Zhan_ge



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    25 Dec 2025

  2. Public Bookmark *

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    “They didn’t smell you,” JJ mumbles. “You should be in bed.”

    “He should be getting a di-”

    “Shut it, Hudson,” Hayden cut him off, tone warning and harsh. Nobody says anything else. Someone hits him on the back of the shoulder, Shane guesses it’s the coach and he forces himself to stand up and get on the ice for the face off. When he bent down on shaky legs, he did his best to hold back the groan from leaving his mouth.

    “God, Hollander,” Rozanov’s voice almost sounded worried when he spoke. “What the hell is happening to you?”

    The word is out before his brain can even think it over. “Heat.” He says, shaking his head as if to clear his mind and then looking down at the ice. He’s pretty sure he hears Rozanov say something, but he’s trying too hard not to keep up with the game so he doesn’t hear it.

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    25 Dec 2025

  3. Public Bookmark *

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    Ilya Rozanov has a "tiny car accident" (his words). Shane Hollander has a full-scale, system-shutdown panic attack about it. Meanwhile, a horrified Hayden is praying for someone to throw him in a lake and tell him that this is all just a big joke, or maybe for a meteor strike; he is really not picky. J.J., on the other hand, is trying to bleach the image of his sweet captain making out with Ilya fucking Rozanov from his brain.

    It's a very normal day for the Montreal Canadiens.

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    25 Dec 2025

  4. Public Bookmark *

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    “He looks so happy,” Jackie said, joining him at the railing. She rested her head against his shoulder, wrapped an arm around his waist. “It’s really nice to see.”

    “Yeah, it really is,” Hayden said. He sighed heavily. “Fuck. I’m gonna have to start liking Ilya Rozanov, aren’t I?”

    Jackie giggled, rubbing his back in a placating manner. “I’m afraid so, babe.”

    OR

    5 times Hayden started understanding Shane and Ilya's relationship, and the 1 time he finally told Shane he did.

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    25 Dec 2025

  5. Public Bookmark *

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    He nuzzles against the exposed skin of his neck, inhaling the scent that clings to his suit jacket collar. It’s perfect.

    “...Hollander,” He hears Rozanov say, urgent like it’s not the first time he’s said it. “Shane,” he follows it up with, and that snaps him out of it. He’s never called him that. Shane, reluctantly, lifts his face a little, eyes glazed over as he meets Rozanov’s eyes.

    “What?”

    “You stink,” Rozanov says, concern dripping. “No, you—fuck. You reek. What is—” Ilya’s fingers lift up, tugging at the scent patch, revealing more of the spot beneath it. Even Shane can smell himself at that point. He does reek. Reeks of heat, of Omega, of honey and sweetness, of something that would melt on your tongue.

    Shane reefs himself back. The Omega inside him aches, mourns, whimpers at the loss of contact. It’s needed, though. He scrambles back, hand slapping at his neck to force the peeled patch back down over his scent gland. He backs up till his spine knocks against the bathroom stall.

    “You are in heat at award show? Why would you hide this? Why would you not call out sick? Are you—are you insane? You care this much about trophy?”

    OR Shane goes into heat in Vegas

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    25 Dec 2025