nothingwrongwme
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Hurricane Katrina? More like Hurricane Kimi. by deletedaccountjustkiddingunless
Fandoms: Formula 1 RPF
07 May 2025
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Oliver Bearman has a tattoo on his wrist that says “AA.” Soulmate identifier. Could be initials, could be a location, could be a cursed acronym for “Absolutely Alcoholics” — who knows? Not Ollie. Definitely not Ollie. He’s been on a whole chaotic quest, dragging his best friend Kimi Antonelli along for the ride. Problem is, Ollie’s dumb. Like, monumentally dumb. Because if he had two brain cells to rub together, he might’ve realised “AA” doesn’t stand for anything except the boy who's been calling him pretty and colour-coded since day one.
Bookmarked by nothingwrongwme
09 Jan 2026
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“So,” Ilya says, dragging the word out. He’s swiping at non-existent crumbs on the counter, avoiding his eyes. “You have dinner at parents on Christmas, yes?”
“Yeah.”
Ilya nods. “I can house-sit while you are away. Make place pretty, if you have decorations. Make it less boring.”
Shane’s eyebrows fly up. “What? You don’t want to come with?”
Finally, Ilya looks up at him. Hesitantly, he asks, “You want me to come with?”
Frowning, Shane says, “I– yeah. Yeah, of course. You think I invited you here just so you could spend Christmas alone?”
Looking away, Ilya shrugs. “I am intruder here, Hollander. You have family. I do not. Makes situation… difficult, maybe. You forget the world thinks we are rivals.”
“Not difficult,” Shane says immediately. “You want to come, you’re coming.”
Or: Ilya's in Montreal alone during the week leading up to the Winter Classic. Shane doesn't let him spend Christmas alone.
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Bookmarked by nothingwrongwme
05 Jan 2026
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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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- English
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Bookmarked by nothingwrongwme
03 Jan 2026
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Ilya’s hand wraps around his bare wrist and squeezes. Shane barely stops himself from collapsing to his knees.
The pressure lights up every receptor of his touch-starved nervous system, wrenching a small, pained noise from the back of his throat. Every muted sensation comes flooding back so intensely that it almost hurts. He needs Ilya to hold him down until there’s nothing inside him but quiet. He wants to sink into him and disappear.
It takes Shane an entire beat to remember where they are. Fighting against the fog in his mind, he manages to drag his gaze up to meet Ilya’s.
There’s a slow-dawning horror and understanding on Ilya’s face.
*
Or: Shane is in subdrop after their encounter in Vegas. Ilya fixes it.
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Bookmarked by nothingwrongwme
03 Jan 2026
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Here is a how Lewis' moring went to shit in 20 words or less:
Nico Rosberg fighting in his underwear with a crazy lady who is trying to steal Lewis' dog from his garden.
Yes. Apparently things like this happen.
Lewis can't deny it's kind of funny.Bookmarked by nothingwrongwme
01 Jan 2026