"But Shaaane, you are being unfair," Ilya whined like he was being tortured. He was sitting cross-legged a couple of feet away from the base of Shane's yoga mat.
"What? How?!" Shane sputtered. "I'm literally just doing yoga."
"No, is lie. You are a really bad liar and a really bad tease." Ilya's eyes were boring a hole into Shane's backside. "You are always teasing me with your tiny yoga shorts."
Shane rolled his eyes. "I'm not! I just haven't been able to finish a yoga session for weeks cause I keep getting interrupted," he said, sounding mildly annoyed.
"I think you like getting interrupted." Ilya was smirking as he said this.
"Not today. Today I'm working on my bone density."
"How about I show you different type of bone density, yes?"
"Ilya, I'm serious. I really need to stretch and get my blood flowing."
"Shane, I will stretch you out and get your blood flowing to your di—!"
"ILYA!" Shane interrupted him and got out of the downward-facing dog pose he'd been holding to sit in front of his husband. He leaned in to press their foreheads together. "Later, okay? Please. Let me finish my yoga," he pleaded.
Ilya sighed and sulked but conceded. "Fine. Ok. Later."
They both knew it wasn't a No. It was a Not Right Now. Because for now, Shane was perfectly happy to pretend that he wasn't doing flexible yoga poses in his tiny shorts just for his husband. Just like Ilya was perfectly happy to pretend that he wasn't the one shrinking Shane's shorts in the dryer.
@hollanovmicrofic - Word Count: 306 - General Audiences
“What the fuck is wrong with you, Young? I am terrible captain and teacher. Why do you have a picture of you and giant fish on Tinder? Why would this make women want to fuck you?”
Shane leaned over Ilya’s shoulder and let out an approving noise. Apparently the giant fish was impressive. “Wow, he’s huge.”
“Thanks, Shane. Best day of my dad’s life, that catch.” Young tried to grab his phone from Ilya, who held it over his head. “And not gonna lie, Roz, ‘he’s huge’ is exactly what I want women to think when they see my profile.”
“There are other pictures we can take for that!”
Shane pulled Ilya’s hand closer and peered at the screen. “Did you release him? It’s a sturgeon, right? In most fishery management zones in Ontario you have to catch and release all sturgeons, all year.”
Young looked stuck between a lie and a lecture so Ilya quickly handed him his phone back and shooed him out of the gym.
“Okay, enough now. First, landlord, now fishing cop. Soon people will think I married a narc.” Ilya turned to eye him. “And why do you know so much about this, Hollander? You’re not making me do fishing, yes? I won’t. It is very gross, Shane. Very gross.”
Shane sat on the bike next to Ilya, smiling. “Yeah, I think it’s pretty gross too. But dad’s really into—god, has he really never shown you all his pictures and shit? How have you avoided that for so long? Anyway, I picked up a lot of stuff from him. He doesn’t say much but, growing up, like 90% of what he did say was about fucking fishing.”
“Oh well I would do fishing for him. I will call David now, maybe we go this weekend.”
hollanov - omegaverse – alphas and omegas are paired based on compatibility.
Shane was a single omega who hated mating season.
Every year, omegas and alphas were paired up in a government-organized process designed to facilitate meetings between compatible individuals. The participants were registered in the system and evaluated based on a series of factors that determined a compatibility percentage between potential partners.
Shane had been participating in this process since he had presented. Because he had presented late, his registration in the system was relatively recent and hardly any of his matches ever made it past the first stage.
Officially, he had already been paired with two partners identified by the system as highly compatible: a guy named John, with 56% compatibility, and another named Phil, with 70%.
Neither attempt really progressed beyond the second phase.
Despite the percentages being considered good, Shane never managed to feel comfortable. There was a part of him—a more instinctive, obscure, and stubborn part—that simply wasn't interested in those people.
Were they simply... boring?
His inner omega didn't approve of those candidates, even though the numbers said the matches should work, that they would likely be good together; not perfect, obviously, but good.
But for him, it didn't work that way.
Over time, Shane accepted that perhaps the process simply wasn't for him. He had already given up and was prepared to spend another mating season alone when he received a new email notification.
A new match had been paired with him.
Shane opened the message without expecting much. It would likely be just another name, another percentage, and another failed attempt that would end up like all the others.
99% compatibility.
Shane stared at the message for a few seconds, almost in disbelief. Was this actually possible?
He emailed the platform's support team, almost certain there had to be a mistake, yet within two hours, he received confirmation. The system congratulated him on the highest compatibility match recorded in the last twenty years.
Right.
Shane took a deep breath, his hands trembling with nervousness as he held his phone; the bold text seemed almost painful to look at.
This would be the last time.
If it didn't work out this time, he would give up and pretend the whole thing had been a collective delusion.
It was fine. He would just go there and come back. Nothing would actually happen (or at least, that’s what he thought).
—
Shane arrived at the matchmaking center earlier than necessary.
He checked the address a third time before entering the building, even though he already knew exactly where it was. He was more nervous than he had ever been; his fingers kept drifting to his hair whenever he felt like his heart might leap out of his chest.
He tried to breathe slowly, but anxiety seemed to tighten his chest a little more with every step.
Once past the reception desk, he gave his name. The receptionist smiled politely as she pointed down the hallway, and Shane offered a quick nod of thanks before heading that way.
He entered a room with a simple set up: there is a long table in the center, two chairs, and a small window facing outside. He chose a chair at random and sat down, leaning back against the seat as he looked around.
His eyes wandered over the bare walls, the corners of the room and the closed door, as if any distraction might help him forget why he was there.
The first stage of the process was relatively easy.
They were just supposed to talk and see if they had anything in common—if their thoughts and ideologies were compatible. They had two hours to get to know each other and decide whether to move on to the next stage.
Shane already knew how it worked. It wasn't his first time doing this, so he didn't know why he was so nervous.
He took out his phone for a few seconds, opened a few notifications without really paying attention, and slipped it back into his pocket. When he realized, he had picked up his phone for the fifth time, he decided that he should try to focus on something else.
Obviously, it didn't work.
Had he really arrived that early?
Shane glanced at the watch on his wrist; apparently, his partner was fifteen minutes late.
Great first impression.
Shane ran a hand over his face, trying to shake off the thought, but before he could go any further, the doorknob slowly turned.
The door opened, and a tall man with golden hair and blue eyes walked in, wearing a well-fitted white dress shirt and holding a coat in one hand. His hair was slightly tousled, as if he’d run a bit to get there, yet his breathing seemed steady, and he showed no signs of nervousness.
And he looked, in a way, like a Greek god stepping onto Earth.
"Hello," Shane said, his voice low and almost trembling.
"Hello," the man replied. He approached the table with a calm gait and pulled out the chair on the opposite side.
Before sitting, he took a quick look around, scrutinizing the room as if absorbing every detail of the setting. His gaze swept over the window, the door, the table until it found Shane and it never looked away.
For a few seconds, neither of them spoke.
Shane rested his fingers on the table, waiting for someone to break the silence. The man simply stared back, a faint smile on his lips, looking somewhat at a loss for words himself. The silence wasn't exactly uncomfortable, just a little bit strange, as if both were trying to figure out where to begin.
He was likely just as surprised as Shane by their compatibility, and for a moment, Shane wondered if the man had been just as incredulous as he had been.
“So, do you come here often?” the man asked, the smile on his face widening slightly as he seemed to try to break the awkward silence where neither of them knew what to say.
“Definitely not.”
Shane let out a small, sheepish laugh and looked down at his hands. He suddenly realized he hadn’t even properly greeted the man. It felt strange to sit across from someone without so much as shaking hands and introducing himself properly.
He rose from his chair almost on impulse, extending a hand toward the stranger.
“We can’t touch until the two hours are up,” the man reminded him.
Shane froze mid-motion. His hand hung in the air for a second before he slowly lowered it to his side.
Right. That rule. They were supposed to talk without touching. Without anything that could interfere with or influence the outcome of the pairing.
“My name is Shane,” Shane said as he sat back down, feeling slightly embarrassed for making such a silly mistake.
“Nice to meet you, Shane. I’m Ilya,” the man replied, watching him with an amused expression; his blue eyes tracked every one of Shane’s reactions like a curious animal.
“Unusual name.” Shane tilted his head slightly. He repeated the name a few times in his mind, testing how it sounded in the silence. His mouth parted almost involuntarily so he could whisper it softly, and, to his surprise, Shane realized he liked the way it felt on his lips. “Is it Russian?”
Ilya raised his eyebrows at the question, his mouth opening in surprise.
“How did you...?"
“I studied Russian for a while when I was a kid,” Shane answered before the other man could finish his sentence. “I had weird hobbies…”
A light laugh escaped Ilya’s lips, making his shoulders shake slightly. The sound was lovely to Shane’s ears.
Ilya briefly brought a hand to his face, shaking his head as he settled more comfortably into his chair.
"So, you can speak Russian?"
"I can understand a little bit, know some phrases. Nothing too amazing."
"It sounds amazing to me."
The compliment caught Shane off guard. He glanced down at the table and rested his hands on his thighs, his fingers absently fiddling with a small spot on his trousers.
"Thanks," Shane replied.
Ilya simply nodded, murmuring "my pleasure" in Russian and smiling with satisfaction when Shane let a small smile slip out upon understanding. After a few seconds of silence—which no longer felt quite so awkward—Shane decided to keep the conversation going.
"What do you do for a living?"
"I’m a hockey coach at a school here in Montreal. I work with kids aged five to thirteen. Nothing too amazing." Ilya leaned forward slightly as he spoke, resting his arms across the table. Shane colored when he realize Ilya was making a reference to what he had said earlier; he was obviously trying to tease him.
"Sounds amazing to me..." Shane replied, enjoying the banter. "I used to play hockey when I was a kid."
"You were a very busy kid. Russian and hockey?"
"I had random hyper-fixations, okay?"
"Very important knowledge these days." Ilya smiled, and Shane felt almost foolish for a moment. "And why did you stop? With hockey, I mean."
Shane waved a hand in the air, looking for the best way to explain.
"It stopped being fun at some point." He shrugged. "It was good, but... eventually, it stopped being enjoyable and started feeling like an obligation. But your job sounds like a lot of fun."
Ilya smiled and nodded.
"It is. I really like my job. Although kids can be a bit difficult."
"I can imagine. My best friend, Hayden, has four kids. I can't picture myself with that many children at once."
Ilya leaned back in his chair.
"And what do you do, Mr. Shane?"
"I'm an architect." As soon as he answered, Shane noticed the change in Ilya's expression. His eyes widened for a moment before an amused smile appeared on his face. "What? Why are you making that face?"
"I definitely didn't picture you as an architect."
Shane crossed his arms.
"And what did you think?"
"Real estate agent."
"Real estate agent?"
"I don't know. You look like the type who likes collecting properties. And, for some reason, I think you'd make a great landlord." Shane shook his head, letting out a soft, amused snort before he could even reply.
"You're a idiot."
Both of them were smiling.
The conversation flowed easily from there. They talked about hobbies, things they liked, past experiences, and whatever else came up. At some point, the awkward pauses vanished, and questions arose naturally, one leading to the next. It was surprising how relaxed he felt; in that short time together, he’d likely shared more genuine laughter with Ilya than on any other date in his life.
When the notification that time was up arrived, Shane was almost taken aback. The sound cut their conversation mid-sentence, and he automatically turned toward the door as the staff entered.
The two hours had flown by. They were led to separate rooms and presented with the decision they had to make: proceed to the next stage or end the process.
Usually, this was the point where Shane would walk away.
He knew the drill. Before, he would simply offer thanks, say he hadn't felt a connection, and move on—but he realized this time, he didn't want to leave.
For the first time, he wanted to try to make it work.
And he just hoped Ilya felt the same way.
Note: This is Part 1 of 3. I found this universe—where omegas and alphas are matched based on compatibility rather than other factors—interesting, so I decided to give it a try. The other parts are already written and were theoretically meant to be released together, but I decided to split them up to participate in the challenge of microfics. Part 1 covers the interview, Part 2 will focus on the scent, and Part 3 will feature them signing the contract to be recognized as a real couple.
A huge thank you to @pikachusthef for correcting my English—you're amazing!
Happy August, Hollanov Nation! Big apology for the delay, but we've brought some summer-themed prompts for you all this month. We hope these inspire you all to write some microfics about our two favourite hockey players!
Please remember to refer to our Rules and FAQ for any issues. If these don't help, feel free to drop us an ask. Happy writing!
Want smoother translations for AO3 works? Click here for a guide!
Current Prompts: (text vers. + last month's prompts under the cut)
For @hollanovmicrofic a short fic loosely inspired by Ember & Ice about the fairy dudes (thank you @not-me-burning 🧚♂️💔) but make it Hollanov aka Hollanov Fantasy AU
prompt "angel"
wc 1501
rating M
“There you are, gotcha!” Shane announces cheerfully after he crawls through the narrow passage between the leafy shrubs leading to the small clearing.
Ilya’s already there, leaning against the tree. Their tree.
There’s no joy in Ilya’s expression. A hint of worry casting a shadow over his features. His arms are crossed over his chest. He looks like he’s bracing for something rather than excited to be reunited with his best friend.
Shane’s step falters as he approaches him.
“Ilya,” he says quietly, almost afraid to say the name aloud after such a long time. He had only dared to murmur it into the darkness of the night, in the deepest of his sleep.
The clearing is unusually quiet. No birdsong. No laughter. Only the rustling of leaves overhead and the distant hum of the castle beyond the gardens.
It feels wrong.
This place had always belonged to the two of them. A sanctuary hidden from tutors, guards, and royal obligations. Shane cannot remember a single time they had met here only to stand in silence.
“You found it,” he says, forcing a small laugh. “I thought for a moment you might've forgotten the way.”
That earns him a faint, sad smile of Ilyya's lips.
“I could never forget.”
Relief blooms in Shane's chest.
“Ilya, it can finally be like it used to. Aren’t you excited? Didn’t you miss me? Because I missed you. So much.”
“You don’t understand, Shane. I’m not here to say hello. I came to say goodbye.”
Shane frowns. “What do you mean?”
He truly doesn’t understand. What is Ilya saying? Does he not want them to be together again? Has he not missed the wrestling, the playful fights, the races through sky and across the fields on the back of their horses? Has he not missed the quiet days here, reading books and talking about the olden days. About all the adventures still waiting in faraway lands?
“It was not supposed to be like this…” Ilya says, shaking his head slowly. “Did you really not notice how the people look at me now? At my wings?” and he shifts them - or tries to.
“Please, don’t hurt yourself further!” Shane exclaims,reaching toward him as though he could to stop him.
Ilya bats his hands away and turns aside, lowering his face in humiliation. Only Ilya is never embarrassed. Shane knows that! He’s the bravest man he’s ever known, always so strong and certain in all his doings.
“I’m broken,” Ilya says with a bitter scoff.
His wings tremble. One bears a jagged tear along the lower edge, the other is missing an entire section. Their brilliant rainbow sheen has faded, replaced by dull, uneven patches that no longer catch the light.
Just as he had when he first saw Ilya's wings in the palace courtyard, where crowds had gathered to welcome the victorious soldiers home. The cheers had dissolved into whispers as Ilya rode past, sitting tall and proud upon his horse, his chin lifted high despite the evidence of war displayed in the tattered remains of his once-glorious wings.
He will never fly again.
“You want them to see you with me?” Ilya says quietly, reading the turmoil on Shane's face as he always has.
Shane bites his lips, caught. Horrified at the implication that he would be ashamed of his friendship with Ilya.
“The Prince spending his precious time with a cripple?” Ilya carries on, accusing. Mean. He moves to face him again, his blue eyes searching Shane’s face.
He’s already shaking his head. “You’re not a cripple,” he says fiercely. “You are a hero.”
Shane's hands curl into fists, his nails digging into his palms.
“Wars pass, people forget,” Ilya shrugs. “One day I’m a hero. The next, I’m no one.”
“You are not no one to me.” Shane's voice barely rises above a whisper. “You are everything.”
The confession hangs between them.
The world seems to hold its breath.
Ilya looks up sharply, surprise flashing across his face as he studies Shane, whose cheeks are already burning. His tongue had moved faster than his mind. The words had slipped free before he could stop them.
“Oh?” Ilya tilts his head.
Even now, Shane can't help but think he's beautiful.
The war has left its mark on him. His face is leaner than it used to be, his cheekbones sharper beneath pale skin, yet his blue eyes are as striking as ever. His lips - soft, impossibly pink against his tired complexion - part slightly as though he's forgotten how to breathe.
Four years since Shane watched him ride away.
Four years since he said goodbye to the older boy he’d been inseparable since his birth into the royal family. His dearest companion, his best friend. The knight of the royal guard. But he never perceived him as just a knight - Ilya was more than another docile soldier who obeyed commands. He was smart and funny and witty. He gave Shane a hard time, never cared much about his royal status.
Shane had always liked to believe Ilya would’ve dedicated his unwavering attention to him, even without the official knightly oath. The memory of the day Ilya left for war still haunted him. Since then, he had debated countless times whether he had made the right decision not to confess his true feelings on that day.
The thought of Ilya dying without ever knowing the true nature of the love Shane held for him had always terrified him even more.
“And now you’re telling me that you are leaving once again?” Shane says mournfully, looking away to prevent Ilya from seeing his eyes fill with tears. He’s being petulant, he knows, but he cannot lose his Ilya again.
“For good?” he asks, plaintively, wiping at his eyes with the sleeve of his linen shirt.
That must get to Ilya, because he’s pushing off the tree trunk, stepping close, into Shane’s space, hands coming up to cup his face.
“Shane,” Ilya urges softly. “Shane…” He’s stroking Shane’s cheeks with his thumbs, his long fingers cradling his face. And Shane is melting. His heart is, and he sobs with it. He lets his arms sneak around Ilya’s slim waist, gripping his muscular back, squeezing as he quietly cries while Ilya wipes the tears away. Every single one.
“I wished to have you back,” he mumbles through his tears, throat tight, “nothing else. I prayed to the Gods. I would’ve given up everything to keep you safe. I always gave you everything, didn’t I?”
He’s not making sense, but he’s hoping that Ilya will understand. That he’s got Shane’s utter devotion and love.
“I know,” Ilya tells him as he leans closer to nose at Shane’s hairline, his temple, sniffing. His lips touch Shane’s ear as he whispers:
“I am yours.”
Shane lets out a strange, muffled noise at that, letting Ilya tilt his head back, baring his throat to Ilya’s lips. They are hot as they press against the side of his neck, his Adam’s apple, the column of his throat - pliant as Ilya moves him with his sure hands.
His erection is pushing against his fly. He’s unaware of it until he feels one of Ilya’s hands fall down between their bodies and gently press against his cock.
“Do you think you can give this to me too? Like everything else?”
“Is it not - wrong?”
“No. No. You are a good boy, aren’t you? Good boys don’t want wrong things, do they?”
Shane shakes his head, cheeks aflame. He can’t meet Ilya’s gaze, his taunting voice making him tremble. Maybe… maybe it’s okay to want…
“There’s so many things I wanna do to you. Will you let me?”
He’s nodding before he can fully process what Ilya is asking of him. He doesn’t care. It’s him who crosses the remaining inch dividing their faces, him who presses his lips to Ilya’s in a bold yet unsure manner.
He’s dreamt of kissing Ilya many times but the reality surpasses even the most vivid fantasy.
“Like this, you will always have a piece of me with you,” Ilya promises sweetly. “We will be bound forever.”
Shane moans at that, unable to keep the sounds in. He reaches blindly for the hem of Ilya’s shirt, needing to touch his bare skin. Ilya is so warm there…
Through the haze, Shane watches Ilya undo the knot on his silk tie, the strip of maroon fabric weaving through his slender fingers. It is the tie Shane had gifted him before they parted. How did he not notice Ilya wearing it until now?
“Can I show you how much I missed you, angel?” Ilya asks, taking hold of both Shane’s wrists and binding them together with the soft fabric.
“Just let it happen, okay?” he says, the gentle, low tone of his voice coaxing Shane into submission.
The wind stirs the leaves overhead, and somewhere beyond their hidden refuge, the castle bells mark the passing hour. Here, time seems to stand still.
Over the decades following retirement, Ilya and Shane are living their best lives. They spend the summers at the cottage, they travel around the world, they do whatever the fuck they want.
They both still look ridiculously good too, so much so that there are entire blogs dedicated to them long after their presence in the sport has started to fade. Their status only rises as gray hair and wrinkles and just a touch of softness around their muscles begin to appear, transforming them into an iconic pair of silver foxes.
One day, Shane is getting ready to start a press junket to promote the release of his memoir. Ilya is a regular fixture on talk shows and sports media, whereas Shane has become even more private with time.
Ilya walks into their bathroom one morning. Shane is standing in front of the vanity, staring at the mirror. Ilya knows that look—a rare sight these days, now a vestige of some earlier version of himself. He’s picking his body apart, frustrated that his form has evolved beyond the age of 28.
Meanwhile, for Ilya, Shane has never been so sexy, and it pisses him off to think he is not seeing it too.
Ilya casually comes up behind him and slaps him on the ass.
"Hey, hot stuff."
Ilya leans over Shane's shoulder to kiss him on the neck from behind. Shane startles, breaking the trance of self-criticism. His ears go hot with the sudden attention.
"You don't have to say that, you know." He looks down at himself, a towel slung loosely around his waist.
"What are you talking about? You are hot stuff. This is a known fact." Ilya hungrily eyes him in the mirror, wrapping his arms around Shane's waist and tugging him close.
Shane looks down at his hands wistfully, like he's just seen time slip through his fingers.
"Everyone's going to see me on this tour and think, what happened to him?"
"Yes, that is exactly what will happen," Ilya says without missing a beat.
Shane furrows his brow and catches Ilya's eye in the mirror, where he's met with an affectionate gaze.
"They will see you and think, how has the hottest man in the world somehow gotten hotter? We did not know it was possible."
Shane bashfully smiles and shakes his head.
"But hot stuff? Really, though?"
Ilya grabs him by the hips and spins him around, shoving Shane’s ass against the bathroom counter. Ilya presses in close to him, his cock hard along Shane’s thigh. Breathing him in, Ilya kisses his neck below the corner of his jaw and whispers in his ear.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Words: 765
Fandom: Game Changers | Heated Rivalry - All Media Types
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov
Characters: Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Scott Hunter
Additional Tags: MLH photoshoot, Chirping, Ilya can't help it even off the ice, Inspired by Fanart, Hollanov Microfic, Prompt: Camera, Post-cottage
Series: Part 5 of Hollanov Microfics 2026
Summary:
When the MLH asked Shane to participate in a promotional photoshoot with the other biggest names in the league, he was just excited to spend some more time with his boyfriend, even if it was under wraps. What he didn't expect was to get clocked by the New York Dinosaur, Scott Hunter.
This was inspired by @aaliyahsparrow‘s lovely artwork of the boys in the locker cubbies for the @hollanovmicrofic prompt Camera!
