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⋮ via. she.ᐟher 23 oscar piastri’s girl yellowjacket ⌗ 09 cabin seventeen gracielivia truther blade angels' fourth chronic post reblogger espeon trainer not so casual logan enjoyer ( ⌗ 88 ) seasian blog rebrand — 🐝
F1/Motorsport Reading List
A compilation of almost everything I've read about F1, including academic articles, essays, and books. All categories are inexact, and a few items are listed in multiple places. Starred items are those I personally found most interesting, dashed ones I'm somewhat dubious of, and ones with a plus are recently added. I've included links to excerpts that I've previously posted, and you can also check out my f1 scholarship tag. I've also listed places where readings can be found, but if anyone is having trouble accessing anything, just message me and I can send them to you. I plan to keep updating this as I read more, and if you have any recommendations, please let me know!
Philosophy
*"The Racing Driver and His Double", Screened Out (2002) by Jean Baudrillard - z library, anna's archive, excerpts
*"Ayrton Senna, Alain Prost, and the Specter of Death" by Bécquer Medak-Seguín, Cultural Exchanges Between Brazil and France (2016) - z library, anna's archive, excerpts
"Being in Acceleration: An Existentialist Perspective on Formula One Racing" (2021) by Selin Alpaslan - excerpts
Personal Accounts/Biographies
Insider Perspectives
Life at the Limit: Triumph and Tragedy in Formula One (1996) by Sid Watkins - z library, anna's archive
+The Mechanic's Tale (1999) by Steve Matchett - z library, anna's archive
+The Racing Driver: The Theory and Practice of Fast Driving (1959) by Denis Jenkinson - z library, anna's archive, excerpt
+Lewis Hamilton: My Story (2007) by Lewis Hamilton - z library, anna's archive, excerpts
*+The Mechanic: The Secret World of the F1 Pitlane (2017) by Marc Priestley - z library, anna's archive, excerpts
Middle Perspectives
"Motor Racing" by Raymond Baxter, Sports in View (1964) edited by Peter Dimmock - anna's archive, excerpts
*The Pits: The Real World of Formula One (2004) by Beverley Turner - anna's archive, excerpts
Inside the Mind of the Grand Prix Driver (2003) by Christopher Hilton - z library, anna's archive, excerpts
*+The Cruel Sport: Grand Prix Racing 1959-1967 (2005) by Robert Daley - z library, anna's archive, excerpts
Outsider Perspectives
The Death of Ayrton Senna (1995) by Richard Williams - z library, anna's archive, excerpts
*Formula One Fanatic (2004) by Koen Vergeer - z library, anna's archive, excerpts
+The Limit: Life and Death on the 1961 Grand Prix Circuit (2011) by Michael Cannell - z library, anna's archive, excerpts
Technical Developments
*"Technological Discontinuities and Competitive Advantage: A Historical Perspective on Formula 1 Motor Racing 1950–2006" (2010) by Mark Jenkins - z library, anna's archive, excerpts
"Innovation in Grand Prix motor racing: the evolution of technology, organization and strategy" (1991) by Gordon R. Foxall and Brian R. Johnston - z library, anna's archive
"Trajectories in the Evolution of Technology: A Multi-Level Study of Competition in Formula 1 Racing" (2001) by Mark Jenkins and Steven Floyd - z library
+*"Spatialising knowledge: placing the knowledge community of Motor Sport Valley" (2000) by Nick Henry and Steven Pinch - z library, anna's archive, excerpts
Safety
*"It Was Ironic That He Should Die in Bed: Injury, Death and the Politics of Safety in the History of Motor Racing" by Stephen Wagg, The History and Politics of Motor Racing: Lives in the Fast Lane (2023) - link, anna's archive, oceanofpdf, excerpts
"Changes in technical regulations and drivers' safety in top-class motor sports" (2007) by G Lippi, G L Salvagno, M Franchini, G C Guidi - link (us gov site), z library, anna's archive
"When Men Were Men, And Burned To Death" (2009) by Thomas Macaulay Millar - link, excerpts
Life at the Limit: Triumph and Tragedy in Formula One (1996) by Sid Watkins - z library, anna's archive
"Formula One: a ‘crash’ course in motorsports medicine" (2024) by James Michael Kempema - link
+"The Body’s Second Skin: Forming the Protective Community of Grand Prix Motor Racing" (2000) by Alex Twitchen - z library (Organising Bodies: Policy, Institutions, and Work edited by Linda Mckie and Nick Watson, ch 7)
Health/Athleticism
"A Comprehensive Review of Post-traumatic Injuries Among Formula 1 Drivers From 1950 to 2023: An Epidemiological Study" (2025) by Johann P. Braithwaite, Shawn J. Geffken, Anthony Modica, Randy M. Cohn, and Adam D. Bitterman - link (us gov site)
"Driver as a High-Level Athlete" (2012) by Fatih Küçükdurmaz - z library, anna's archive
"Physical characteristics of experienced and junior open-wheel car drivers" (2013) by Christian Raschner, Hans-Peter Platzer and Carson Patterson - z library, anna's archive
"The phychophysiology of the racing driver" (1968) by J. Michael Henderson - z library
"The Case for Driver Science in Motorsport: A Review and Recommendations" (2013) by Edward S. Potkanowicz and Ronald W. Mendel - z library
Psychology
"The Racer’s Mind—How Core Perceptual-Cognitive Expertise Is Reflected in Deliberate Practice Procedures in Professional Motorsport" (2018) by Otto Lappi - z library, anna's archive
"Psychiatric risk factors in Formula One and the importance of integrating mental health into driver science" (2024) by Jill Colangelo, Alexander Smith, Nicky Keay, Ana Buadze and Michael Liebrenz - link
"A Preliminary Psychological Assessment of the Skills of Motor Racing Drivers" (1965) by Berenice Krikler - z library, anna's archive, excerpt
Gender
Women in Motorsport
*"‘What on Earth are They Doing in a Racing Car?’: Towards an Understanding of Women in Motorsport" (2016) by Jordan J.K. Matthews and Elizabeth C.J. Pike - z library
*"Something Less than a Driver: Toward an Understanding of Gendered Bodies in Motorsport" (2009) by Ehren Helmut Pflugfelder - z library, excerpts
"Riding in Cars Between Men" (2005) by John M. Sloop - z library, anna's archive, excerpt
"From Powder Puff to W Series: The Evolution of Women-Only Racing" by Chris Lezotte, The History and Politics of Motor Racing: Lives in the Fast Lane (2023) - link, anna's archive, oceanofpdf
"Hitting the barriers – Women in Formula 1 and W series racing" (2022) by Olivia R. Howe - link
"More than “just a driver”: A study of professional women racecar drivers’ agency in motorsport" (2021) by Jill Kochanek, Megan Davis, Karl Erickson, and David Ferguson - anna's archive
Grid Girls and Objectification
"The Awkward Gender Politics of Formula 1 as a Promotional Space: The Issue of ‘Grid Girls’" by Honorata Jakubowska, The History and Politics of Motor Racing: Lives in the Fast Lane (2023) - link, anna's archive, oceanofpdf
"Debating the F1 grid girls: feminist tensions in British popular culture" (2019) by Anna Tippett - z library
"Beyond Grid Girls and Checkered Flags: Exploring Sexual Objectification at Motorsport Events" (2024) by Louise Smyth, Nigel Morgan, and Whitney Vernes
"Drivers to divas: advertising images of women in motorsport" (2009) by Sally R. Ross, Lynn L. Ridinger, and Jacquelyn Cuneen - z library, anna's archive
"The Formula One Paradox: Macho Male Racers and Ornamental Glamour ‘Girls’" by Damion Sturm, Sport, Gender, and Mega-Events (2022) - link, excerpt
Masculinity
"Bad Boys and Gentlemen: Gendered Narrative in Televised Sport" (2000) by Eileen Kennedy - z library, anna's archive, excerpt
*Media, Masculinities, and the Machine: F1, Transformers, and Fantasizing Technology at its Limits (2011) by Dan Fleming and Damion Sturm - z library, anna's archive, excerpts
"Masculinities, affect and the (re)place(ment) of stardom in Formula One fan leisure practices" (2011) by Damion Sturm - link, z library
Sexuality
"‘One team member doesn’t make a Pride parade’: an international study of people’s experiences of being lesbian, gay, bisexual, trans, and queer in motorsport" (2025) by Nikki Hayfield and Rebecca Sansbury - link
Race
*"Can the Formula One Driver Speak? Lewis Hamilton, Race and the Resurrection of the Black Athlete" by Ben Carrington, The History and Politics of Motor Racing: Lives in the Fast Lane (2023) - link, anna's archive, oceanofpdf, excerpts
"On Recovering the Black Geographies of Motorsports: The Counter-mobility Work of NASCAR’s Wendell Scott" by Derek H. Alderman and Joshua Inwood, The History and Politics of Motor Racing: Lives in the Fast Lane (2023) - link, anna's archive, oceanofpdf
National Identity
*"Reconstructing British identity: Formula One, Michael Schumacher and the British Press at the turn of the century" (2024) by Corinne Painter - link, excerpt
"Fueling nationalism: social and cultural media frames in French and British newspaper coverage of Formula 1 racing, 1981–1985" (2023) by Carolina Schep - link, excerpt
"Through Racing Goggles: Modernity, the West, Ambiguous Siamese Alterities and the Construction of Thai Nationalism" (2016) by Thak Chaloemtiarana - z library (Read till it shatters: Nationalism and identity in modern Thai literature, ch 2), anna's archive, excerpt
"‘Speed Lies in the Lap of the English’: Motor Records, Masculinity, and the Nation, 1907–14" (2012) by Ian Boutle - z library, anna's archive
Audience Experiences
"Relationships between thrill seeking, speeding attitudes, and driving violations among a sample of motorsports spectators and drivers" (2016) by Zümrüt Yıldırım-Yenier, Evelyn Vingilis, David L. Wiesenthal, Robert E. Mann, and Jane Seeley - z library, anna's archive
"What makes a motorsports event enjoyable? The case of Macau Grand Prix" (2017) by Ubaldino Sequeira Couto, Wendy Sio Lai Tang, and Paul Boyce - z library, anna's archive
"Sport events as experiencescapes: the spectator’s perspective" (2021) by Kirstin Hallmann, Anita Zehrer, and Julia Rietz - anna's archive
Media and Representations
Motorsport and Media
"The Need for Speed? A Historical Analysis of the BBC’s Post-War Broadcasting of Motorsport" (2020) by Richard Haynes and Timothy Robeers - z library, link
"On the Role of Race Outcome Uncertainty in the TV Demand for Formula 1 Grands Prix" (2016) by Dominik Schreyer and Benno Torgler - z library
Streaming the Formula 1 rivalry: sport and the media in the platform age (2024) by Raymond Boyle and Richard Haynes - excerpts
Representations of Motorsport
"“Men Love Women, But Even More Than That, Men Love Cars”: Motor Racing on Film" by Seán Crosson, The History and Politics of Motor Racing: Lives in the Fast Lane (2023) - link, anna's archive, oceanofpdf
"Motorsports as Popular Culture as Politics: Le Mans, F1, and Video Games" (2018) by Daniel S. Traber - z library, anna's archive
"Neoliberal Interpellation in the F1 2018 Video Game" by Daniel S. Traber, The History and Politics of Motor Racing: Lives in the Fast Lane (2023) - link, anna's archive, oceanofpdf
Mediatized Motorsport
"Formula One as Television" by Damion Sturm, The History and Politics of Motor Racing: Lives in the Fast Lane (2023) - link, anna's archive, oceanofpdf, excerpt
"From accelerated advertising to Fanboost: mediatized motorsport" (2021) by Mark Finn - z library, anna's archive
Celebrity and Persona
*"The ‘Star in the Car’: Formula One Stardom, Driver Agency and Celebrity Culture" by Damion Sturm, The History and Politics of Motor Racing: Lives in the Fast Lane (2023) - link, anna's archive, oceanofpdf, excerpts
"‘Who D’You Think You Are? Stirling Moss?’ British Racing Drivers and the Politics of Celebrity: 1896 to 1992" by Stephen Wagg, The History and Politics of Motor Racing: Lives in the Fast Lane (2023) - link, anna's archive, oceanofpdf
Competition
"Escalation of competition into conflict in competitive networks of Formula One drivers" (2018) by Henning Piezunka, Wonjae Lee, Richard Haynes, and Matthew S. Bothner - z library, anna's archive, excerpt
"When Success Is Rare and Competitive: Learning from Others’ Success and My Failure at the Speed of Formula One" (2022) by Michael A. Lapré and Candace Cravey - link
Globalization and Placemaking
"The Circus Comes to Town: Formula 1, Globalization, and the Uber-Sport Spectacle" by Jacob J. Bustad and David L. Andrews, The History and Politics of Motor Racing: Lives in the Fast Lane (2023) - link, anna's archive, oceanofpdf
"Circuits of Capital: The Spatial Development of Formula One Racetracks" by Michael Friedman and Brandon Wallace, The History and Politics of Motor Racing: Lives in the Fast Lane (2023) - link, anna's archive, oceanofpdf
"Formula 1 as a Vehicle for Urban Transformation in China: State Entrepreneurialism and the Re-Imaging of Shanghai" by Andrew Manley and Bryan C. Clift, The History and Politics of Motor Racing: Lives in the Fast Lane (2023) - link, anna's archive, oceanofpdf
"Baku formula 1 city circuit: exploring the temporary spaces of exception" (2017) by David Gogishvili/"Mega-Event on the Streets: The Formula 1 Grand Prix in Baku, Azerbaijan" by David Gogishvili, The History and Politics of Motor Racing: Lives in the Fast Lane (2023) - z library/link, anna's archive, oceanofpdf
"Motor Sport in the Middle East: Regional Rivalries, Business and Politics in the Arabian Gulf" by Mahfoud Amara and Youcef Bouandel, The History and Politics of Motor Racing: Lives in the Fast Lane (2023) - link, anna's archive, oceanofpdf
"Stray Dogs and Luxury Taxes: What Happened to the Indian Grand Prix?" by Callie Batts Maddox, The History and Politics of Motor Racing: Lives in the Fast Lane (2023) - link, anna's archive, oceanofpdf
"Motorsports as Popular Culture as Politics: Le Mans, F1, and Video Games" (2018) by Daniel S. Traber - z library, anna's archive
"The Monaco Grand Prix and Indianapolis 500: projecting European glamour and global Americana" by Damion Sturm, Sport, media and mega-events (2017) - link
"A Political and Economic Analysis of South Africa’s Historical Relationship with Formula One Motor Racing, 1934–1993" by Gustav Venter, The History and Politics of Motor Racing: Lives in the Fast Lane (2023) - link, anna's archive, oceanofpdf
*"The crucial ‘where’ of motorsport marketing: is motorsport now “a race out of place”?" (2009) by Paul J. Tranter and Mark Lowes - link, anna's archive
"Toward a Conceptual Understanding of Formula One Motorsport and Local Cosmopolitanism Discourse in Urban Placemarketing Strategies" (2017) by Mark Lowes - z library
"The discursive representation of host locations in a sports media event: Locating the ‘Real Site’ of Formula One" (2014) by Claire Evans - z library, anna's archive
+"What has been left after hosting the Formula 1 Grand Prix in Istanbul?" (2014) by Ferhan Gezici and Serra Er - z library, anna's archive
Corporate Spectacle
*"A glamorous and high-tech global spectacle of speed: Formula One motor racing as mediated, global and corporate spectacle" (2014) by Damion Sturm - link, excerpts
"The Circus is in Town: Exploring Consumption, Mobility, and Corporate Capitalism in the World of Formula 1 Motor Racing" (2003) by Ken Parker - link, excerpt
The Environment
"Formula One and the Insanity of Car-Based Transportation" by Toby Miller, Brett Hutchins, Libby Lester, and Richard Maxwell, The History and Politics of Motor Racing: Lives in the Fast Lane (2023) - link, anna's archive, oceanofpdf
*"The crucial ‘where’ of motorsport marketing: is motorsport now “a race out of place”?" (2009) by Paul J. Tranter and Mark Lowes - link, anna's archive
Management/Internal Politics
"The sharing, protection and thievery of intellectual assets: The case of the Formula 1 industry" (2010) by Maria Solitander and Nikodemus Solitander - excerpt
"Manipulation of competitions in Formula-1: where policy ends and cheating begins" (2017) by Salomėja Zaksaitė and Karolis Raduševičius - z library, anna's archive, excerpt
"A Social Analysis of an Elite Constellation: The Case of Formula 1" (2017) by Georgia Nichols and Mike Savage - z library, anna's archive, link
-"Family Connections in Motorsports: The Case of Formula One" (2018) by Craig A. Depken, II, Peter A. Groothuis, and Kurt W. Rotthoff - link
"After Abu Dhabi: Restoring Integrity and Accountability in Formula 1" (2024) by Alice S. Zheng - link
+*"Spatialising knowledge: placing the knowledge community of Motor Sport Valley" (2000) by Nick Henry and Steven Pinch - z library, anna's archive, excerpts
Economics/Business
"Ecclestone out, Liberty Media in: A Look into the Shifting Ownership Structure of Formula One" by Tom Evens, Sam Tickell, and Hans Erik Næss, The History and Politics of Motor Racing: Lives in the Fast Lane (2023) - link, anna's archive, oceanofpdf
"The Shifting Landscape of Sponsorship Within Formula 1" by Timothy Dewhirst and Wonkyong Beth Lee, The History and Politics of Motor Racing: Lives in the Fast Lane (2023) - link, anna's archive, oceanofpdf
Statistical Analysis
"Condorcet Method with Weakly Rational Decision Makers: A Case Study in the Formula 1 Constructors’ Championship" (2015) by João Carlos Correia Baptista Soares de Mello, Silvio Figueiredo Gomes Júnior, Lidia Angulo-Meza, and Catarina Loureiro de Oliveira Mourão - z library, anna's archive
"Revenue allocation in Formula One: a pairwise comparison approach" (2021) by Dóra Gréta Petróczy and László Csató - anna's archive
"Formula for success: Multilevel modelling of Formula One Driver and Constructor performance, 1950–2014" (2016) by Andrew Bell, James Smith, Clive E. Sabel, and Kelvyn Jones - z library, anna's archive
"The age-productivity gradient: Evidence from a sample of F1 drivers" (2011) by Fabrizio Castellucci, Mario Padula, and Giovanni Pica - z library, anna's archive
"Surviving in the shadows—An economic and empirical discussion about the survival of the non-winning F1 drivers" (2018) by Paulo Reis Mourao - excerpt
"Curvature-Based Geometric Difficulty Analysis of Formula 1 Racing Lines" (2026) by Myeonghwan Bae, Taekgwan Nam, and Youngjin Park
History
"The Origins of Motor Sport in France: Sites of Racing Memory" by Éamon Ó Cofaigh, The History and Politics of Motor Racing: Lives in the Fast Lane (2023) - link, anna's archive, oceanofpdf
"Racing and Racism: German Motorsport and the Third Reich" by Eberhard Reuss and Sandra Esslinger, The History and Politics of Motor Racing: Lives in the Fast Lane (2023) - link, anna's archive, oceanofpdf
"The Fascist Race Par Excellence: Fascism and the Mille Miglia" by Paul Baxa, The History and Politics of Motor Racing: Lives in the Fast Lane (2023) - link, anna's archive, oceanofpdf
"Vargas, Perón and Motor Sport: A Comparative Study on South American Populism" by Mauricio Drumond and Victor Melo, The History and Politics of Motor Racing: Lives in the Fast Lane (2023) - link, anna's archive, oceanofpdf
"Politics, Motor Sport and the Italian Car Industry, 1893–1947" by Aldo Zana, The History and Politics of Motor Racing: Lives in the Fast Lane (2023) - link, anna's archive, oceanofpdf
"British Motor Sport and the Rise of the Garagisti" by Mark Jenkins, Nick Henry, and Tim Angus, The History and Politics of Motor Racing: Lives in the Fast Lane (2023) - link, anna's archive, oceanofpdf
"The Abduction of Juan Manuel Fangio and its Impact on the Cuban Revolution" (2025) by Shalom N. Ramirez - link
Other
+"Career Volunteering In Commodityintensive Serious Leisure: Motorsport Events And Their Dependence On Volunteers/Amateurs" (2000) by Maureen Harrington, Graham Cuskelly, and Christopher Auld - z library, anna's archive
+"When decision support systems fail: Insights for strategic information systems from Formula 1" (2018) by Paolo Aversa, Laure Cabantous, and Stefan Haefliger - z library, anna's archive
can we please please pleaseeee get a second part to “meddle about” but this time subby oscar who gets his punishment for teasing too much🤧
hii anon ty for that idea !!! i'm not sure when i can get that part 2 rolling out since ive got plenty of other au ideas written down atm 🥹
def gonna keep this in the backburner until i decide to revisit them :)
angel on the walls of versailles
oscar piastri x yn!singer | request — here | masterlist |
"One night I was bored in bed, And stalked you on the internet" in which a popstar's crush on a f1 driver turns into a front page story...
note — (all manips made by me!!) i love this fic soooooo much, like it's very dear me.... hope you all enjoy it (not proofread ignore any mistakes) <3 !! likes, reblog's and comments are really appreciated ❤
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♬ Y/n L/n ‧ obsessed
Liked by yourinstagram, user1 and 772,256 others
oscarpiastri 💪
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user1 new song to add to the playlist
user2 thirst trap on main???
user3 y/n is holding her self back by not commenting
->user4 ik she's remembering her pr training right now ->user5 wait why???? ->user4 it's a known thing among fans that she has a crush on oscar... ->user5 HUH!??!?!? how haven’t i heard about this??!???
user6 You got this 🏎️
user7 okay can mclaren invite y/n to a race please
user8 listening to obsessed?? why does oscar know ball
user9 need to see all his playlists
user10 Future world champion💪🔥🧡
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tmz Y/nL/n seen arriving in Melbourne, Australia today.
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user1 love her <3
user2 wait..... the australian gp is this weekend
->user3 and mclaren recently followed her.... ->user4 are we thinking they invited her to oscar's home race!?!??! ->user3 YESSS
user5 this could be so major...
user6 winona hat is so cute
user7 she's going to find her a aussie man anyway she can
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YnLnNews Y/N IN AUSTRALIA!!!!! Y/n sat with Oscar Piastri prior to qualifying, Y/n cheered on Oscar as he qualified P2.
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user1 EVERYONE STAY CALM
user2 very important things happening right now
user3 who else was with them???? do we know how long they hung out..?
->user4 i saw a video of them talking and the poster said they were talking alone for about 15+ mins until someone on the team wanted to meet y/n ->user4 he sat with them for 5 mins and they kept talking for around 30 more minutes and hugged goodbye ->user3 omg ty sm user4 !!
user5 her SMILEEEE
user6 already loving them AIWLUHDFLUIAWG
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Liked by oscarpiastri, rachelzegler and 2,748,362 others
yourinstagram never finished that beer 🍻
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user1 summer maxing
user2 everywhere but that damn studio
oscarpiastri 🌹🍻
->user3 alright man... we get it ->user4 no im not jealous at all
user5 you r my inspo
user6 mclaren girllll
->user7 **oscar piastri girl ->user8 she's truly only there for the race and oscar
user9 gorgeous girl
user10 what dat mean???
->user11 idk maybe she never finished her beer???? ->user10 okay 😐
user12 does the piano mean we're getting music?!!?!
user13 the last slide and the koala.... taking notes
user14 can you get any more perfect
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yourinstagram story !
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oscarpiastri It was great to finally meet you in person!
yourinstagram a pleasure to meet you as well!!! yourinstagram ik you have a busy schedule so ty for sparing the time!
oscarpiastri SPARING?? I would've skipped qualifying just to keep talking to you oscarpiastri I wanted to meet you! So the schedule was cleared just for you! oscarpiastri It obviously wasn't the race I would've liked for you to have been present for....
yourinstagram at least you didn't finish last!!! yourinstagram hopefully the next race i go to will have a better outcome 🤞
oscarpiastri Speaking of you going to another race have you been to China? 👀
yourinstagram no…. but i’ve always wanted to go!!
oscarpiastri Well there is a race coming up in China if your up for that…?
yourinstagram mhmmmm that does sound like something i’d enjoy yourinstagram and if i were to go…
oscarpiastri Mhm hmm 🤔
yourinstagram id like to find a place for us to get dinner, since you picked last time 😁
oscarpiastri You drive a hard bargain.. but i think we have a deal
yourinstagram good doing business with you 🤝
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enews Brewing Romance? Y/n L/n and Formula One Driver Oscar Piastri have been causing a stir as of late.
While the pair have been linked to each other since late 2024, the two hadn't met in person till March 15th 2025. Piastri said after meeting L/n "We've talk prior to meeting, so it was nice to finally meet in person. She's lovely." With L/n's recent presence in China for the Chinese Grand Prix, people are starting to wonder if there's a couple in the making...
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user1 they're so cute! im here for it
user2 enews doesn't even know about their crushes on each other
->user3 i was fully expecting to see them mention that but was glad they didn't ->user4 truly don't know how i would react if there were articles written about my crush
user5 i've been rooting for them since she liked an edit of him on tiktok
user6 her with an athlete is scary but he seems chill
user7 not my favs being on the jumbotron wth
user8 i feel like ppl are going to say it's PR but i think they're dating honestly
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oscarpiastri First win of the year 🏆
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user1 wait is that y/n????
user2 LETS GOOOOOO
yourinstagram and to many more!!
->oscarpiastri 😉 ->user3 okay they're cute i guess...
user4 Y/N MADE THE POST!!!!!
user5 mini goat 🐐
user6 keep on pushing oscar we love you!
user7 he knew to add that y/n pic iktr
user8 power couple omg?!
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deuxmoi While we do enjoy seeing young love, we can't help but wonder is it real... or is it PR?
Comment your thoughts below ⬇
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user1 it's not like they're two young attractive people dating they HAVE to be doing pr??? y'all are so bored, let them live
user2 no shade to oscar but there are much more famous guys she could've gotten with to "up" her image
->user3 LITERALLY ->user4 an actor would've made waves... like it's not about the perception
user5 they had crushes on each other and then started dating it's not rocket science
user6 no one likes you guys, please don't speak on the queen
user7 this is family business.. why are you here??
user8 they're happy.... why does it matter ?
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♬ The Cure ‧ Just like Heaven
Liked by yourinstagram, alex_albon and 4,842,584 others
oscarpiastri 💙🏝🌞
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user1 My parents omg
yourinstagram 🐢🌊🐠 Liked by oscarpiastri !
user2 she is a real life princess
user3 1st slide is my roman empire
user4 you two are adorbs
user5 does he know this is his instagram...? bro only posted 1 pic of his face 😭
->user6 because he knows we're here for y/n ->user5 fairs
user7 he knew to post her on main
user8 that picture being first is so iconic
user9 okay we need about 50 more pics of you 2 cuties
user10 ugh he matches her energy so well <333
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Liked by user1, user2 and 155,758 others
enews Y/n L/n teases new music in Vogue Interview!
"Everything that I've been writing has been written in this notebook and I feel like my last two albums are very angsty and heartbroken and just as a creative endeavor and also because I'm experiencing so much joy in my life, I've wanted to figure out how to like inject that into the songs that I'm making. And I'm really proud of it so far!”
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user1 we are about to get such a lover girl song
user2 she could never make a bad song... im so ready
user3 not related but her face card is so insane in that picture wow
user4 i just know she has a hit song on the way
user5 "y/n to grace us with new music" i can't wait
user6 oooo i need it NOWWW
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Liked by oscarpiastri, rachelzegler and 4,563,642 others
yourinstagram <3 !!!
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user1 oh mama is in loveeee
user2 posting her man on main wow
oscarpiastri = ❤♾ Liked by yourinstagram !
->user3 EXACTLYYYY ->user4 need them to get married
user5 it so SERIOUSSSS
user6 "I'm experiencing so much joy in my life" MY SHAYLAS
user7 holy hard launch
user8 and when u + me = <3 is a song title THEN WHAT????
user9 a WHOLE post dedicated to being in love... that love song is going to change my life
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Liked by oscarpiastri, rachelzegler and 5,631,874 others
yourinstagram drop dead is out now!!!! I was lucky enough to film the music video at the palace of Versailles a few months ago and I’m so stoked with how it turned out. I hope you guys love it as much as I do xoxo
more soon to come <3
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user1 Can’t stop listening!!!❤️
user2 obsessed is an understatement...
rachelzegler MY GIRLLLL Liked by yourinstagram !
user3 ALREADY LISTENED ATLEAST 100 times
user4 best song of all time
user5 might drop dead over this music video 😭
user6 literally changed my life
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oscarpiastri "drop dead (taken that eurostar to france)" music video filmed by me out now on y/n's youtube!
so proud of my girl ❤
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user1 HE FILMED IT????
yourinstagram thank you angel boy <3 Liked by oscarpiastri !
->user2 im so parasocial about them ->user3 OSCAR PLEASE TEACH ME YOUR WAYS ->user4 "angel boy" and "my girl" I LOVE THEMMMM
user5 this is so cute i can't
user6 OMGGGG THEY'RE SO ADORABLE
user7 she’s looking like an angel on the walls of versailles
user8 you can hear him say "perfect" at the VERY end of the video
->user9 I knew i heard something !! ->user10 very cute that she kept it in 🥺
user11 this is cooler than any race win lowkey
user12 the way the video is actually beautifully shot too, oscar you have a backup career in photography
user13 "my girl" someone hold me please i can’t take it
user14 PARENTSSS
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✎…… hope you all enjoyed as much i did!!! i adored making this fic <3
using the same profile picture for the tweets made finishing this go 99% faster... probably going to be doing that from now on 😭
i feel like those singers who have one hit song and then are never heard from again, what do i write about next seriously
𝓜EDDLE 𝓐BOUT
oscar piastri x f!reader (6.8k)
─── 𝔀arnings ⌗ smut 18+ (sex to get even, semi public sex, slight dom/sub dynamics, blowjobs, handjob, fingering, minimal praise kink, kinda mean and condescending dom!oscar, dry humping, reader grinds on the table, sex on a desk, p in v sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it kids), some very light degredation i think ... not beta'ed sorry)
it was all because of stupid oscar piastri.
the tension between you two wasn't just palpable; it was a physical weight in the engineering lecture halls. you were both top of your class, and when mclaren announced a singular 12-month engineering internship spot for your university, the rivalry turned nuclear. he was infuriating, constantly undercutting your technical arguments in design reviews with that calm, maddeningly precise logic of his, all while throwing little smirk filled glances your way that made you want to throw your drafting compass at his perfectly composed face. he’d make comments—soft, cutting remarks that only you could hear—and delight in the way your face would heat up in frustration.
the incident that got you both stuck in the quiet study room after hours for "academic misconduct"—because apparently, shouting about CFD simulations in the library constitutes a disturbance—was just the tipping point.
you were trying to finish your final design specs so you could go home and finally relax, but the sound of his pen clicking rhythmically against the wooden table two spots away was vibrating through your skull.
he infuriated you to your core and you can't even pinpoint the exact reason, though there were, in fact, a lot of reasons that annoyed you about him. and maybe, just maybe, it was the way he kept throwing comments at you in class and the way you scowled at him before throwing the marker at his stupid face, or the way he constantly calls you those disgusting pet names and relishes in getting under your skin because he thinks your reactions are funny, or the way you had your knee in between his thighs the other day, threatening to cut his dick off if he ever bothered you again, only for you to be left fuming because he took one look at your threat as a cute challenge.
(or maybe, it was that one time you kissed him in the dark at some random's house party and the way he was never going to let you live it down.)
you hate him, you despise him, and you absolutely fucking loathe him for existing and breathing the same air as you. unfortunately today, your ego had just about enough to the point that it got both you and him in trouble—or, as the department head called it, the self study room—for "academic misconduct"
so now you're stuck here, trying to get the last of your design specifications done so you could go home and binge the entirety of your new favourite show without the guilt of pending assignments lingering in the back of your head. the sound of a pen clicking over and over again against the wooden desk two tables away from where you are currently seated irritates you.
your fingers grip the corners of your textbook, the page scrunching under your touch. you try to regain your composure; you let out a heavy sigh before plastering the best fake smile you could muster before turning to him.
oscar meets your eyes and he's already smiling, eyes twinkling with amusement.
"please, will you stop making those noises," you weren't asking; it was a demand. "i am trying to get my work done. i don't know what the hell your deal is, oscar, but you better stop it."
his lips curl into a smirk now. you feel like punching him again. "yes, ma'am," he says while laying the pen down, flicking it and allowing it to roll off the table. your eyes follow the object before they fly back to the boy, whose attention is now on some girl from a group of students who are also in the study room. annoying fuck , you think.
feeling like he's some deranged vampire who has sucked every life energy out of your body, you huff yet again before stabbing your own pen into your braided hair twist before gathering your things, and heading out of the room. you're loud. you're not exactly sure why you're slamming your hand or your book shut or deliberately taking out your frustrations on your school things but fuck this punishment, and definitely fuck oscar piastri. your father could buy this school and his ass out in seconds anyway.
oscar's eyes burn into you as you do this. you're aware and you want him to see it—want him to see how infuriating his existence is to you, and how many alarms he sets off in your body. you do not miss the way his blurry figure gets up from his seat in your peripheral view, and that's when you know you got him.
it's only a few minutes later when you realise the thuds coming from your prada loafers are the only ones resonating throughout the hallways of the university. you stop for a bit, your mind debating whether you should look back, but alas, your body betrays you, turning you around to scan the floors and staircases for a glimpse of him. he was there earlier, you could've sworn so.
before you can gather your thoughts rationally, you find your heels dragging you back to the library, poking your head through the glass window and straining your neck in order to have a better look around. he's nowhere to be found.
"looking for me, angel?"
you flinch, almost screaming before the realisation dawns on you that only one jackass would do this. god, help me , you thought. but because of the way you spun around to shove him for his piss behaviour, he swiftly garners the chance to pin your wrist above your head.
"ew, don't touch me. i'm getting a cramp," oscar chuckles as you yank your arm free from his grip.
"i don't bite, princess," you meet his eyes, drinking in the mischief that swirls around his dark eyes. "unless you're into that."
your breath hitches in your throat as you try to level it down. you hadn't noticed the way you've been holding in your breath, and you don't understand why you're fighting the slow crawl of pink creeping up your cheeks. the arrogant smirk on his face doesn't falter for a second and you're already thinking of a haughty remark.
the realisation hits you like a truck when you catch up to the observation that anyone with half a brain could mistake you both as a couple with the way he suddenly inches closer, his hot breath fanning your skin. you gulp and you pray he didn't notice.
you were not about to show oscar piastri that he had some stupid effect on you; over your dead fucking body.
you don't know why you're making it difficult for yourself, honestly. there's a way out for you; he hasn't trapped you between him and the wall completely, so you don't know why you're taking up his petty challenge and willingly allowing yourself to suffer.
"aren't you going to apologise to me, baby? you broke my face." he feigns being hurt with his free hand caressing your cheek. you glare at him, swatting it away.
"all this trouble for an apology? just say you're obsessed with me and go." you reply, inwardly cringing at the way your voice shook. oscar shrugs and you decide that this isn't worth your time anymore, and you knew that he wouldn't bite back either. so you begin to walk away.
oscar piastri was full of shit and you knew it first hand.
immediately, you feel a hand on your waist, pulling you and pinning you firmly back in place. you instinctively moan when you feel his knee prop up to your core, successfully trapping you. your eyes widen when you realise and your hands fly up to your mouth. the boy towering over you grins, incredibly amused at the reaction you just made. oscar switches his arm for the other, resting it on the wall next to your head. you were turning red. hands curling into a fist with your fingernails digging crescent moons into your skin that were sure to bleed.
oscar lowers his head down to the shell of your ear. "look at you," he says, huskily. his voice is low and you hate the way you can't avoid the blooming pit in your stomach. "you always fall apart at the thought of me. you say you can't stand me but your body language says otherwise. what will everyone think of this when they find out, hm?"
your breath hitches in your throat as you stare him down.
god, he's so close he could kiss you and you might just let him. might.
but you know you wouldn't. you're too stubborn to give in to your desires. you were always hellbent on not becoming like those stupid girls who looked like they were close to dropping their panties after oscar piastri gave them a smidge of his attention.
"listen here, you arsehole," you grit your teeth as your fingers curl around his shirt, bunching it up in your hand before yanking him to your eye level. "i don't know what sick game you're playing but you need to stay the hell away from me, piastri."
"scared you'll come crawling back for more?"
you snort. "as if."
"i'm not the one who just moaned at the mere contact of cold concrete against my skin and force,"
"true. but i'm not the one whining for a video call every night, am i?" there's something in him that flickers and you know you had the cards in your favour when you brought it up. because now, oscar's pulling you by your elbow and dragging you up the staircase leading towards the rooftop.
you don't get the chance to speak when he aggressively pushes you against the wall and pushes you down on your knees. you moan out of instinct, pain settling in and pleasure striking like lightning.
"do you want us to get caught?" you run your hands further up his clothed thigh. your fingers pass over his erection and to his fly.
"maybe.”
"god, i hate your ass."
oscar stands over you while you undo his button, pull down the zipper, and tug his pants down about halfway. his eyes are fixated on you while you do this. "and i love yours."
your eyes roll at his response but you appreciate it nonetheless. you can't help but think how fictional worthy your positions look like right now—getting ready to give your literal internship rival the best blow of his life as if he didn't just give you three orgasms the other night. you prop yourself up a bit, leaning towards the erection that's straining through his boxer briefs. you kiss the head of his cock through the cotton. oscar is sensitive, dick twitching upon your kiss, and your breath feels hot against all the fabric.
"(your name)..."
you pull his boxers down shamelessly, letting his erection free. you sigh with a bit of performance. "you know, it's kind of a shame," you say, "if i had only known that mouth of yours was good for something else other than pissing me off, i would've been better off with you."
"was this why you kept looking for me the other day, angel? finally bored with that situationship you keep posting about? i told you, princess—fuck, i love your mouth—i already told you i was better," he fishes, and you lick a stripe up his shaft before flattening your tongue on the tip of his cock. "and i did make you come more than he ever did during that night." he breathes.
you don't say anything else, slipping your mouth over the tip of his. your tongue feels wet and so hot, swirling just around the head of oscar's cock, pretty lips pressed against him. you pause to spit on your palm before beginning to work gentle strokes down his shaft. it's good, and for a little second, all he can think about is how he wants you to take him further into your warm, wet throat. you move slowly, your tongue almost teasing. the anticipation is intense.
"osc," you say as your hand works around his dick, massaging his balls occasionally. you stare up at him through your dark lashes, with those eyes you know that gets him going—and the boy's heart stops as you press another long kiss to his cock and say, "i like you like this. you look so pretty."
you punctuate your words by taking him into your mouth, deeply—your tongue moving flat and firm against the underside of his shaft, hand squeezing the base of him. the feeling overwhelms him and he moans—well, it's a whimper, but the sound is honest.
you go down once, and take your mouth back off of him to say, "i've been thinking of us like this. in this same exact position."
jesus christ, oscar thinks you're out to kill him.
you speak some more, "do you think about me like this?"
"always," he manages as you flatten your tongue against the tip of his cock. oscar heaves before you and you hum, loving the reaction—and to rile him up some more. a hand goes through your hair, strands falling from the makeshift bun you made with the pencil earlier, as you slide your mouth over his cock. oscar doesn't have the words to articulate how good your mouth feels around him; how good you use your tongue while you move your head; how you're so hot, and how you want him. how you've been thinking about this—about him. his head's gone wild and it electrifies the slick heat of your lips, your tongue. fuck, oscar thinks. he's in heaven.
the ache in your knees begins to stir as you imagine the purples, blues, and greens forming bubbles of bruises on your flesh. a groan flies out of your lips when you lift one to move it aside, creating a gap between legs.
"you okay?" oscar's voice rings in your ear and you think it's sweet that he asked.
"don't worry about me, baby. i'm more than okay."
your free hand, the one that's been caressing the boy's clothed thigh up and down, snakes away to disappear under your skirt. the slick noise that pokes out underneath almost makes oscar choke.
"you're—ah—," he pants, and you look up at him. "fuck. that's so fucking hot. keep—keep touching yourself, princess. my sweet girl."
you moan around him, like you're really getting off on this, not letting up for a moment. he moans louder in return, just so you'll hear him, just so you'll keep touching herself. it's hot. it's so hot. you both don't even care anymore.
you rock against your own hand as you swallow his cock, messy and fast, and it's starting to overwhelm him in a way he desperately wants to give in to.
before he can truly consider it, he tugs on your hair, and says, "(your name)—stop—,"
you meet his eyes, and there's a moment where he doesn't think you will. and he can't remember why he wanted you to.
but you do, sliding your mouth excruciatingly slowly off of his cock, your tongue feeling every inch of him on the way.
"shit." he shudders, missing your mouth badly as the cool air hits the spit drying on his cock. "you drive me crazy."
"i want you to come for me," you whisper, and he hisses, still closer to the edge than he wants.
you're moving so relentlessly that it's hard for him to track the sound of your fingers rubbing your clit, so he tries to focus on the difficult task of cumming, instead of the distracting, maddening slick heat of your cunt.
very quickly it becomes too much. embracing the point of no return, he drives his hips up to meet up yours and groans the moment the head of his cock meets the back of your throat, loving the way you gag around him.
he comes so hard he can't think.
oscar's digs his hands into your scalp and moans, head thrown back against the window, sweat sticking his hair to his neck as he loses himself inside your mouth. he loses count of the hot pulses of cum that rush through him.
you release him with a pop before licking another stripe up to the head and giving it a kiss. he tells you to open your mouth and you do, sticking out your tongue to show that you've swallowed all of him.
"that's my girl."
"i hope that was okay, though," you say after a while and he runs his thumb over your cheek, where your tears have dried.
oscar curls down to kiss you, hard, and it's not enough. you sigh and you force yourself to stand, ignoring the pain on your knees, and shimming up to his body. he clings to you, pressing his mouth into every part of you he can reach, as if he's never been able to kiss you before. he wants to laugh with the feeling of just getting something he wants. and whether oscar has realised it or not, he wants nothing else but you.
and so, oscar barely gives you a moment to breathe, haphazardly tucking himself back into his trousers with a frantic, uncharacteristic edge to his movements. he doesn't wait for you to stand properly; he simply grabs your hand, his grip firm and possessive, and drags you out of the rooftop, up the final flight of stairs to a desolate, quiet academic floor. he navigates the hallway with purpose until he finds an empty classroom, kicking the door shut behind you with a sharp thud that echoes in the stillness. he locks it, the click of the latch final and heavy.
he turns back to you, his eyes dark with an intensity that makes your breath hitch. he marches toward you, hoisting you up onto the heavy wooden desk meant for a lecture. your legs wrap around his waist instinctively, locking him into place.
"you think you'll have me at the palm of your hands like that without getting any back? think again, bunny," he murmurs against your lips, his voice dropping into a dangerous, low growl that vibrates against your skin.
he doesn't wait for an answer, his mouth crashing onto yours with a relentless, hungry urgency. his hands are everywhere—tangling in your hair, sliding down to press firmly against your lower back, and beginning to undo the fastenings of your uniform with clumsy, heated determination. every touch is a claim, and as he undresses you, he peppers your neck and jawline with sharp, stinging kisses, leaving you breathless and completely at his mercy in the dim, empty classroom.
your moans spill out, ragged and breathless, each sound a testament to the absolute hold he has over you. they are music to his ears, high-pitched gasps and soft whimpers fueling the fire in his eyes as he hears the effect he’s having. he thrives on the noise, tilting his head to catch every ragged breath you take, his hands mapping the curve of your thighs with a possessive, grounding pressure.
"that's it," he rasps, his composure completely shattered as he presses his body flush against yours, his hands roaming over your skin with a mixture of worship and urgency. every time you cry out, his grip tightens, his movements becoming more deliberate and demanding, as if he's trying to etch his claim into you.
he loves the way you arch into him, the way you pull him closer as if you can't get enough, your encouragement pouring out of you in a symphony of desperate, uninhibited pleas.
your mind's a haze of a lot of things; your anger that has dissipated moments ago, his confidence as he touches you like you're the only girl ever, his stupid smirk that you can feel ghosting against the pulse of your throat, and the way he's gotten under your skin that you've allowed so willingly. it infuriates you, and yet.
yet, your fingers tangle firmly into his hair, pulling him closer, bringinv him to the sensitive juncture where your neck meets your shoulder. you need him right there, against your collarbone, as he traces the line of your throat with his lips and grazes his teeth over your skin, sending sharp jolts of electricity straight through your nervous system. his touch is overwhelming, his palms hot and heavy against your skin making the world outside this room feel frozen and distant.
"please—," you breathe out, the word fracturing as he intentionally rolls his hips against your core. the friction is agonisingly good, the lingering dampness from your earlier release making your nerves scream for more. "oscar, don't tease." you choke out the plea, your voice rising into a desperate, needy whine as you press your body forward, instinctively chasing the rough, unforgiving heat of his denim against your center.
but oscar just chuckles against your skin, his eyes dark with beautiful cruelty. he knows exactly how much you crave the contact, and he denies you the steady rhythm you’re begging for. he shifts just enough to break the pressure, dragging his hips away whenever you lean in, leaving you hollow and shivering in his grip. he thrives on the way you unravel under the deprivation, his hands roaming over your hips to hold you steady while he keeps you right on the edge, hands sliding under your blouse, exploring hot skin while teetering over the lined edge of your bra.
the friction of his denim against your thighs is driving you to the brink of insanity, a maddening, abrasive contrast to the liquid heat pooling between your legs. you let out a low, involuntary whine, your head falling back and then forward, burying your face into the crook of his neck. you trace the line of his jaw and his pulse point with desperate, fluttering kisses, your movements frantic and uncoordinated.
he's gone now and slid the very hand he had been using to further explore the skin under your top down to under the hem of your skirt, teasing and brushing past your bikini line. you flinch with a spike of pure, raw need. oscar's fingers map the damp, aching contours of your folds through the thin fabric of your cotton panties, providing just enough pressure to make you gasp, yet he pulls away before you can find any relief.
"please, please—," you try to form a coherent sentence, but the words dissolve into broken, gasping fragments. your voice is thin and strained, lacking any of the haughty defiance you usually wield against him. you are reduced to nothing but raw nerve endings and incoherent pleas, begging for the very thing he is so meticulously denying you.
oscar watches you with that infuriating, observing stillness, his brown eyes tracking every tremor that runs through your body. he lets out a soft, dismissive tut, his thumb pressing firmly against the center of your ache through the cotton, but again, he doesn't break the seal.
"patience, angelface," he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave, heavy with a promise that feels both like a threat and a reward. "i'll make you feel good too."
he leans in, his breath hot against your ear, and you can feel the smirk in his tone. he wants to hear you break completely; he wants to witness you losing your grip on your own pride until you are begging for his touch as if it’s the only thing that can keep you upright. he intentionally drags his knuckles along your sensitive inner thigh, his touch precise and calculated, deliberately stoking the fire until you are arching your back and clutching at his shoulders, your manicured nails digging into his skin as you wait for him to finally give in to the rhythm you’re so desperately chasing.
oscar leans in, his expression sharpening as he takes in your scrunched up, pleasure-contorted face and eyes fluttered shut. he closes the distance to swallow every whine and mewl against your lips, his tongue tangling with yours in a deep, hungry kiss that leaves you dizzy.
as he holds you there, he finally dips his fingers inside your underwear, the sudden contact of his warm skin against your slick folds making your back arch off the desk. he spreads the moisture evenly across your folds, his touch deliberate and maddeningly slow before he begins rubbing your clit in steady, circular motions that send sharp waves of heat through your entire body.
you moan directly into his mouth, his name spilling out in a broken gasp alongside a desperate, "yes, please—god, finally—,”
ocar lets out a soft, mocking grin, his eyes glinting with a mix of gentle amusement and calculated dominance at your immediate reaction. "excited, aren't we? haven't given you my cock yet," he purrs into the crook of your neck, his voice a low, vibrating rumble against your skin. he moves away from your lips to plant a trail of burning kisses down your chin and jawline, his fingers never once stopping their ministrations between your legs.
he doesn't stop there, his thumb finding the exact spot that makes your vision cloud and your breath stutter. the pressure he applies is a far cry from the teasing distance he held just moments ago, and the sudden shift in pace forces a primal, hitching sob from your throat. oscar revels in it, his hand moving with a confident kind of expertise that makes the desk beneath you feel far too hard and the air in the room far too thin.
"look at you," he whispers, his voice dropping into that dangerous, honey-thick register as he pulls back to observe the way you're shaking against his touch. "completely undone and i haven't properly started yet."
he picks up the pace, his fingers working inside you with a fluid, invasive grace that makes your legs lock around his waist, pulling him as flush against you as the fabric of his jeans will allow. the friction is all-consuming, a desperate, maddening cycle of his touch and your response. every time you try to pull away, he just holds you firmer, his thumb circling your clit until you're gasping for air, your head lolling back against his shoulder as his kisses move from your jaw to the sensitive pulse beating frantically at the base of your throat.
he knows exactly when you're teetering on the edge, and he has no intention of letting you fall just yet. he slows his rhythm again, his touch becoming light, almost absent, just to feel the way you chase his hand, your hips bucking forward in a silent, desperate demand for more. he just chuckles, a low, vibration in his chest that you can feel through his clothes, as he leans in to bite softly at your earlobe.
"still haven't given you everything you're asking for, have i?" he taunts, his fingers sliding back inside you in a slow, deep stroke that makes you cry out, his name fracturing on your tongue.
and this is where you remember that oscar piastri is a piece of shit.
at the very height of your unraveling, when your body is a tightly wound spring of desperate need, oscar abruptly halts, pulling his fingers out with a clean, devastating motion. the whiplash of pleasure being stolen from you is enough to make you thrash in his hold, your legs kicking out in a futile attempt to recapture the friction you were denied. you are a mess of tangled limbs and raw nerves, your back arched off the hard wood of the desk, your head tossing back as you let out a sharp, ragged cry of pure, unadulterated frustration.
"please!" you sob, the word escaping you in a broken, pathetic wheeze as you claw at his shoulders, trying to pull him back to the center of your ache. you are begging for him, your pride completely annihilated by the void he left behind, your body twitching with the ghost of an orgasm that refuses to fade. oscar only laughs—a low, gravelly, and thoroughly amused sound that ripples through his chest—and he pulls back just enough to watch you struggle, his expression one of mock satisfaction. he lets you thrash and complain, letting your agitation feed the atmosphere of the room.
"fuck you, piastri—," you bite out, your voice trembling with a potent cocktail of rage and arousal. you can barely string the words together, your breath hitching in broken, wet gasps. "i can't—, god, i can't, please." you plead, your fingers digging into his shirt as you try to ground yourself. your entrance pulses and clenches, a hollow ache that begs for the pressure he just stole away.
your body vibrates; your entire core throbbing with a phantom tension that refuses to dissipate, and the sight of you—completely unraveled and desperate for his return—only seems to make his resolve to tease you further.
oscar shushes you, the sound sharp and silencing, his hand coming up to press firmly on your waist to keep you steady on the desk. despite his hold, your hips grind erratically against the hard wooden surface, your body desperate to find the friction it was just robbed of.
you’re frantic, trying to coax pleasure from the unyielding furniture, but it’s an empty, frustrating effort; the cold, stationary edge of the desk is a poor substitute for the specific, intoxicating electricity that only oscar’s touch provides.
he watches you with an amused, half-lidded gaze, clearly enjoying the sight of your desperate attempt to satiate yourself without his help. he lets you suffer through the inadequacy of your own movements for a heartbeat longer before he leans in, pressing his lips against your forehead in a feather-light, almost taunting kiss. "want it that bad, huh?" he murmurs, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that feels more intimate than his touch.
your fingernails bite into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him flush against you as you struggle to even form a coherent word. "want me to fuck you stupid on this desk?" he asks, his question hanging heavy and dangerous in the air, his eyes dark with the promise of exactly what he knows you've been burning up for.
you nod your head frantically, your vision swimming and your thoughts unraveling into a hazy, singular need as you continue to beg. "i'll do anything, oscar, please. i can't—i need it—," you gasp out, the words barely audible as you feel yourself soaking your panties, the heat of your own desire pooling heavily against the barrier oscar refuses to fully breach.
oscar hums against your skin, a sound of sick satisfaction, but instead of finishing what he started, he teases you further by guiding your hands down to his crotch.
you don't need instructions; you already know exactly what he wants. as he crashes his mouth back onto yours in a fervent, needy kiss, you work the zipper of his fly, your fingers trembling as you help spring his cock free.
the instant he's released, oscar lets out a sharp, ragged hiss, the stark difference between your small, desperate hand and the impressive size of him sending an addictive rush through his system. he kisses you harder, his hands tangling deep into your hair and pulling your head back, exposing your throat to his hungry attention while you wrap your hand around him, stroking him in a steady, building rhythm that prepares him for exactly what you're both craving.
oscar presses his forehead against yours, his eyes fluttering shut as he battles the overwhelming sensation of your touch, his grip on your hair tightening just enough to keep you close to him. the atmosphere in the room feels tense, charged with the scent of unspent desire and the harsh, metallic tang of the upcoming internship you both are so desperate to win, yet in this moment, those stakes are pushed to the absolute periphery of his mind.
he moans low in his throat; jagged and involuntary as you pull your hand upward, your thumb grazing the sensitive underside of his head, causing him to shudder violently against you. he’s losing his grip on his own composure, his hips twitching in sync with your hand, the dominance he’s been holding most of the time beginning to fray at the edges. “shit, dollface— keep doing that and i won't last," he groans. his voice a strained, melodic mess as he pulls your head back further, exposing the arch of your throat to his hot, feverish kisses.
after some time, oscar begins to move his hips in slow, deliberate grinds, testing the space between your thighs, the denim of his jeans grating against your already sensitive, dampened skin in a way that makes you cry out with renewed desperation. he’s playing with the threshold of your endurance, his fingers returning to your inner thigh, tracing the seam of your panties, daring you to stop, daring you to push him past the point of no return.
you feel the heat radiating off the man before you, the way his muscles bunch and ripple under your touch, and you use that to your advantage, increasing the speed of your hand, teasing him with the same attitude he’s been using on you all afternoon. his head falls back against the whiteboard, a sharp, muffled thud that signals just how close he is to snapping.
oscar kisses you then—a bruising, possessive collision of teeth and tongue—tasting his own mounting frustration and your frantic, saccharine need, binding you both together in a rhythm that feels less like a game and more like an unavoidable collision of two people who have been holding each other at arm's length for far too long.
he grips your hips, his knuckles turning white as he positions himself, his dark eyes locked onto yours with a hungry, devastating focus. with a deliberate, slow push, he finally slides inside you. the sheer size of him is overwhelming, stretching you to your absolute limits, and for a second, your breath leaves you entirely. it’s tight, an intense, crushing fullness that makes your head spin and your vision blur. oscar watches the way your face contorts, the way your fingers dig into his shoulders as you struggle to accommodate him, and a look of pure, unadulterated triumph crosses his features.
to him, sheathing himself completely within your warmth is nothing short of elysium. he lets out a low, guttural groan that vibrates through your chest, his body shuddering at the sensation of you—so hot, so soft, and so incredibly wet—clamping down around his length. you gasp, a broken, breathless sound, marvelling at how he managed to fit despite the friction, your body instinctively clenching around him.
"fuck—oh! " you moan out, the sensation ricocheting through your spine as he finds a rhythm that is both punishing and perfect.
oscar lets out a harsh, ragged breath against your neck, his voice thick with praise as he feels you adjusting to his size. "that's it, doll," he murmurs, his tone vibrating with possessive pride. “you take my cock so well. all the damn time. missed being inside you, fuck.”
his hands lock onto your hips, grounding you as he begins a punishingly steady rhythm, burying himself deep with every forward thrust. the sounds echoing in the classroom are obscene—skin meeting skin and your desperate, uninhibited cries, which oscar drinks in, his eyes blown wide with an intensity that matches the violence of his movements. each time he hits that deep, sensitive spot, you feel your resistance shattering, your nails raking down his back as you tilt your head back and sob his name, completely undone by the sheer force of his possession.
you don't know how long you stay like that until you reach down into the friction between your bodies, sourcing out pleasure elsewhere to get you coming. and so your fingers tremble as you slip them inside your panties, desperate for that specific, sharp contact. you start to work in quick, desperate circles against your sensitive nub, but just as you find a rhythm, oscar’s hand drops from your hip to press his fingers over yours. he sandwiches your hand against yourself, forcing you to maintain a firm, heavy pressure against your clit while he continues to piston in and out of you.
the double-barreled stimulation is almost too much; a ragged, shattering cry rips out of your throat, and your thighs spasm, your legs trying to clamp shut in an involuntary, defensive reflex against the sheer intensity. "oscar!" you gasp, the name barely more than a sob as his pace turns wild, uncoordinated, and utterly feral.
he's erratic, slamming his hips into yours with a frantic need that matches your own. he’s caught in the same feedback loop, his breath coming in jagged, desperate hitches that mirror the way your own pulse is hammering in your ears. “wanna fuckin’ come, princess? wanna get that orgasm you've been crying about?” he taunts as he pushes you over, clearly intending to go over with you, his movements becoming more aggressive as the friction reaches a fever pitch.
at this point, all you can do is nod frantically into his personal space as you feel the pressure building — a tidal wave of heat and muscle tension that’s threatening to snap you in half. as you begin to climax, your hips grind upward against him with a violent, final strength, your fingers underneath his finally letting go as the world narrows down to nothing but the feeling of him, the desk beneath you, and the shattering release that rips through you, making your eyes see white light.
as your heartbeat finally thrums at a reasonable pace, oscar turns his head to press a lingering, possessive kiss onto the side of your temple, his breath coming in shallow, shuddering gasps against your skin. with one final, deep push, he unloads himself inside you, and you can feel the hot, heavy spurts of his release flooding into your core. you’re completely spent, your body heavy and humming with the aftermath, and you can only muster a soft, broken whimper as you feel him pulsing within you.
"thank you," you mumble, your voice a barely audible rasp against his collarbone as your eyes flutter shut, your body finally losing its tension and sagging involuntarily against his shoulder. oscar doesn't pull away; he holds you firmly in his arms, staying buried deep inside you, content to let the lingering heat and the silence of the empty classroom wash over you until you’re steady enough to move again.
he eventually shifts, his weight shifting off you just enough so he can pull you flush against his chest, his arms wrapping around your frame to keep you close as you catch your breath. he brushes a stray, sweat-dampened strand of hair from your forehead, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw with a tenderness that feels entirely at odds with the intensity from moments ago.
"you," he says, his voice still raspy and low, "are absolute trouble."
you let out a soft, tired laugh, tilting your head to look up at him, your eyes still heavy with the haze of what you just shared. "coming from the man who decided to make his internship rival lose her composure on a desk in the middle of a workday?"
oscar smirks, the look in his eyes softening as he leans down to press another lingering, chaste kiss to your lips. "well, you did ask for it, bunny. and you were very, very convincing."
"i was under a sex spell and begging, piastri. there's a difference."
“a sex spell? is that what we're calling it now?” oscar throws back at you as he chuckles, pulling you tighter until your head rests securely back on his shoulder.
"let's call it a tie," he murmurs against your hair, his hand coming to rest possessively at the small of your back. "though we should probably consider how we're going to explain the state of this room if anyone walks in."
you hum, feeling the cool air of the room start to settle on your skin, but you make no move to leave his embrace. "we'll just tell them it was part of an 'intensive performance evaluation.' i'm sure they'll understand."
"oh, they'd definitely understand," he agrees, his tone shifting into that familiar, teasing cadence. "though i think i’d have to fight them off if they tried to give you a higher score than me."
you smack him lightly, a smirk tugging at your lips. "your ego is going to be the death of us both, you know." he just laughs, a low, vibrating sound, and pulls you to your feet with an ease that makes your knees wobble.
"maybe so," he concedes, straightening his shirt and giving you one last, lingering look that makes the flush return to your cheeks. "but at least we'll go out having the best stats in the department.”
“definitely.”
─── © honeypiastri on tumblr 𖹭 please do not copy , translate or repost any of my works anywhere.
although this was such a jarring announcement it's clear that all the members support mark wholeheartedly and redirection is such a normal part of life that i only wish the best for mark. he's been overworked and mistreated for so long by that company that i can only hope that whichever path he decides to take is one that treats him right and offers him some peace :') very grateful to have stanned nct when i did and got to spend so many years supporting him 🤍
whether he decides to release solo music or disappear from the public eye, i hope he gets to do everything he wants to do and rest after all these years of hard work
THAT 👆🏼
I’m so happy for him actually. If anyone deserves to rest and find happiness, it’s definitely him 🥹🤍
I’m also glad that it ended amicably, at least we will still get them interacting together and still see their friendship (it highkey makes me hate HYBE more too, i will NEVER forgive them for what they did to enha and heeseung honestly 🙂)
adding to this from my enha blog LMFAO but i hope mark's departure sets an industry standard that allowing idols and their members to be transparent about their departures and their feelings surrounding it is much better than silencing them and having them not mention each other. i get that it's a way to protect the members' words from being twisted (i can only imagine how some engenes would react if one of the enha members said what jisung said about mark, how he resented mark's decision for a bit but ultimately wanted to support the friend he loves deeply—which is such a valid thing to say!!), but if this fandom chilled out a bit i hope enha will be able to engage in that same level of transparency one day
i think the nct members have really laid out their feelings on the matter that leave no room for misinterpretation, especially with chenle emphasizing that he hopes we don't believe rumors online about mark leaving for this and that reason, and that's what helped me with the transition of mark's departure far more seamlessly than heeseung's departure. if idols were allowed to express their feelings on the matter more then i think engenes would've been able to cope with the outcome easier
this situation is super unique to nct and i'm not gonna credit sm entertainment for it because it was the decision of the nct members to speak up and handle this situation in the way they did. i just hope engenes don't use this to say "why couldn't enha just send a message about heeseung if they really wanted to?" when we don't know their situation. nct has their own personal instagrams and more seniority in the industry. plus, we know from those hybe internal reports that jake's been silenced in the past for trying to speak up on controversies to clear the air with engenes (the starbucks incident + itaewon thing)
i sincerely wish the best for mark and i think it's so important he prioritized his own artistic freedom and happiness in such a restrictive industry (again, whether he chooses to continue pursuing music or not). i hope all idols know that their lives don't have to be confined to kpop and that redirection + change are perfectly normal parts of life and they're free to choose the path they want, but with that i also hope that these companies stopped limiting their artists because of how they treat their idols as business models rather than creatives
if you support trump, get off my page.
if you are seeing him sending ice agents out, killing innocent people and ripping families apart, and think ‘yeah that’s good, i support that,’ rot in hell.
a two year old was ripped away from her father, and deported against judges orders. a four year old, deported alone. a man, an icu nurse may i add, tackled to the ground and beaten before getting shot. all because he was defending women on the street from ice agents. these events happened in the past TWO DAYS.
‘it’s getting rid of criminals!’ you think children are the criminals? you think innocent american citizens are criminals? you put a criminal IN OFFICE. you put a PEDOPHILE in office.
Vernon fic recs 2
Part 1
Other members
Please let me know if a link does not work!
(f,a) Quondam @flurrys-creativity
Synopsis: JurassicPark!Au, 90s!Au, Aquaintances to Lovers, DistantFriends to Lovers
(f) Taking pictures @emocheol
Synopsis: EstablishedRelationship
(f) Stay in character @idyllic-ghost
Synopsis: EstablishedRelationship, Babysitting!Au
(f) Sweetest thing @dokries
Synopsis: Strangers/UniClassmates to Lovers, BakeryWorker!Reader x WindowShopper!Vernon
(f) High & Dry @inkchwe
Synopsis: HogwartsAltior!Au, Dj!Vernon x Gardener!Reader
(h,f) Untitled @nonranghaes
Synopsis: Strangers-To-??
(a) From The Ashes @l2vedive
Synopsis: ChildhoodBestFriends-W-Trauma, 80s!Au
(f) Soulmates theory @seungcheorry
Synopsis: EstablishedRelationship
(f) Vernon likes to have his ears touched
(f) [11:24 AM] @sungbeam
(f) Friends to lovers @bbyobbyo
(m,f) Hit @smileysuh
Synopsis: Frat!Au, Stoner!Vernon, Friends to Lovers
(m) Favourite coworker @sescoups
Synopsis: Vernon is your favorite. he just gets you. of course you can't resist him - not that you would ever want to.
(m.a,f) Today of all days @the-boy-meets-evil
Synopsis: EstablishedRelationship
(m,f) Your loss @wongyuseokie ft.Seungkwan, Mingyu, Jeonghan, Scoups
Synopsis: Your ex-boyfriend and you broke up a few months ago, but you two remained friends, and of course, his nosy friends can’t help but pry and get as detailed as possible to find out what ended the relationship, and then, of course, offer to make only you feel better. However, they can. All while your ex-boyfriend watches.
(m) You’re so sweet, but… @seungkw1
Synopsis: EstablishedRelationship
(m) CollegeFling!Vernon @hoshifighting
Synopsis: Non-StabilishedRelationship, University!Au
(m) What friends are for @shadowkoo
Synopsis: BestFriends-To-Lovers, VirginFirstTime!Au
(f,m) A little bit of confidence & a bunch of carnations @brownsugarbaybee
Synopsis: OrthopaedicSurgeon!Vernon x GiftShopEmloyee!Reader, Doctors!Au, Idiots-To-Lovers
(m) They wanna @sluttywonwoo ft.Joshua
Synopsis: Your boyfriend Joshua wants to explore something new with you… and his best friend.
(m) Hypnos
Synopsis: Arranged Marriage
(m) Simp!Vernon @hannieehaee
(m) Lost in stereo
Synopsis: Friends 2 Enemies 2 Lovers, Band!Au, Drummer!Vernon x Guitarist!Reader
(m) Distracting him with your boobs
Synopsis: EstablishedRelationship
(m) Bf!Vernon and Bf!Chan Throuple ft.Dino
Synopsis: EstablishedRelationship
(f,m) Untitled-Vern @nonsign
(m) Late night practice room sex with Vernon @seventeenytiny
CHRISTMAS WITH YOU w. jeon wonwoo
first christmas together + fluff (557)
pairing: jeon wonwoo x fem!reader
note: merry christmas eve !!! here's something to keep you warm and giddy before the year ends <3 i hope y'all are having a good one with ur friends n family 🫶🏻 please don't forget to give a like n a reblog w ur thoughts if you enjoyed !!
the soft crackle of the fireplace fills the living room, casting a warm glow that dances off the walls. the scent of pine mingles with the faint sweetness of cinnamon candles, creating an atmosphere that feels both festive and comforting. the christmas tree stands proudly in the corner, its branches adorned with twinkling lights, baubles, and ribbons.
wonwoo is crouched by its base, untangling a wreath he picked up earlier because, as he put it, “it matches the theme perfectly.” your cat, ever curious, bats playfully at the ribbons dangling from the wreath, earning an exasperated but amused sigh from him.
“you’re not helping, you know,” he says, looking at the cat with mock sternness before turning his attention back to the task.
you’re by the record player, flipping through vinyl sleeves, trying to choose the perfect background song for the evening. it feels important to you—setting the tone, making it just right. your fingers pause on a jazz album, but then you hesitate and move to something else.
“(your name), my love,” wonwoo’s voice cuts through your deliberation, gentle and warm, “whatever you pick will be perfect. honestly, i’d rather hear you humming than anything else.”
you glance over your shoulder, catching his soft smile. “it has to be perfect, though. first christmas together and all that,” you say with a grin, though there’s a hint of seriousness in your tone.
wonwoo rises, the wreath now untangled and hanging neatly on a branch. “it already is,” he says as he crosses the room, wrapping his arms around you from behind. his chin rests lightly on your shoulder, and you can feel the warmth of his breath against your temple before he presses a kiss there. “but we’ve got a cake to bake and dinner to prep. think you can multitask, or do i need to pick the song for you?”
you laugh, leaning back into his embrace. “fine, fine. i’ll leave it for now. but if the vibe is off, you’re to blame.”
“deal,” he says easily, his arms loosening as he takes your hand. “come on, let me show you how amazing this wreath looks on the tree. it’s like it was made for it.”
he leads you over, gesturing proudly at the wreath now nestled among the branches. it does look good—better than you’d expected when he’d first brought it home. your cat, meanwhile, has abandoned the ribbons and is now swatting at the shiny wrappers beneath the tree.
“well, she’s having the time of her life,” you say, watching the cat with a fond shake of your head.
“at least someone is,” he jokes. “come on, let’s get started on that cake before she decides the wrapping paper is a snack.”
just as you’re about to head to the kitchen, the doorbell rings, a cheerful chime that sends your cat scurrying under the sofa. “that’ll be our first guests,” you say, your excitement bubbling up.
wonwoo squeezes your hand. “i’ll get it. you start setting out the ingredients. don’t worry—i’ll make sure everyone knows the cat’s got dibs on the tree.”
you laugh, giving him a playful shove as you head towards the kitchen. the sound of your friends’ voices fills the room moments later, their laughter blending seamlessly with the warmth of the evening. it’s a scene of perfect chaos—exactly how christmas should be.
— please do not copy , translate or repost any of my works anywhere.
© l2vedive on tumblr
bitches that don't like kpop are so boring nobody wants to listen to shawn mendes bitch put Mansae on
FROM THE ASHES w. hansol vernon chwe
supernatural horror au + childhood best friends (5.8k)
SUMMARY: in which you and hansol reunite ten years later to face the horrors of the past that left you both scarred and haunted. (reader and hansol centric)
pairing: hansol vernon chwe x fem!reader
featuring: lee chan of seventeen & lee nakyung of fromis
genres: SLOWBURN, angst, kinda horror, supernatural, action, childhood best friends w trauma, set in the 80s
warning(s): crazy amounts of lore, so much slowburn, hurt/comfort, mild descriptions of violence, character death
notes: wrote this purely for my own entertainment after replaying the game the other day. this is inspired by two games actually! it has elements of choices' book called it lives in the woods and romance club's shadows of saintfour. this has some heavy lore but i've done my best to break down most of it so you guys can understand it without playing ♡
if you liked this read, please don't forget to reblog with your thoughts and give it a like !
i. bravery.
it’s late in the evening, and the air feels heavy. you’re standing in front of the old house, the one that’s always felt both like a home and a prison. your small hands are trembling as you clutch the hem of your jacket, eyes scanning the darkened street outside, the distant sounds of the city muffled by the thick fog that has rolled in. you’ve been told not to go out past sunset, that the pisadeira—that thing from the nightmares—will get you. but your mother has been distant for weeks, locked in a room, her eyes wide with fear, always watching the shadows like they’re waiting for something to come.
you know you’re not supposed to be out here. you know the stories. everyone does. don’t go near the flowers. don’t look into the darkness. don’t listen to the whispers. but your feet move before you can think about it, the pull of the unknown stronger than any fear you’ve ever felt. you cross the threshold into the garden, the flowers there too large, too bright, almost alive. your heart races as the petals glisten like they’ve been touched by some forbidden magic, their beauty something both inviting and dangerous.
it’s then that you hear it—the soft voice, like the rustle of leaves in the wind, and you freeze. "come closer."
your breath catches in your throat. you don’t know why you don’t run.
ii. cowardice
hansol is young, barely a year older than you, but already carrying a weight in his chest that most kids his age wouldn’t understand. he doesn’t like to talk about it, the feeling—the one that makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up when he’s alone in the dark. it’s not fear, exactly, more like a sense that something should be there. a presence. a pressure. something pulling at him from the shadows.
his family has always moved around. never staying in one place too long. too many unanswered questions about his father’s work, too many late nights with hushed conversations. hansol never really thought it was strange, until that one night. the one when he was alone in his room, playing with his toy cars, and he felt the air change. the floorboards creaked under someone’s weight—someone who wasn’t there.
the whispers started soon after. he couldn’t remember when, but they were always there, following him like a second shadow, calling him to the dark corners of the house. come closer. i’m waiting.
he told no one. even when his mother came in to check on him that night, he lied, said everything was fine. but deep down, hansol knew something was wrong. there was something in the dark, something that waited for the right moment to pull him under.
iii. small
the bell rings, and you’re at the gates of the middle school, your heart thumping in your chest for reasons you can’t explain. hansol is standing at the edge of the crowd, his usual stoic expression softening when he sees you. he waves shyly, like he always does, and you can’t help but smile back.
“hey, hansol,” you say, walking up to him with a grin. “you know what’s worse than studying for a pop quiz?”
he raises an eyebrow, the faintest spark of interest in his eyes. “what?”
“studying for a pop quiz with the teacher standing over your shoulder,” you say, laughing at the face he makes. “you’d think they’d give us a break.”
he tries to keep it in, but the smile breaks out anyway, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. it’s small, but you notice. “you’re a terrible influence,” he says with a shake of his head, but you can see the fondness in his eyes. inside, his chest flutters, and it’s the kind of flutter he wants to squash. but he can’t, not when you’re standing so close, your laughter light in the air, something unspoken between you both.
iv. sleepover
the annual sleepover at your house is always the most anticipated event of the year. even now, with the haunted past of saintfour hanging over your shoulders, it feels like something that should bring comfort. something normal. but things feel different this time.
hansol is the first to arrive, as always, but this time, there’s an unease in his eyes, a look that doesn’t quite belong in a child his age. he brushes it off when you greet him with a teasing smile, ruffling his hair as he steps inside. a small girl follows behind him and you swoop her up in your arms.
"it's not funny, you know," he mutters, brushing off your hand, but the corners of his lips twitch.
“gyul thinks it is, right?” you giggle and so does she, mirroring every expression you make.
hansol rolls his eyes and takes her from you so you could go and get things settled for the others.
as the night wears on after putting the youngest attendee to bed, you and your friends, hansol included, settle into the living room. nakyung is the first to start whispering, chan and hansol are too wrapped up in their snacks and games to notice that the air around you all is growing thicker, heavier.
“hey, do you guys feel that?” you ask, glancing around the room. your voice is shaky, uncertain, but they all brush it off.
“it’s just the storm outside,” nakyung laughs, waving it off. “you’re imagining it.”
but you know what you feel. the chill in the air is different. unnatural. and then you hear it. the soft whispers again, curling around you like smoke. come closer. it’s time to wake up.
before you can react, you feel it—something cold, something sharp, dragging its claws down your neck.
“no!” you scream, stumbling back, but the pain is overwhelming. the petals of the flowers from your nightmares begin to fall, drifting like snowflakes, but the touch of them is suffocating. you gasp, trying to push them away, but it’s no use.
“help! someone help her—!”
your vision dims, everything turning dark as the pain intensifies. you feel yourself slipping, your body falling against the ground as your breath catches in your throat. and then, everything goes black.
when you wake, you find a scar on your neck—a mark of the night you almost didn’t survive. the petals, though, are gone. the whispers are silent. but you can still feel it. she’s still here.
v. whispers
it’s been ten years. a decade of silence. no phone calls, no texts, no letters. you’ve gone your separate ways, drifting through life without the familiar presence of hansol, nakyung, or the others. it’s as if the past—the horrors of saintfour—were a shared dream that none of you wanted to remember. and yet, here you are, standing in the same auditorium once again, the weight of that history pressing down on your chest.
you sit in the crowd of new and old faces, the orientation assembly unfolding in front of you like any typical college event. there’s laughter, excitement, and the usual pre-university buzz in the air. you know hansol is somewhere in the crowd, though you can’t bring yourself to search for him. you feel the pull of your past, that strange, unexplainable tug, but you push it down. this is your fresh start. you won’t let the pisadeira ruin it.
but then, the lights flicker.
it’s subtle at first, just a quick blink, a brief interruption in the otherwise seamless flow of the assembly. no one else seems to notice, but your heart skips a beat. something’s wrong.
the smell of wildflowers invades the air. not the delicate, sweet fragrance of a bouquet—no, this is sharp, invasive, almost suffocating.
not again.
your pulse spikes as the familiar voice drifts into your mind, soft, like a breath against your skin. come closer, (your name).
it’s her. she’s here.
you try to steady your breath, your hands trembling as the whispers grow louder, more insistent, more malicious. i’ve waited for you. don’t run away.
your vision blurs, the room spinning as you struggle to stay grounded in the present. you glance around quickly, desperate to find someone who isn’t caught in the same trap. but everyone else is oblivious, lost in the crowd, unaware of the danger lurking at the edge of your perception.
except hansol, who locks eyes with you. he knows.
you’re back in it. back in the nightmare you thought you escaped.
vi. reawakening
it’s the third week of college when he knocks on your door. hansol. standing in the hallway, looking exactly as you remember, but older, quieter. his eyes are darker now, shadowed by years of things unsaid, but they still hold the same familiarity. you’re caught off guard, unsure of how to react. you weren’t expecting this, not after ten years.
“what are you doing here?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper, trying to mask the shock that’s creeping up your throat.
he hesitates before answering, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket. “your parents blame me,” he says quietly, his gaze not meeting yours. “and I’ve accepted it.”
the words hang heavy in the air, a confession of guilt, an admission of the years he’s spent with that weight on his shoulders. your stomach churns, a mix of anger and sadness rising up. how could they? how could they blame him for something neither of you could control?
you swallow, trying to process everything, but all you can think of is the way hansol looks so small now, so paralysed by the memories of things that shouldn’t be real. you’re reminded of the times when you both stood on the precipice of danger, and you couldn’t protect him. you couldn’t fight back against the monsters that seemed so real.
but you will now.
a fire stirs in your chest, something deep inside you that makes you want to protect him this time. this time, you’ll fight.
you find yourself tracking him, watching from the corners of campus, noting the places he frequents when the weekend comes. you never ask him where he’s going—never question it—but you always seem to find the empty seat next to him, always make sure to sit there when no one else does.
he doesn’t question it at first, but soon, he gives you a sideways glance, his gaze sharp but unreadable. “why didn’t you ask me first?”
you shrug, a small, playful smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “didn’t think I needed to.”
and he doesn’t question how you found him, either. perhaps he’s just relieved to have you there, even if he doesn’t admit it. but his silence is heavy, and you know there’s more to his avoidance than he’s letting on. there always is with hansol.
you’re back in each other’s lives now, and you can feel the weight of what’s coming. you both know it’s not over. it never was. but maybe, just maybe, this time, you won’t be alone.
vii. dive
the party hums with energy, laughter, and loud music, but hansol is nowhere near the centre of it. you find him by the garden, crouched by a patch of daisies, plucking their petals with deliberate precision. with each one, he tosses it lightly into the nearby pool, watching as they float and swirl on the water’s surface.
“you know, that’s supposed to be romantic,” you tease, crossing your arms as you approach. “daisies in a pool? what’s the occasion?”
he glances up at you, his expression unreadable but familiar. “just thought it was nice. peaceful, you know?”
“peaceful? at a party?” you ask, tilting your head. “didn’t think you’d even show up to something like this.”
“figured it’d be less lonely,” he replies, brushing a stray petal from his hand. “knowing the people I grew up with would be here, even if I’m not exactly a part of it.”
you blink, caught off guard by his honesty, but you quickly recover. “well, you’ve got company now,” you say lightly, sitting down on the edge of the pool beside him.
the conversation shifts to small talk, catching up on little details about classes, professors, and the mundane chaos of college life. hansol doesn’t say much, but when he does, his words are careful, thoughtful. he seems more at ease out here, away from the crowd.
then, david bowie’s modern love starts playing from the speakers, the familiar beat making your foot tap instinctively. you nudge his shoulder, a playful grin spreading across your face. “come on. dance with me.”
he leans back slightly, shaking his head with a soft chuckle. “me? dancing out there? maybe you should ask chan. he’d love to dance with you.”
you roll your eyes, laughing, but you pause to search his face. there’s no hint of jealousy, no hard feelings—just a quiet acceptance, as if he’s fine watching from the sidelines. reassured, you rise and wave over chan, who doesn’t hesitate to grab your hand and spin you in a dramatic twirl that makes you laugh out loud.
soon, you’re in the middle of a lively group, dancing like you’ve known each other for years. you fit right in, your energy infectious, your smile bright.
from the edge of the garden, hansol watches you. there’s a flicker of something in his eyes.. you’re the same as you’ve always been. plucky, bold, unafraid to dive into life headfirst.
some things never change, he thinks, his lips curving into a small, almost imperceptible smile.
viii. reverse
study hall is quiet, save for the soft rustle of papers and the occasional tapping of pens against wooden desks. you’ve claimed a corner of the room, surrounded by textbooks and open tabs on your laptop—not for your upcoming pop quiz, but for something far more unsettling.
“pisadeira,” you mutter under your breath, scrolling through yet another article on the folklore.
“still on about that?”
you startle at the voice, looking up to see hansol standing there holding a takeout paper bag for iced americanos without waiting for an invitation, he sets the bag down and slides into the seat next to you.
“you’re supposed to be studying,” he says, nodding toward the pile of notes sprawled across your desk.
“and you’re supposed to avoid this topic,” you counter, narrowing your eyes. “why are you even here?”
he shrugs, taking a sip of his coffee. “figured you’d need a distraction.”
you scoff, though the sight of him flipping through your notes catches you off guard. hansol hasn’t willingly spoken about the pisadeira since that night ten years ago, and seeing him this invested stirs something uneasy in you.
“you never wanted to talk about her before,” you say, your voice quieter now. “why the sudden interest?”
he doesn’t answer immediately, his gaze fixed on one of your highlighted sections. “because she’s not just in your head,” he finally says.
you grit your teeth, frustration bubbling up. “i had another nightmare about her,” you admit. “last week. it was—” you pause, shaking your head. “it felt so real.”
“it’s just a dream,” he says firmly, turning to face you. “you’ll be ready if it happens again. we both will.”
his words are meant to comfort you, but they only add to the weight you already feel. you let out a heavy sigh, rubbing your temples. “you know, sometimes I wish I could just live a normal college life. no nightmares, no supernatural shit, just classes, lazy and terror professors in between and stupid long exams that require all nighters.”
hansol chuckles softly, the sound breaking the tension between you. “if all else fails,” he says after a moment, “you can always swing by my place in the future and help me with boring work stuff.”
you smile faintly, glancing down at your notes. “i might just take you up on that,” you say softly.
for the first time in what feels like forever, the weight on your shoulders feels a little lighter.
ix. time
the sorority house is alive with music and chatter, fairy lights strung across the ceiling casting a soft glow over the room. it’s the first party of the semester you’ve hosted, and your sorority sisters flit around the space, greeting guests and pulling people onto the makeshift dance floor. the air smells faintly of sweet cocktails and the flowers you’d arranged on every table earlier, a hollow attempt to lighten your unease.
it’s been two months since you last dreamt of the pisadeira. the quiet should be a relief, but it isn’t. not when reports have started to trickle through campus about students collapsing, choking on petals of purple flowers and other strange remains. she’s here, you know it, even if she hasn’t come for you yet. but why?
your stomach tightens, not from the pisadeira’s absence but from the creeping feeling of not belonging. this isn’t your scene, no matter how hard you try to pretend otherwise. you’re smiling, laughing, blending in, but for the first time, you feel out of place.
you force the thoughts away, telling yourself this party is meant to be a distraction. another night to blend in, to laugh and pretend like you don’t have a target painted on your back. nakyung has been doing her best to keep you entertained, introducing you to some of the boys she brought along, but none of them hold your attention. they’re polite, but their smiles are shallow, their conversation uninteresting.
“come on, smile,” nakyung whispers, nudging you with her elbow as she gestures toward a small group of guys lingering by the makeshift bar. “they’re cute, right? you should at least try.”
you force a smile, but it feels brittle. “they’re not my type.”
“you don’t have a type,” she retorts, rolling her eyes. “you’re just being stubborn.”
as nakyung drifts off to entertain someone else, you take a deep breath, your stomach knotting tighter with every passing second. the truth is, this isn’t your scene. it never has been. tonight, you feel the weight of that reality more than ever.
you glance around, catching sight of hansol by the snack table. he’s pouring himself a drink, looking more like a ghost than a guest.
he’s been here for five minutes, maybe less, and already he’s drifted to the edge of the room. across the hall, hansol is doing his best to blend into the wallpaper. chan had promised this party would be fun, nudging him along with a grin as they arrived. but as soon as they entered, chan was gone, disappearing into the crowd to charm strangers.
hansol doesn’t join him. he never does. instead, he hugs the corner of the party, his fingers curling nervously around the rim of his glass. his stomach churns, not from the punch but from the persistent tug of unease that’s been gnawing at him all evening. the music thrums against his chest like a second heartbeat, and yet he feels like he’s the only one moving in slow motion, the clock dragging its hands with agonising patience.
he’s by the snack table you meticulously laid out earlier, his shoulders hunched. hansol feels like an afterthought here, a placeholder for a party that doesn’t need him.
he glances at his watch, willing the minutes to pass faster, his chest tight with unease. it’s not the party that’s getting to him, though. it’s the clock. it feels like a countdown to something you can’t name, but every second that ticks by only makes him feel sicker.
he looks in a hurry. like he’s chasing time, trying to outrun something.
and then, as if sensing your curiosity, his gaze finds yours across the room.
you’re across the room, framed by the warm glow of fairy lights, your expression distant. for a moment, he wonders if you’re as uncomfortable as he is. when your eyes meet, it’s like the noise of the crowd fades into the background.
you smile—a small, fleeting gesture, but genuine.
he wants to smile back, to walk over, to say something, anything. but the moment stretches too long.
he doesn’t move, and neither do you
instead, you turn away, letting the crowd swallow you back up. hansol stays rooted to the spot, watching as you slip back into the crowd, a forced laugh on your lips as nakyung waves you over to meet another new face. hansol watches as you disappear into the sea of faces, his grip tightening around the cup in his hand.
somewhere in the corner of your mind, you replay the brief encounter, wondering why your heart clenched in that strange, familiar way. for a second, you’d felt tethered, but now the party feels lonelier than ever.
maybe he could’ve walked over, said something, done anything, if he didn’t already know what was coming.
but he does.
he looks at his glass, his reflection faintly visible in the surface of the drink. for a moment, he swears he sees something ripple beneath it, a flicker of purple that disappears the second he blinks.
x. pisadeira
the ruins reek of blood and decay, the air thick with the copper tang of the pisadeira's end. your dress clings to your skin, sodden with sweat, dirt, and her blood—so dark it looks black under the moonlight. your breathing is laboured, each inhale a desperate attempt to find clarity, but there is none to be found.
"leave them," hansol says, voice sharp as a whip, pulling you away from the remains of her carnage. the “dogs”—summoned guardians nakyung had managed to control—snarl and lunge at the creatures spilling into the ruins, their teeth gleaming like moonlit steel. "we have to go."
"we can’t just—" you start, but he grips your arm, the pressure of his fingers like iron.
"there’s no time!"
the urgency in his tone silences you, but the unease in your gut only grows as he pulls you, nakyung, and chan into the woods. branches claw at your ruined dress as you stumble after him, feet numb from the cold. the shadows seem alive, writhing like snakes in your periphery. hansol moves with a singular purpose, his jaw tight, his eyes flickering with something unreadable.
you glance back at chan and nakyung. chan’s face is pale, his usual easygoing charm replaced with grim determination. nakyung looks shaken, her lips pressed into a thin line, but she follows without question.
"hansol," you say, your voice trembling. "what’s going on? where are we going?"
"somewhere safe," he says, but there’s a crack in his voice, a crack you don’t miss.
"safe?" nakyung repeats, her tone laced with suspicion. "what do you mean safe? safe from what?"
"just trust me," hansol says, not looking back.
you want to trust him. god, you want to trust him. but something about the way he moves, the way his hand keeps brushing the pocket of his jacket, makes your heart pound with something other than exertion.
the forest thickens, the trees closing in around you like skeletal fingers. the air grows colder, the smell of wildflowers creeping into your nostrils. your steps falter.
"hansol," you whisper, panic threading your voice. "she’s here, isn’t she? the pisadeira’s not—"
"it’s not her," he cuts you off, his voice low and haunted. "not anymore."
you stop in your tracks. "what do you mean?"
he turns to face you, and for the first time, you see it—the torment, the guilt, the unbearable weight he’s been carrying.
"hangyul," he says, his voice breaking. "it’s my sister."
the world tilts and you feel like the wind’s knocked you off of your feet. "what?" you breathe, stepping back.
"she’s the one," he says, his voice trembling with the effort to stay steady. "the one who’s been hunting us. the one who’s been killing them."
"no," you say, shaking your head. "no, that’s not—she’s dead, hansol. she’s been dead for ten years."
"because of you," he snaps, the venom in his tone slicing through you. "because you failed to save her. because you let pisadeira take her."
the accusation hits like a physical blow, and for a moment, you can’t breathe.
"that’s not fair!" nakyung interjects, stepping forward. "you know it’s not her fault."
"isn’t it?" hansol says, his eyes locking onto yours, sharp and unyielding. "she was the one who insisted we stay in that house. the one who convinced us it wasn’t real. and now my sister—she was innocent ! ” hansol turns to you, exasperated and eyes blurred with anger. “you turned her into a monster."
"she wasn’t your sister anymore," you say, your voice trembling. "not after what the pisadeira did to her. you know that."
"and you think that makes it easier?" he shouts, his composure shattering. "you think that makes it any less my responsibility to save her now?"
"save her?" chan echoes, his voice sharp with disbelief. "by doing what, hansol? what are you planning?"
silence falls, heavy and suffocating. hansol’s hand moves to his pocket, and when it emerges, it holds a knife.
"no," you whisper, your blood turning to ice.
"i’m sorry," he says, his voice hollow. "but this is the only way."
"you’re not making any sense!" you scream, backing away. "hansol, stop ! "
but he doesn’t stop. he steps forward, his grip on the knife tightening.
"i can’t let her keep suffering," he says, his voice breaking. "and i can’t let her come for you again. if i have to end this—if i have to hurt you to save her—then so be it."
"you’re insane," nakyung spits, stepping between you. "you think killing her—killing us—is going to fix anything? you’re just as much a monster as she is!"
"hansol, please," you say, your voice cracking. "don’t do this. we can find another way."
but he shakes his head, tears streaming down his face. "there is no other way. i have to end this. i have to end her."
and then he lunges.
your survival instincts take over, your body moving before your mind can catch up. you grab a fallen branch, swinging it with all your strength. the knife slices through the air, grazing your arm before you manage to knock it from his grip.
"traitor," you hiss, your voice filled with betrayal and heartbreak. "you brought us here. you led us into this."
"because i had to," he says, his voice breaking. "you don’t understand—"
"then make me understand!" you scream, the weight of ten years of pain and regret crashing down on you.
but he doesn’t answer. instead, he stumbles back, his hand clutching his side where your makeshift weapon struck.
"hansol," nakyung says, her voice trembling. "don’t make us do this. please."
he doesn’t respond. instead, he looks at you, his eyes filled with an agony you can’t begin to comprehend.
when the knife finally finds your back, the betrayal hurts more than the sting of the blade.
xi. bravery
the room is a warzone of exhaustion and regret, every shadow crawling with the remnants of what had just unfolded. nakyung and chan lie unconscious but breathing, their bodies splayed across the cold stone floor like broken dolls. the silence that follows is heavier than the chaos it replaced. the spirit of the pisadeira looms ahead, a gnarled figure of fury and vengeance, her form almost too grotesque to look at directly. but your eyes are drawn instead to hangyul’s ghost—her face streaked with spectral tears, her cries thin and keening, a sound that seems to reverberate inside your chest.
your body is screaming at you to stop, to lay down and give in to the pain radiating from your back where hansol’s knife had found you earlier. you clutch the wound with trembling fingers, sticky with blood, but your legs stay steady beneath you. barely.
hansol moves towards you like a puppet with its strings cut, dragging his feet as though the weight of his guilt has made it impossible to walk properly. his face is pale, streaked with sweat and grime, his eyes hollow and faraway. when he finally stands in front of you, you see a boy unravelling, a man drowning in the consequences of his choices.
he whispers, “i’m sorry,” but the words fall into the abyss between you, too light to matter now.
you can feel the fury bubbling in your chest, threatening to spill over. “sorry?” your voice trembles with anger and anguish. “you think that fixes this? you think that fixes her?” you gesture to hangyul’s ghost, to the weeping figure of the sister he’s chased after for so long.
his head dips low, his shame radiating like heat. “everything I did… was for her,” he says, his voice cracking. “i thought—i thought if i gave her what she wanted, if i made it right—”
“you betrayed us,” you cut him off, your voice sharper than you mean it to be. “you betrayed me, hansol.”
the words land like blows, and he flinches visibly.
but then you see it—the way his hands shake, the way his lips press together as though holding back a sob. he doesn’t want to fight anymore. he doesn’t want to keep running.
and despite everything—despite the knife in your back, the blood on his hands—you see the boy you grew up with, the boy who once handed you the last piece of bread during a sleepover, who once told you your laugh was louder than the cicadas.
“you can’t fix this by throwing yourself into it,” you say, softer this time. “don’t you see? the pisadeira doesn’t want justice, hansol. she wants suffering. she’ll take you, and it’ll never end.”
he looks at you then, truly looks at you, and you can see the cracks in him deepening. “then what am i supposed to do?”
you glance at hangyul’s ghost, her ethereal form flickering, fading in and out like a candle struggling to stay lit. your mind is racing, calculating the options. the pisadeira’s form trembles, growing impatient, her sharp, distorted voice rasping through the air.
“one soul,” she hisses. “one soul to replace the one lost. a fair trade.”
hansol starts to step forward, his movements deliberate, but you stop him with a hand on his chest.
“no,” you say firmly.
“(your name), please,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “this is my fault. let me fix it.”
“if you want to fix it, you stay alive,” you snap, your breath hitching from the sharp pain in your back. “you stay alive, and you remember this. you live with it. and you make it mean something.”
he stares at you, wide-eyed, as you step past him. your body feels like it’s made of lead, every movement torturing him, but you don’t stop. before he can stop you, you turn and step toward the pisadeira, the wound in your side burning like fire, your legs trembling but unyielding. the creature watches you with a twisted smile, her skeletal fingers outstretched. hangyul’s ghost weeps behind her, mouthing a silent plea for you to stop.
“no!” hansol lunges forward, grabbing your arm, but you wrench yourself free. you feel hansol’s scream more than you hear it, but you don’t turn back. bravery is all you have left.
"let her go," you say, your voice clear and strong. "take me instead.".
“don’t make me watch this again,” you hear hansol plead, his voice desperate, tears streaking his face. “please, (your name). don’t—”
“it has to end. you told me yourself. this happened because of me.” you say, your voice steady despite the fear coursing through you. “so it will end with me too.”
you step into the circle at the centre of the room, where the ritual had been poised to complete with hansol’s sacrifice. the pisadeira snarls, her twisted face splitting into something that might have been a grin.
you glance back at hansol one last time, your eyes meeting his. you see the devastation there, the love, the regret. and for a brief moment, you smile. “be brave and live well, hansol,” you tell him. a tear falls and you can’t bear the thought of looking back and seeing him broken.
you see hangyul’s ghost move closer, her lips forming the words "thank you." before she vanishes like a light. at the same time, the pisadeira’s grin widens as her claws pierce your chest, the pain white-hot and all-encompassing. as the darkness closes in.
and then, nothing.
xii. cowardice
when the silence falls, it is not the peaceful kind. it is the suffocating quiet of loss, the heavy weight of a world newly broken. hansol’s knees give out beneath him, and he crumples onto the cold, uneven ground. his head falls into his hands, shaking as sobs tear from his throat.
"no," he whispers hoarsely, his voice trembling and thin. "no, no, no…"
the ruins are bathed in an eerie stillness, illuminated only by the dim glow of the moon. nakyung and chan stir on the floor, groaning faintly as they start to come to, but they are not awake enough to witness the wreckage left behind. hansol feels the briefest flicker of relief that they’re alive—alive, because of you—but it is fleeting, swallowed by the sight of you lying motionless, your body crumpled on the stone floor, your skin pale and cold to the touch.
this is his doing.
"it wasn’t supposed to be this way," he rasps, his hands trembling as he cups your face, brushing his thumb against your clammy cheek. he pulls you close, his tears falling onto your lifeless skin. "you weren’t supposed to—" his voice breaks, and he clutches you tighter, as though holding you close might bring you back.
the sound of sirens pierces the distance, their wailing cry growing louder with each second. hansol freezes, his chest heaving as panic sets in. he can’t be seen here. not like this. not holding your body, your blood on his hands, his knife discarded somewhere in the wreckage.
they’ll blame him. they should blame him.
"no, not like this," he whispers, his hands shaking as he gently lowers your body back onto the ground. his fingers brush your hair away from your face, his breath catching in his throat as he takes in every detail of you—the softness of your features, the way your lashes rest against your cheeks, the faint traces of the bravery you wore so fiercely etched into your expression.
a daisy lies nearby, untouched amidst the chaos, and he picks it up with trembling fingers. carefully, he tucks it into your hair, his movements deliberate and tender, as though this small act might undo the horrors of the night.
"i’m sorry," he whispers, his voice breaking. "i’m so sorry."
the sirens are close now, too close. hansol’s heart pounds in his chest as he looks at you one last time, memorising every detail, every part of you that he couldn’t save.
and then he runs.
— please do not copy , translate or repost any of my works anywhere.
© l2vedive on tumblr
just gonna talk to the void rn but would anyone be interested in a supernatural horror au fic with vernon? it's going to be loosely based on the first book of a choices-esque game in romance club called shadows of saintfour & ive alr written out a few chapters heh
Hong Jisoo fic recs
gentleman
not according to plan
smitten
acts of service
made with love
goodnight kiss??
home
towel argument
juno
"unreal"
double take
"that's what love is."
xinganhao 🌟 shared a moment with you: "vernon x reader"
it's vernon's favorite holiday: spotify wrapped day. or, the one where vernon waits an entire year for the perfect hard launch.
TOXIC TILL THE END w. kim mingyu
fighting in the rain + angst (1,085)
pairing: kim mingyu x fem!reader
note: thank you rosie for giving me even more writing juice while it rained two nights ago 🎀 if you liked this , please rb with your thoughts and give it a heart. thank you !
the rain drenches both of you, icy and unrelenting, but the cold pales in comparison to the chill between you. mingyu stands there, soaked and trembling, his eyes pleading with you, but you don’t flinch. the exhaustion, the frustration—it all boils over, spilling out in waves you can’t control anymore.
"you don’t get it, do you, gyu?" you start, your voice sharp, cracking under the strain. "all these years—seven years—and you still don’t see it. everything i’ve done, everything i’ve given up, and for what? for you to chase something that’s tearing us apart? for me to feel like i’m always the one holding us together while you… you just get to dream?"
mingyu shakes his head, stepping closer, his voice shaking. "it’s not like that, i swear. i’m not just doing this for me! it’s for us—our future. don’t you see that, (your name)? if i give up now, i’ll regret it forever, and I don’t want that. i don’t want you to unlove me like that."
"unlove you?" you laugh bitterly, the sound hollow, cutting through the rain. "you think this is about unloving you? gyu, i’m falling apart. every day, i feel like i have nothing of myself to pick up and put back together anymore. do you know? what it feels like to come home after working and studying for hours, to be so drained you can’t even think straight, only to feel like you're fighting in this relationship alone? do you even know what it’s like to feel so unseen?"
he freezes, his face contorting in pain, but you don’t stop. you can’t stop. it’s been building for too long.
"you’re chasing a dream that might never happen, gyu. and i’m here, trying to build a life for us—a real one! i’ve been pouring everything into us, into this future we’re supposed to have—we dreamed about. but all i’ve got left is nothing. i’ve got nothing, gyu." your voice cracks, and the tears finally fall, mixing with the rain as you sob. "how many more sacrifices am i supposed to make for you? how much of myself do i have to lose before you finally understand?"
"i do understand!" mingyu shouts, his voice desperate, his hands clenching into fists. "but i’m trying so hard, too. please.. i can’t just let this go—it’s all i’ve ever wanted. please, just give me more time. i’ll make it work, i promise. i promise i'll make it."
"more time?" you repeat, your voice trembling. "seven years, gyu. i’ve given you seven years of my life. my life! and now you’re asking for more? what happens when another year passes? or two? or ten? what will be left of me by then?"
his breath catches, and for a moment, he looks like he might fall apart. "don’t say that," he whispers, stepping closer. "please don’t say that. i love you. i love you more than anything, (your name). and i’ll do whatever it takes to make you stay. just don’t go. don’t leave me."
you stare at him, the rain pounding against your skin, and your heart feels like it’s being ripped apart. you love him—of course you do—but love isn’t enough anymore. it hasn’t been enough for the longest time. a long time ago you had ripped your heart out to put it in his hands and hoped that you both would fight for it. and it's funny because all you can think about in this very moment is when will you both stop trying.
"what will happen to us then, gyu?" you ask, your voice shaking with the weight of everything you’re feeling. "how many years of my life will be wasted if i stay? how many more nights will i cry myself to sleep, wondering if i’m ever going to be enough for you to choose me over your passion?"
he tries to respond, but the words fail him. all he can do is look at you, his eyes glossy, his chest heaving with unspoken loss. and in that silence, you realise it—the answer you’ve been seeing and living with.
"you already chose," you whisper, stepping back one final time. "you’ve been choosing, every single day. and now… now i have to choose, too."
mingyu's hand reaches out for you, but you turn away, your footsteps heavy, your heart shattering with each step you take. behind you, his voice breaks as he calls your name, begging, pleading, but you don’t stop.
because this time, you’re choosing yourself. and even though it feels like it’s killing you, you know you can’t keep drowning for someone who won’t reach for the surface with you.

