollander (cautiouslycas)
Fandoms: Heated Rivalry (TV)
14 Feb 2026
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Shane’s almost got it. The puck is right there.
But so is Ilya.
The way Shane crashes them both into the boards reverberates like thunder.
Shane's got some disgustingly romantic plans for their first Valentine's Day as boyfriends, but when do things ever go to plan?
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“Why did you come?”
Shane scoffs. “Well, you told me to.”
Ilya’s short laugh is genuine. “No, I mean – why did you come to Vancouver? It’s your day off, no?”
or: Shane can't stop thinking about Ilya's reserved seats always being empty, so he jumps on a plane to be there. It does things to Ilya. Turns out that they both have far too many feelings about being there for each other, and sometimes the only way they can communicate that is through messy sex.
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Shane will remember this smell, he knows. He catalogues it too carefully to believe any different.
In his brain, the drawer with special scents is: Yuna’s perfume, the smell of the first spring day, petrichor, the way the pines around their cottage smell at the height of summer, a campfire about to go out as his family sits around it, the first bubble-gum he ever chewed, the strawberry-scented condom he once opened just to see what it looked like, his hair gel, and then, at the very back of it, Ilya Rozanov’s cigarette.
or: the five times Shane Hollander wants to let Ilya Rozanov go, but can't.
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They sat over Shane’s laptop like a couple of teenagers watching porn in secret, except they were clicking through various Reddit threads at record speed. Yes, there are libertine clubs in Canada. No, you do not have to engage in swapping partners. It's perfectly okay to stay with your own partner behind closed doors and get (it) up to no good.
“But then why do we go?” Ilya was talking all-hands, flustered more than frustrated.
“Oh, so you want to swap partners?” Shane asked, eyebrow arched.
It earned him a death glare. “No.”
“Yeah, me either, but we could like… still go?”
or: Shane and Ilya walk into a room (it's a private playroom in the back of a sex club).
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first-time caller by totheverge
Fandoms: Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
22 Jan 2026
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Shane bites his lip. “So what, uh, what are you wearing?”
A never-ending beat of silence. Then: “What?”
Shane facepalms. And then keeps his face hidden in his palm. The only reason he doesn’t press the phone against his chest so he could groan loudly is that he knows Rozanov would hear his heartbeat too clearly. He’s about to have a heart attack. Not that Shane is freaking out, but he is literally going to go outside to dig his grave with his own two hands.
“Never mind,” he rushes to say, muffled against his hand, and he hangs up.
Jesus fucking Christ.
or: Shane can't stop thinking about being bad at sexting and figures out that maybe, just maybe, he's better at phone sex. The only way to figure it out is to try.
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At some point, things were linear. Cas fell. Dean fell - in love with him for good. Cas did, too. It gets all jumbled, though, after Cas disappears into thin air during a run-of-the-mill ghost hunt.
Dean, granted free access to an archive of his memories, slowly starts losing himself in a search for clues until he jumps from one memory to another. The further away he is from his life, the closer he feels to Cas as he has come to know him, but there are dark shadows haunting (hunting?) him, Cas hasn't held him in weeks, and Dean's slipping,
slipping,
slipping.