Hellfireone



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    “Three weeks in a row, Ilya.” Shane comments, his own eyebrows raised, “The pans are put back, but always in the wrong place.”

    “Okay, I’m sorry,” Ilya says, fast. Shane turns back around.

    “This isn’t just about the pans,” Shane mutters, low and under his breath, but Ilya catches it.

    “Then what is this about?” Ilya asks, his voice competitive and harsh as he drops his phone to give Shane his attention, “Because you’ve been sighing, huffing, and turning your nose up for the past week, Shane. Is like you are tired of me.”

    Shane’s shoulders stiffen slightly.

    OR

    What starts out as a small, insignificant argument leads to a revelation of emotions that have been building for months, and one comment goes too far.

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    16 May 2026

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    “You want to talk to people about me?” Shane asked quietly.

    There was something small and confused in the question. But Ilya was still furious and raw.

    “Well I would,” he sneered, “if there was anything about you that was fucking interesting to talk about! It would be nice to not be so fucking bored and miserable!”

    The second the words left his mouth, he watched the pain roll across Shane's features like a thousand fractures shattering through glass.

    Ilya had seen Shane nearly break ribs. He had seen him miss game-winning shots, take hits that left bruises blooming purple and black across his skin. He had never seen this.

    Shane closed his eyes for a long moment. He shook his head slightly, a tiny movement, then nodded once as if agreeing with something only he could hear. His face twisted briefly with a fresh wave of pain before he forced it to still.

    ---------

    What if Shane and Ilya don't make up so easily after the Boxing Day fight? The Centaur's plane never malfunctions, so Shane never proposes. Instead, Ilya gives him an ultimatum on coming out and going public. It backfires spectacularly.

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    11 May 2026

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    In the early hours of Saturday, the Hockey world was ablaze with the news that Ilya Rozanov was dead. Killed in a tragic car accident leaving behind a slew of devastated fans and a grieving husband still reeling in shock.

    The news also came as an incredible shock to Ilya when he awoke that same day, hungover and bleary, but very much alive. 

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    21 Apr 2026

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    Shane's breath catches on a sob, and he muffles the sound with his hand. Everything feels like too much. He’s naked, and he can feel entirely too much on his body, inside his body, and he hates how it's starting to feel gross. His head is pounding, and he can't even focus on placating his mind when his lungs are also screaming in his throat for breath.

    Ilya hears, and his hands reach out to hold Shane, tension lying in every part of his body. “Shane—”

    “Don't touch me,” Shane snaps, more desperation than yelling as he rips his arm out of Ilyas's grasp. His tears have nowhere to go now, and they finally spill over, hot and humiliating, down his cheeks.

    Ilya freezes in place, hand hovering mid-air. A myriad of emotions flicker across his face: confusion, hurt, fear. Ilya takes an unconscious step back like someone shoved him. His body curls in on itself, trying to make himself appear smaller.

    He looks... terrified. Like, Shane just called him a monster, and he believes it.

    OR: inspired by the fight in the long game when ilya had told shane he could have sex with other men because he did not believe in cheating.

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    20 Apr 2026

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    “I made you tea,” Ilya says softly. “And I brought ice for your head and crackers for when your stomach is better.”
     
    “Thank you,” Shane mumbles.
     
    “And I texted your parents.”
     
    “What?!”

    A fic in which Shane gets a concussion related headache and Ilya is there to help.

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    16 Apr 2026

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