Welcome to my FanFiction Masterlist! You'll find Tomberly, Elriel, and a smattering of other ships for your reading pleasure. All links will take you over to the AO3 version.
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Shaneâs hard working, dedicated, determined and focusedâitâs clearly what makes him an incredible hockey player and itâs one of many things that Ilya loves about him. He has not become the most valuable and talented person in the league just by sheer luck or physicality. It has everything to do with how he runs his body like a well-oiled machine, how he approaches work-outs, and how he takes care of himself.
Which is how Ilya knows heâs particularly frustrated with himself when he manages to get sick, because how could his body betray him in this way, when he takes such good care of it? Shane tries, usually in vain, to curb his symptoms before they fully appearâhe drinks extra orange juice and gets more sleep and makes this tea concoction that Yuna suggests like it might save his life.Â
He usually just ends up prolonging the inevitable.Â
Ilya does not think itâs amusing in the slightest, he doesnâtâŚeven if Shane being sick means a bitchier version of himself. He doesnât dare smile over the fact that Shane pouts like heâs the only person in the history of ever to feel at his worstâhe doesnât allow Ilya to take care of him, he doesnât like to be touched or fussed over, he hides out in their bedroom or a completely different room in the house to avoid his husband even looking upon the blanket monster heâs turned into. When Ilya manages to catch glimpses, Shaneâs hair is a nest for birds, his cheeks are flushed, and his nose is red-rimmed, he wears his glasses a bit more than usual over a slightly glazed stareâŚ
As if the glasses arenât bad enough, Ilya tries not to get turned on when Shane resembles a prickly cactus when he tries to ask if he needs anything.Â
âLet me make you tea.â Ilya offers to the mound of blankets that shuffles into the kitchen. The fabric slips down off Shaneâs head, resting in a pool around his shoulders. Heâs a bit pale, sweat kissing his brow and the back of his neck.Â
âNo.âÂ
âYou need more tissues?âÂ
âI need a lobotomy." Shane mumbles, but his speech is so congested that Ilya can barely understand what heâs saying.Â
He tries not to smile, âWas that English?âÂ
âFuck off.âÂ
Well he definitely understood that. Ilya pulls himself from a chair at the island counter, taking his coffee cup over to the sink to set it nearby. He tilts his head at Shane, wanting to reach for him but knowing better not to. While beingâŚbitten is certainly arousing, itâs decidedly not in this context.Â
Ilya isnât saying that heâs exactly nice when he doesnât feel well himself, but he also knows he leans into being a category ten clinger when whatever sickness he has takes a turn for the worstâresting, pressed up against Shaneâs body, feeling his fingers in his hair, his lips against his forehead, a strong hand rubbing up and down his backâŚit helps. It helps more than Ilya thought was possible. He just wishes Shane would relax, to allow him to do something (anything) to help too.Â
âI can wash the sheets,â Ilya says after a moment. He knows that theyâre probably a bit gross according to Shaneâs standards. He can put the clean sheets in the drier beforehand, warm them up for him and then put them on the bed.Â
Shane crinkles his nose and Ilya thinks he almost succumbs to that suggestion, but then he realizes heâs just getting ready to sneeze. He buries his face into the blanket, which is so un-Shane like that Ilya shakes his head in soft amusement. Clearly heâs past the point of giving a fuck. He sneezes twice, pulling back to blink, slightly dazed.Â
âBud'te zdorovy.â
âDonât bother,â Shane hitches, waving off the bless you before a soft groan leaves his chest, âThereâs more.âÂ
Ilya hums lightly, reaching to tug the blanket away from his face. He brushes his fingers through his hair, trying to discreetly check his temperature. Shane reads him a mile away, tugging his wrist back,Â
âIâm fine,â He sniffles, âItâs just a cold.âÂ
âYou sound like angry beehive.âÂ
A laugh slips out of his mouth, unguarded, like Shane wasnât expecting it. Ilyaâs lips pull into a small smile, wishing his husband wasnât so stubborn. He wants so badly to do something and doesnât know what; he hates feeling so helpless.Â
Just a tiny bit of the wall Shane has built between them crumbles, Ilya can see it when heâs allowed to cup his cheek, running his thumb over his freckles. Shane keens into the touch, opening his mouth to say somethingâbut then drastically pulls back to sneeze again. Itâs a harsh sounding double and Ilya winces because he knows that had to hurt.Â
âMoya lyubov',â Ilya whispers, taking a step towards him but Shane lifts a hand to stop him.Â
âIâm just gonnaâŚshower.â And disappears through the doorway before Ilya can say anything else.Â
â
Ilya does what he doesnât want to do, which is give Shane space. He knows that sometimes Shane is very particular about what he needsâsilence versus sound, touch versus space, venting versus coming up with a plan. He gets it. It doesnât make it any less frustrating butâŚhe understands. So while Shane showers, Ilya plants himself into the corner of the couch in the living room, mindlessly watching hockey highlights in a pair of black sweats and a zip-up hoodie. He runs a hand over the lower half of his face and tries not to listen for sounds of Shane moving around the house.Â
About an hour later, when Ilyaâs close to getting up and calling it a night, Shane shuffles into the living room. Thereâs no blanket around his shoulders, but heâs wearing a pair of sweats and Ilyaâs Boston hoodie, cheeks still pink from the shower (hopefully not a fever) and hair slightly damp. Some of the strands bow over his forehead and Ilya wonders if he bypassed a brush because it was too much effort and just accepted a towel dry instead.Â
He sniffles loudly and plops himself down on the couch and Ilya holds his breath, counts to ten, and then Shane turns and molds himself against his side. He doesnât try to hold the entire world on his shoulders, he doesnât allow stubbornness to dig its claws inâhe relaxes, he allows, finally, for someone to take care of him.Â
âIâm sorry,â Shane mutters, his face finding the crook of Ilyaâs neck.Â
Ilya is quick to shake his head because heâs got nothing to apologize for. He wraps an arm around his shoulders, feeling the restlessness thatâs been behind his ribcage all day finally settle when he registers his husbandâs warm body tucked against his own. Shane draws his legs up onto the couch, resting his full weight on him, a small shiver sliding down his spine as he tucks his one arm along Ilyaâs waist, underneath his open zip hoodie. Ilya presses his nose and lips into Shaneâs damp hair, breathing him in.Â
âAre you cold?âÂ
Shane nods, a pathetic sound leaving his throat, âI hate this.âÂ
âI know, malysh,â He presses a kiss to his forehead, tugging the blanket down off the back of the couch. He drapes it over Shaneâs body, his hand rubbing up and down his arm to create as much friction as he can.Â
Theyâre both pretty used to being self-sufficient, at being strong, at not needing anyone elseâs help. That stubbornness is hard to bypass; itâs difficult to allow someone in, to let someone else see you so vulnerable. Ilya isnât claiming to be perfect in that, itâs something heâs been learning to live with every day. But Shane always helps him feel like he can be whatever version of himself he needs to be, no matter what it is.Â
âDo you need anything?â Ilya asks after a moment, reaching for the remote to turn the volume down in case Shane has a headache.Â
His arm bends so that his hand can rest along Shaneâs head, threading his fingers through his hair. He strokes at his scalp, trying to lull him to sleep, peppering slow kisses to his forehead, his hairline and the bridge of his nose.Â
Shane shakes his head after a moment, inching closer as if thatâs possible as his eyes flutter closed, âJust need you.â He mumbles and Ilya swears his heart swells twice its size.
idk how yall feel about autistic shane on this site but i feel very strongly about him!!!! especially when he goes over to the centaurs and itâs a place that is so unbelievably kind that he doesnât even realize theyâre accommodating him.
likeâŚ. young, spry, starry-eyed luca haas who is already thanking his lucky stars for getting into the NHL playing with ilya rozanov (who he had posters of above his bed) and heâs absorbing as much information as he can from him. until suddenly he gets to play on the same line as shane fucking hollander?!!!!! the man whose religion is hockey - he who eats and breathes it. ofc heâs going to ask questions. and shane, sweet wonderful shane, will just ramble and ramble and ramble about things like his stick taping routine, the waxes he uses, and his skate sharpening technique. and luca would just listen and absorb every word like a sponge until shane realizes heâs rambling and he apologizes with a lil blush on his face and luca doesnât understand why heâs apologizing because he loves to listen to the shane hollander talk for hours. and so luca makes it a point to always ask shane questions even about the smallest things just to see the way his eyes sparkle as he info dumps about hockey.
or shane who is having a few back to back very bad no good days at practice. and one day itâs just too much and the lights are too bright and his skin feels like itâs stretched too tight across his bones and his equipment is heavy and itâs wrong on his skin. and ilya, his perfect beautiful husband who always knows what to do, isnât around (he has to meet with the coaches). and shane canât catch a breath and heâs fighting with his gear and his skates. he closes his eyes so tight it hurts and his lungs feel like theyâre on fire because he canât get a good deep breath. until suddenly everything is muffled. thereâs a pressure over his temples and when he looks up, the light is being eclipsed by wyatt hayes who is pressing noise cancelling headphones over shaneâs ears. heâs taking exaggerated breaths so shane can match him. and the knot in shaneâs chest loosens just enough for everything to be bearable for a few minutes. he asks wyatt how he knew what to do and wyatt says his nephew is the same. he noticed it a while ago but ilya was always there to help, but heâs glad he was here now. and shane will thank him and wyatt will usher him off to the showers where the hot water will loosen more of the knot in his chest until heâs back with ilya. suddenly, though, shane feels like crying because heâs never had someone else, besides ilya, to bear this weight with and it feels a little liberating.
or shane and ilya who are late to a classic Boodram BBQ⢠and now they donât have time to stop at the store to grab some ginger ale for shane. and he is so disappointed at the prospect of having to drink water all night because he doesnât drink during the season and heâd rather die than drink a coke, but alas it is what it is. when they get there, they make their way greeting everyone. ilya giving bro hugs and fist bumps while shane politely waves and smiles and no one feels offended for not getting a bro hug in return. all just content to give shane his space. and when they finally all gather around to eat, shane asks where the non-alcoholic cooler is so he can get a drink to sip on while he eats. he opens the cooler and is almost brought to tears when he sees cans upon cans of his favorite brand of ginger ale. he didnât have to ask⌠everyone just knew.
or when theyâre on a roadie, a few guys decide to get dinner together at a japanese place not too far from the hotel. and shane is staring at the silverware with so much malcontent because itâs literally the ugliest fucking fork heâs ever seen and it should burn to hell. and the chopsticks arenât even japanese, theyâre chinese (and yes theyâre different). he texted ilya asking if heâs almost done with his meeting because the travel utensils he carries around are in his duffel bag, but ilya lets him know itâll be another 20 minutes. but troy barrett, noticing his discomfort, pipes up and says something about a video he saw online about certain sushiâs that are meant to be eaten with your hands and without utensils of any kind and they have them on the menu. and so in true centaurs fashion they ditch the silverware and chopsticks, and eat with their hands. and shane has a soft gentle smile on his lips the entire time.
but, most importantly, is that shane can show love in his own way. like one day, when shane is out shopping with rose at some LA mall, he stops at the lego store to get one of the pike kids some birthday present or something. while heâs looking around, he sees a lego set that was in the shape of the batman logo and he instantly buys it. once heâs back in ottawa he places it in his duffle bag before practice and when heâs walks into the locker room, he goes over to wyatt and hands it to him. heâs rambling on and on, with a gentle blush and avoiding eye contact, saying âi saw this when i was in LA and i thought of you⌠i wasnât sure if you preferred DC or marvel, but most of the comics youâve mentioned are DC so i hope i chose rightâ and wyatt is staring at the lego box in his hands with his mouth open and his brain short circuiting. because wdym shane hollander listened to him talk about super heroes and actually payed attention?? enough to know his favorite franchise, and he took time and money out of his day to purchase something so silly simply because it reminded him of his goalie. and heâs looking back and forth between shane and the box of legoâs with a smile so wide, too big for his face, and he stands up and pulls shane into a bone crushing hug before releasing him quickly and apologizing for the embrace before telling shane itâs the best gift heâs ever received.
well - hollanov - @taylorswiftmicrofic - word count: 285 - click here for my hollanov microfic archive on ao3
"So," Yuna said a little stiffly, obviously struggling to land on a neutral topic of conversation as they sat around the table. "How have you been enjoying the cottage, RâIlya? What've you and Shane been getting up to?"
It was a testament to both of their desires to make a good impression that neither of them so much as smirked at the other...though Shane cleared his throat rather loudly. "Uh..." Ilya nodded, swallowing his mouthful of pasta. "Yes, is very nice. Shane gave me tour. He showed me indoor rink, told me about well, all of these things. Very...impressive."
Shane kicked Ilya's leg under the table, suppressing a smile.
"Did he take you out on the lake yet?" David asked conversationally, loading a second helping of pasta onto his plate. "The weather's been great, perfect to get the kayaks out."
Ilya looked over to Shane, unsure about the word 'kayak.' "Um, no, not yet. Maybe we will do this soon."
Furrowing his eyebrows, David looked to Yuna, then back at Shane and Ilya. "Wait, how long have you been here?" he questioned, sounding a bit confused now.
Shane, who had yet to take a bite, sighed. "Like a week, Dad. Why?"
"Because usually you're out on the lake the second you get out here! What else have you two been doing for a whole week?" he asked bemusedly, eyes wide and ridiculously innocent.
Immediately, both Yuna and Ilya spoke at once.
"I think is time for another drink, yes?" Ilya said, reaching for the vodka.
"I'm going to get the dessert!" Yuna announced quickly, at the same time.
Shane just groaned, again touching his head to the table while his face flushed maroon.
cackling about the idea of the ottawa team doing challenges for social media because shane's first question would be, "how many did rozanov get?" and ilya's first question would be, "how many did my husband get?" because they want to beat anyone, but they ESPECIALLY want to beat each other
which means that over time, new challenges for each of them get prefaced with, "and your husband has not gone yet" or "your husband got X" because it is a GIVEN that they're going to want to know how the other did so they can try to beat him
and it's really just another point of evidence that at NO POINT did either of them ever consider letting the other person win ANYTHING
you think the motherfuckers locking the FUCK in to catch the most ping pong balls blindfolded are going to let the other win a deciding match for the cup?? be SO fucking for real
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I should be asleep. I'm not. This little one-shot needed to get out into the world.
I hope you enjoy!
**
Guess Iâd rather hurt than feel nothing at all (Ilyaâs POV)
Shane Hollander. The man that haunted his dreams was here, at this bar, dancing with Rose Landry. His entire body was on fire. He wanted to rage. He wanted to break them apart and claimâŚfuckâŚno. ShaâshitâHOLLANDER had made it clear. He did not want him. He wanted someone else, someone that he could be seen with- that he could waltz around Montreal with. Not someone that could only come back to his NOT APARTMENT and fuck him. But still- his chest squeezed tight. He wanted him. After everything that had happened- he still wanted Shane Hollander so bad that it hurt.Â
They locked eyes for a moment and he tried to force his eyes away. Tried to show any emotion other than the complete and utter devastation he felt. He was sure he failed. Shaneâs eyes widened and even as Rose danced against him, her hands drifting under his shirt- Shane didnât pull his eyes away. Fuck. If he kept looking at him like this- he was going to do something foolish. But it hurt- it hurt so bad to look away.Â
He forced his eyes away. He pushed past the woman dancing on him- heading for some fresh air. He came here to forget ShaâfuckâHOLLANDER. Hollander did not go to clubs. Hollander did not drink during the season. Hollander sure as shit did not dance in a fucking night club after a game against Boston- not unless. Fuck. He loved her. He had to love her. And as he broke into the cool air and gulped in deep breaths he started walking. He had to move. He had to get away from here because if he stayed here. God this hurt. It hurt so much to fucking see him like this and to know that this pain would never go away.Â
He didnât know if he event wanted it to go away. He didnât know if he could give up on loving Shane.Â
Itâs a quarter after one- Iâm a little drunk and I need you now (Shaneâs POV)
âYouâŚyouâre not here with me. Are you, Shane? Whatâs going on?âÂ
Ilya. HeâŚfuckâŚhe needed to go after Ilya. Maybe it was the beer talking, maybe it was the fact that he hadnât refueled properly- but that pain. No. Ilya couldnât look that way. And for a moment heâd completely forgotten. Heâd forgotten that he was here with Rose. That he was supposed to be dating Rose. That the man that just stormed out of this club was his arch-rival- not his lover.Â
âIâŚI need to go. I fucked up and I need to tell himâŚhis face, he lookedâŚâÂ
âShhhhh, sweetie. Youâre drunker than I thought. Letâs head out the back and you can do what you need to do.âÂ
âYouâre not mad?âÂ
âNo. No, Shane. I saw it. I saw who. Iâll cover for you- now letâs go.âÂ
They broke out into the alleyway- where Roseâs driver was parked. She gave him a firm hug and he squeezed her tight. In the morning he could clarify what the fuck she had seen- but that wasnât his highest priority right now. He was just drunk enough that the fear of her SEEING didnât sink in. No. No, he was scared out of his mind that Ilya would do something reckless. That devastation had been real, god it was real.Â
He pulled out his phone and started typing away. It was the shittiest text heâd ever sent to Ilya- but he didnât care. An address. The door code. And âI fucked upâ. He walked out towards the front door- where heâd seen Ilya exit. Maybe he could catch him. Maybe he would be able to grab him and check on him and then he could go sleep off how drunk he was. Maybe with Ilya. God, he wanted to fall asleep next to Ilya and sleep all of this away. The bit of normal that Ilya had offered him and that he had run from was the very thing that he craved. And- somewhere in his drunken mind- he realized that Ilya craved it to. FUCK. Ilya wanted it too and he had been so deep in his own shit that he hadnât realized it until now.Â
He scanned the sidewalk in both directions. No Ilya. Had he really taken that long with Rose? How long had she been trying to get his attention? He glanced down at his phone again- nothing. It had only been a couple of minutes, but as the panic jolted through him- he did something reckless. He called Ilya. It went straight to voicemail and he gulped. Fuck it.Â
âPlease, Ilya. Please call me back- I fucked up and I need. God, I need to know that youâre okay. Iâm so, so sorry.âÂ
Said I wouldnât call but Iâve lost all control and I need you now (Ilyaâs POV)Â
His phone buzzed. He glanced down at it and nearly launched his phone across the street. Jane. JANE. Fucking Jane. Was it not enough that ShaâHOLLANDER had caught him staring? Was it not enough that he had probably seen him run from the club to get away from him? Was it not enough that he needed to rub this in his face? He went to put his phone back in his pocket, but then he got another message. Then another. The last preview stopped him cold. âI fucked upâ.Â
He ducked into a late night diner- just for a moment. Just long enough to open his messages and see what else Hollander had sent. Holy shit. That was hisâhis home address? And the code to his front door? No. This made no sense. ShaânoâHOLLANDER was going home with Rose Landry tonight- he had seen it with his own eyes. Seen how they were together. And there was no fucking way Hollander could possibly be suggesting a threesome. Nope. This had to be the cruelest joke that heâd ever had played on him.Â
Still- he put the address into this phone. Four blocks. It was only four blocks over. It was a short enough walk and maybe seeing them together in a place heâd never been allowed to go would cement this. Would put the final nail in his heart.Â
His phone rang and he stared at it. JANE. Jane. Jane. He stared at it for so long that it went to voicemail and he let it. What was he going to say? What did he even have to say? âSorry that I couldnât look away from you, but I love you and my heart was breaking seeing you with someone elseâ. No. Heâd let it go to voicemail. That was safer. Still, he picked up his pace.Â
When his phone dinged again- he did something he never did. He pulled up that voicemail and listened.Â
âPlease, Ilya. Please call me back- I fucked up and I need. God, I need to know that youâre okay. Iâm so, so sorry.âÂ
Ilya. NOT Rozanov. NOT Lily. Ilya. He hastily wiped his eyes as he continued forward. The sorrow. The pain. It felt like Hollanderâs emotions were his own as he relistened to the message a handful of times and let out a sigh. Heâd promised himself heâd never call Hollander. Heâd never do this, but he couldnât stand the thought of hurting Hollander. Even after heâd stomped on his heart, even after everything- he couldnât hurt him.Â
The phone rang. Once, twice. He almost hung up. He couldnât leave a message. He didnât trust his voice at this moment to do that- but then a click and a breathless voice on the other end of the line.Â
âHeyâŚIâm in an Uber. If youâŚI get if you donât want to see me, but please considerâŚâÂ
âIâm on my way. Iâll see you there soon, Hollander.âÂ
And I donât know how I can do without, I just need you now (Shaneâs POV)Â
Ilya hung up and he let out a shaky breath. He needed him. God, he needed him and heâd been such a fucking fool. He tried to keep calm, tried to keep it cool. His uber driver knew who he was. Heâd even congratulated him on beating Boston tonight. He didnât give a damn about hockey at the moment. He only gave a damn about one thing- he needed Ilya. He needed Ilya in his life like he needed air and he was not going to be fucking stupid enough to continue pretending otherwise.Â
The minutes dragged by. It was a quiet night. He thought for a moment about jumping out of the uber and running home, but no- that was stupid. That would draw more attention to him. Fuck. Did he even care if attention was drawn to them? This was the one person he needed in his lifeânopeâone step at a time. He was not going to spiral about what might be waiting for him when he got home.Â
The uber pulled to a stop- he watched his door click closed and he hastily paid the driver, added a tip. He said something polite as he hopped out of the car and he paused for a moment. Then he sprinted up his stairs. There was no playing this cool. There was no way for him to stand a fucking chance other than to just lay this out. And he was just drunk enough to do it.Â
He threw the door open, Ilya jumped around to face him- even as he slammed and locked the door behind him. He needed this man. He NEEDED him. And heâd been a damn fool.Â
âHollander- you break into your own fucking home?âÂ
âIlya.â A step forward.Â
âNo, Hollander- it is just Rozââ
âIlya.â Another step forward. He watched Ilyaâs face and he saw it then. The red eyes. The tears. Fuck, heâd hurt him. Heâd hurt him so badly. He would make it up to him.Â
âHollander.â
âIlya.â He pushed Ilyaâs head up, forced him to look into his eyes like Ilya did so many times with him. His eyes cut to the side, but he didnât pull away. As the tears streamed down Ilyaâs cheeks- he did not pull away. âIlya- itâs just Shane. Please. I fucked up but tonightâŚI saw it and I felt it and fuck- I need you. I just need you.âÂ
âShaâHollander. I am stupid. Why the fuck did I come here? Why did I do this?âÂ
âIlya, Iâm so sorry.â He pulled Ilya into his arms- he stiffened and then he melted. A raw sob escaped him. âOh, IlyaâŚIâm so sorry I did this to you, to us.âÂ
Jackie is aware that Hayden is continuing to be a dick about Ilya, and she's kind of at a loss about how to deal with it, because he won't listen to her. Or he does, but only for a little while and then he snaps back into his weird intense disapproval. (She is honestly terrified about what is going to happen when their girls bring someone home if this is some kind of foreshadowing. It's both "no one is good enough for him" and "stop stealing my things" and all of it is bad and infantilizing of a man who is basically their age)
She's not surprised to get a phone call from Shane after the two of them were supposed to meet for lunch. She sighs down the phone line. The nanny has the kids at the park, so she's just been clicking through some options for dinner on her phone. "Hey Shane. I'm guessing it didn't go well."
"He called Ilya a fuck boy who doesn't know how good he has it before we got our food." Shane says. His tone is fighting for evenness, but she can hear his frustration and actual hurt underneath.
She blows out a breath, but knows better than to apologize. She's not responsible for her idiot husband after all, as Shane protests whenever she tries. "So he was in really good form huh?"
"I'm also guessing he didn't tell you that he knew JJ was trying to surprise me with a blind date hook up and that he was helping JJ pick guys I might like?"
She blinks at the wall, and slowly says, "What the fuck."
"Yeah." Shane says, sounding so tired.
She doesn't know what to say anymore, and shakes her head, "I'll talk to him again."
"Actually," Shane says, sounding kind of hesitant, "I had an idea I wanted to run by you." And then he's tripping over himself in his usual Shane flood of words. "It's probably a stupid idea that'll just make him mad actually so maybe I should just let it all go it's really not that bad -"
"Shane" she interrupts, "tell me the idea."
He blows out a slow breath that crackles over the phone line. He sounds only a little hesitant when he starts talking again, "It occurred to me today that a lot of the stuff he was saying about Ilya could also describe you." She blinks again, and Shane continues, "I mean I know we joke around sometimes about you two meeting in a club and you did that a lot right before you met Hayden, like Ilya did. And obviously there's nothing wrong with that!" Shane is quick to say, "I don't think so anyway, and obviously neither does Hayden really, except when he can use it against Ilya -"
It's very true, what Shane is saying. While she'd been in college she'd gone to bars and clubs very regularly and enjoyed herself throughly. She'd always known she wanted to settle down eventually and have a bunch of kids (goal achieved) but that had never stopped her from enjoying herself. It's how she'd ended up in the club where she met Shane and Hayden, and how she'd been confident enough to go talk to them. And there's not one part of her that's ashamed of it.
(She has never told either Shane or Hayden that she originally approached them with the intention of talking to Shane, who had awkwardly directed her to Hayden instead. But if her husband continues to be an asshole maybe she should mention that.)
"Shane" she asks, cutting off what is surely the start of another flood of words, "are you asking me my permission to call me a club rat to my husband next time he insults your boyfriend?"
After Another Hospital Stay- Ch 3- Montreal Confrontation
Back to Shane's POV for this one. Pay attention to the trigger warnings above the cut- from here on in there's gonna be some heavy stuff. If you prefer the AO3 experience- you can find it here.
TW: Homophobic language
Ilyaâs pep talk lasted through most of the drive to Montreal. He stopped at his apartment to grab his training gear and his meal prep for the day. He planned for a full day of practice, a full day back with the team. The panic didnât grip him until he was parked and he spotted teammates were already here. It was 6:50- they werenât slated to talk until nearly 7:30- most of the team only rolled in a few minutes before practice on a normal day. He studied the roof of his car for a moment and let out a sigh before he opened the door and went to face his team.Â
Hayden settled next to him- for once he didnât joke. He just offered him the friendship theyâd had for nearly a decade. Desjardins had sent him a handful of livid texts- mostly focusing on how he needed to fix this for the team or he was done. If anyone else had announced that the love of their life had nearly died- they would have received extra support- the WAGs would do their work. Since it was Ilya Rozanov- he had barely gotten a sorry from anyone other than Hayden and J.J. As the captain he had sent more than his fair share of giftcards, deep cleaners, whatever they needed. He didnât want to dig into that to remind them that he had been there for them. He knew that most of them didnât give a fuck because of who he loved- he hoped he could change that, but being vulnerable was fucking terrifying.Â
He pushed the door open and J.J. moved in to his other side. Fuck. He didnât want them to feel like he needed bouncers, but as the first person spat at his feet his head snapped towards them. This was as much for the other players as it was for him- because they knew the blatant disrespect could make him lose his shit before the talk even happened. He needed to go into this talk as level-headed as possible.
âWeâre just waiting for Gil. HeâŚI wouldnât be surprised if heâs really fucking late.âÂ
âThatâs fine.âÂ
âYou have a plan?âÂ
âBe me. The me that loves him.âÂ
Hayden and J.J. settled on either side of him as he took his space in front of his locker. He wondered how much longer that would be true. He hoped this might end well that hearing him talk about Ilya would somehow get them to understand that this wasnât a fling. He might have lied to them for years- but it was because of this. It was because he knew exactly how they would react and heâd been right. Heâd been so fucking right.Â
He mindlessly changed into his gear. Because it was what he did. Because it would at least send the right message to the management that he still wanted to play. That even after all the shit that had been thrown at him, he was not going to abandon the team. He would leave if they asked him to, but he knew they were all hungry for another cup and that might be the one thing that saved this season.Â
A punch landed beside his head, slamming into his locker and he looked over his shoulder. Comeau. He finished pulling on his pants and settled back down to begin lacing up his skates. He forced his hands to not shake, even as his entire body tried to rebel against the lockdown he had on it. He knew it would be bad. He knew that he was going to have to confront this head on- showing any amount of fear would just make this worse. He had also hoped that they would at least act outwardly civil about all of this.Â
âNot going to look us in the fucking eye? Like you haven't been eyeballing all of us for nearly a decade.âÂ
He tilted his head up, met Comeauâs gaze levelly. Took a look around the locker room and locked eyes with as many of the veterans as possible. The rookies were mostly just glad to be here and be experiencing this level of hockey. It was the veterans that would make the choice for how this locker room was from here on out.Â
âIâve only ever eyed one man and he nearly died last week.âÂ
Silence. He leaned back in his locker and motioned for the others to sit- most of them did- their curiosity winning out. Comeau spat in his face and he calmly wiped it away- a firm grip on Haydenâs arm as he jumped up to deck him. Heâd let everyone work out their aggression on the ice, there was no reason to fight here- yet.
âIâve done a lot of lying to this team over the years- about who I love, about being gay. Iâve never lied about my passion for hockey and how much I want this team to succeed. That hasnât changed. Until Scott Hunter came out- I thought that locking away who I loved was just my life until I retired. Then Scott came out and it felt possible to not have to hide away half of who I am. RozâŚIlya and I decided weâd make it work, weâd date because it was killing both of us to try to pretend we didnât care. And last week he nearly died playing the game we both love and I had a choice. Go to him and reveal everything or fail the person I love more than anyone else in the world. You all know what I chose and I...I owe you more of the story.
âI started seeing Ilya in 2010. We were casual for years, we ran from being serious. And then neither of us could stand that anymore. We didnât know what to do, how to be who we wanted to be to each other. It scared the shit out of me when I first realized I loved him- I ran out. I hurt him. I hurt us. But weâŚheâŚthis is it for me. He is it. I think all of you have joked with me about Boston Lily, a few of you realized that became Ottawa Lily last year. Youâve seen me fall in love with him, you just didnât know who was on the other side of the phone.
âI get if you donât want me here. Iâve read the messages- I think Iâm tracking how some of you feel. Iâd ask that you wait until the end of the season since weâre about to head into the playoffs and itâll be fucking difficult for this team to win without the full team. And we have a chance to take home the cup. Itâs not up to me though if I leave now. Iâm going to go warm up. Pike- Iâm trusting youâll get a decision out of them before practice starts and weâll go from there.âÂ
âYou got it, bud.âÂ
âI wonât protect you. I wonât protect a fucking cocksucker who shouldnât be playing this sport- who should be thrown out of the MLHââÂ
âWell, luckily for you, Gil- if everyone else agrees- Iâll be gone by the end of practice. For everyone else- this is what you think is best. Not what Gil thinks. Not what Hayden thinks. Not what I think. How do you want to end this year?âÂ
************************
Hayden skated out to him- the first on the ice and he paused from the drill he was running. An hour and a half. The team had been debating his fate for an hour and a half. He was not sure what he wanted the outcome to be, he just knew that he needed a fucking answer. He had never thought of how hard it would be to just let the team work something out without him. He had never truly imagined this team without him.Â
He watched Hayden carefully, hoping his friend would give away something. He settled next to him and waited. Hayden let out a sigh and then a smile crossed his face and he nodded. One last run. He was going to get one last run.Â
âAny one I should be concerned about?âÂ
âYeah, but you know who they fucking are. Comeau and Drapeau tried really hard to sway the room, but so did me and J.J. Kozlovâs situation last year was what tipped the scales- you did everything you could to get him back to his wife after her accident- we all agreed to that. We didnât have to have a group meeting after he sprinted home- itâs bull shit we have to have one now.âÂ
âI know itâs not only those two.âÂ
âTheyâre the most vocal. Securing a spot in the playoffs against Boston will start to put the others to rest. A deep playoff runââÂ
âOne last ride.âÂ
âYeah, Hollzy. One last ride.âÂ
************************
He settled across from Desjardins- he could feel the fury radiating off his coach. Heâd lied. Heâd sprinted to Ottawa to be with a man that they categorically hated. Then heâd gone one step further and come out to the entire world with only a few minutes heads up to his team. Montreal had been blindsided. He understood their anger when it came to being blindsided. He was not sure how that was going to manifest itself today.Â
âWeâre opening an investigation into you throwing games against Boston while Rozanov played there. Same for Ottawa.âÂ
He reached over into his bag and pulled out the statistical work that Farah had had a specialist crunching over for the last few days. They knew this was coming. They knew that this was the likeliest action to try to make a case to just dismiss him. There were not amicable terms with Montreal at the moment.Â
âI went ahead and had a consultant run the numbers from my side. Iâm happy to have their methodology sent to the consultant that you will be hiring for this investigation.âÂ
Silence. Desjardins stared at the stack of papers and then started to rifle through them. The findings were glaringly obvious- the talking heads on ESPN had already come to a similar conclusion. He played better against Ilya. He always had. There was even a noted uptick in his stats before and after a game against him. He knew they made each other better, but now he had the numbers to prove it.Â
âIâm not asking to stay past the season, but this is a good team. Potentially even a great team. I also asked them to run the rough statistics without me for this playoff run. You donât have a fucking chance.âÂ
Desjardins gritted his teeth together- he looked over his shoulder at the GM and Shane watched them all. The assistant coaches who were squirming in their seats, the fury rolling off Desjardins. Anthony St-Gelias looked pissed, but not in the same way as the rest of them. No. His anger was at Desjardins- not at him. That was a win. At least the GM could see how idiotic it would be to force him out now.
âOur statisticians agreed and we, Desjardins, the coaches and I, have had several conversations about how we get through this playoff season- with you. Iâm glad to hear the team agreed that they are more interested in another cup than in forcing you out because of your relationship with Rozanov. How is he?âÂ
âAlive. Heâll have drains in for a few more days. Itâll be a month before he can start hockey conditioning. Heâs out for this season, heâll be lucky to be in shape for pre-season. I don't think I'll be able to convince him to take it easy.âÂ
âI donât give a fuck about Ilya fucking Rozanov. This is about Hollander being able to lead this team and youâre wasting time asking stupid fucking questions about when Rozanov can play again. Can you lead this team?âÂ
Shane nodded his appreciation at St-Gelias and he considered his words carefully. He knew he could lead the team. That was the stupidest question that Desjardins could pose to him and he shook his head as a wry smile flickered into and out of his expression. Desjardins wanted all the fault to fall on him. If the season unravelled, if the locker room went to hell- he was solely to blame. Like there was not an entire coaching arm of this team that had influence on how this season ended.Â
âI can. I think the last decade has shown that. Can you set aside your hatred? Can you shut down the shit that is non-productive to this team? Itâs not just me that shoulders this responsibility.âÂ
The stack of papers flew by his head, but he held his ground. He sat and waited as Desjardins raged. He knew his coachâs ways. He knew that him holding him accountable was not what he wanted. He wanted Shane to roll over and take on whatever happened in the rest of the season. But that wasnât on him. Their best chance was with him, but this was a team sport. And at the end of the day, Desjardins had more responsibilities. This wasnât about responsibility though, this was about facing a hatred that he had propagated in this organization from his very first day in the building.Â
âIâll do my part. Win me a fucking cup, Hollander.â
i think if hollanov had children, they'd have a competition going to get their kid to say papa (ilya) / daddy (shane) first. and of course they're always doing it in front of each other too, talking to their toddler and very exaggeratedly going âoh you love papa so much, don't you, munchkin?â or âlook what daddy got youâ and pulling out their kids favourite stuffed animal that they'd looked for for ages.
and then when their kids says daddy first, ilya is holding them both and sobbing into shaneâs neck because OF COURSE their child would say daddy first because shane is SUCH A GREAT DAD THE BEST DAD SUPERBEST DAD and heâs so happy, and shane is a little overwhelmed because he did not see this coming.
and then a few days later, ilya comes home and shane is with their kid on the couch and his whole face is lit up as he looks at their child at first, saying âtell papa what you told me, munchkinâ and then turns to look at ilya as their kid throws up their hands and toots âpapa! key!â and ilya almost melts into a puddle but goes because their kid is wriggling and leaning towards him, and they spend the rest of the day on the couch together and ilya keeps sniffling and shane keeps kissing his forehead and their toddler keeps giving him open-mouthed kisses on his face.
Shane & Ilya hanging out with Skip for unspecified reasons and the first time Kip teasingly says âgirl!â to him about something, Shane just makes this face
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Thanks to everyone who has stuck around waiting for this fic while I did a ton of side projects for @elriel-month. Plus starting down a Heated Rivalry rabbit hole of a fic that I never planned to even touch. May has been wild. Like always- you can view this chapter over on AO3- or the full chapter is below the cut!
Cassian sat at the kitchen table, watching as Azriel made another of his motherâs magical soups. It was the only thing either of the sisters could stomach for the time being. When he arrived and heard Elainâs condition- he expected Azriel to kick them out- to leave them with nowhere safe to go. Instead, he had pointed him towards the other wing and a guest suite with two rooms, a small living area, and a bathroom. He heard faint footsteps and looked over his shoulder to see Nesta standing at the entrance to the kitchen, a blanket wrapped around her body.Â
Tired. She seemed so tired since they had arrived. He wanted to see the fire in her eyes, for her to snap at him when he pestered her. She was so quiet. She had been so quiet since the sobs stopped. She trained with him each day, but he was careful- he did not push her as hard or invite Emerie and Gwyn to join them. She hadnât asked for them either, which he took as a sign that she needed this isolation.Â
She walked over to him, his arm and wing wrapping around her instinctively. The marks had faded from her body, but he knew it weighed heavily on her soul. A stray shadow moved over to them, nudging at Nesta and he glanced over at Azriel who had settled his eyes on Elain- also wrapped in a blanket, but with shadows scurrying over her skin, happily welcoming his mate.Â
âHi, Nes.â
Steel returned to her gaze and Cassian stiffened. He knew Azriel would not stand Nesta being horrible to Elain, in her own home and they desperately needed a safe place to stay while Rhys cooled down. Nesta did not seem to recognize the real danger they were in. He tilted her chin up to where she would be forced to look at him and tilted his head to the side. Her eyes softened and she nodded before leaning her forehead against his.Â
She did not respond to Elain, but also did not pull away as Elain walked over and wrapped her arms around Nesta as well. He could not hear what Elain whispered, but as Nestaâs shoulders shook and she clung to him even tighter- he knew it was something she needed to hear. Elain gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze before walking back over to Azrielâs side. Her stiff movements let him know that she was still in the midst of severe pain, but somehow she was on her feet, trying to care for Nesta.Â
âLainey, love- go rest. I can feel-âÂ
âNo, Iâll be fine. You and Cass need to figure out what to do with Rhys. This shouldnât have to wait for me.âÂ
*************
Cassian paced Azrielâs office, waiting for him to return from dropping Nesta and Elain off at Halianaâs cottage for the afternoon. He had raged in the House of Wind, but his ire now had solidified into one point and that was one of his best friends and High Lord. He could not forgive Rhys for this set up. For putting Nesta so squarely in the Illyrians warpath. He knew she would get defensive and he left her completely unprotected.Â
Azriel appeared in his office and he let out a sigh. His brother was exhausted and he only knew a fraction of the pain he had felt through the bond. He knew Azriel was treading water to continue his duties to the Night Court, but he did it for Elainâs safety. After this latest issue- he doubted that Rhys would keep Elain safe either.Â
âBeating the shit out of him will not work, Cass.âÂ
âI know. I also know the things Nes has done, but AzâŚshe, sheââ
âDoes he know what she is to you?âÂ
Cassian locked eyes with Azriel- his warmth and compassion pushed away for the time being. He was standing with the spymaster and torturer of the Night Court at this moment. One of them needed to be rational and it was certainly not him. He still wanted to beat Rhys unconscious again and Feyre was the only reason he had not shown up at the River House to have another go. Something in the way Rhys acted around her made him want to hold back, there was an unknown in play and it stilled his hand.Â
âHe suspects. Every time Iâve tried to explain it to him, he wonât listen.âÂ
Azriel stilled. He had never tried to hide from Azriel or Rhys what he felt for Nesta, but he had also never confirmed what he suspected. That she was his mate. He had watched Azrielâs fight with Rhysand over the last decade, he knew he was not ready to fight for Nesta. He knew that she was in no place to even entertain listening to him, much less accepting that she might be his mate. So he stayed close. He tried to help her pull out of the depression she sank into and welcomed, but it had taken her nearly hurting Elain to shake her out of it.Â
âHave you known the entire time?âÂ
A nod. Azrielâs eyes narrowed at him and he felt the shame wash over him. He was not as brave or determined as Azriel. Azriel who had defied his High Lord and been willing to tear courts apart to have even a chance with Elain. His mate deserved that kind of passion and he had only just found it in his heart to try.Â
âDonât, Az. I know. Iâve failed her, but I want- I need to make it right. Rhys has to understand that these games- Nes isnât part of it. How did you get him to understand? To stop?âÂ
âI didnât. I defied him. You know the number of times you covered for me- you think that was all I did? The real question you have to ask is what are you willing to do to protect her from him?âÂ
Cassian let out a sigh. His chest ached, his body tensed, but Azriel just stared at him- unrelenting. The very definition of defiance and servitude wrapped into an Illyrian warrior who had known too much torture and pain in his life. Could he follow his path? Could he still be the general of Rhysâ armies and want to gut him at the same moment?Â
âI canât do what youâve done. I need Rhys to promise that she wonât beâŚâÂ
âHe canât promise that she wonât be part of his games, Cass. We all are part of his games- most of which have protected Velaris and the Night Court for centuries. We agreed to do what was necessary for this place, for this life- Elain didnât and neither did Nesta. If I could go back- I would have stopped that meeting, stopped there even being the possibility that she would become a pawn. Rhys has agreed to let her choose. DonâtâŚdonât let Nesta be used the same way.âÂ
He studied him, studied the pain that Azriel never let show that bled from his posture, his form. Azriel had always been the loudest about his disagreements with Rhys, had even gone against him on more than one occasion and taken the punishment if it went poorly. It rarely went poorly. His friend had so few regrets, but the one that weighed on him most was failing Elain. He had a chance to not fail his mate, but he would have to do things he had never done to accomplish that.Â
âWhy didnât you defy the bargain?âÂ
âIt would hurt her and thatâŚthatâs one thing I canât do. Itâs the worst torture I can inflict on myself, but you only know part of what I did. How close I skirted the line, how hard it was to stay away. I pray you will never have to endure a similar fate- but it means making it clear to Rhys what you will do and what you will stop doing if he interferes.âÂ
âYou did that after-âÂ
âYes. I still find things that I need to- further clarify- with Rhys, but he knows where the lines are. Feyre knows where the lines are and that Iâll kill her mate if he crosses them. Pick your lines- hold them. And for the love of the Mother- talk to Nesta.âÂ
âYouâre a male of few words- no way you talked to Elain.âÂ
Azrielâs eyes met his and he turned to leave the office, he nodded to a stack of letters that materialized on the desk. Cassian walked over to them and glanced at envelopes. Lainey. Over and over and over Lainey. He let out a sigh. Azriel might not have spoken, but the mountain of letters spoke volumes. And it clearly stated a challenge- he could do the same- if only he could be so brave.
Still thinking about Azune giving Enfasen that whole speech about hating Thjazi Fang and being loyal only to the Revolutionary Guard/Arcane Marshals and whoever commands them, which now is you, sir đŤĄ; and then 3 hours later as mere sidebar to the eveningâs intrigue & adventure, saying to Hal, âBy the way, do you want me to fuck up that guy for you, the one who hurt your friend? Iâll fuck him up for you. I donât care that heâs my colleague; but speak thy will and I shall see it done.â And Halâs like, âPlease donât.â and Azuneâs like, âOkay. đĽşđĄď¸đĄď¸đŤĄâ
Thjazi left Hal 2 swords, actually. One of them is finely honed, powerful in deception, magical in ways we donât yet fully understand, and utterly reliable, and the other is the Liarâs Blade.
after #shaneweek, we need to show some love to ilya, too! and with ilyaâs birthday coming up on june 15, itâs the perfect time to dedicate an entire week to celebrating our favourite russian menace hockey player ilya rozanov. so, from june 15th through june 21st, itâs #ilyaweek!
each day will have prompts to inspire your gifs, videos, edits, art, fics, headcanons, drabbles, playlists or whatever else sparks your creativity.
day one - favourite moment
day two - favourite look
day three - favourite quote
day four - favourite trait
day five - favourite relationship (romantic/platonic/familial)
day six - a song that reminds you of ilya
day seven - free choice
while some of the above prompts could technically be tailored to written work, each day will have fanfic-specific prompts:
day one - fluff
day two - angst
day three - smut
day four - au
day five - missing scene
day six - pining
day seven - free choice
donât forget to tag your posts with #ilyaweek, so we can see and make sure to reblog all your beautiful creations! we canât wait to see what you create and how youâll celebrate ilya rozanov <3
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Kiros and Atlantis stood in the Piazza di Spagna, waiting for the rangers to come to them. They had made sure their signatures were broadcast loud and clear, like a beacon to the rangers. They needed to pull them in. They had seen Kimberly, but they had no idea where Tommy was and while they had different goals- all of their goals involved the two of them.Â
âKiros. Atlantis.â Andros said as he and Aisha walked up behind them and they spun around. âYou know weâre not the only ones that can track you. He can track you too and we still canât find Kimberly.âÂ
âHe has her,â Kiros supplied and Aisha stilled. No. She could not let another version of Kimberly be turned into something she was not. âYou donât like that.âÂ
âIâve lost my friend once. I canât, I wonât lose her again,â Aisha said and Kiros bit back a smile. If Aisha helped him, she most certainly was going to lose Kimberly- in this world and the other.Â
âAnd that is why we need to keep Tommy out of this. If Drakkon finds him, locates him- he will kill him and then turn her as well,â Atlantis said as Andros and Aisha nodded. âYou have to keep him contained until we can neutralize the threat.âÂ
