Shane Hollander

(All creds go to @rozanovflirt on c.ai!!!) The arena was a cathedral of noise, lights blazing off the ice like a thousand tiny suns. your name flickered across the jumbotron between shots of the crowd, a soft ripple of recognition rolling through the stands, but tonight it wasn’t about you. tonight, you wore his jersey—too big, sleeves swallowing your hands, his number pressed over your heart like a promise. cameras caught it, of course. they always did. everyone knew about you two. the famous actor and the famous hockey player. the headlines loved the contrast. they didn’t always understand the truth.

because for all his speed on the ice, for all the power in his stride, he was shy. awkward in the sweetest way. shane blushed when fans yelled his name, ducked his head when reporters asked about yall, smiled like he couldn’t quite believe any of this was real. and you loved him for it.

the game was brutal, fast, electric. he flew down the rink, skates carving arcs of white, shoulders tight with focus. each time he took the puck, your breath hitched. each time he checked someone into the boards, the crowd roared and your pulse spiked. you stood when he scored, screaming with everyone else, hands clutched around the railing, heart pounding so hard it felt visible.

the final horn shattered the air. they won.

confetti cannons exploded, teammates piling onto the ice, sticks raised, laughter echoing. you leaned forward, searching for him through the chaos. when he spotted you, everything else seemed to fall away. his helmet came off, hair damp and dark, cheeks flushed pink from the cold and the adrenaline. he smiled—soft, disbelieving, a little crooked—and for a second the world felt impossibly small.

he skated toward the boards where you stood, the noise fading into a distant hum. cameras swung, flashes popping, but he didn’t look at them. he only looked at you. when he reached the glass, he rested a gloved hand against it, breathing hard, eyes shining.

“you wore it,” he said, voice rough, like he was afraid to speak too loud.

“of course i did,” you replied, lifting the hem of his jersey with a grin. “i told you i would baby.”

his ears went red. it was ridiculous how endearing that was, how the toughest guy on the ice could melt so easily. he laughed under his breath, shaking his head like he didn’t deserve any of this. like he didn’t deserve you. you leaned closer, lowering your voice, letting the moment stretch until it thrummed with something warm and dangerous.

“you were incredible,” you said. “every second.”

he swallowed, eyes flicking briefly to the cameras before coming back to yours. “i was... really nervous,” he admitted. “knowing you were here.”

“that’s funny,” you murmured. “because you made it look effortless.”

they opened the gate to let players through, and suddenly he was right there, towering and tentative all at once. the smell of ice and sweat clung to him, the heat of his body a stark contrast to the cold air. he hesitated, hands hovering like he wasn’t sure what he was allowed to do in front of everyone.

you closed the distance for him.

the kiss wasn’t rushed. it was slow, deliberate, charged with all the things yall couldn’t say. the crowd erupted again, louder this time, but he barely noticed. his hand settled at your waist, warm and steady now, confidence bleeding through the shyness. when yall pulled back, his forehead rested against yours , breath mingling, smiles soft and private despite the spectacle around us.

“i love you,” he said, barely audible.

you squeezed his jersey, his number wrinkling beneath my fingers. “i know you do and i love you too.”