people we meet on vacation (series) - oscar and his childhood best friend, whose families always vacationed together, haven't seen each other in forever. maybe the f1 2025 season summer break is the time for them to rekindle?
what was that? - it's the 2025 monaco grand prix and yn leclerc finds out that oscar piastri is... an avid lorde fan???
objections (series)* - a chronicle of lawyer yn and f1 driver oscar's relationship, from alpine contract disputes to their future as a real couple
the right beaches* - oscar and reader have a short-lived fling over summer break, only for the excitement to die down when they returned to their lives. oscar listens to her new releases and realizes he wants the reader back.
flat tire* - reader has a flat tire and doesn't know who to call but her car-obsessed ex boyfriend
bad idea right?* - reader writes the song 'bad idea right?' about a not so healthy, late-night run in with oscar (her ex)
how to lose a guy in 10 days (series) - a 'how-to' journalist sets out to show women what not to do in relationships, an F1 driver strives to prove he can make anyone fall in love with him.
max verstappen
the first date* - yn has been hinting at going on a first date with a pro athlete for a while and everyone has been speculating on who it is.
charles leclerc
in burning red - charles needs a date to his brother's wedding and yn is famously obsessed with him
daniel ricciardo
guess who? - reader is an F1 journalist who confirms a relationship with a driver--but no one ever said he was currently on the grid
isack hadjar
it's so sweet* - isack and yn have been friends for years. it takes a night out in monaco, many heavy-handed hints, and silly bouts of jealousy to make them into something more.
carlos sainz
euros 2024 - yn and carlos have been dating for years but (jokingly) the 2024 euros final might tear them apart
lewis hamilton
(COMING SOON) hey friend* - reader is a friend of alexandra's but it's very clear that she's not going to races for her, she's going for lewis
lando norris
down bad* - reader is an influencer who sees edits of lando norris, falls head over heels, and lets the internet do its thing
ollie bearman
him again - ollie and reader are captains of rival coed volleyball teams in college
(COMING SOON) room service, concierge! - when settling in for the canada grand prix, ollie meets the reader, who's interning at the hotel he's staying at
kimi antonelli
aiuto - kimi's got final exams coming up, so he and the reader make a friendly bet that leads to something more-than-friendly
how to lose a guy in 10 days masterlist | OP81 by kenniesf1
pairing: oscar piastri x journalist!reader
summary: a 'how-to' journalist sets out to show women what not to do in relationships, an F1 driver strives to prove he can make anyone fall in love with him.
Monthly Vibes ✨
📚 reading: Undercover Princess by Connie Glynn (re-read), Cross The Line by Simone Soltani (ebook)
🎧 listening: The Lair of Dreams (audiobook), Not Okay by 5 Seconds of Summer (song)
🎟️ posting: WHAT YOU DO IS MAGIC - ln4 x singlemum!reader, THE DRIVER CHOOSES THE WIZARD - pg10 x reader, OH MISS ADMIN - aa23 x social media intern!reader, ADVICE? DON'T LET THEM SAY NO - gr36 x race engineer!reader
Mon 1st let me at em' by @astonmartinii (f1, op81)
Gorgeous girls cry on TV (and run home to Oscar)
Tue 2nd Gentle Things by @midnight-in-monaco (f1, ln4)
Aweee the difference in theirs homes abd even after all that she didn't build walls again she just soaked more in 💕
Wed 3rd after summer ends by @cheftsunoda (f1, aa23)
Summer lovin' proud of any results ❤️
Thu 4th estie bestie by @autumnnorris (f1, eo31)
Hehehe Estie!
Fri 5th flat tire by @kenniesf1 (f1, op81)
I have been thinking of a fic (similar to this) for weeks and this just popped in my lap. I love old kindling romance.
Sat 6th Sandwich 🥪 by @ari-ana-bel-la (f1)
Awe I really like rookie reader and Max i can see them as a team + Lewis as paddock dad is always sweet
Sun 7th my fav driver by @tastenorris (f1 grid)
Okay my favourites their jealousy is just so good "Good to know my girlfriend prefers my teammate's neon highlighter over my "boring" merch" "Only so you can see how ridiculous you look in neon green and hopefully come to your senses" "I can send you a photo of my face in case you forgot"
Mon 8th Horse Power by @formulaaddict14 (f1, ln4)
Glad you be interrupted omg I'm crying! A different kind of Horse Power for lando
Tue 9th The Serpent's Guard by @sunnyluna (hp, slytherin)
Wed 10th Rookie Season: Porsche’s Secret Weapon by @smokebombsandspotlights (f1)
I'm learning that I have favourite mentors 🤩
Thu 11th partner - jegulus by @my-castles-crumbling (hp, marauders, jegulus)
Fri 12th tiny leclerc menace™ by @smokebombsandspotlights (f1)
Aweeeeeeee absolutely adorable! If I were in the paddock I two would follow Ollie around like a duckling
Sat 13th mon lapin by @33forthew1n (f1)
This always makes me wish we had the money to go karting ❤️ girls in motorsport keep the cycle alive
Sun 14th make up, make out? by @thankyoulovely (ukyt, arthurtv)
When you just can't get the feeling out of your head
Mon 15th Through the Fire. by @sdmnpact (ukyt, sdmn, wroetoshaw)
Tue 16th Angelic by @sydwritess (f1, cl16)
It's okay to have bad days as long as your good days make up for them
Wed 17th Close to You by @soleilpinto (f1, ob87)
Oh Ollie
Thu 18th Fractures by @cressidagrey (f1, op81)
Nothing like the fear of a women with a phd (I want to be this women)
Fri 19th stuck on you by @cheftsunoda (f1, dp28)
Nothing better than seeing and f1 academy girl on my feed
Sat 20th Papaya Princess by @papaya-queen (f1)
THE Sun 21st NIGHT OF SEPTEMBER! sponsor by @eicsferrari (f1, mv33, smau)
She has so much rizz and the fact that he liked this comment "user yeah everyone is talking about max and whatever, but can we talk about how she's beautiful and also extremely talented?? god really has it's favorites ♥︎liked by maxverstappen1" Yeah I'm dead this is so cute
Mon 22nd 𝗜 𝗔𝗟𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗬 𝗣𝗔𝗜𝗗 by @dreamauri (f1, op81)
Tue 23rd i can do it with a broken heart by @daydreamsharry (f1, mv33)
I now have forever and a day to keep thinking about this... I'm not going to be able to stop I've already returned to it 3 times
Wed 24th you weren't mine to lose by @harrysfolklore (f1, c55, smau)
🥺🥺🥺
Thu 25th Hilton For The Stay by @sydwritess (f1, ln4, smau)
This is so cute!!!
Fri 26th To forever and always by @maxfurstappen (f1, mv33)
Sat 27th CAMPUS CONFESSIONS by @drsszone (f1, cs55)
This had such cool details I LOVED the confessionals and the whiteboard graphics.
Sun 28th — did you get my letters? by @fawnindawn (dc, damian wayne)
This is like the perfect Damisn version of all the boys I've loved before except it's just reader because that's the only person they've ever loved
Mon 29th the moment by @landosgfr (f1, ln4)
Tue 30th it's golden like daylight by @alwritey-aphrodite (dc, clark kent)
omg guys i didn't die 😭 i've just been literally so busy that i've had no time to write but yk what THANK YOU to whoever sent this message bc this has prompted me to lock in 🙏
the opinion that no one asked for on the lando-oscar switch in monza! i personally don’t think mclaren were right to ask oscar to switch. yes, lando did pit second to help fight off leclerc, but had the pit stop gone normally, he would’ve come out a few seconds in front of oscar. bad pit stops are part of racing, it makes no sense to ask to switch, and ruin oscar’s race (okay that’s a bit dramatic), just because the team is stupid. it’s unnecessary mistakes like this that create tension that otherwise wouldn’t have been there.
𓆰 op81 httyd au || expansion of @tsunodaradio’s universe
𓆰 dragonrider!oscar x russell!reader. wc: just under 17k.
𓆰 music for this fic: de shelby part 2, first light, would that i, hozier. essentially just listen to hozier and you’re good to go. also, pool (stripped) by samia. adding these as I go: futile devices, sufjan Stevens.
𓆰 notes from via: hi my lovelies! this is essentially my first true fantasy debut, hope you enjoy. i really deeply love httyd, and i always have. kaes fic 'like all fire' meant so much to me, i hope do their universe justice. to everyone reading this who dreamed to live in berk and ride dragons, i see you. we were all born in the wrong universe, trust me. love you, hope this is a fun read! sorry in advance for the trauma.
“i wanna run against the world that’s turning. i’d move so fast id outpace the dawn.”
“i wanna be gone.”
𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪
PART I
When George had asked you, “Come with me?”, it had been another one of his questions that were barely questions. It was phrased like a question, sure. But it was said in the same tone as a statement, a demand. A truth.
He always asked questions like that. Maybe it was to avoid confrontation. Maybe it was because he knew he was right, in that way all older brothers assumed you didn’t understand things he asked about.
Normally, it was fine. Normally, he was right.
But this time, you wished it wasn’t even phrased as a question, because your stomach ached when you had to say no.
Your other brother was too young to stay here alone. Too young to be put under your care.
So George left with him, and all his notes and knowledge, and your heart, bundled into his arms.
He could never forgive you for choosing a life with dragons over him.
You could never forgive him for trying to tear you away from the only thing that had excited you since you lost your parents.
You were both unforgivable.
So he was gone, past the Valley of Bones, across from Berk. Gone somewhere with a name that felt heavy and ugly and foreign on your tongue. Gone to a place of hatred and darkness.
You couldn’t grasp why he had to leave so badly. Why he couldn’t stand that his words weren’t enough, that the people of Formulae had chosen the beliefs of a different man. Why Chief Hamilton had somehow, in some way, broken his spirit.
Maybe that was worse than a broken heart.
You didn’t know how it could be worse than a broken family, though.
Still, you were resilient. You got over it, the only way you knew how. Through hating him, cursing him. Every waking moment, you resented him.
You weren’t the only one. Many on the Isle cursed your brother. The first traitor in a long time.
And so, they hated you too.
They did not commend you for your loyalty. They did not smile gratefully at your sacrifice. No one gave a shit that you had chosen the godforsaken Isle of Formulae over your own brother.
No, the Russell name instead made you something to be wary of. They looked at you in the same fearful way they used to stare at dragons.
You had never been traitorous, but they still viewed you a traitor. You had never contemplated treason, but each time you got too close to Lewis, you were treasonous.
You’re not sure when you became an outcast, but it happened.
You found solace with Alex, and Lando. They still instinctively smiled at the mention of George’s name. Unfortunately, Lando had found himself a boy, no less loyal than a puppy. You wouldn’t call him a sidekick, he was too interesting for that. Too intelligent, too brave.
Maybe too beautiful.
Oscar Piastri had not known George in the way the other men had. George had been a mentor, a sibling to him just as much as to you. But Oscar distrusted him, in a way no one else had. Like, in his lessons, he saw through the facade of faith for Formulae.
You’re not sure when Oscar Piastri developed an animosity towards you, but it happened.
So you decided that you could've act like that too. You could never hate Formulae, and you could only hate George from afar. But Oscar? He was right here. So you could hate him, so much. So deeply, so truly. You hate him because he hates you. You hate him because you hate George.
You can only assume it came from the betrayal. Why you had become the scapegoat for the anger of your people, you didn’t know. But that was life for you now, so you accepted it.
At first, you tried the very hardest to be good enough. To prove to everyone you were so much more than what they believed.
You showed up to every practice, every possible opportunity to train. To learn.
George would’ve been teaching you, if fate had allowed. It would’ve been you, and Lando, and Oscar. All in that arena-type contraption, learning how to tame to dragons. How to nurse them.
Instead, Alex was your teacher. He was quick, and clever, and had an answer for your question before you even asked it.
You were the best of the three. Oscar was diligent. Lando was passionate. They just weren’t as good as you.
The promise you showed was immense. Your potential, unmatched.
But soon, the stares and whispers became too heavy. Too much for you.
You hated how you no longer loved your home. You hated that you now knew how he had felt.
So you slunk off.
Solitude became your new home, your new Isle. No land, and no citizens. Just you, and the air, and the ground beneath your feet.
Freedom was bittersweet, it seemed.
By the time you were due to begin joining them on missions, in search of dragons in need, you had become so absent you’d been disregarded.
Some days you came home, most days you didn’t.
“Where have you been?” Lando asks casually, his fingers fondling his pen absent-mindedly.
You shrug, offering an unsatisfying answer.
He scoffs.
“You’re not helping your reputation around here, y’know?”
You bristle, and have to catch your words before they leave your throat.
“I don’t give a shit what they think about me. They’re wrong.”
He nods. “They are. So why are you hiding?”
You pause. You don’t know how to reply to that.
Oscar decides to do it for you.
“‘Cause she thinks she’s too good for us, isn’t that obvious? She proved she could whoop our asses, and then disappeared.” he accuses, his tone simply cruel.
You straighten up, and smile at him politely.
“Piastri. Nice to see you still hate me for absolutely no reason.”
He folds his arms.
“I don’t hate you. I just dislike you.” he corrects, his voice steady.
That stings more, but you don’t let it show.
“Fair enough. Shame I can’t say the same.”
Lando blinks up at you, confused.
“I’m normally all for confessions. I think they're great. But you’re definitely about to get rejected here, and I’m painfully bad at dealing with the awkwardness. Could you maybe do this later?” he asks hurriedly, and you just shake your head at him.
“I was just going to say that I don’t dislike you. I'm above that petty shit. I hate you, 'cause I'm no coward. Just thought you should know that.” you finish, offering him a warm grin.
It feels like a monumental victory when a look of disbelief passes his normally empty face.
“Anyway, Lando. Your girlfriend is locked in the cell again. Lewis has given up sending Alex to watch her, because she gets out every time. He was actually about to ask me to do it, and then he remembered who my brother was. Should’ve seen the look on his face, priceless. So you’re on watch duty.” you explain, a laugh bubbling from your throat with incredulity. You pretend you don’t see his eyes soften slightly around the edges at your words.
“She’s not my girlfriend.” he huffs under his breath, but it’s not truly a contest.
Instead, sketchbook in hand, he hurries off, leaving you alone with your least favourite dragon rider on all of Formulae.
“You missed another mission today.”
You just nod.
“No one asked me to come.” you reply casually, looking down so he can’t see the gleam in your eyes. You knew what was coming next. He’d throw his arms out, exasperated, and shout. Well, shout by his standards. He just talks a little louder, a little sterner. Like telling off a toddler.
“You weren’t here to ask!” he exclaims, and you laugh slightly as he acts so painfully predictable.
“It’s not like you’d even want me there, huh?” you ask, your voice low. Slightly daring.
He sighs. “You know I love dragons. You know I’ll always put them first. You’re the person most skilled at handling dragons I’ve probably ever seen. Lando, sure, he knows a lot. But he’s clumsy. He’s unfocused. He’s probably flirting with her right now. But you? I’ve seen you. You can be ruthless. Perfect execution. Training with you was, in some ways, an honour.”
That takes you aback.
It’s one of the kindest things anyone has ever said to you, at least that you can remember.
And you certainly didn’t expect that from Oscar fucking Piastri. So much for painfully predictable.
“Thank you.” you swallow awkwardly.
The silence is uncomfortable, like it so often is. When your anger is dulled, when he doesn’t look like he wants to watch a dragon rip your arm off, you struggle to co-exist.
You’ve learnt that hatred is an easy emotion. It goes hand in hand with anger. That keeps you walking, keeps your heart beating. It helps disguise anything else, especially awkwardness. It’s a lot more comfortable than the complications of kindness.
So now, you curse Oscar for being nice, and you can hate him again, for messing with your head.
You turn to leave, your boot making a satisfying crunching sound on the gravel, but he coughs expectantly.
“We’re leaving at dawn tomorrow. Will I see you?”
You don’t turn around.
“No.”
You hear him curse under his breath, and it makes you hesitate. You consider telling him about your nightmares. How you see George, every night. Wielding an axe, and it looks so alien in his hands. Watching dragon blood on his tunic. Watching him exist without you, and there’s no remorse etched on his face.
He always throws it. He sees you, and he throws it, square at your chest. You tell yourself it’s because he doesn’t recognise you. You don’t let yourself think of anything else. When the blade hits you, you wake up. So that’s why you don’t go on missions. You don’t go past the Valley of Bones, across Berk. You can’t.
But when you turn, to tell Oscar this, that look of disdain plagues his face.
So you just shrug, and you’re gone, like always.
Dawn comes, and goes. You don’t fight it. Instead, you saunter back to the Isle around midday.
Alex stands tall, engaged in conversation with Lily. You hear them muttering about inaccuracies and generalisations of boulder-type dragons, and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from smiling.
“Am I interrupting?” you announce loudly, coyly, and Lily gives you a warm smile.
“Not at all. I have a class soon anyway, I should be going. Thanks for the help, Alex.” she replies quickly, nodding as she departs. You raise an eyebrow at him when he turns to you.
He shrugs, before rolling out maps and scrolls with barely legible handwriting.
“They’re coming closer. They’re pushing it now. Oscar’s gone to try and sort out some Dramillion’s. Clearly, one of them had a go at them and only got their tails. That’s what they found on re-con yesterday, not that you’d know.” he mutters, and you pause. You don’t ask who they are. You don’t need to.
You’d only met the girl, and George, obviously. You heard about the others. You were a little terrified of Max, frankly. Vicious, ruthless. Everything your Chief couldn’t be.
Yuki was apparently just rather angry. And it turns out, being angry sure helped fuel motivation to murder dragons.
You’d be a good hunter, you think. You have a lot of rage.
You replay Alex’s words in your head, and you furrow your eyebrows.
“What do you mean, Oscar? What about Lando?”
Alex sighs.
“Oscar was convinced he was with you, and he’d catch up. I wasn’t so sure. Guess I was right.”
Your eyes widen slightly.
“Oscar’s gone alone? We never go alone.”
Alex gives you a disappointed look.
“It’s not ‘we’, is it? You’re never here. So yeah, he went alone. It’s Oscar, of course he did.”
“Fuckin’ righteous dragon-hugger.” you curse quietly under your breath. You scan the map, and point at a small red circle. Alex nods wordlessly, and that's all you need.
You fly through the cobbled paths of the Isle of Formulae, and to the dragon pen.
You didn’t have a true dragon, not yet. You’d tamed many, respected by all. But you didn’t quite have one that felt like a different half.
Still, you had your favourite. A Deadly Nadder, you’d affectionately named Addie. Not particularly effective, and not all that scary, but it worked.
You whistle to her as you enter, and grab a sword from the side of the wall before clambering onto her.
Flying was still just as exhilarating as it was when you’d first done it, merely hovering over the field on the clifftop. Now, you’re soaring over the open sea, and you’re still just as nervous, just as excited.
The island, if you could even call it that, was so tiny you almost missed it. It was some way off the north coast, but was somewhat recognisable from the random stacks and stumps scattered around it.
Dramillions had been there for as long as you could remember, writhing through the trees. You’d been so fascinated by them, when they’d first mimicked the bizarre attack of Albon’s Timberjack. The sparks and embers had been identical, and it had made you fall in love with the mystery of dragons a little bit more.
You swoop down, and that’s when you see Oscar’s Monstrous Nightmare amongst the timber.
You jump down from Addie, giving her an affectionate pat on the head, and you run into the forest, trying to hear any sound of Piastri.
There’s a gentle curse, and the sound of a shriek, and you dart forward.
When you make it into the clearing, you see Oscar carefully bandaging the tail of one of the dragons. It looked a lot like an adult, but much larger, so you made the assumption it was a Titan Wing.
“I’ve never seen one of those before.” you whisper quietly, admiring it.
A blade whistles past your head, straight into the trunk of the tree behind you.
You laugh, incredulously. “Should I take that personally, Piastri?”
He looks up now, confusion etched on his strained face.
“What are you doing here?” he huffs, and he winces slightly as he yanks the fabric tighter, knotting it into place.
You walk towards him carefully, taking a loop of bandage beside him and turning to the other dragon.
“You didn’t tell me you’d be going alone.” you murmur, turned away from him, and you hear him sigh.
“I wasn’t meant to be. Lando said he’d be there. I thought maybe he was trying to convince you to come, but-”
You shake your head.
“No, he wasn’t with me. But you know it’s not safe. What if they’d been here?” you mutter, and you look at him now, accusingly.
“I couldn’t wait, in case they came back to finish them off.” he shrugs, but when you punch him gently in the shoulder, he grimaces.
“Are you hurt?” you ask adamantly, but it doesn’t sound like a question at all. You almost hear his voice leave your throat.
He shakes his head. “I didn’t see this one at first. Camouflage, and all. I essentially got kicked by it, while I was trying to approach that one.” he explains, nodding his head to the dragon writhing beneath you.
You roll your eyes.
“You don’t have to be so stoic all the time. You’re allowed to be in pain, you know. Let me see.” you murmur carefully, and he carefully lifts up the corner of his shirt to show a deep gash.
“You said you got kicked, not clawed.” you curse quietly, and he just chews his lip.
You reach for the moleskin full of water hanging from your belt and pour some onto the bandage in your hand. Carefully, pressing a hand to his chest, you wrap it around hid stomach, ignoring his harsh inhales.
You make the mistake of looking down at him, and his brown eyes meet yours. His face is twitching slightly, but he holds his gaze steady. You're closer to him than you've ever been before, and you allow yourself one moment to study him. His moles, his damp hair curling on his forehead.
"You're staring." he bemuses. You just tug tighter in response, your eyes flicking back down to the wound.
He grunts. “That’s quite tight.”
“Shame.” you scowl, pulling his shirt back down hastily.
When you get back to Formulae, you accompany him to the infirmary. Before he can say ‘Thank you’, you’ve already disappeared into the amber evening.
About a week later, you find yourself in a cavern you haven’t seen before, off the coast of a neighbouring island. Scratches on the wall suggest it has an inhabitant, and probably a sharp one.
But you also see traces of parchment, and warm embers. It’s evidently Lando’s handiwork, crazed sketches of dragons you can’t make out.
So, this is where he’d been hiding.
You decide to wait him out, as night falls.
And sure enough, you hear him arriving, a slowly dragging sound. Not the sound you expected.
“Lando Norris. I’d placed a bet you’d got eaten, you’ve never been away so long.” you murmur, enjoying the echo of your voice on the cave walls.
He huffs.
“Very much not eaten.” he replies sheepishly, brandishing his lit torch around.
That’s when you see it, when you understand the dragging.
“Not fully eaten.” you correct, trying to hide the surprise on your face. “Where the fuck is your leg?”
His lips curl upwards.
“It’s a very dramatic, very heroic story. One for the ages. One for another time.” he mutters casually, but you fold your arms.
“You need to get back to the Isle. You can’t be out here, on that thing. At least get to the smithy. Seb can help you make a more efficient leg.” you insist, but he waves you away.
“This is serving me just fine. I have things to do.”
You hum quietly.
“Did she do this?”
His elfish ears prick up, almost like a dragon’s.
“Of course not.”
You drop your head into your hands, exasperated.
“So what aren’t you telling me? Why aren’t you telling me?” you yell, but he doesn’t even flinch.
“I probably won’t be here when you next come back. I let you run away. Let me do the same.” he pleads, gathering his things into a scuffed bag.
You don’t blink.
“Our people hate me. They hate me if I’m there, they hate me if I’m not. I’m a traitor either way. But you, you’re probably sneaking off to see that stupid hunter-girl, and everyone assumes you’re being valiant.”
He scoffs, somewhere between offended and being humoured.
“She’s not stupid.”
“I’m sure she isn’t. That’s not my point, though. And you know it.”
He shrugs, unsure how to reply.
You let out a shaky breath.
“Oscar was relying on you, because he can’t rely on me. You let him down. I had to go save his ass.” you joke quietly, but your words are serious.
Lando snorts, an undignified sound.
“I highly doubt you saved his ass.”
You laugh, bitterly.
“I don’t know, he got a pretty deep claw in his stomach. Doubt it would’ve happened if he had some company.” you explain, looking down at his new peg-leg.
“It gets dangerous, alone.”
He nods gravely, a silent ‘I know.’ But he doesn’t slow down, doesn’t let himself wobble. You can see something new in his eyes, between fear and relief.
For the first time since you last saw George, the person in front of you feels more like a traitor than you do.
For the first time ever, you find yourself distrusting Lando Norris.
You leave soon after that. You don’t wish him good luck. Instead, you force him to promise he won't die. You don’t tell him that, if it comes down to it, you’d rather see him dead than beside your brother.
“You haven’t abandoned us, that’s obvious. You went to save Oscar. That is a sign of loyalty. I need you to understand, I would do the same for you, in a heartbeat. Just because I am not here, doesn’t mean I am any less trustworthy. We are both absent, we are both still loyal. I need you to understand.” he murmurs desperately, as you step out from his sanctuary.
“I understand.” you reply quickly. It’s almost fully true, but it’s sharp around the edges.
Maybe you’re being hypocritical.
Maybe you’re just scared to go to sleep that night, and see two axes flying at you instead of one.
When dawn arrives the next morning, you’re there, before Oscar. You lean against Addie, trying to act like you’re not nervous.
“You’re here.” he calls, surprise evident from his tone.
“I am. You alright?” you reply back, eyes closed.
The wind blows wisps of your hair around, and you can feel them settling uncomfortably on your face.
“I’m better.”
He falls silent.
“We’re meant to be checking on that Windwalker’s nest Lando and I found last week, but I’m not sure I want to do that anymore.”
You raise an eyebrow.
“It’s just, it’s Lando. He hasn’t even left some shitty note with a caricature of us on it.” he huffs awkwardly, and you smirk slightly.
“You haven't seen him, have you?”
Your body betrays you instantly, the way you twitch and your breath tightens.
But you just open your eyes and stare at him. “He’ll be back.” you reply reassuringly, knowingly.
Oscar curses at you, in shock.
“You’ve spoken to him, and you didn’t say anything. Is that why you’re here? What are you playing at?” he asks furiously, and you throw your arms up in mock innocence.
“Relax, Piastri. I just bumped into him yesterday. I was here, to tell you that. And to tell you to stop going out alone, unless you want to keep racking up the injuries. Because I have something I need to do, so I’m going to be out of action for a while.” you explain casually, and he groans.
“You’re always out of action. That means shit to me. Also, that was one time. I’ve never been hurt before.” he argues, but you raise an eyebrow.
“I didn’t realise you’d gone out alone before.”
That silences him, and you settle for the win.
But then you hear that ugly sound, like nails scraping on a chalkboard. And there is Lando Norris, looking like an unexpected martyr as the sun bathes him in a holy glow.
“Missed me, Oscar? Don’t be jealous that she saw me first. You’re still my favourite.” he coos affectionately, and Oscar clearly has to hold himself back from barrelling into the boy.
And then, he sees it, and he makes an ugly hissing sound.
Lando shrugs. “It looks way worse than it is. You’d be surprised at how much lighter I am. Although, phantom leg is a bitch, seriously. I spent twenty minutes yesterday trying to scratch an ankle I no longer have.” he jokes, but it lands more like a punch than something funny.
Lando Norris had gone from someone invincible to someone who was at a dragon’s mercy, and you watch Oscar swallow as he comes to terms with that.
A risk you were all aware of. A risk you’d never taken so seriously before now.
“You know, if you want, I’ll give Addie my arm. So we can match. Like tattoos but way more extreme.” you offer, and he explodes into a warm laugh. Oscar stares at you gratefully.
“But then what’s left for me? Head is too far, I’d say.” he adds carefully, and you give him a lazy smile.
“You’d do me a favour.”
Lando claps gleefully. “Glad to see nothing’s changed. So, the Windwalker, huh?”
Oscar nods, and begins to explain the plan. He doesn’t notice you mount Addie until you give Lando a weak salute, and you’re up.
Oscar bellows at you in confusion, and you cup your hands to your mouth to reply.
“I told you, I have something I need to do. I meant, like right now. Now Lando’s here, I don’t feel morally obligated to make sure you survive. I’ll see you when I see you.” you call cheerfully, and then you let the sunset consume you as Addie spreads her wings.
Lando gives you a large, exaggerated wave, both his arms flailing dramatically, and Oscar groans.
“I’m never going to understand her.”
Lando shrugs. “You could start by trying. She isn’t George, you know. He hurt us all. Not fair to take it out on her, though.”
“She hates me. Bit late to come back from that now.”
“She only hates you because it’s safer than liking you. What hurts more? Caring, and still being looked at with the disdain you give her? Or, she can just plaster a scowl and let it bounce off. I know what I’d choose.” Lando surmises wisely, and Oscar shakes his head.
“You think you’re more clever than you are. Some people just don’t get along.”
Lando laughs.
"That's true. I’m not going to force you to change your mind, if you think you’re being honest with yourself. But, maybe think about it. You get annoyed that she spends so much time away from us. You think she's a coward for hiding. But you’re hiding behind a cold tone and sharp stares. Does that make you a coward too?”
Lando is up in the air, on his Stormcutter, before Oscar can even begin to formulate a reply.
In some ways, he’s grateful, because has no clue what to say.
‘Past the Valley of Bones, across from Berk. Past the Valley of Bones, across from Berk.’
A mantra that terrifies you, as you follow it blindly. You never thought you’d be coming here. Never thought anything would drag you here. Certainly not curiosity, not suspicion. Maybe only revenge.
You think of Lando's face when you mentioned her. When you accused her of cutting his leg clean off. It was a look of hurt. A look of guilt. You didn’t understand what it meant. You were here to find out.
Their island isn’t dissimilar to yours. But it is darker, uglier. The rocks and coasts seem sharper, the cliffs bleaker. Their banners and streets are not lined with crimson and gold, but with a different kind of red. You can’t help but wonder how they aren’t deeply miserable.
The Isle isn’t alive yet. The sun has barely risen, so you’re still covered by the alibi of sleep.
Still, you knew you didn’t have long. To find her, to find George. To get in, to get out. You weren't going for blood. You were going for answers.
You leave Addie hidden between trees taller than you’d seen before, leave her shielded by branches that could crush you with ease.
By the time you make it to the outskirts of the main village, it seems to be noon. The air is cold, and the sun does nothing behind the thick clouds. It reminds you that winter is settling in, and the people here will be worse off than you have ever known.
Then, you hear it. A bellowing alarm, shrill rings of a bell. For a second, you think it’s you.
Then you see it.
Flames engulf straw-lined roofs. Piercing screams make your ears hurt. Roars of a dragon you can’t even recognise causes your face to pale.
It’s horror. A horror you aren’t accustomed to.
People brush past you desperately, forcefully. You stumble, but don’t fall. A wooden beam collapses above you, and you finally move. Your body carries you away from the burning, from the smoke. The fire.
More restraints crash, causing a blockade against a large door. You hear muffled shouts, and the sound of a young voice crying out.
Without thinking, you run towards it, pulling the wood with as much as much strength as you can muster.
It moves slowly, one painful inch at a time. Your grip falters, and your lungs burn.
Someone comes beside you, pulling on it too, and you work in tandem. Eventually, it tumbles to the floor, and the door opens wide enough for the civilians stuck inside to clamber out.
Small hands appear, and you grab them gently. A child emerges, their tear stricken face making your heart shatter.
You see it in their eyes, fear, and hatred. But their hatred is not aimed at you, it is aimed at the beast above. The beast that would’ve killed them, if they had the chance.
You hoist them carefully to the ground. They mumble something between sobs, probably a message of gratitude.
You can’t stay around. You can’t bear to look anymore. You almost hope to go blind.
A hand finds your shoulder, heavy and sure.
You turn to face the stranger, but they are no stranger at all. Their eyes are the same colour as yours.
You can’t tell if he recognises you. You almost hope he doesn’t.
He looks the same, but older. Wearier.
You knew Lando had seen him. You could tell, because he would be more gentle with you on those evenings. More appreciative. You’d notice him doodling a familiar mop of hair on the corner of his notes.
But those half-hearted drawings could never have prepared you for this.
You dodge from George's touch once he begins to thank you, and you run as fast as you can, as far as you can.
A mixture of salt and smoke chokes you and you wonder if you might die before you make it back to Addie.
As you wipe your eyes viciously, you see a small shrine towards the beginning of the trees.
A grave, it seems. Somewhere between new and old. Mossy, but not cracked.
Your stomach drops when you read your last name. It plummets further when you see the inscription underneath.
‘Here lies our brother, taken from us, in one roaring breath. We curse the dragons. We hope he is resting.’
Our brother. Not yours. He was the brother of George, and George’s people.
Did he even remember you? He never knew you. He had no chance to.
Now, he never would.
Any adrenaline left in your blood has long settled, and exhaustion and grief replaces it.
Your knees give in, and it may seem as though you are praying. But you do not believe in the Gods above. You believe only in the malice of men and the fire of dragons.
An ugly sob rips from your throat, and your chest collapses. You crumple, and you bet death is less painful than whatever this is.
You see Lando, screaming, his leg ripped off. You see that child, thinking they’ll never see dawn again. You see the Russell who raised you, his calloused hands and sad eyes. You see the Russell you never got to help raise. You see him wailing. You see him dying.
You see it all.
You see the fire, feel the burn. It’s a burn you know all too well yet not well enough.
It is the burn of death and anguish and everything evil.
It is the burn of dragons.
Maybe, if you’d joined George, you would’ve been there. You would’ve killed whatever had murdered your brother, instead of kissing it.
Logically, it couldn’t be your fault.
Somehow, it still felt like it was.
Returning to the Isle of Formulae feels like a betrayal like no other, knowing how they’re scrabbling in ashes while your people laugh.
You can understand them, in a way you couldn’t before. With each dragon they killed, that felt like someone avenged.
You knew, if George pointed to one particular beast, and told you it had been that one, you wouldn’t hesitate.
You’d drill your sword through its skull.
That was a scary thought, so you tucked it somewhere close, somewhere deep. Somewhere hidden.
So you don’t return, not really. You dart down, and right, back into Lando’s cavern.
Like he said, he isn’t there.
But Oscar Piastri is.
“Where’d you go? In the end, we could’ve used your help today. Lando’s slow, with his leg. Or lack of. The girl and the short one was there. They shot it, the Windwalker.”
He sounds dejected. Exhausted.
You’re sure your voice would sound the same, if you spoke. You almost tell him they didn’t really win. People are probably dead. Their houses are gone. Maybe they’d starve, or freeze, in the upcoming winter. Right now, the nest seems inconsequential.
You slide down against the cool stone wall, dropping your head in your knees.
“We saved most of the eggs. We’ll need your help raising them.” he continues, a little harsher. Like he’s irritated that you’re not replying.
But you just can’t. You have nothing to say.
Instead, your shoulders start to shake gently, and you try to conceal the pain of your tears in your dirty trousers.
He moves to sit beside you, silently. Then, carefully, so very carefully, he extends his arm over your shoulders, and pulls you towards him.
You don’t fight him. Instead, you shatter into pieces against him. He doesn’t know what to do. Neither do you.
Hesitantly, he turns to face you, turning his shoulder slightly until your head is resting on it. You can feel his shirt dampening. You hate how idiotic you must seem.
He lets his head fall onto yours, and neither of you speak. He just holds you, and that is enough. It’s more than enough.
It’s kind.
You can’t hate him, at least not in this moment.
When you hastily pull away, and stare up at him through damp eyelashes, you see his breath hitch.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know what that was.” you mutter quietly, wiping your eyes with your sleeve.
“It’s okay.” he replies quickly, and you don’t know if it's genuine. “Rough day?” he asks quietly, and you laugh with a sniffle.
“You could say that, yeah.”
His weak smile slowly contorts, into something a little darker. A little crueler.
And then it’s back, that look. That look that makes your heart hurt and your chest rile.
“Did you go to see your brother?” he accuses, and it isn’t nice. It’s sharp.
You don’t reply.
“You flew northeast. That's either Berk, or your brother. And if it was Berk, you would’ve said. I would’ve asked you to go tomorrow, so I could come with you. You know I love Berk.” he continues, growing more determined with each sentence.
You still don’t say anything, and he snaps.
“They were right. Fuckin’ traitor. Gods, I pitied you. For so long, I pitied you. And then you gave up, you disappeared. You went to who-knows where, and I defended you. Lando defended you, we all did. And here I am, thinking you’re coming around. Feeling bad, for being so mean to you. And instead, you pull this shit?” he shouts, and you flinch.
“You don’t care when it’s Lando, do you?” you reply quietly, and he exhales dramatically.
“Of course I care. Do you know how many times I’ve warned him? Told him to stop, before he gets himself killed? Countless. But he isn’t flying over there to see her. She isn’t a traitor. She’s one of them by birth. He’s one of them by choice. It’s not the same.” he continues, standing up suddenly, but you stay crouched. You stay small.
“My brother is dead.” you say, sharply. It echoes.
It hurts.
He knows you don’t mean George. He knows, in some ways, you hope it was.
With that, you get up to leave.
When you brush past him, he grabs your arm.
You shrug him off and don't look back.
You spend the next day packing. A small bag of essentials. You don’t hesitate to pack a dagger, in a leather sheath. The blade feels more like a weapon now than you’re used to.
You don’t tell anyone that you’re going. Because they’re used to you packing up and leaving anyway. But this time, you’re turning to Berk and not coming back.
You are not a traitor. You did not betray Formulae, it betrayed you.
Maybe, in some ways, it betrayed George too.
Your brother is dead. Your brother is gone. You have nothing left for you here anymore.
Oscar is there in the pen when you go to wish Addie goodbye. He’s tending to his dragon gently, caressing it’s off-putting snout.
You begin to backtrack, but he sees you.
“You didn't let me apologise yesterday.”
“You just spoke your mind. There's no need to apologise.”
He sighs loudly. “You’re difficult.”
“You’re mean.” you reply instantly, with more venom.
He begins to open his mouth, and he shuts it promptly when you speak again.
“Correction. You’re mean, to me.”
“I’m sorry, for yesterday. I’m sorry for it all. I just-” he begins, but you roll your eyes.
“Just what, Piastri? I'm sick of this shit. It doesn’t even matter, not anymore. When I leave tonight, I’m not coming back. Call me a ‘fuckin’ traitor’ again, I don’t care. Go tell everyone I’m just as bad as my brother and I’ve left you all.” you admit, throwing your arms out carelessly.
He blinks in surprise.
“You’re seriously going, like, for good?”
You nod silently, bringing your hand to Addie’s chin and scratching her gently.
He runs his hands through his messy hair, evidently unsure of what to say.
“You don’t have to.”
You laugh. “I know, I’m choosing to. I don’t love this place anymore.”
“Bullshit.” he mutters quietly, and you fold your arms.
“What did you say?”
He turns to meet your glare, more confident now. Maybe even angrier.
“I said, that’s bullshit. This place stopped loving you, that’s not the same.”
You grin at him, all broken and furious.
“Sure, you’re right. But you’d never understand that. Other than me, everyone loves you. Thinks you're loyal, steady. Trustworthy. I’ve heard people saying you’d make a great chief. Your best friend is the golden boy of this Isle. You’ll never get what it’s like, to desperately want something you can never have. And I don't even want much. I just want to be accepted.” you whisper-scream, your voice breaking slightly.
“I do get that. Of course I get that. Why do you think I hate you so much?” he asks desperately, but it’s too late. You realise you actually don’t care to hear what he has to say next.
“Goodbye, Piastri. I’m assuming I’ll run into Lando sometime, but I’m not sure about Alex. Tell him I’m grateful for everything. Tell him, thank you, for stepping into the shoes that George left. He was good to me.” you murmur, as you begin to walk away.
He nods. He doesn’t tell you he’s going to miss you, and you don’t expect him to.
“You’ll run into me, sometime too.” he says finally, and you give him a smile that barely curls your lips.
"Probably. I know you love Berk."
Your ship departs just after sunset. The air tastes like change and fear, but you revel in it.
Once you arrive, it’s not hard to find work. Berk is still catching up to the way of dragons, still tentative, but curious. So your skills are highly valued, your knowledge widely sought-after.
You find yourself breathing easier already.
A few weeks pass before curiosity settles back into your lungs just as oxygen does. You’d flown over these islands many a time, but you hadn’t stopped, hadn’t explored.
So, you excuse yourself from the evening meals in the shared-house and embark on hikes and climbs that test you in a way you haven’t been tested before. The terrain of Berk and it’s surrounding islands are sharper, tougher. Harder to conquer.
You conquer them nonetheless.
Berk does not seem to have that many native large dragons. You are many miles and many boat trips away before you start seeing any signs of big dragons, dragons you like to watch. Dragons you like to dance with.
An upside of being new was that no one expected to see you. So you knew no one was waiting for you back home, no one would scold you for spending some days in the forest.
When you saw claw marks on the trees, you decided it was time to hunt.
Not in the ways of a dragon hunter, no. You were not hunting to kill. You were hunting to tame, hunting to study.
Something in your gut was calling you to the trail.
It lasts days before you see any glimpse of the dragon you’re chasing. A flick of amber and purple catches your eye, unusual and intriguing.
When it hears you, it bolts, but it’s not that fast.
You stay behind it, desperate for respite, for a chance to admire it.
And so, finally, with a loud thud, it collapses, in a small clearing.
You carefully push through foliage and you find yourself admiring a dragon that appears to be the epitome of beauty.
It resembles a butterfly, with large identical wings. Its body is a shimmering amber, with deep blue circles and patterned edges. Large blue fin-like flaps stretch along its tail, intermittent amongst the scales, but you’re transfixed on it’s long, thin horns. They look sharp, and twisted. You have to stop yourself from reaching out and touching them.
You approach it carefully, hesitantly, your arms outstretched.
It bellows when you get too close, and then you see it. A wound, surrounding one of its three spikes on its back.
You pause, scanning the gash, and you curse the lack of bandages in your small knapsack.
It looks at you distrustfully, and you hum back gently, gesturing to your empty hands.
“I’ll be back. I won’t hurt you, I promise.” you whisper quietly, backing away slowly, and it ruffles its strange blue flaps by its ears.
You’re not totally sure you know what type of dragon it is. You’ll need to do some research on your trip back to Berk.
Back home, you could say now.
Didn’t really feel right, though.
Two days later, you’re back. You’re bearing fish, and various bandages, alongside a random herbal ointment you picked up from the slightly insane lady living opposite you. Irritatingly, Berk’s book of dragons was archaic and utterly useless. You’re convinced that even Oscar would’ve been more helpful than the entire population of the Isle.
Not that you were thinking of him.
When you navigated yourself back into that small clearing, the dragon was gone. All that was left was strange sap-like residue and evident trails of a spiked tail dragging in the cold, brittle ground.
With each breath, winter drew closer. You feared it, like everyone else did. But you feared it now, for George. For his people. For this dragon, unable to fly away. For Lando, who was somewhere you didn’t know. For Oscar, who was probably alone.
You also feared it for yourself, for the same reason. You were alone.
You place each footstep gradually, following the intermittent lines, until you reach a surprisingly small opening of a cavern in a cliff face.
Before you can even place your foot in, you hear a shrill, melodic, cry. And then it runs out, wings pressed tightly to its sides. It sprints past, its pupil shrinking aggressively as it darts away from you, but that’s when a flash of cream fabric wrapped around its back catches your eye. Your breath dies in your throat, and you reach instinctively for the small dagger resting on your hip, searching the skyline. But it’s futile, because you find nothing, and now the dragon is gone, no trail in sight.
You sigh bitterly, and begin to rummage through your bag, pulling out something not dissimilar to a tarpaulin. Tying the material tightly around two trunks of a tree, and laying a fleece along the ground, your makeshift basher stands between triumphantly and embarrassingly as the sun sets.
You should be scared, lying on this island, with a stranger hidden in the wind and a dragon hidden in the trees.
But exhaustion bites at your eyelids, and you are asleep before you can question your poor survival instincts.
A familiar musical whistle awakens you, while the gold of the sun rises boldly in the cloudless sky. The breeze is icy but not offputting, and you get up instantly, reaching for your blade hidden amongst your things.
The stench of fish hits your nostrils and you hurriedly throw the bag of meat away from your tent and towards the open mouth of the cavern. By the time your knife rests comfortably by your side again, you can hear a snuffling sound.
You see it eating quickly, its sharp teeth ripping apart the eels in the bag and leaving the rest of the fish untouched.
Huh, eels.
You notice the bandage has turned a dark colour, between purple and red, and you don’t hesitate.
You approach it quickly as it eats, and as you get close, you realise ‘she’ is more appropriate.
She’s truly beautiful, and your heart twists slightly as her fins expand when she notices you reaching up towards her back. She just watches, her small nostrils flaring.
“Let me help you.” you whisper, a caring tone carrying in your voice that you haven’t heard in a while.
She turns away, and you take that as a yes.
You’re careful but firm, removing the previous dressing and replacing it. The dragon below you whines carefully, and you instinctively try to soothe her by scratching her gently with your hand, much like you used to do with Addie.
You take her silence as a good thing, and you slowly back away with the bloodied bandage, throwing it away carelessly, and you smile incredulously with the absurdity of it all.
“Death Song, I’ve surmised. We don’t get many of them.” comes a familiar voice, and you hate that you can recognise it.
It seems as though the Death Song can too, and she makes that almost enchanting scream again.
“Because of that.” he adds, and you turn around to face him angrily.
“Why are you here?” you ask bitterly, and Oscar gives you an obvious stare.
“Helping her, is that not evident? What about you?” he replies snarkily, and you scowl.
“I saw her first.”
He shrugs.
“I don’t care, I just wanted to make sure she healed up. I’m assuming some hunters got lured in by the song, and she didn’t sap them before they threw an axe, or something, but I’m not sure.”
You pause, trying to disguise the surprise on your face.
“The hunters come this far out?”
Oscar laughs now, a genuine laugh that makes your stomach churn.
“You have no idea how close we are to their island, do you? I’m surprised they haven’t shot down Zag yet.” he jokes, but his tone is slightly too serious as he nods to his Monstrous Nightmare peering from the shadows.
“I’m better at geography from above. I don’t have a dragon anymore.” you reply irritably, and he nods.
“Is that why you’re here? You want to tame her?”
You give yourself a moment to think.
“I was just curious, at first. But I’d like to try.” you reply firmly, and an expression you don’t recognise crosses his face.
“Let me help?”
You don’t know why you say yes. Maybe it's the familiarity. Maybe you miss Formulae, and him by extension. It hadn’t been long, but it felt like an eternity.
He promises to arrive at dawn, and leave at dusk. Each day, until the Death Song stops running, stops singing. You don’t fight him, you just nod. The air between you isn’t awkward, isn’t tense, it's something else. Something else hangs between you, something denser.
You wake the next morning to the sound of scratching on parchment. Oscar is crouched near you, by the mouth of the cavern. When he realised you were camping on the island, he insisted you at least move into somewhere more sheltered. The frost scared you both.
So you’d obliged, and you’d bundled your fleece into a lame mattress by the stone wells, a gentle fire beside you.
“You’re here already.” you mumble quietly, and he turns to face you.
“Of course. I did say I would be.”
You nod dismissively, getting up and walking to him.
You lean over his shoulder and scan the paper, admiring the thorough notes.
“She likes eels.” you add, and he hums quietly before scribbling that to the bottom of the list.
“Our best bet is getting her some food, yeah. Trying to feed her. We need to keep an eye out for her wound, though. She’s clearly in pain when she tries to fly, or I guess she’d be long gone by now.” he mutters absent-mindedly.
You try not to think of the last time you’d been in a cave alone. Your shuddering breaths. His silence, being the most generous thing he could’ve offered, alongside his shoulder.
You try not to think of the last time you had helped a dragon together. Your hand on his chest. Feeling him exhale on your cheek.
When he looks up at you now, you can almost tell he’s doing the same thing. But he’s evidently failing, and in turn you’re failing too.
You don’t know why your heart hammers a little harder when your eyes meet his, and you can’t bear it.
So you turn to go outside, but he grabs your arm.
Like he did then.
‘Fuckin’ traitor.’
But when you shrug him off, he doesn’t let go this time. Instead, he tightens his grip.
“Piastri-” you begin, but when you turn, his name dies in your throat.
He stands, slowly, his eyes still searching yours. Looking for something.
An answer, or a question. Maybe something else, you don’t know.
You’re not sure if you want to know.
What you do recognise, is that there is no trace of disdain in his face. If anything, his pursed expression borders on regretful.
His name reaches your tongue again, and you part your lips in anger, in determination.
But before you can speak, he pulls you towards him. His mouth finds yours with a strange sense of urgency, and you shiver. You can feel him smiling slightly as his lips press against yours, and for a second you don’t know what to do.
“The fuck are you playing at, Oscar?” you hiss against him, but you don’t pull away.
He raises his eyebrows wickedly, like a challenge.
For the first time since you’ve met, Oscar Piastri wins.
Even though, in this case, you’ve let him beat you.
You kiss him like you’re hungry; he kisses you like he’s starved.
When you pull away, lips slightly swollen, you have to hold in a sharp laugh.
“You remember when I said I understood what it was like, to want something you could never have?” he asks quietly, but not shyly.
You swallow slowly, giving him an imperceptible nod.
“I wanted to be you. I wanted to be you so badly. You were effortlessly better than me, at everything. I was so envious, it consumed me. I had to hate you, or I wouldn't be able to function around you. The way you haunted me, every time I trained. Every time I tried my best knowing you were better. No, it didn't consume me. You consumed me. And I could never figure out why I was so mad when you’d disappear. I guessed it was untapped potential or something. But when you came to save me, the way you looked at me with this, this fire, something snapped. Guess I realised I had always just wanted you instead.” he admits casually, smiling as you short-circuit.
Blinking, you let your body react before you can think. You reach for him, your hands sliding around his neck.
“I still hate you.” you whisper into his ear, as he wraps his arms around your waist.
“I don’t think I believe that anymore.”
You develop a routine for the next week. He arrives before you wake up. Sometimes, you catch him staring at you when you open your eyes. He doesn’t try to kiss you again. You don’t let him.
You had figured it was for the best. After years of distrust, of scorn, it felt evil to try and unlearn that.
To be vulnerable with someone who had made you feel so comfortable to leave in the first place.
You didn’t say anything. He didn’t ask. It wasn’t awkward.
However, the air was softer. When he looked at you, you could swear his eyes were rounder. You scowled less, and laughed more. Maybe that was because he made more jokes.
You both find a rhythm of helping each other. While you scour the island, he fishes from the shore. You correct any inaccuracies on his map, and he teaches you how to sketch, just like Lando taught him.
On the fourth day, you do not find the Death Song. She finds you.
Her eyes are sharp, and malicious. Your hand falters by your hip, and you’re grateful Oscar isn’t here to witness your behaviour.
She sings, and then shoots.
You do not burn. Your flesh does not split. Instead, you feel a shove, and you catapult into the trunk of a tree. Your head dulls, a lame ache spreading through it, and the world swims.
You turn around groggily, wincing, to see a familiar mop of brunette hair.
“Oscar, what the fuck?” you groan, your hand flying to your forehead.
When you stare at it, your fingertips are dark red.
The dragon has vanished, and you’re beginning to find she’s rather annoying, with this disappearing act.
You stumble towards him, fumbling around blindly as he blurs.
“Sorry, she would’ve hit you. With that. And I couldn't find anything on Formulae about how to get out of it.” he offers, gesturing to the slowly solidifying amber ooze by your feet.
You try to make sense of what you’re looking at, but your eyelids feel heavy with something that isn’t exhaustion. Something a bit more sinister.
“Hey, hey. Are you okay?” comes his worried voice, his arms reaching for you instinctively.
The world fades to black before you find the strength to reply, and the last thing you feel is your head against his chest.
Your head stings when your eyes eventually open, and a hiss leaves your lips when you try to sit up.
It’s dark outside, and you can see the moon through the cavern opening. Wincing, you try again, until you’re finally sitting upright. Dizziness hits you, hard, before everything eventually settles again.
You hear a small yawn from beside you, and you turn to see Oscar blinking up at you, his eyes barely open.
He’s sprawled out slightly erratically, one arm fully extended outwards and the other just resting on the side of your leg.
“What are you still doing here? You should be back at Formulae.” you murmur, your voice heavy and dry.
He sighs.
“Do you ever stop being so confrontational? I essentially threw you into a tree. I wasn’t just going to leave you here with a concussion I inflicted.” he replies sleepily, but your voice doesn’t soften.
“I would’ve been fine. You know that.”
He shrugs. “I could’ve assumed that. But I didn’t, hence why I didn’t just fly off. Plus, Hamilton won’t send out a search party because of one night.” he retorts, and you just shake your head.
“I’ve gone, Lando’s sneaking out to meet his hunter girlfriend and now the most consistent dragon rider of Formulae isn’t where he should be. You underestimate how important showing up is to him.”
Oscar scoffs. “I don’t underestimate it. How do you think I got him to like me so much? I showed up. I show up.” he corrects.
Now it’s your turn to shrug.
“Not tonight.”
He gives you a half hearted smile. “Not tonight. He’ll survive. He trusts me, and he trusts Lando."
He doesn’t add that the chief doesn’t trust you. It would be overly cruel.
You give him the ghost of a smile.
“Fine. But I’m alright. You don’t need to worry about me, I’m not fragile.”
He laughs quietly, and you don’t know why.
“The day I think you’re fragile is the day I’ve gone insane. Then I’ll expect you to hang around , and take care of me.” he replies jokingly, but his expression is genuine.
It makes your chest feel tight.
“I’m sure someone on Formulae would look after you.” you mutter, firmly, and his expression morphs into something more boyish. But soon that’s gone, and it’s replaced with a grin that doesn’t feel that real.
“I’m sure they would. Like you said, everyone there loves me.”
His voice feels strained when he says there, like that’s not what matters.
You don’t push, you just lie back down and wait for the first light of morning.
He doesn’t get up to move, doesn’t drag his fleece away from you. You don’t complain when you feel his shoulder brush yours.
You fall asleep to the rhythmic sounds of his breathing, and his arm slung over your waist.
For the first time in a while, he isn’t there when you wake.
You don’t panic, because that’s irrational. But you feel unsettled when he doesn’t reply to the yell of his name.
There’s no change, no new scroll amongst his notes. No signs of injury.
But there’s also no Monstrous Nightmare in the woods.
Zag is gone, alongside his rider.
You’re not sure if that hurts more than the gash on your head.
You trudge carefully back where the Death Song had aimed, admiring the solid golden sap in front of you.
“You know, you’re a real pain.” you murmur, exasperated.
You don’t realise she’s there until you hear a lame whine in response.
She’s close, but not poised to attack. Instead, she looks playful, like she’s in less pain.
You see it then- a new dressing. A fresh one. You almost feel grateful.
“Same colour as honey.” you mutter, looking between her horns and the rock next to you. You watch her fins by her face fan open appreciatively, and you can’t help but smile.
“Honey, huh? You like that name?”
You take it as a yes when her head pushes against your outstretched hand.
It’s a victory you very much celebrate.
By the end of the day, Honey refuses to leave your side.
By the end of the week, you’re slowly but surely hovering over the island.
You see Oscar was right. George’s island stands grey and miserable by the horizon, dangerously close but too far to make you worry.
Not too far to make your heart hurt, though.
You don’t think it's a miracle that you are able to fly back to Berk when the first snow settles. You don’t think that maybe you could’ve frozen to death trying to make it back if not for her, if not for Oscar.
You don’t consider that maybe, after everything, the latter might let you freeze.
You’re packed and healed before any signs of the snowstorm come to your attention. It’s when you land in Berk, when the cold wind scratches your ears and your jagged scar hurts when it’s whipped against.
Dragons do not roam as freely here as they do on Formulae, naturally. Here, they are treated like mules. Like horses.
Stone stables are their sanctuary, and you oblige.
With a quick nod to the young man guarding the gates, you whisper a gentle goodbye to the Death Song and wander back towards your lodgings.
But you can feel your fingers going numb, and a familiar faintness in your lungs, so you barrel into the first inn you can find.
And there, wooden leg slung lamely over a stool, is Lando Norris, sporting a look between a grin and a grimace.
“I heard you’d become a Berk dweller.” he murmurs loudly, swirling a goblet. You bark out a laugh.
“Cute, coming to look for me. Didn’t work out with her?” you joke, but his expression hardens.
“Ah, shit. I was intrigued about the outcome of my very own star-crossed lovers.” you mumble quietly, and it earns you a weak laugh. Better than nothing.
He shakes his head.
“It’s alright. And we’re not lovers.” he replies firmly, and you just shrug.
“You know, you could’ve asked to stay with me. I mean, there’s four of us packed in anyway. You’d only be noticed by the peg-leg.”
His laugh is full and hearty now, but it doesn’t hurt in the same way Oscar’s does.
Instead, it is more calming. Feels less like fire.
He sighs now, like he’s weary. You’re sure your expression must resemble that feeling.
“I have a dragon now. A Death Song. Honey, I call her.” you admit, your voice somewhat wondrous but tight.
But it’s Lando Norris in front of you, and you know him.
So, just as expected, he beams.
“That’s brilliant. Is that why you left for Berk? Change of scenery, to find yourself a dragon- kind of thing?” he asks casually, but you shake your head.
“No. Just figured it was time to move on. Maybe it’s in my blood to be a deserter.” you mumble, and he inhales awkwardly.
“You’re thinking about something. Something not good. I can tell. You had that same face for months after George left. I guess, it was when you were considering going after him”
The only sounds are the noises of the other vikings yelling, and the fire roaring to your right.
“Are you considering that again?”
You chew your lip nervously.
“Sort of the opposite. I don’t know why I was kidding myself, that moving here would solve all my problems. It hasn’t, and it won’t. I’m searching for something in places I’ve already looked.” you explain, the weak outlines of a plan forming in your tired mind.
Lando just raises an eyebrow inquisitively.
“Maybe I just need to go off the map. Like, further than anyone from here has gone before. Make my own map.”
You give him a look, hoping for one of reassurance back. You don’t get that.
Instead, he saddens, his eyebrows furrowing.
So you continue, gently.
“You asked me to let you run away once. I guess we were throwing those words around. You weren’t really running away, and neither was I. But this time, it would be different. And I don’t think I need your permission.”
Your tone is harsher than you intend, but it’s honest. You can tell he appreciates it.
“If you want to, do it. Just know, if you don’t feel welcome anywhere else, you’re still welcome with me. And Alex, and Oscar.” he brightens, but you wince slightly at the mention of Piastri’s name.
“Thanks, Lando. Anyway, I can't hear the wind anymore, so I’m going to head home.”
You give him a look between apologetic and friendly and he just gives you a knowing smile.
You wonder if sometimes, he feels the same. If he’d be happy to just fly off into the sun, if something wasn’t tethering him here.
That’s when you see it- a sketch of a Night Fury on the corner of his page. And beside it, a messy plait you recognise. And then it’s a doodle, of you and Oscar, presumably shouting at each other.
That’s when you return the same expression.
Between the girl, and the dragon he's chasing, and the people he calls family, he seems to have three too many tethers.
But the boy flew away, you caught the dragon, and you hate the word family.
And so, you can imagine your silhouette against the sun too easily, with nothing weighing you down.
He doesn’t tell you to stay, when you get up to leave.
He wasn’t the type to do that, and even if he was, he wasn’t the one who could make you listen.
PART II
You do not go anywhere for weeks. In some ways, it’s to prove to yourself that you’re not being rash. It’s to prove to Lando that you’re serious, even though he’s long gone.
Winter ice melts to spring water, before you even realise.
You have survived winter. You are lucky. You feel lucky.
You spend most of your days flying, until you and Honey can breathe in sync.
Until you could fall, and know she’d catch you.
You truly felt as though you’d found wings, even if they weren’t on your back.
On the first day you could possibly call warm, you find yourself back on the island where you’d first seen her.
You avoid the cavern.
You hadn’t seen Oscar since he’d disappeared. He never returned. He never came to Berk, never uttered a word.
You assume he realised it was a mistake, kissing you like that. That his words about wanting you were falsehoods, misspoken messages.
Or maybe, he’d wanted the idea of you much more than the real thing.
Regardless, you were tired of him haunting your every other thought. Every time you blinked, seeing his dark eyes.
You couldn’t stop blinking, so you cast him from your mind with that same burning hate, same burning determination you had reserved for George only.
With being so distracted, you had grown sloppy.
You didn’t hear the sound of sticks crunching behind you, until it was too late.
An axe sails past your head, landing neatly in the trunk of the tree beside you.
It feels too familiar. But this time, you don’t know who’s thrown it. But you know it’s not Piastri.
Dark hair and bitter eyes meet yours, and you feel your breath quicken. You’ve never seen him before, but you know who he is.
“Yuki.” you exclaim, your nerves catching in your throat.
“My reputation precedes me, then. Can’t say I know who you are.” he replies gruffly, already brandishing a second axe.
Honey lets out that shrill, musical scream, but he runs at you before she can aim, and the amber dies in her open mouth.
“Go!” you scream at her desperately, when you realise he's reaching for the axe and not for you.
She makes cries of protest, but as Yuki aims, she flies off.
“Coulda’ let me have her.” he murmurs, turning to face you, but you just hiss at him.
“Fat fucking chance.” you retort, and he just stretches his neck before launching himself and his blade back at you again.
“You people are crazy.” you grunt, wincing as your dagger clashes with the metal, making a horrific scraping sound.
He gives you a sound between a huff and a chuckle, and you grimace.
“You think we’re the crazy ones? You have a pet dragon. Dragons killed my people, they deserve to die. Not to be domesticated.”
He pushes harder, and the grip on your knife slips. You roll over quickly, and the axe head finds a trunk again. Cursing, he pulls it out swiftly, but you’re running.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re running to? You told your escape plan to fly away.” he calls loudly, and that makes you stop. He’s right.
You turn determinedly, and rush for him.
He’s too slow, and your blade runs smoothly across the side of his arm, ripping his tunic. He seems unbothered when it comes back red.
“A dragon killed my person. I know what they’re capable of. But they’re capable of beauty, and friendship, and loyalty too. Being close-minded will not be enough. There will always be another dragon. You can’t murder them all.” you cry out desperately, but he just snarls.
“You’re the fieriest one of them I’ve met. How come I never see you with the other Formulae riders?” he asks, darting around you, and you try to follow his movements.
“I’m not exactly one of them.” is your weak response, and he shrugs.
“That's bad luck. I was thinking of taking you prisoner and using you for ransom. Maybe I'll just kill you, instead.”
You smirk.
“Only one of us is bleeding right now. And it’s not me.”
He gives a sharp laugh.
“I like you, you know what? Would’ve been much more bearable to see you around instead of that fucker, Piastri. I hate that guy. Gods, him and Lando are just as irritating as their dragons.”
He barrels towards you again, as you respond with a weak, “I hate him too.”
Then you feel the axe brush your ear, and you groan slightly.
“Hey, now we’re both bleeding!” he exclaims cheerily, parrying your swipe at him.
You knee him aggressively in the abdomen while he celebrates, and he doubles over with a grunt.
“Leave me the fuck alone.” you mutter, and when he looks up at you, you push your knife against his throat.
He sighs.
“Shame, if only you were less of a coward. You’re not gonna slice my neck off, are you?” he asks playfully, and you pause like you’re considering it.
With one smooth kick, you’re on the ground.
He bends down to your ear, a slow grin plastering his face.
“Too slow, dragon rider. Better luck next time.”
The handle of his axe cracks down on your skull, hard, and then it’s terrifyingly dark.
You do not awake in a cell, like you expect. You’re tied to a splintered chair, arms stretched behind it.
Your brother's eyes meet yours instantly.
“You’ve grown.” he surmises casually. Like this is normal.
“Let me go. I’m not one of them.” you scream, and he moves his face back further from yours.
“Yuki wants to keep you. Max wants you dead. I have yet to say anything.”
His statement is cold. Matter of fact.
You realise calling him your brother was giving him too much credit.
“You didn’t tell me he died.” you whisper, a stark contrast from your volume before.
He gives you a dry smile.
“Not sure they would’ve reacted well if I sent you a letter. But yeah, he did.”
He pauses, thinking.
“So it was you, that day. You helped that child.”
You nod silently.
“That could help you, you know. Max might reconsider that. If you’re truly not one of them.” he murmurs, and you gasp slightly in shock.
“Gods, are you insane? I’d rather die than end up here, next to you. Tell Max to slit my fucking throat.” you hiss, each word barbed and venomous.
George doesn’t recoil.
That's when the door swings open, and the devil himself walks in, Yuki on his left. The girl isn’t with them.
“More than happy to. Although, we haven’t had a prisoner in a while. I wouldn’t mind using the cell for a bit, what do you think?” Max murmurs innocently, running a finger down the length of his knife. You don’t shudder, you don’t flinch. He doesn’t deserve the satisfaction.
Yuki steps towards you, admiring you carefully.
“How’d you get the scar? We have matching ones, d’y see?” he grins, pointing to a similar one, stretching across his forehead.
You scowl. “Piastri.”
Max exhales in surprise, and George raises an eyebrow.
Yuki explodes into hearty laughter.
“You weren’t joking, when you said you hated him. Funny, maybe she actually isn’t a Formulae kid.” he comments, and you just roll your eyes quickly.
“I left. I didn’t like it there. I just liked the dragons.” you huff, and Max stares at you, disappointedly.
“Wrong answer.”
You scoff.
“I don’t give a shit what you think about my answers. Just lock me away, yeah? This is boring me. I can be publicly executed at dawn, or whatever.” you smile lazily, and the side of his lip curls upwards nastily.
“Interesting. George, you’re on watch. Give her a shitty cage, I can’t be bothered to walk up the mountainside.” he orders dismissively, and you purse your lips.
George pauses, looking directly past you as Max turns to leave.
“Did you ever finish corresponding with Chief Hamilton about the meeting? Our maps are inaccurate and we need more surveillance, if we ever want to finalise our plans.” he says casually, like you don’t even exist.
Max grunts. “Don’t discuss this in front of her. But I’m working on it. A diplomatic meeting.” he clarifies, his eyes flashing to you as if to dare you to question him. You don’t, and so he nods to Yuki and George as he goes.
Cage is a good word for it, you decide, when Yuki takes great satisfaction in throwing you in one.
It’s barbaric, with sharp rusted bars and spikes along the ceiling. It looks more like a torturous place for dragons than a human.
You take no comfort in having George sitting on the other side of the bars, trying not to stare at you.
When night falls, you think he might finally look away, but he doesn’t.
“You look like her. Mother, I mean. Uncanny.” he mutters.
“I wouldn’t talk so loudly, or they’ll throw you in here with me.”
He makes a sound of dissent. “I’ve proven my loyalty.”
You scoff.
“Sad, that you’re more loyal to them than you were to me.”
His voice wavers when he speaks next.
“I’ll always be loyal to you.”
You let out a high pitched giggle.
“You finally developed a sense of humour. That was cruel, but funny.” you laugh, but he just blinks at you.
“I don’t regret leaving Formulae, but I regret leaving you. So much, so badly. I know I can’t undo it. I can’t apologise. But I need you to understand that my loyalty still lies in our blood.”
The silence that follows is pensive.
Then you sigh, and it breaks.
“I don’t want to hear your bullshit before your chief kills me. No point in being loyal to a dead girl walking.”
The door swings open.
“I’ll tell them you picked the lock. You beat me, and you ran.”
Words rise and fall spectacularly in your throat.
“Get out of here, now. You need to run, while it’s still dark. You need to outpace the dawn, or they’ll find you. Max is an excellent tracker.” he whispers, but you don’t move right away.
His voice breaks.
“Please, go. Go, and don’t come back. Run, and get away. From here, from all of it. You deserve bigger things. You always have.” he admits, and you don’t realise how much it hurts to see him again until you feel your heart shatter and your cheeks dampen.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t choose you over the dragons.”
He smiles.
“I’m sorry for even making you choose.”
You smile back, and you both feel less unforgivable.
Then you’re gone, into the shadow of night.
But as you go, you hear his words carried by the wind.
“It’s never diplomatic.” he warns.
You don’t go North to Berk. Instead, you cross the Valley, and you’re back on the soil you thought you’d never feel again.
Hamilton’s house is grand, but not in a way that makes others envious. It’s just quietly earnt.
You rap your knuckles desperately on the door, until it turns into hammering fists.
Lewis opens the door slowly, clearly still suffering from sleep.
“Chief Hamilton,” you begin breathlessly, and he holds up a finger.
“I was told you left. I don’t care if it runs in the family, I don’t like deserters.”
You scoff.
“I’m here with a warning. From the hunters.”
His face distorts into something simpler than rage.
“You are to leave, now.”
Scowling, you inhale slowly.
“They kidnapped me, and I heard them talking about this meeting they’re planning. It’s not innocent. It’s for intel. They’re going to do something, I don’t know what. An attack, surely. Just, be on guard.”
His expression barely shifts.
“How did you get out? No one gets out, without help.”
You don’t need to reply, the answer is obvious.
“I gave you the benefit of the doubt for years. I tried not to see him, when I saw you. I tried to pretend I wasn't worried about where your loyalties lied. But, this is it.
You are no longer welcome here. Do not return. Although, I’m hoping you weren’t planning on returning anyway.” he decides, and you hate how much finality is in his tone.
Maybe it’s fair enough. You’d do the same, if you were him.
It feels a bit like a stab in the gut, though. You think of George. The confidence is his voice, assuring he’d earnt his trust.
How he let you go, without hesitation.
You’d chosen Formulae over him once. Here you are, choosing it again.
And your sole reward was exile, banishment.
You realise that Oscar was right- this place didn’t love you anymore.
But you were right too.
You stopped loving it, long ago.
“Alright.” is all you manage to say back, and then you’re running away again.
You try to ignore how your vision blurs behind the salt of your tears.
You hear her before you see her, the gentle singing of a dragon that haunts your heart.
Lando stands beside her, leaning on the side of her back. He gives you a lame smile.
“You’re gonna need her, to get out. Found her singing nearby. I’ve never heard something so sad.” he admits, and you tilt your head to the side, admiring him carefully.
“Figured out she was mine, then?”
He nods, before furrowing his brows.
“Oscar bolted, when I came back with her. Instant. He almost forgot his own dragon, for the Gods’ sake. What happened between you two?”
Your breath falters.
“What do you mean?”
Lando just stares at you quizzically.
“He went to find you. I’ve never seen him like that before. Like he knew something was wrong. Where were you?”
You shrug.
“It’s a very dramatic, very heroic story. One for the ages. One for another time.”
He swallows, and then nods regretfully.
“Okay. Okay, fine. Fair enough. I deserved that. But if you see him on your travels, can you bring him home? I doubt Hamilton will be too pleased if he’s gone, because of you. ‘Specially considering what just happened.” he mutters, and you groan.
“So you know where I was, then.”
He flashes you a grin. “I was giving you a chance to tell me. Also, I was interested.”
You fold your arms.
“She wasn’t there, if you were wondering.”
His grin falters for a moment, but then it spreads to his eyes.
“You think so lowly of me.”
With a playful laugh, you step towards him and embrace him carefully.
“Thank you.”
He just gives you a dismissive flick of his wrist.
“She’s very well behaved, no need to thank me for babysitting.”
But he knows you’re thanking him for a lot more than that.
When you turn to him as Honey’s wings extend, he’s giving you the same exaggerated wave from that dawn, all those months ago.
A wave too light-hearted to be a final one.
So you offer a dramatic salute, and you let cloud engulf you without looking back.
You intend to ignore the idea of Oscar searching for you. He’d go back soon enough, and Lando could let him know of your departure.
But you imagine him traipsing on that island.
And then you imagine Yuki’s axe, and his barbaric yell.
And so you decide to scour the skies for a Monstrous Nightmare- instead of sailing through it towards something new.
You know it’s stupid to land back there, with Max presumably on your trail. The hunters weren’t idiots- they’d look there first.
But so would Oscar.
So you can’t help it, and Honey swoops downwards.
Sure enough, you recognise Zag’s claw marks in the ground.
“Oi, Piastri!” you yell, hands cupped over your mouth aggressively.
You hear a sharp exhale, and tentative footsteps.
When you turn to face him, you can’t help but give him a small smile. When he sees it, the small twitch on your face, his slow steps turn into a fully-fledged sprint. His arms wrap around you instantly, and you swear your ribs creak.
You exhale, barely.
“You’re okay.” he exclaims, his hold remaining steadfast.
“I won’t be, if you don’t ease up.” you mumble, and he steps back quickly.
He apologises hurriedly, running his hands nervously through his hair.
You don’t get angry, not immediately. Instead, with practiced calm, you begin to speak.
“You left.”
He nods slowly.
“I did.”
Your arms fold, and you frown slightly. Before you can think of something more dignified to say, “Why?”, rings out into the air.
He pauses. “I don’t know.”
It’s not enough. You’ve run out of patience, and you’re running out of time.
“Okay. Well, I need to go. Pretty sure Max, or someone, will be here soon. I don’t think they believe in second chances.” you mutter absent-mindedly, running a hand down Honey’s outstretched neck.
His regretful look becomes one of surprise, and then confusion.
“What do you mean? What happened?”
You shrug. “Ask Hamilton. But you won't get the full story, ‘cause he banished me before I could explain.” you suggest, accompanying the words with a dry laugh.
And, painfully predictable as ever, his arm finds yours, with the same grip as last time.
“You need to stop holding on to me.” you spit.
A beat.
“You need to stop leaving.”
You’re all too aware of the heat on your forearm, and the way your heart is close exploding.
“You need to stop being the reason I leave.” you reply. It’s barely a whisper, but it hurts him. You can see it in his eyes, the way he blinks, a bit like he’s been shot.
It’s not the same expression he gave you last time. The same island, the same arm holding onto yours.
The same people, but not really. Almost.
This time, you don’t have to fight him. He lets you go, with the grace of a losing man.
A man who pretends he can’t remember what it felt like to have you, even if it was momentary.
But he can remember, and so can you.
You don’t say anything, you just give him a look. A stare, of something deeper than anger. Deeper than betrayal, deeper than wanting and having and fire.
Maybe it’s the look of love. You think it might be, when his expression mirrors yours.
But it’s too little, too late.
Still, he isn’t Lando. He’s the type to tell you to stay. And he’s the type you might listen to.
You expect an awkward farewell, or something even blander, when he opens his mouth.
You don’t assume it might all break around you.
“I was worried that if I didn't leave then, I never would. And I knew you weren’t going to come back. So I left first. I thought it might hurt less.” he admits.
He pauses to breathe. You try to ignore how obviously nervous he is.
“For the record, it didn’t. And then, I didn’t know what to do. But I was too scared to come back. I didn’t know if I could face you again.” he continues.
The silence that falls after is ugly and full of uncertainty.
It might be enough. You want it to be enough.
“Oscar, what are you saying?” you ask, whisper. Like it’s something holy, like it’s a prayer. Maybe it is.
“I’m saying that, I think I might fall in love with you if you kiss me again.”
His tone is simultaneously sullen and hopeful, and you know there is no good outcome. There is no way out of this, without both your hearts cracking a bit.
You almost beg him to take it back. To laugh, like it’s some bizarre joke. Blame his obvious lack of sleep.
But you know this can’t be undone.
He’s cruel, when he steps towards you.
You’re crueler when you reach for him, your lips finding his.
It’s messier than the first time, but no uglier. If anything, it’s more sacred.
When you both exhale, foreheads pressed together, you know what you have to say. Even though you know what he’s going to reply.
“I can’t go back to Formulae.”
It’s a simple statement, a fact. You know, if you ask him what you want to ask him, you will be no different than George.
So you wait.
And then it drops.
“And I can’t not go back.”
Another fact. You don’t hold it against him.
Your hands curl into fists around his shirt, pulling him into you.
You let yourself exist there, for a minute.
You’re not sure if the orange sky is the end of the day, or the start of a new one. It feels like the end, either way. The end of something you’d never even got to start.
He knows what's coming. You both know what’s coming.
“You’re going to leave again, aren’t you?”
You nod.
But you feel him, growing weight in your soul. Becoming a tether. A tether you have to snap, now. Before you can’t fly anymore.
“I meant what I said, in there.” he murmurs into your ear, nodding to the small cavern opening.
“I wish I’d realised sooner that my heart burning was something much nicer than envy.”
You scoff. “No need to be so poetic.”
He gives you a half-hearted smile, which breaks as soon as you peel yourself away from him.
“I would say goodbye, but it seems as though it never really is.” you whisper, his eyes trailing you as you begin to clamber onto Honey’s golden back.
“So stop saying it, then.” he replies quickly. “I like ‘see you soon' much better, anyway.”
It’s not a joke, but you laugh anyway.
You don’t tell him you’ll be seeing him soon.
You hope you don’t. For his sake, and for yours.
You spend the next week buried in maps and books. Knowledge of the stars and the cliffs. Means of survival. You imagine yourself lacking a limb. It feels like much less of a joke without Lando’s grinning face. You decide, if you’re going to do this, you’re doing it right. You’re going to make it worth everything you’ve lost.
It’s when you hear murmurs of agreements between mercenaries, that your plans are put on hold.
Scholars commend the grace of Formulae. Sailors commend the change of the hunters.
The Isle of Berk holds its breath as it watches, to see if they made the right decision. If pens and signs with ‘Dragon-friendly’ written on them were a good idea. Or if the righteous way, the way of blood and anguish, was actually right. If they should’ve been stubborn for longer.
‘It’s never diplomatic.’
And yet, the harbor speaks of diplomacy. Of politics, of territory. Of treaties and laws and rights.
Of everything George cares for.
There is no mention of dragons.
And that is when you decide something must be very, very wrong.
For as much as they deny their admiration for the winged-beasts, it is impossible to deny that everything is about them.
And so, dragons would be their focus.
George had been naive, to think a change of cliff-side would give him a triumph. To give him the power he had wanted.
In a world of dragons, fire beats words. Fire burns the mouth of those who try to speak.
You can only fight fire with fire. But if you do not have fire, you go for whatever might draw blood before your flesh melts.
When you descend onto Formulae soil, you wish you were more surprised.
“It really was ‘see you soon,’ huh?”
Even though you could count the days since you’d seen him on your hands, you missed him.
Your dismount is graceful, but the way you look at him is far from it.
“They’re coming. I know it.” you state firmly, and Oscar just tilts his head at you, exasperated.
“And here I was, thinking you just wanted to see me.” he murmurs, and you purse your lips.
“I told you to not come back here.” comes a sharp shout. You recognise the authority in his voice.
You dislike the way he commands respect, and the way your mind obeys.
“I told you they had malicious intentions. Guess we’re both bad at listening.” is your quick response, which gains you a disguised laugh from Oscar behind you.
Lewis turns to him now, giving him a shake of the head. You don’t recognise the look of determination that Oscar gives him in response. Then you feel his hand slip into yours, and you squeeze it lightly.
It isn’t rebellious, but it’s the closest thing to it. A sign of allegiance.
Or maybe he’s just being affectionate, and you’re reading too deeply into it. But you know how it will look to the Chief of Formulae watching.
Sure enough, that familiar look of disdain, of distrust, flicks over his face.
“We doubled our defences. It turned out you were correct. I may owe you an apology. I figured it was just your brother trying to sabotage us, from the grave. To give me a reason to attack first.”
You wince at his word choice. He chooses not to notice.
And that is when you hear an alarm, an ugly ringing bell. Too similar to the one before it. You can almost feel yourself choking on smoke again.
Hamilton is running before you can even get the image out of your mind.
Oscar drops your hand, but you stop him.
“He didn’t exile Lando, did he?” you ask, because you know. You know that he only realised you were telling the truth when Lando had come to him, saying the same thing. Offering a warning.
You know who he got the warning from. You wish you could understand why that was so much better.
‘She’s one of them by birth. He’s one of them by choice. It’s not the same.’
To you, it feels the same.
Oscar shakes his head, and you hate Formulae a little bit more.
But when he smiles at you, you know why you’re here protecting it.
Fire kisses the wood of the houses, the fences of the pens. Smog clouds the sky, darkening the sun. It tastes bitter.
You hear the clamours of blades and the yell of men. Honey does not cry; she sings. She keeps singing as you rise up, as you hover over bodies. Over destroyed houses and soon-to-be graves.
There are many of them, more than you expected. You do not see Max, or George.
But you see her, and you see Yuki, and your heart twists for Lando.
Zag roars past you, Oscar giving you a fleeting look. You follow after him, passing Alex shouting orders to kids you don’t recognise. Kids you probably should've helped train.
Oscar dives, and you lose sight of him amongst the rubble. You decide to change direction, and you clamber down into the battlefield.
A sword lies abandoned, bloody but innocent. You reach for it instinctively, and metal slashes yours. It’s hard to tell who is friend or foe. Maybe there is no such thing. But you can tell who is fighting for love, for their home, and who is fighting for hatred. It’s reflected on their teary eyes.
A shrill whistle makes your head snap to the side expectantly, and Honey scampers away. You do not worry if she’s coming back. You know she will.
That’s when you see it- Lando, grinning wildly. His chest puffed, balancing precariously on a Night Fury.
He got the dragon.
From the way he’s smiling, you figure he got the girl too.
Then she rises, looking slightly crazed on a Triple Stryke, and it’s glorious. Hopeful. She looks more like a saviour than a traitor. You wonder if maybe Oscar was right.
You earn your trust by fighting either for your blood, or against it. By birth, to becoming by choice. It’s not the same.
You never fought for Formulae. You just pretended being there was enough.
But now, as a wound you didn’t realise you’d collected soaks the sand a deep crimson, you amend that.
You catch Hamilton’s eye, his blade triumphantly raised. He nods, like he knows what you’re thinking. That your shirt being the same colour as the burning banners is all he had needed from you.
Your vision shifts again, and you see Oscar- a wild look in his eye with an even wilder scowl.
Your stomach drops, though, when you see who he's pushing his dagger against.
Oscar is no murderer. No one on this godforsaken Isle is. But your insides churn. You pelt it towards them, just as George’s sword clatters from his hand.
Oscar’s knife should go clean through, a clear strike in the chest.
You intercept it, blade outstretched.
The sound of the clash makes you grimace.
“Piastri, that’s my brother.” you grunt, but the fire in his eyes isn’t extinguished.
Instead, he pushes away from you and chases after George, who is running for his life.
You have too much adrenaline to acknowledge the sound of your heart ripping. Instead, you follow instantly, yelling over the clamour.
George finds his back against a tree, his arms up. A last attempt at a shred of innocence. Or mercy; you can’t tell.
Oscar eyes him aggressively, a small cut bleeding irritatingly above his eyebrow.
Oscar is no murderer. But to the untrained eye, he could be. To the nervous eye, he sure looks like one.
You place a gentle hand on his shoulder.
“Hey, hey. Relax. Don’t do something you’ll regret.” you whisper into his ear, and you feel him calm down slightly.
His eyes dull a bit, and you take that as a victory.
You turn your gaze to George now.
“If you run again, someone else will find you. I’m not going to be there, asking them to spare you. Most of these people aren’t killers, but some are.”
He grimaces.
“I’m not going anywhere. You know I didn’t want to watch this place burn.”
“You know, for someone who’s been punished, you look too excited.” you mumble, rolling your eyes at George’s beaming face.
He coughs, plastering a more severe expression.
“Well, obviously it will be a logistical challenge running the Isle. But I’ve got plans. I have had plans for a very long time. Since I made it there, really. I’d like to start off by improving the quality of our imports. Especially the tea, it’s miserable.” he exclaims, and Lando greets him with an appreciative snort.
“You haven’t changed in the slightest.” he accuses, and George doesn’t contest it.
Instead, he turns to you.
“Come with me?”
The world folds in on itself, just like it did the last time he asked that.
But this time, he truly is asking.
There’s no snarkiness, no confidence. No expectations.
This time, you didn’t have to choose between him, or the dragons.
This time, you’d left Formulae enough to know you could live without it.
But there's a weight in your answer now, and he’s brunette with a constellation of moles on his face.
You’re packing, when he finds you. Essentials, anything you have left. A shred of hope, the remains of your heart, a spare shirt.
He lets out a heavy sigh.
“You know, it’s okay to stick around for a week. It won’t kill you.”
When you turn to face him, your heart flutters nervously.
You think you see that look in his eye, the same one he was sporting before he tried to ram a dagger through George’s heart.
Oscar’s expression falters.
“I never thought you’d be scared of me.”
You inhale quietly.
“Me neither. Never thought you’d almost kill my brother, though.”
He pauses. “I wouldn’t have-”
“-Yes, you would’ve.” you finish for him, and you watch him shrink a bit.
“You know, you’re welcome back here now. Right?” he murmurs, and you give him a sharp nod.
“I know. But George is leaving tonight.”
A look you don’t recognise flickers over his face. All you can tell is that it’s bitter, and dark. And then it morphs into guilt.
“I’m a reason again, aren’t I?”
You sigh, because you’ve never really admitted it to yourself that he’s right. He’s a reason to stay, but also a reason to go. And you’ll always choose to go.
He strides towards you, coming up behind you as you scramble through old scrolls.
He slips his arms around your waist and rests his head on your shoulder, swaying slightly.
You let yourself breathe, but you don’t stop stuffing things into your satchel.
“I still don’t understand you. What are you running from? Where are you running to?” he murmurs into your hair.
“I don’t know.” you reply honestly, your voice breaking slightly.
His voice drops lower and quieter simultaneously.
“I want to be enough for you. I want you to let me try.”
You bite your tongue, unsure of what to say.
You turn your face just barely to the side, looking up at him.
“I don’t think I want you to try.” you admit, pressing a fond kiss to his jaw, and then his cheek. Then, pushing yourself onto your tip-toes, the small scar above his eyebrow.
“Could you not be happy here, with me?” he asks, pushes. It sounds desperate. It hurts.
“I’ve never been happy here, not really.”
You can barely choke out the next few words.
“I’ve never really been happy anywhere.”
His face drops, when he notices your eyes watering.
You’re talking to each other, but it’s two different conversations.
When you pull away from him, he doesn’t grab for you again.
But when you reach the door, you hear his voice waver.
“I think I’m in love with you.”
You don’t know how to explain the anguish that roars in your chest. You can’t remember how to breathe.
When you step out of the door, he calls out for the last time.
“I’ll see you soon, okay?”
You pause, turning to give him one last smile.
“Goodbye, Oscar Piastri.”
hi everyone! hope you enjoyed my longest fic ever, heehee. secret extra message for you: when Oscar asks about being happy with him, he's imagining it all. like, getting married, having kids. spending every dawn and every dusk together. i was listening to 'sienna' by the marias while writing the end scene, and i may have broke my own heart. anyway, go read like all fire, now!! if you havent already.. (or, reread it anyway.)
liked by chappelroan, oscarpiastri, and 2,396,715 others
yourusername back in london (aka where i belong)
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user1 YN PLEASE RELEASE A NEW SINGLE, I LOVED VAMPIRE
user2 lowk still don't know who it's about
user3 It might be about her ex, Oscar Piastri, the Formula 1 Driver
user4 y'all are clearly new fans bc the way she writes about that man... hg wants him back BADDDDD
user1 nah it has to be about him, there's no other prominent ex
user4 it 10000% isn't. he's still in her likes? they still follow each other?
user5 atp they should just get back together
gracieabrams hey twin flame 🔥
yourusername back at you babes 😘
ynontour our favorite singer :)
yourusername oh hey official me account!!!
user6 new single when?
user7 let her live, maybe? she's human too, maybe?
conangray best friend in the best city
yourusername come visit 😊
user8 i miss her oscar era :(
user9 we all do
user10 you don't know these people, stop acting like you do
fayewebster my cool beautiful awesome smart kind counterpart
yourusername me when faye: 🫠
user11 yn try to be relevant now that oscar isn't carrying her dead weight
user12 bro what is wrong w you?
beabadoobee no one pinterests like you pinterest
yourusername when the pin isn't teresting
oscarpiastri
liked by yourusername, alexdunneracing, and 1,084,639 others
oscarpiastri Spending some time at the new London pad 😁
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user13 y'all will never guess who else is in london rn
user14 literally the first thing i thought of
user15 is this them doing a digital booty call liked by author
user14 OH MY GOD OSCAR LIKED THE COMMENT
olliebearman honorary brit???
oscarpiastri No thanks, I'm good not being my colonizer :))))
user16 he's SO FINE 😩
user17 get back with yn ln, i miss my parents
arthur_leclerc thought you were too good for monaco???
charles_leclerc oh he BETTER not have
oscarpiastri Jesus.
lando oh he ended y'all with that one
user18 2025 WDC!!!!
user19 yn is in the likes...
alexdunneracing Cool!
oscarpiastri I love when the young ones look up to me 🥹
alexdunneracing Cool no longer...
mid july, 2025 - 22:38
You must've forgotten how hard London goes. The neverending flow of beers and shots, the deafeningly stabilizing beat of the loud music, the heavy and thick and simultaneously lightweight and casual air. It's a dangerous combination, always. The last time you were in London, you almost made the mistake of going home with a guy twelve years older than you (not that you would've minded, but your PR managers definitely would've).
It's a thought that has crossed your mind often; how different your life, especially in London, would be if you weren't... well, who you are. If you could be stupid and be silly and drunk without a hidden fear, creeping up your spine like a slinky, skinny spider, that someone is somehow filming. What's supposed to be a night out turns into a test: how quick can you spot the camera?
Tonight, you want to let that go. You're in some shaggy bar that plays 2000s music and no one seems to paying you that extra attention they do when they're trying to figure out where you're familiar from. You can let loose and let go, your arms up high as you move to the rhythm of the songs. Your phone is held carefully in your hand; you're always ready to leave if something happens.
Unfortunately, that something has, more often than not, been a crazy fan or an uncomfortable interaction. You've wished on shooting stars and hundreds of dollars worth of fountain-fated pennies that, for once, you get to leave and do it for yourself.
Tonight, those wishes might be cashed in. Your phone dings and you scold yourself for so quickly recognizing the somber chime you had your IT technician friend set up for any Oscar-related notifications. How pathetic is that, to remember the jingle? Even worse, to feel the slightest, but not nonexistent, stammer of your heart alongside the noise.
Turns out, it's a post. Even when you were dating, you loved seeing Oscar's posts. They felt so separate from everything else on social media. Oscar, unlike anyone else you knew, was completely and utterly himself, even in cringeworthy captions and polite selfies. Your eyes scan the newest post, trying to ignore the 'posted 11s ago' in the corner. The words fluctuate in your brain, telling you that you're an absolute loser, not telling the timing.
Flicking through the photos, you squint as you notice a lot of familiar landmarks. It's almost as if you're trying to take forever to figure out that he's here. Oscar Piastri is in London, seemingly indefinitely. He looks really good in his photos. He's got a slight tan, his freckles standing out on the bridge of his nose and on the sides of his face. You wonder how they'd look in person. As if knowing he's needed, the bartender pops up, an alcoholic godsend or Godmother, filling your shot glass with a wink. You throw it back immediately, tapping the glass against the edge of the table to signal you want another. He obliges. He shouldn't. He does. You drink.
The night continues wretchedly. You mingle with your friends, you dance, and you do everything else a British club on Friday night offers you. Pretty quickly, despite record high levels of enthusiasm (and surely some type of drug), you get bored. You tether yourself to your bartender, supplying yourself with enough alcohol to keep everyone in the club satiated for the rest of the night. The more drinks you have, the more blurry and confused your vision gets, the clearer the bigger picture seems.
It's got to be a sign, you tell yourself, embarrassingly still hung up on Oscar's post. It's a motherfucking sign. You're not one to ignore signs from the universe, that's bad karma. Lord knows you've got enough of that.
With yet another drink, you dial Oscar's number, somehow knowing it by memory (you don't let yourself dwell too much on that). With the ringing as your backdrop, you think back to how you and Oscar ended. Even without the alcohol in your system, it's still blurry. You didn't end well, that's for sure. Both of you are petty and mean and have the capacity to dip your hands in evil ink and mark up your victims pretty nicely. You'll understand if he doesn't pick up. Not even the most comprehensive dictionary in the world has a word for you two.
"Hello?" Oscar's deep voice sounds from the other side of the line. He must've been sleeping because this definitely isn't how you'd expect him to respond—like it's so normal for you to be calling. But then again, it wouldn't exactly be a bad thing, him wanting you to call.
"I can't believe you got a place in London," you yell over the chaos surrounding you. It takes Oscar a few seconds to respond, like he's trying to figure out where this is going before he fully engages.
"Yeah," he finally replies, "why's that something worth calling me for?" Now, you know Oscar. You two dated for two and a half years. Between his little habits and his otherwise unnoticeable quirks, you can categorize, file, and write lengthy descriptions. You know what he means, how he means it. Time doesn't seem to have changed that. So when he asks why you're calling, in that slow, drawn out, practically teasing way, you can tell it's not because he's mad. Quite possibly, he's the opposite.
"I really liked your last place," you say, running your finger around the edges of the beer you've been nursing. "Do you think I'd like this one just as much?" Faintly, you hear a chuckle. It's difficult to fully perceive it in the loudness of the club, but it seems like that trademark I can't believe I'm doing this Oscar Piastri chuckle that you know and, potentially, slightly, still love.
"Do you wanna see it?" he asks. The restraint in his question is loud and clear, but Oscar never does or says anything he doesn't, in some miracle ways, believe.
"Never thought you'd ask," you take a sip. "Send me your address." And just like that, you hang up. You're not even halfway to your friends before your phone dings with his text. Fighting back a depraved smile, you tap your friend on the shoulder. "I've gotta go."
The whole group turns around at you, some still faintly dancing as they listen, "Where are you going?" Maybe it'll be easier for you to lie. Definitely, it will be. But you don't want to slip up later about who you were with tonight and have to deal with a lecture of a blow up. So you give them his name, fighting yourself to not seem too eager to get going. "WHAT?" Everyone yells in unison.
"Guys, before you go crazy—" you say, hands jokingly lifting up in surrender, "even though it seems like most of you already have—Oscar and I are just friends. We have always been so respectful and we just wanted to catch up."
"Yeah, in bed," someone comments from the side.
"Seriously, Yn, you cannot be considering sleeping with the guy. That's insane!"
You don't want to waste precious time fighting your friends when you could be fighting someone else. "I don't understand why this is such a big deal," your voice comes out whiny. "Can't two people just reconnect? I promise you guys, I only see him as a friend, okay? Nothing's gonna happen." A few of the girls keep fighting you but it seems that the consensus is too drunk to judge.
"We will be talking about this tomorrow." It's meant to come off as threatening, but just the idea of being able to talk about him again brings a wide, drunken smile to your lips. Okay, friends, sorted, you think to yourself, making a beeline to the door. The anxiety is slowly filling your body as you immediately grab the first cab you see, reading the address out quickly and somehow making this real. You tap your foot gently, your hands trying to fix your hair and reapply your lip gloss. His flat is really not that far from the club. The taxi driver reaches the destination insanely fast—although it may just seem like that because you're dizzy and excited—so you give him a huge tip, rushing to get out.
On the wall of the apartment building, you see the long list of names. All of your energy goes towards focusing on reading them, a task that wouldn't be so arduous if you weren't so drunk. Finally, on the thirteenth floor—is this an omen?—you spot the fake name Oscar uses in public places, ringing the bell. Within milliseconds of your ring, the door buzzes open. "There's that F1 reaction time," you comment to yourself.
One elevator ride and almost encounter with a neighbor, you're standing in his hallway. And he's been waiting. Oscar's leaning against the door way, arms crossed over his broad chest. He's in his pajamas, which really is just a dangerously tight grey shirt and a pair of sweatpants he's clearly thrown on a few minutes ago. He doesn't say anything yet, opting to take you in as you walk over. You're sure you've seen much hotter men—you must've—but right now, with the way Oscar's eyes are shamelessly attached to you, you really can't remember when. In fact, you can't remember anything. Your brain is just a chorus of terribly synchronized "Ah!" Literally, you can't hear your thoughts. Even at the club, you could hear them, but a minute in Oscar's vicinity and that changes.
"This is a bad idea, right?" you ask him, slinking over to the door. You stop once you're right in front of him, looking almost defiant. His arms readjust, falling down to his sides as Oscar shrugs.
"Maybe," he responds. Naturally, his hands go to your waist. He's not leaning anymore, but that delectable grin on his face remains. "Do you think it's a bad idea?" As you sort through all the potential responses, playing out which one gets you inside the flat and which one gets you kicked out and blocked, Oscar pulls you in even closer. You're not even aware when your own arms snake around his neck. You stand up on your tip toes, embarrassingly trying to get as close as possible.
The space between you two is minimal and empty, but it doesn't feel like it. (In fact, you would loooove it if he were closer.) In terms of the emptiness, there's some charged tension, floating in between you in this mental game of tennis. Who's going to crack under the pressure? Who's going to lean in first? Who's going to win and who's going to lose? Staring into Oscar's hazel eyes, you know he's having fun. He always did have fun with you. But you feel much too at home, and much too senseless, to withhold yourself from this any longer.
You lose. "Fuck it, it's fine," you say before tightening your arms around Oscar's neck and pulling him in for a kiss. He returns the sentiment, turning you slightly and pining you to the doorframe. You don't even care. His kiss is all too familiar to deny and much too loaded, in meaning and in longing. One of your hands goes up to the side of his head, your fingers threading through his soft hair. Oscar lets out a small groan. His left hand gently taps your hip and his head slightly gestures to the flat, making sure never to break the kiss. Frantically, you nod.
He pulls you inside, kicking the door closed with the edge of his foot, and you two shamelessly wonder through the living room, unable to let each other go. One of Oscar's hands has unfortunately left your body, instead searching for the furniture. Your hands are tangled in his hair as you pepper kisses on his face and on the side of his neck.
This is going to be a problem. Oscar has never been someone who doesn't leave a lasting impact
the next day - 9:53
You wake up in the most comfortable sheets. Among the thousands of things you vividly remember about your relationship with Oscar, his bedding, somehow, is near the top of the list. The silly papaya-colored sheets you made endless fun of him for you think of fondly, more than anything else.
To your right, Oscar is already awake, but barely. His half closed eyes are still looking at you, trying to quietly decipher what this means and what to do. He's trying to figure you out, you realize. It hits you, square in the chest, that he has to do this again. That he's forgotten. Last night, you remembered every one of his buttons, even recommitting to memory the warm feelings in your stomach every time he broadly smiled.
"Hey," he finally says. His arms extends out, pulling you in to the nook of his body. "Sleep well?" You nod, moving in closer. Oscar's fingers trace something on your back, but you don't know what.
"This doesn't have to mean anything," you tell him, voice so silent he may not have heard. On your back, the tracing eases up. Like he's reminded that this, of all the things it may be, is not a shortcut back to your relationship. Before you started dating, Oscar couldn't do casual. Not to say your relationship ever was that, be he was incapable of even shadows of that. You look up at him, wondering if that same pained look will grace his beautiful face.
Oscar plants a kiss on the top of your head, giving you a smile as he looks down to meet your eyes. "I know," he says, as if it's meant to be a comfort for you, not for him. "It was just a bad idea," he comments, "right?"
You smile before pulling him in to a kiss that tastes too much like goodbye to be sweet. "No," you reply. "It was a good idea."
yourusername
liked by oscarpiastri, tatemcrae, and 3,093,714 others
yourusername second single for my album, GUTS, is called 'bad idea, right?' and it's coming out at midnight, london time (idk what the official name for it is, sue me). hope you guys have fun speculating who it's about (shouldn't be hard to figure it out)
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user20 tweaking out rn
user21 CAN SHE JUST RELEASE IT NOW SO I CAN ANALYZE THE LYRICS????
laufey oh no, yn is releasing, everyone move back your release dates!!
yourusername who knew jazz musicians could be funny
user22 oh this is messyyyyy
user23 i think it's about an ex
user24 maybe one that... just so happened... to be in london....
user25 oh no yeah it's definitely about oscar
user26 OMG does yn have a new bf??
billieeillish can i have an early listen?
yourusername ...maybe
user27 🚨 OSCAR IN THE LIKES 🚨
user28 🚨 OSCAR IN THE LIKES 🚨
user29 🚨 OSCAR IN THE LIKES 🚨
rolemodel here we go again 🙄
yourusername stop using the precious knowledge you have to judge hoe
hopelessly in love with clairo 𖤓 sagittarius 𖤓 i view oscar piastri very affectionately 𖤓 fond of my pink hair 𖤓 british
personal side blog !! main blog/ fic blog : @ovadzs 𖤓
don’t be fooled by the theme i wear silver jewellery 𖤓
my interests:
𖤓 pokémon 𖤓 formula one 𖤓 poetry 𖤓 arcane 𖤓 clarinet/piano 𖤓 writing 𖤓 any disney film ever 𖤓 anything that features saoirse ronan or miles teller 𖤓 coraline 𖤓 space
liked by standfordvolleyball, kimiantonelli, and 2,396 others
ynln my junior year at stanford, upcoming! excited to announce that, besides playing on our d1 girls team, i'm going to be captaining my favorite coed team (go team red!)
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olliebearman you're so going down
ynln i don't remember unblocking you
kimiantonelli guys please stop fighting! my best friends need to be best friends!
olliebearman no :)
ynln i hate to agree with the rat, but yea, no
dorianepin we're in safe hands
ynln tell that to isackhadjar
isackhadjar I WAS JOKING WHEN I SAID YOU'D BE BAD AT IT, PLEASE, BREATHE
oscarpiastri i'll be watching, yn
ynln i'll never be a better captain than you were osc 🫶
stanfordvolleyball Team Red got lucky ❤️ liked by author
lando can i be on your team 🥺
olliebearman bitch no you're my outside hitter???
user1 Yn I'm trying to get recruited to Stanford for volleyball, any tips?
ynln hi!!! i've got so many tips, definitely dm me if you want to talk about it <3
arthur_leclerc do i have to be middle again?
ynln you're like 8'9 yes you do
olliebearman
liked by gabrielbortoleto, charles_leclerc, and 2,482 others
olliebearman 1st year as a coed captain!
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ynln ok so you stole my fucking post
olliebearman literally no one asked you
ynln god asked me when he put me on earth to balance out your evil
olliebearman stop being obsessed with me
kimiantonelli STOP ARGUING PLEASE 😭
charles_leclerc i don't feel safe with this kid captaining my old team
olliebearman you graduated TWO YEARS AGO
charles_leclerc yeah, so?
hausmann.tina try to get at least one successful block this season, ok?
olliebearman why am i catching strays from my own teammates?
ynln bc you're fucking annoying
olliebearman you jerk off to my pictures stfu
kimiantonelli we're going to beat you 😊
olliebearman you have the witch with a b on your team, no you won't
ynln who's obsessed with who now, huh?
olliebearman get out of my comment section
user2 Go Team Blue!
stanfordvolleyball Excited for this season 💪 liked by author
stanfordvolley.blue Hey Captain!!! liked by author
stanfordvolleyball
liked by alexdunne, ynln, and 10,294 others
stanfordvolleyball Your Coed Volleyball Color Battle team rosters for the 2024-25 season!
September 18th, 2024 - 9:23
You're sitting on a table in Stanford's (in your opinion, best) dining hall, Stern. Pushing the fruit around your bowl and taking small sips of your coffee are the only ways you pass the time, occasionally glancing up to look for Kimi, among the many students waiting in various lines and moving fluidly throughout the hall. Kimi's looking at his phone, waiting for the crowd around the cereal bar to move away. Already on his tray, he's got bowls of fruit, toast, yogurt, and whatever other eclectic meals only he could eat.
"You waiting for someone?" asks a voice. You look up, only to be met with Lando Norris, smiling kindly. Lando was a legend among the boy's volleyball team, being matched so perfectly with Oscar--the two created the strongest pairing of outside hitters in all D1 volleyball.
You nod your head in Kimi's direction, "Kimi's taking forever." Lando chuckles.
"Doesn't he always?" Coed was such a weird thing to be a part of. You think of people as purely yours, especially as a captain, only to remember that they all belong to the university's broader teams and know people outside of your comfortable bubble.
"What's up?" you prod, noticing the look on his face in between spoonfuls of pomegranate seeds. Lando itches the back of his neck.
"Oscar and I have been talking," he starts off with. As seniors, former captains of their respective coed teams, and starting players on the men's team, Oscar and Lando's opinions are not really opinions--they are facts. "This whole rivalry between you and Bearman, it's really not good for morale. I mean, coed is supposed to be fun! You guys are, I don't know, making everyone tense." You stare at him for a second.
"You really should've sent Oscar to talk to me," you comment, turning your attention back to your breakfast, "he's much less passive." Lando rolls his eyes, pulling the chair opposite you out and sitting down.
"I just don't see why you guys hate each other that much, " he tells you. "Ollie's a nice guy. You're a nice girl. What's the issue?"
"That's just the issue, Lando," you reply with an eye roll. "I don't think he's a 'nice guy,' and I don't intend on wasting my time pretending we're best friends when I could just focus on crushing the guy."
Lando groans, dropping his head into his hands. "Okay, I didn't want to be a dick about this but, as seniors, Oscar and I are telling you to stop acting like children and be fucking mature," he explains. "You're both captains now. It doesn't look good for you two to be arguing as if you're kindergartners. In fact, it's worrying to both of us that you and Bearman think this kind of behavior is acceptable." He takes a cantaloupe out of your bowl, throws it into his mouth, and leaves with a thumbs up.
"Dick," you mutter to yourself. Just as Lando leaves, Kimi arrives, setting his tray down while watching the former.
"What did he want?" he asks, diving into his food the second he sits down.
"Wants me and Bearman to stop fighting," you explain nonchalantly, to show your lack of interest in the matter. Kimi nods.
"He's not the only one," he comments, carefully looking up at you. You open your mouth to object, but he cuts you off, "Yn, please. I know he was shitty to you in freshman year--"
"--Hey, you don't get to bring that up--"
"--but it was stupid and he's nicer now. And he's my friend and it's getting really hard to split my time between you two," Kimi finishes his statement with a slurp of his orange juice, straw still between his lips. He tries to give you a smile but just makes a mess, the juice dribbling from the straw.
"It's not about freshman year, Kimi," you grab some napkins and push them into his chest, "Bearman's just annoying."
"Ouch," a voice sounds. Next to your table stands the spoken-of devil, Ollie Bearman, holding his own tray with one hand, the other in the pocket of his raggedy jeans. He's in a Stanford sweatshirt--he always is--but one that sits in that perfect sweatshirt way. The hood is half over his head, his wired headphones hanging from the collar. "And here I was, about to ask you if you wanted to be the godmother to my kids." He gives a big, irritated smile.
"Excuse me, this is my Kimi time," you say, immediately regretting the soft edge of your rebuttal. Usually, you're on top of your game with Ollie. Not that anyone (but you) is counting, but you've definitely been winning in your comment section battles. "You can talk to him later, now go away." Ollie's stupid smile just broadens. He sets down his tray, pushing Kimi to the side as he takes half of his seat, putting his arm around the other boy's shoulders.
"I can have Kimi time whenever I want, right, Kimi?" Kimi is sitting, frozen, shoulders hunched. Ollie ruffles his hair with his knuckles, turning back towards you.
"This isn't about me, don't pretend it is," Kimi replies dryly, peeling Ollie off. "If you guys want to flirt, do it when I'm not around."
"As if!" you exclaim, at the same time that Ollie says, "She wishes!" When the words register, you squint at him, considering whether throwing a fork at him would be a reasonable thing to do. He flashes a grin. You chuck it at him anyway.
"Go away," you repeat. Ollie shrugs, putting his headphones back in his ears.
"Just wanted to tell you that the coed schedule's up." Now he has both yours and Kimi's attention. "See you on the court, Ln," he says with a sly wink. Ollie walks off, his head bopping to the melody of his music.
September 18th, 2024 - 10:29
Your 'Plato and Punishment' class is beginning in one minute, and Professor Voweles has a reputation for kicking people out with less than a reason. Right now, you're running (in a manner rarely deemed to be graceful) to the lecture hall, pushing past the leisurely strollers and the high schoolers on guided tours. Hopefully, one of the tour guides can use your unplanned, messy jog as a testament to 'how devoted Stanford students really are.'
Just as you reach the door, you look down at your watch, internally jumping for joy when you see it hasn't struck 10:30. You're about to pull the doors open when you collide with someone else, dropping your textbook and gym bag. Thankfully, the mess is small, concentrated--you've watched enough romcoms to know that people with loose sheets of paper are bound to drop them and, in turn, experience an awkward interaction picking them up. "I'm so sorry," you quickly start apologizing, "I wasn't looking where I was going and..." your words trail off when you see who it is. "Nevermind," you say to Ollie. "What are you doing here?" Awkward interaction with no loose papers? Weird.
He holds open the door for you and you walk inside the classroom, head turned to wait for his response, "I'm taking a class?" he replies, as if you were positively moronic to ask. Ollie closes the door gently, his hands going to the thick strap across his body, securing his messenger bag. This prick.
"Your major is applied physics," you state, "this is a philosophy course." Ollie wants to reply to you and point out that you yourself aren't a philosophy major, instead studying political science. But he doesn't, enjoying this little interaction a little too much. His hands play with the zipper of his bag, hiding his nerves behind the demeanor he's built up in front of you.
"You know my major?" he wiggles his eyebrows, reminding you--or some part of you, very, very deep down--that he's not this big bad evil, he's just a junior in college. A very childish, very annoying junior. Ollie, meanwhile, is quite flattered that you're able to retain any information about him, especially when so much of your energy is spent remembering what he's done to wrong you.
You look up at him through your eyelashes, stopping. "Yeah," you softly admit. Ollie's looking at you, trying to decode that confusing look in your eyes, when a loud voice ruins the moment. Eh, was it really, actually a moment, or a blip on a timeline that occurred.
"You two!" Professor Voweles shouts from the center of the lecture hall, "I've got seats in the front for you. For being late. Should teach you to stop wasting time starin at one another, rededicate that time to making it to the bell. " You and Ollie share a look, one that, to anyone watching, might seem to be one shared by friends, not rivals. This is what he wants, Yn, you remind yourself. He wants to make you think you're friends so he can destroy you on the court.
You give him a stark shove, eliciting a dramatic Ouch!, before you rush down to get the better seat.
kimiantonelli
liked by georgerussell63, ynln, and 3,041 others
kimiantonelli kimi, ollie, and yn and the adventures of coed volleyball! (tagged olliebearman, ynln)
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olliebearman why would you include y* l* in this post?
ynln because he likes me better
olliebearman he must be deaf and stupid
kimiantonelli please go to couple's counseling
user3 oh my god the girl in the last slide is so gorgeous
arthur_leclerc set to me this season!!!
kimiantonelli you're a middle... so no ❤️
aurelianobels grande kimi! liked by author
oscarpiastri i trust you'll do what we discussed
kimiantonelli there's a reason the italian mob is the best
oscarpiastri ...and that is?
kimiantonelli we're good at being silent 🤫
stanfordvolley.red Our favorite setter!!! liked by author
ynln you're such a sweetie
olliebearman don't talk to him like that
ynln stop paying attention to who i talk to
olliebearman i don't
ynln tell yourself what you need to buddy! i'll send you an autographed photo later, babes 😘
October 1st, 2024 - 11:57
Your team is already on the court, stretching to the sounds of the so-called warm-up music (it just consists of Drake, which you don't quite appreciate). You're standing by Coach Hamilton, discussing strategy in hushed tones, as the two of you wait for the Yellow team's captain, Pepe, to come over for the coin flip. Since you got to Stanford, you've been praying and hoping and dreaming to get to work with Hamilton; he's the best of the best. He's the men's coach, though, and he rarely helps out with coed. Luckily, the usual Red coach was out sick (sorry!) so Hamilton's here, live and in the flesh. Your eyes are scanning through the crowds, looking for the cute guy you met in your Intro to American Law class, when you spot him. Not the cute guy, but him: Ollie Bearman. And he's looking right at you.
For all his annoying habits, Ollie definitely loves volleyball. Kimi can throw anything at you about the guy, but the only thing you'll never argue against is that pure love he has. It's glaringly obvious in the wide grin he bears, whenever he's playing, and the absolute dedication he gives every time he's on the court. Well, maybe not the only thing. You also can't lie, he's kinda good-looking--but only kinda. His scrawny hair that always looks like he's just been woken up. His shiny, wide eyes, eyes that (to your utter dismay) always conveyed an underlying kindness. His thrift-God level jeans, his loose sweatshirts, and tight tees.
He gives you a small wave, accompanied by a cocky smile. Over the slowly growing crowd of students finding their seats and gossiping, a sea of Stanford red, he yells, "Good luck! You'll need it!" A wink. Ugh, a fucking wink.
"Yn," Hamilton's voice snaps you out of the trance, "focus!"
Right. You didn't spend your whole life in trainings, missing parties and (occassionally) doing poorly on tests just to let a guy distract you from this. A guy who doesn't even appreciate it. Money down the drain, on clinics and club teams and physio appointments. Minutes clicking of endless drills, spiking and then spiking again and then spiking once more. You fought tooth and nail and all the blood in between to get here. Ollie can't make you forget that. Especially after he made you remember it two years ago.
October 1st, 2024 - 2:06
Kimi sets it up perfectly. There's been very few times when a set is so good that time basically stops. Everyone is moving in slow motion and your brain highlights the perfect steps, the perfect approach, and perfect swing in shining arrows. You take three steps, pushing off from the slightly slippery floor, and the only way to describe you is that you're flying. Your palm makes contact with the ball, spiking it down in a flash, past Pepe's block. It smashes into the floor, the perfect play ending with the perfect bam!
It's as simple as that! You've won your first game of the coed season. "YES!" shouts Doriane, dropping from her receive-ready position and jumping on top of you. Arthur and Isack high-five each other as Aurelia runs in from the sidelines. Oscar pats Kimi on the back, giving you a supportive nod from the other side of the court. It has always been Oscar's approval that you've vied for. It's sweet and soft when you get it.
"Alright, line up," Hamilton yells from the benches, clapping and smiling, his clipboard under his arm. The crowd is equally excited, probably less about your victory and more about the fact that they got to see some damn good volleyball.
From the corner of your eye, you see Ollie. He's one of the few people standing in his section, his gaze still fixed on you. His sweatshirt is off, tied around his hips, and his hair is unintentionally messier. Clapping and whistling at the court, you brush him off, assuming it's for Kimi.
October 1st, 2024 - 22:25
"Oh dear, Isack's got his shirt off again," you comment to yourself as you pour another cup of punch. Liam was kind enough to put up his residence--the huge, one-person suite he won in the student lottery--for the after-match party. Sweet, sweet Liam, you think, I'll thank you for the alcohol later.
"When does he not have his shirt off?" Doriane asks you. She nudges your cup with hers, urging for a refill. She's moving as though she's in slow motion. You've know her for three years, it's her tell-tale being drunk sing.
"Never," you joke, leaning against the table-turned-bar. You and Doriane stand there for a while, nursing your drinks, the party raging on around you. "Who are you looking for?" Doriane, despite being an amazing opposite, is a terrible liar.
"I'll tell you if you tell me," she responds, her accent thicker as the alcohol does its work. Her eyes then light up, a soft and sweet joy showing itself to everyone who gets to interact with her. "Oh wait," she giggles in a high pitch, "you don't have to tell me."
Your eyebrows furrow. "Why not?"
In a loopy voice, she sings, "Because I know who you likeee."
It's your turn to laugh. You make sure it's a full and hearty laugh, so she believes you and doesn't give you that pitiful squint she's good at. "I don't like anyone, Dori," you insist, taking a long sip of punch after saying so. Doriane pushes your shoulder, clearly enjoying this.
"Sure you don't," she winks, nodding her head over to the corner of the room where, expectedly, Ollie Bearman. He's leaning against the wall, the side of his arm propping him up. In his hand, he's swirling a cup--presumably of punch. You don't understand why he's alone. Captain of a team, well-liked (although you don't fully grasp how this is possible), cute. Yet he's alone at a party, with only his bitter drink to keep him company. "Yeah," Doriane drags, "you know what I'm talking about."
You take another sip. "What can I do to prove to you that I don't?"
Doriane snickers. She then, stupidly, yells over the party music, "Bearman! Get over here." He points to himself, confused, and your head drops at how stupid he has got to be and how not fucking excited you are for this conversation. The alcohol has clearly been having fun with him--Ollie struggles to push through the crowd, accidentally spilling his drink twice and apologizing too profusely for the incidents.
"What's up?" he does a dap up with Doriane, glancing over at you a few times, listlessly. Doriane claps her hand on his back and, in no secretive or remotely shameful way, pushes him toward you.
"My friend Yn here is really bored, Ollie," she says. "And I've got to play beer pong with Isack. French representation." Tapping her chest above her heart, Doriane slowly disappears into the crowd. "Keep her company for me!" And then, she turns around and sprints away. Probably smart, considering you would've followed her immediately. Ollie sways to the beat, still in front of you, before taking a few steps and sliding into the empty space right next to you.
"Did well today," Ollie says. His sentences are broken and his voice is too deep, like he's doing a purposefully bad job at concealing an unintentionally bad joke.
"Haha," you sarcastically reply. From his hands, you grab his drink and finish it off, hoping it sets him off in the way he always tries to set you off. "I get it, you hate. Dori'll be back in, like, five minutes, we don't have to talk."
He shrugs, not commenting on the drink theft. "Don't hate you," he replies. Why does drunk Ollie Bearman not know how to use the 'I' pronoun?
Your eyes roll. "Okay, maybe not hate, but mildly dislike."
He giggles, "Is that the clinical definition? Mild dislike?" It's a funny comment to make, but you refuse to chuckle. The warm need to laugh rattles your bones anyway. "Prob'ly not. I don't mildly dislike you."
"Strongly then?"
Even more giggles. Weirdly cute, you think. "Not even," he tells you, flicking the side of your hand. "I just think you're fun to argue with. Get pissed too easy."
"You can argue with anyone, Bearman. Why'd you always gotta pick me?"
Ollie takes a new red solo cup from the table behind you two, filling it with ease. "No one's as pretty when they're mad," he says. In such a simple way, too. "Not as much as you anyway." You freeze. "You're so pretty, Yn. Even when I catch you after conditioning practice. And trust me, no one looks good then. Even Charles didn't a few years back." The burn on your cheeks and on the back of your knees beckons you away. This is not a common Ollie and Yn conversation. You want out.
"I've got to go," you state. All the drunkenness leaves your body while you stomp, like a giant, towards the door. You don't even say goodbye to Doriane and Isack, who probably would've been too busy rehashing how 'Cupid core' they are to say it back.
ynln
liked by charles_leclerc, stanfordvolley.red, and 2,840 others
ynln kimi will happy to know that ollie bearman and i no longer hate each other (we only mildly dislike one another)
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olliebearman nothing brings people together like plato... i guess
ynln stop pretending i'm not your best friend
olliebearman um you're NAWT i'm using you to pass voweles :)
kimiantonelli THIS IS A GOOD DAY! i am taking you both to cane's
ynln viva italia viva yn (and maybe ollie)
olliebearman why are you causing beef if we're friends now
oscarpiastri finally!!!! thank you kimiantonelli
ynln 🤨
olliebearman 🤨
arvidlindblad okay now date
kimiantonelli let's not get ahead of ourselves
ellalloyd ollie + yn = best coed captains
liablock yay! all of stanford can sleep well tonight!
arthur_leclerc u like him or smh?
ynln i'm going to tell your brother on you hoe charles_leclerc
charles_leclerc show your captain some damn respect arthur
october 27th, 2024 - 2:44
"Pass the coffee, Ollie," you say, finding it impossible not to fall asleep. You two have been holed up in his room for the past 12 hours, him skipping his lecture on Aerodynamics and you skipping a late dinner with the girls.
Ollie's apartment is such a strange sight. Two months ago, you would've chosen death by lethal injection rather than sitting in Ollie Bearman's room. Turns out, it's not half bad. The windows in his albeit small living room take up the wall, filling the flat with natural light and fresh autumn air. He's got a collection of CDs under his tiny TV (a collection you secretly perused when he was in the bathroom). You must admit, despite the adamantly petty side of you, that he's got taste. Ollie's clearly multifaceted. His walls are covered with huge posters, of bands, films, places, even books. A DJO poster sticks out to you the most.
You want to make conversation, throw your godforsaken work to the side and ask Ollie about him. It's something you're finding interesting. The way he bites the end of his pen, tapping it against the edge of his lower lip. The way he's staring so intently, his inner struggle to get past the first line of the text visible on his face. Maybe Lando's right. Bearman doesn't seem all that bad.
Ollie reaches for the pot of coffee, grabbing your mug and pouring some in, carefully, tongue poking against the inside of his cheek. Once he's filled it up graciously, he passes it to you with a quick smile, "Here you go." You take it by the edges, almost scared to touch it.
"I could've poured it myself, you know," you tell him. You know he knows--you just want to gauge where this newfound selflessness is coming from. He must want something.
He shrugs, grabbing his notebook off the floor and setting it in his lap. "I know," he says, "just wanted to be nice." Ollie said it in such a simple, bare-bones way that you sit idly for a while. He just wanted to be nice. To you? You've never been all that nice to him. Where is this coming from.
You take the mug to your lips, watching his reaction. Maybe he's going to jump at you in the last moment, tell you he poisoned it or spat it in or something. Something to explain. He's being so... normal?
"Hurry your drinking," he states without glancing up. "I need some help with this paragraph." You take that as your sign to let this go, swallowing a large gulp of room temperature coffee. Bland, but strong.
Ollie passes you the book, the passage already highlighted. Your eyes flick over it once, then another time. Studying for Voweles with someone else is always so weird because, normally, you pull a hermit--tons of snacks, ugly but comfortable clothes, and a lot of help from youtube's favorite philosophers. Now, you've got to pretend you know what this guy is rambling on about for ten fucking pages.
Ollie can tell you're also struggling. With a sly smile, he comments, "When I agreed to study with you, I thought you'd know what you're doing. You're as good at Plato as you are at volleyball."
You know it's a joke. Officially, you've spent enough time with him to know that this smile, the downturned one with a bright glint in his eye, is his joking smile. See, you know that. But somehow, it's so much easier to just... not know that. Knowing Ollie means knowing he's... you don't really even know. You've been fighting for years now. It's easier to keep fighting.
You chuck the book back at him, grabbing your own with a dissatisfied and snarky look on your face. "Fuck you, Bearman," you say. "Sorry you're pissed that you're the only captain that isn't a starter on the D1 teams. Fucking cry about it. Just let me do my fucking work." His eyes blink, flurrying. He pushes himself away from you--you hadn't even noticed that he had moved closer.
The confusion and half-baked shock clear on his face slowly transforms into yet another grin. Does he know how to do anything else? you wonder to yourself. You won't give him the satisfaction of looking up.
"Fuck, Yn," he says, "what's got your panties in a twist?" Your back straightens in surprise. You don't know how to feel. You can be mad--Lord knows you can be so mad right now. You can quote 10 Things I Hate About You to him, which excites you to your core.
"The fuck kind of comment is that?"
He shrugs, eyes unmoving from you. "A crazy statement deserves a crazy response."
Finally, you throw your book over to the side. It skids against the wooden floors. You've been scared to look into his eyes, and you still kind of are. "You attacked me first, dickwad." You push his chest away and reach for your book again.
"It was a joke," he laughs. Clearly, he's fucking entertained. "I don't grt where this is coming from, I thought we were friends now." You scoff, dramatically.
"Just because I don't throw up when I see you doesn't mean we're friends," you say. Your hand goes up to accompany the rest of the fighting words you have--you have a lot--but Ollie catches your wrist in the air. It forces you to look at him.
"I don't want to fight," he simply says. You don't know what his bluff is. This whole thing--talking to you, texting you, studying with you. You still haven't figured out what he wants. It's driving you certifiably insane. "I'm sorry, I thought that this whole thing--"he motions to the study environment on his bedroom floor--"was us being friends. My bad, I won't make that mistake again." Okay, why do you feel a bit bad? "But I just... why can't we be friends? Like, is that so hard for you to imagine?"
You've basically forgotten your wrist in his, your attention going only to the slightly tragic shine of his brown eyes.
"I can't be friends with someone that doesn't respect me," you mutter. Ollie drops your hand. You think it's because he's mad but really, he just needs both his hands to scoot closer to you.
"What do you mean I don't respect you?" Normally, when men say this, it's in that condescending, gaslighting, fuck-you way. But this time, it really isn't. You've got an asshole-man detector, and it's fucking silent right now.
You feel stupid. You feel mad. You feel like he's too close and it's too hot in his stupid, dumb, idiotic room. "I heard you," you finally say. "It's moronic but I heard you." When he doesn't react, you add on, "On Halloween. Freshman year."
two years ago... october 31st, 2022 - 22:48
You have no clue where Kimi is. You should've thought ahead. Both of you knew it was going to be a big party--why'd you give him the least recognizable outfit ever. As you sift through the crowd of drunk college students, each one of them in either an incredibly bright or incredibly dull costume, your eyes scan for the navy blue suit and plastic golden crown.
You're dressed as Mal, from Descendants. And yes, you do have the best costume. Since September, you've had this picked out, the cute outfit and the perfect purple hair dye sitting in your closet, gathering dust. To your surprise, everyone loves it. Not that you care.
Kimi hadn't picked out a costume up until an hour before the party, citing his volleyball practices and organic chemistry homework as an excuse (the latter is unbelievably valid). Scrolling through Pinterest for ideas didn't help since Kimi rolled his eyes at every one, with a perfect reason as to why he absolutely, totally could not go as that. Finally, as if a lightbulb clicked! on in your head, you ran to his closet for a navy suit and told him--you didn't ask--that he was being Ben, also from Descendants.
Now, he may as well have dressed as Waldo, because he's impossible to find. You also wouldn't mind finding that guy, Bearman, that he's always around. Not because he's cute or anything (although he definitely is). No, not because of that...
"There he is!" you jump when you spot Kimi, leaning against a wall with a can of Coors in hand. He's got a wide smile and his head is moving lethargically to the beat. He's drunk, for sure. Next to him, his back turned, stands Bearman. Yes! you think to yourself, immediately searching the room to see if anyone noticed. No, too busy drinking and dancing poorly.
Ollie Bearman is wearing a loose pair of jeans, held up by a chunky black belt. He's got an open white button up, revealing a faded Superman logo. On his nose, a pair of those signature Clark Kent glasses rest, making him look less like a stranger and more like your future husband (you love a Superman costume). He leans against walls a lot. Probably thinks he looks hot doing it (Fuck, he does, you curse internally).
You approach them, expecting to hear a conversation about Formula 1 (they both love it) or how awesome the men’s team Outside hitter Max Verstappen is (they both love him), but instead, the first thing you hear is your name.
“Yn is really good though,” Kimi says, tipping his beer back, “right?”
Your hands push against one another—you shouldn’t be this nervous to hear the answer. It’s not like Bearman’s opinion matters that much. You don’t know if it’s to do with how hard you’ve worked; how impossible it’s been to get to Stanford in the face of everyone saying you couldn’t, or shouldn’t. It could also be that some irrational and love-struck part of you wants Ollie to respect you. To think you’re Max Verstappen levels of awesome. Maybe then, you can approach him. Take this stupid crush you’ve been harboring since orientation day, when he carried a box for you and bought you a coffee, and make something of it.
“I honestly don’t know how she got her spot,” Ollie tells Kimi. Fuck. The statement itself isn’t even that bad. Well, it is. But it’s the voice, the tone that hurts worse. He says it so casually, as if it’s commonplace or well agreed upon. Like it should be clear as day. “She’s not all that good. Dunno how she’s a starter.” It's not that bad. You know it isn't. But, despite your head knowing this, your heart drums within your chest, blood boiling.
It's not about him. It's about all of it. Everything you've done to get here, on scholarship, no less, is simply wiped away when people make comments like that. You resent it. That your skills and your hard, hard work disappear, evaporating in the hot room, whenever someone comments. You've had this insecurity, nagging at you, no matter how good you feel--it's always there. And yeah, maybe it being Ollie makes it a bit worse, considering you are... more than a bit interested. Any random off the street insulting you wouldn't feel as bad at this does.
You decide to not care. You can ignore how cute Bearman looks, dressed like that, giggling to whatever surely stupid thing Kimi is saying. You can forget him and set your sights on kicking his ass when coed season picks up. Then, he can make comments all he wants. Fuck Ollie Bearman.
october 27th, 2024 - 2:48
Ollie sits there, blinking. You didn't recount that story to not get a reply, so your eyes stay glued to him, moving every few seconds to try to grasp any diminutive movements. There aren't many. You don't know what to expect--it would be wonderful to get an apology, obviously. Taking in Bearman's stance, his daydreams written all over his face, it doesn't seem like that will be the case. Hopefully, he won't argue, get pissed. You're struggling to let go of it all, but you do have some... positive feelings, for lack of a better word, for him.
All of a sudden, Ollie begins laughing. He bends over himself, absolutely wheezing with hilarious joy. It's not even that fake laugh that everyone does, it's completely real, his whole chest shaking. You're insulted! Here you are, having held this grudge in the spikiest chambers of your heart, and it entertains him. You're ready to argue, hands already flying in the air, when Ollie explains, "I'm so sorry, Yn." Through laughs, he continues. "It's just... I can't believe that this is why we've been fighting for three years." He says the amount as if it's completely, utterly insane. It is.
"Well, yeah, I'm gonna stay mad if you talk shit about my volleyball skills to my friend," you tell him. "I've worked fucking hard to get here and I don't appreciate people who talk out of their ass about me."
Ollie's hands go up defensively--clearly as a joke--as he finally starts recovering from the fit of laughter. "No, I get that, Yn, truly," he accepts, "good for you for doing that." His words, on paper, would probably seem more mocking than genuine. But the way his eyes widen, the soft tone he takes with you, tells you that he's sincere. It's kind of nice. "But... it's funny to me because I get the context. Surrounding this whole thing."
You can't believe the nerve of this guy! Scooting closer, you ask, "What context could I possibly not be getting?"
Ollie scans you, wondering what the best next move his, still much more at peace with this discussion than you are. He copies you in your scoot, making the space between you two sparse. "I'd never drank before," he says, only adding when he sees your furrowed eyebrows, "that night. It was my first drink. I had a lot. And I was pissed."
"About what!" you yell. His hands go to your knees to calm you down--it works.
"About you!" he finally lets out. If you were confused before, and you really were, you're more confused now. "I'd seen you around the courts and..." he's rubbing the corner of his eye, frustrated. Ollie lets out a short breath, like he's preparing himself for something. "I wanted to talk to you. Because I thought you were cute. I liked you." He spells it out, implying you should suddenly understand, but you don't. You're incredibly shocked, your lips pursing. In no world will you allow yourself to speak and interrupt this fascinating story Ollie Bearman has to share.
He continues, "But then you and Kimi showed up in a couple's costume. Ugh!" His head falls into his hands. "I thought... stupidly, I thought that, I don't know, if I talked bad about you, maybe Kimi would reconsider. Or that maybe I could convince myself I didn't care. I don't know, okay? It was stupid, I get that now. I mean, I kinda got it then. But yeah, I'm sorry, it was dumb." Ollie gives you a few seconds to process, even though that is definitely not enough time. He looks sad and you hate it, more than you ever hated him.
"I'm so stupid," you say to yourself. He peeks out between his fingers, trying to get a grasp on how you're reacting before he commits to looking up. "I'm so fucking childish."
Ollie lets out a thankful, relieved sigh. "Yeah," he smiles. "It's okay though." You tilt your head, wondering how he's going to surprise you now. How could you treating him (sorta) unfairly for the past three years be okay? "Bickering with you is still talking to you," Ollie explains. "Better than nothing. That's why I kinda, ya know, made it a bit worse. Argued back." Your jaw drops slightly. Sneaky sneaky. "Was worth it," he pairs with a wink.
You don't say anything, and neither does he. You're both just staring at each other, trying to figure out how to move from here. It's easier when you're rivals; now, there's this added layer of indescribably complicated, yet appallingly simple, stuff. Your mind is barely wrapped around this whole thing, when Ollie, channelling more of that appalling simplicity, just leans in and captures you in a kiss.
So. Both of your lives would've been so much better if he had done that on Halloween. It goes on forever, your lips interlocked, hands roaming. You're thoroughly enjoying yourself, pulling Ollie closer and angling yourself in weird ways to minimize the gap. Who let him be such a good kisser?
A heaven afterwards, you two pull apart simultaneously, trying to catch your breath. "Fuck, this is so complicated," you accidentally say aloud. For all of his accessibility, his beautifully articulate face, Ollie is not understandable right now. He seems a bit disappointed, but there must be a more accurate word for how his lips have the slightest downturn to them and for how his posture isn't as annoyingly confident as usual.
"Yeah," he nods. It seems like he both agrees and is actively trying to convince himself of it. "So, we probably shouldn't do that again, huh?" If you were less in your head about this, if you were trying to correct Halloween's mistakes, you would've disagreed. Taken his hand, held it until it weighted too much. But you're not thinking clearly, convinced Ollie hated it. So you nod in turn.
"Yeah. Let's just... be friends?" you ask, he smiles.
november 1st, 2024 - 3:26
Ollie Bearman is kicking fucking ass. He's a Middle Blocker, meaning he only has half the time on the court that most of the other players do. Usually, this fact makes people whiny--Arthur Leclerc loves to bring it up and complain (only when he does it, it's 'charming.'). For Ollie, the limited nature of his volleyball matches only makes him work harder. That's why he's facing off against the Green team, which, objectively, isn't that good, yet he's sweating bullets.
He knows he's played well today. Coach Rosberg's whoops of joy and lack of broken clipboards make that clear. Ollie runs a hand through his hair, trying to bring his attention back to the play Green was making. Logan's in the air, in the middle of a quick attack. As quick as he can, Ollie jumps up to block him, the edge of his fingers grazing the ball and slowing it down.
"Mine!" shouts Chloe, their Libero. She bumps the ball perfectly, sending it flying to Ella, one of the most talented Setters Ollie had ever come across.
"Bearman!" she yells, making eye contact with him as she sets him the ball. What is it with everyone sending the ball to Middles? Not that I'm complaining. He does his shortened approach, calculating his positioning as accurately as ever. Just as he's about the smash the ball down, Ollie sees Lia and Logan, both in the air next to one another. His mind scatters and he does the only thing he knows to do. In the last possible moment, he gently pushes the ball towards the side of the blockers' hands. And just like that, they win.
No huge spike, no imperceptibly miscommunicated receives. Just a bump. The team around him erupts, channeling all the energy they didn't know they had into cheering. Gabi and Tina run towards Ollie, but he moves past them, trying to get the air fully into his lungs. Unintentionally, he filters through the crowd, hoping to see the familiar flash of glossy brown hair, wide dark eyes, white lipgloss smile.
"Yn!" he shouts, watching the girl run over. She's got a small drink in her hand, which she doesn't care about not spilling, considering she and Kimi are rushing over without a second doubt. Kimi hugs Ollie first, talking in a confusing mix of English and Italian, praising his performance today. Yn stands to the side, looking the boys up and down. Ollie can tell she's unsure what to do.
Of course, they've never been close. The've been antagonizing each other for years, throwing insults as small grenades. But Ollie also knows. He knows he's been harboring a small flicker of feelings since his first meeting with you, a flicker that has grown into a forest fire. All those verbal sparring matches weren't because he means those things; it's because that's the only way you'll talk to him. So now, after what happened a few days ago, after you tried to put the fire out, he doesn't know how to continue with you.
He decides to try. Ollie nods at you, putting his free arm around your shoulders and nudging you over. Luckily for him, you comply, walking into his half-hug. It takes a few seconds for you to get comfortable before you finally put your arms around his waist, squeezing him closer. Ollie presses a chaste kiss to the top of your head before he squeezes you back.
Oscar and Lando watch from afar, exchanging money.
olliebearman
liked by courtneycrone, liamlawson30, and 3,004 others
olliebearman who's excited for a red v blue match up in the final?? i know ynln is because she wore that shirt and told me, i'll make you cry when i wipe the floor with you." is this... bullying?
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kimiantonelli i am so happy you two are friends now
dorianepin 'friends'
chloechambers 'friends'
ninagademan 'friends'
stanfordvolleyball Let's hear it for our team captains!!!! We love you, Yn and Ollie!
albalarsen and meanwhile... they're in love with one another
francocolapinto hey king!!!!
olliebearman sorry we kicked your ass :(
ynln who is that baddie in the last slide????
olliebearman this girl that is really good at volleyball
ynln is she single 🥰
gabrielbortoleto yn flirting with herself FOR ollie
stanfordvolley.blue Go Blue team!
lando I fear my meddling was just TOO good
ynln your passive ahh did nothing
hausmann.tina more than one successful block? wow, i'm impressed, captain!
olliebearman 💔
november 15th, 2024 - 13:52
Your breathing is erratic. The lights above the court, brighter than they usually are--or at least, they seem that way. Your skin is on fire. Your knee pads itch, requiring you to move them in every spare moment. Your ponytail is dropping, drops of sweat trickling down the sides of your face. It's Blue's serve.
Gabriel's up, bouncing the ball a few times, inspecting it. You're resting your body weight on your knees, knowing that the serve is unlikely to go to you. With a quick glance of the players behind you, you can infer that it'll go to Oscar. Gabriel has that tricky serve that seems to aim at the poor, defenseless corner of the court, covered not by the Libero, but by the unfortunate Outside Hitter. Boom! and it's in the air. It's the final set, after a switching amount of victories. 2-2 in sets, 23-23 in points. Not ideal. But in many ways, ideal.
It goes to Oscar, as you expected it to. He puts it up well, aiming it more or less towards Kimi, who's running towards his spot next to the net. He jumps up, high--you always forget how insane Kimi's vertical is. Within a second, he sends the ball flying to Doriane, who, in perfect synchronicity, leaps into the air, spiking it with all her might. Lando jumps to block, but times it a millisecond too late, allowing Doriane to make the most of her hit.
The buzzer sounds. 24-23. Match point. And it's Doriane's serve. You move a spot over, looking through the net to see a conflicting sight. It might be the best view, you think, but it also might be the worst. In his navy, loose-hanging jersey (which he must've ordered that way on purpose), stands Ollie Bearman, his hands on his sides. He doesn't even see you, eyes so zoned in on what's going on behind you. His eyes are so nice, you have always thought so.
You put your hands on the back of your head, preparing for the serve to go over. This seems to be what grabs Ollie's attention, he gives you a look, one that lingers when he notices it's you. A broad smile is sent your way. You return it, mindlessly. Now that you're standing right in front of him, only a thin net between you, it's quite obvious how tall the boy is.
"Ball's up," Arthur mutters next to you. You see the ball flying over the net. It gets bumped up by Liam Lawson, who, in turn, sends it to Ella. She pushes it out to Lando, who, in a movement that was so quick you couldn't even see it, smashes it down. Before the play is over, just as the ball is about to touch the floor, Isack throws himself, sliding and bumping it up with his right arm. The crowd erupts, but you're too focused on the play to feel proud. Kimi sprint over, squatting down to get a better angle for the set. He does, his arms pushing out in Arthur's direction. A quick.
This goes on, the rally stretching out, but never fully depleting the energy of the players. For what feels like the fifth time, Isack receives a difficult ball, sending it to Kimi. Finally, it is set to you. The anticipation builds up as you take the first, second, and third steps of your approach until you're in the air. Once your feet leave the ground, you feel everything in multitudes. The cool air of the Stanford gym, brushing on your skin. The sharp noise of shoes, skidding against the smooth floors, moving to prepare for your hit. In front of you, Ollie jumps to block, higher than you've seen him jump before. Your hand connects with the ball, sending it down with incredible force, and you catch Ollie... smiling. Not in a vindictive or malicious way--you've seen those smiles of his a million times--but in a more-or-less proud way. Huh.
Chloe receives the hit, but the force behind it was too strong, sending the ball flying to the left. Tina and Liam run to save it, but they don't reach it in time. The sound it makes when it hits the floor is one you've heard plenty of times, but rarely has it sounded so, so sweet.
"Woohoo!" shouts Kimi, jumping in the air like a Super Mario character. It breaks you out of your trance, the noise of your team celebrating. They're jumping on each other, squealing, and it makes you smile. On the other side of the net, Blue's roster is clapping and cheering each other up. Ollie has a brighter smile than half of your team as he pushes the bottom of the net up, lowering himself to come over and congratulate you. You can barely hold yourself back, you throw yourself into his arms, shouting with joy into shoulder.
He pulls out of the hug, just enough so he can see your face. Your arms are still around him. Ollie says, "Good job today, yeah?" You don't reply because you can't seem to focus on anything other than how deep his eyes are. How honed in they are on yours. Before you can truly think it through, you're grabbing him by the jersey and pulling him, kissing him like you've been imagining for the past few weeks. For a second, he pulls away, eyes darting around, confused. He raises his eyebrows, as if asking you, Is this real? You give him a nod, biting on the inside of your cheek, stressed. Luckily for you, Ollie breaks out in an even bigger smile.
He grabs you by the waist, lifting you and twirling you around the court, yelling simultaneously, "You were so good!" He's repeating it, over and over, before he puts you down, replacing the compliments with yet another mind-numbingly good kiss. Ollie peppers the kisses on your cheek, your face, his hands on the sides of your face.
"Stop that!" you giggle, jokingly pushing him away.
"Please do!" yells Kimi from the other side of the gym. "This was not my intention!"
"We were so stupid, huh?" Ollie asks you, referencing your failed attempts of staying away from one another. You grin, nodding.
ynln playing anyone else but you - the moldy peaches
liked by usawomensvolleyball, jackdoohan, and 3,418 others
ynln the end of the season has arrived, with a rivals to lovers twist! are we predictable, olliebearman?
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kimitantonelli i've overcorrected too much, now i am the third wheel
ynln meddler doesn't suit you
olliebearman thank you kimi, we all say in unison
usawomensvolleyball Amazing performance this season, Yn! Excited to see the other ways you will impress us!
mathildapaatz anyone know cpr?
arthur_leclerc treasonous much?
charles_leclerc impossible to deal with much?
ynln charles defending me from across the atlantic ocean :p
olliebearman that ball went over the net
ynln uh uh 😅
isackhadjar j'adore bearln
ynln my #1 fan
kimiantonelli just say you hate me
kimiantonelli this is not fair i was always on this train
kimiantonelli reply to the gc you FREAKS get your hands off each other
jackdoohan Ate down, diva! liked by author
aurelianobels does this mean we have to break up?
ynln no you'll always be my wife
olliebearman only took us two and a half years!
ynln and many many arguments
olliebearman playing love grows (where my rosemary goes) - edison lighthouse
liked by sebastianmontoya, isackhadjar, and 3,192 others
olliebearman done with coed volleyball? do beach volleyball! the addiction runs deep, but i'm not alone. ynln, isackhadjar, and kimiantonelli are all in it with me ☺️
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dorianepin now who could've predicted this?!?!?
isackhadjar definitely not you and me and oscar and arvid and alex and lia and everyone
kimiantonelli i did not predict it but i am happy mate
olliebearman thanks kimi (the rest of you, why didn't you tell me earlier?)
ynln i still plan on beating you on the court
olliebearman hopefully we can be on the same team next season
lando please, for the peace of stanford, put them on the same team
ynln you won't even BE HERE 😭
liablock my favorite coupleeeee
olliebearman me and yn or me and isack?
isackhadjar i'm your bad bitch on the side ig
ynln are you... quoting lana del rey rn?
isackhadjar no? i'm just speaking my truth?
alexdunne you're so cool ollie!!!!!
olliebearman i love when the freshmen idolize me
ynln alex who let you out?
logansargeant GOD BLESS AMERICA, THEY ARE DATING
oscarpiastri get back on your mood stabilizers sweetie
