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Rozanov glanced at Shane's phone screen, reading the top notification. Then his mouth curved. “Duolingo, huh? So fucking boring, Hollander.”
Shane’s face went hot. “Yeah,” he said. “Learning French.”
Rozanov’s eyes snapped to his. The smirk deepened. “Bad liar, Hollander. You are fluent.”
or - Ilya finds out that Shane has been learning Russian behind his back.
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Bookmarked by plothole
21 Dec 2025
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My heart is saying 'don't let go' by photographer_of_thoughts
Fandoms: Heated Rivalry (TV)
30 Dec 2025
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“You don’t…?” Rozanov trails off. “You don’t remember?”
“Nope.” Shane says, popping the ‘p’ sound. “Amnesia. Oh my god, when I woke up, Rozanov, I thought we were filming that commercial. Do you remember it? Apparently it was a long time ago but to me it’s today. Fucking crazy.”
or, after Shane's injury he wakes up with no memories of his hockey career or of his relationship with Ilya.
Bookmarked by plothole
21 Dec 2025
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Charles's eyelashes flutter as he glances at Max, still watching.
The man seems to notice his distraction and turns back to try to see what has caught Charles's eye. He lets out a short hum, not letting up.
"You're mine tonight, no?" Charles nods enthusiastically and moans half into the man's mouth, but he's lying. He’s always lying.
There's only one person he belongs to.OR: Charles has always been in love with someone who won't love him back.
Bookmarked by plothole
21 Dec 2025
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It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.
It was supposed to be planned around his schedule- aligned with winter break, maybe. Or even after he’d retired. He should’ve been with his partner, whoever they were; he’d never dared hope it would be Max. He should’ve been wrapped in their embrace, murmuring hushed words of excitement to one another as they waited for the minutes to pass and a result to show on the test.
They should’ve found out together. Ready. Eager. Full of love.
Instead it was like this: alone, curled on a cold bathroom floor, a painfully impersonal PDF staring at Charles from his phone. The only positivity to be found in the situation was sitting in the results column of the file, neatly slotted next to the word pregnancy.
The email. The result. The loneliness. It was all too much. Charles began to cry once again.
At the top of his screen, a response popped up with impeccable timing.
i told you not to text me.
Alternatively:
Charles is in love with Max. Max is in love with Charles. It really is that complicated, and then it gets worse.
Meanwhile, Lando just wants Oscar to kiss him, and he's not quite sure how to make that happen.- Language:
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Bookmarked by plothole
17 Dec 2025
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Maybe Max already knows, sees through Charles right to the roots. “You don’t want to know? Who it is, I mean?”
“No,” Max snaps.
Charles flinches. He feels raw, exposed, like everyone can see the blooms unfurling in his chest.
And then Max is turning to him and sliding a possessive hand around the base of his skull. He waits until Charles meets his eyes.
“They don’t matter.” His long fingers curl in to press at the hinge of Charles’ jaw. “You will make them fall in love with you. Or.” Max swallows, throat bobbing reflexively. He leans in so close they’re breathing the same air. “Or you’ll get over them. Maybe…maybe fall for someone else. Anything can happen.”
“Anything,” Charles echoes, feeling insane. Max doesn’t know. Max is jealous of himself.
Or, Charles and Max have an arrangement to hook up during race weekends; half the grid knows. Charles has hanahaki; hardly anyone knows he’s heartsick, much less who he's pining over. Not his family, not Ferrari, and certainly not Max.
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Bookmarked by plothole
10 May 2025
