#dt fics | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mnijoy · 2 months ago

Text

Devil Town | 01

pairing: ot7bts x reader

genre: mystery, haunted, ghost!au, historic, supernatural (read warnings)

summary: She eagerly stepped into her new home, filled with excitement and a sense of newfound independence. Unbeknownst to her, the house held a hidden secret, as seven ethereal beings lingered within its walls, trapped in a realm between the living and the dead. Their presence would soon intertwine with her life, revealing a haunting tale of mystery where she would be forced to free them, bringing them back to the land of the living.

warnings: mentions of ghosts&demons, mentions of death, murder, blood, haunted house, horror, smut, fluff, angst, jump scares, bts haunt y/n… (warnings will be at the start of each chapter)

authors note: this was meant to be a lot longer but i just needed to get something out... pls ignore how bad this is it’s just the start so it’s kind of like a filler? idk ? AND IM GETTING THERE SORRYYYYY 🥹🥹🥹 also don’t be a silent reader and lmk ur thoughts 💛

word count: 4.1k

tag list: ( open) @comicnerd557 @sanya823 @v4ksk4tz @uniquecutie-puffs @borahaetelevision @trouble-sistar @sathom013 @uniquetravelerone @cbtmeee @11thenightwemet11 @minimonimi8

series masterlist | teaser | 01

The moving truck groaned to a halt in front of the house, its engine rumbling as if reluctant to let go of the cargo inside. You stepped onto the cracked sidewalk, clutching your coat tightly as you looked up at the house that was now yours. It stood at the end of the quiet street, its weathered exterior bathed in the orange glow of the setting sun. The shutters sagged slightly, and ivy crept up one side, giving it a certain charm that had called to you the moment you saw it. It was a house with history - a place that felt alive.

The movers began hauling your furniture and boxes into the house, grunting under the weight of your belongings. You directed them inside, navigating the maze of boxes and half-assembled furniture.

It didn't take as long as you expected, and soon enough, all the boxes from the truck were now somewhat neatly placed inside your home, ready to be opened and emptied, a task you couldn't wait to begin.

The house was a huge catch, and you couldn't find the words to explain your gratitude to the universe for helping you come across it. It was perfect. Two stories with a basement and an attic. What more could you possibly ask for? The only downside was that it was a little old and uncared for, the grass at the front and even at the back was far past being overgrown, in desperate need of being cut and the inside of the house had an even more antique and rustic look to it. It would take a lot of work to bring it right to your standards.

A newfound surge of excitement and independence coursed through your bones as you basked in the glory of your home, skipping up the steps of the porch and looking out at the neighbourhood. Your eyes caught sight of your neighbours standing across the street.

A man and a woman stood on the curb, their faces unreadable as they watched you. The man whispered something to the woman, who frowned and shook her head. You waved, offering a polite smile, but they didn't wave back. Instead, they turned and walked away briskly, their murmured conversation carrying on the wind.

You didn't think anything of it, not everybody was friendly at the beginning. Shrugging, you made your way inside.

Your first few days in the house were a whirlwind of unpacking and organising. You carefully placed your favourite books on the shelves, hung up curtains that caught the light just right, and arranged cozy touches that turned each room into a small sanctuary. Boxes lay scattered, slowly dwindling in number as you added pieces of yourself to the space, arranging and rearranging until it felt less like an empty shell and more like a home.

By the time you were finished, you sighed in satisfaction, leaning against the worn wooden banister that framed the staircase. It was quiet--almost too quiet-but the kind of silence that felt peaceful, wrapping you in a sense of calm.

You didn't notice it at first, the faint sounds overhead, until you settled onto the couch with a cup of tea and heard a soft, rhythmic tapping drifting down from above, coming from the attic.

That first night, you dismissed the noise as nothing. "Old house, old noises," you reassured yourself, pulling a blanket tighter around your shoulders. But as the hours passed, the tapping continued. You could almost convince yourself it was just the wind, until you realised it had a pattern.

The second night, the noise returned, louder and more persistent. This time, curiosity overcame your unease.

Finally, with a deep breath, you set your cup aside and rose, casting a glance up the dim stairway. You grabbed a flashlight, though you weren't sure why; something about the attic's shadowy corners unsettled you in a way you couldn't quite explain. Still, you found yourself climbing the stairs, the air growing cooler with each step, a hint of something stale lingering in the air.

At the top, you hesitated before pushing open the attic door, half expecting dust and cobwebs, maybe a few forgotten boxes. But as your flashlight's beam swept across the room, you froze. Across from you, lined up along the far wall, was a row of portraits. Each one was framed in intricate, dark wood, perfectly preserved but muted in haunting gray tones.

Heart pounding, you stepped closer. Seven faces, frozen in time, gazed back at you—young men, each expression somber and strangely intense, as though they had secrets hidden just behind their eyes. The photographs were stunning in their detail, each capturing a distinct personality, a different mood. They wore vintage clothing that seemed pulled from another era, their gazes seeming to follow you, almost as if they were watching, waiting.

Chills prickled down your arms as you moved down the row, taking in the portraits one by one. A strange familiarity tugged at you, though you couldn't quite place it. You didn't know them, but something about them felt almost... known.

As you leaned in closer, the silence shattered. A whisper, barely audible, brushed past your ear. You spun around, flashlight trembling in your grip, but the attic was empty. The air seemed to thicken, the temperature plummeting as if an unseen presence lingered in the corners. Turning back to the portraits, your heart raced, the weight of their stares pressing down on you like a physical force.

And then, your eyes caught onto something else. Each portrait bore a small brass plate, each engraved with a single name, each name once again oddly familiar, but now feeling strange and haunting in this setting. Seokjin. Yoongi. Hoseok. Namjoon. Jimin. Taehyung. Jungkook.

Your breath caught as you stared into their eyes. For a split second, you thought you saw the faintest glimmer of movement—did they just blink? You stumbled back, heart pounding, questions swirling through your mind. Why were they here, preserved in this lonely attic? And what did it mean that you had found them? The whispers began again, soft as a breath, as if the walls themselves murmured secrets you weren't meant to hear.

Panicked, you turned and fled down the stairs, the lingering image of their eyes etched in your mind. Yet as you descended, the unnerving feeling wouldn't leave you. No matter how you tried to shake off the encounter, you couldn't help but feel you had disturbed something hidden, some mystery that lay just beyond reach, waiting for you to unravel it.

You could practically hear your heartbeat thumping against your chest, rapidly gaining speed and causing a rush of blood to run through your body. You held a hand to your heart in a futile attempt to calm it down, taking deep, laboured breaths and closing your eyes for a second.

Although you managed to calm your heart down, your mind continued to wonder, causing a throbbing ache to grow inside of it.

That night, sleep refused to come. You lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, tossing and turning as the weight of those portraits pressed onto your mind. Every time you closed your eyes, their faces hovered in the darkness.

At some point, exhaustion finally won, pulling you into uneasy dreams. Shadows slithered through your subconscious, whispers curling around your ears like tendrils of smoke. In the dream, you stood in the attic once more, but this time, the portraits were empty. The frames remained, perfectly aligned, but the faces; gone. You turned your head, and instead of them being frozen in time in the portraits, the seven of them stood with their unmoving eyes watching you, until a loud thud yanked you from your sleep.

You sat up, heart hammering against your ribs. The house was silent again, but the sound had been real. You knew it.

Swallowing your fear, you swung your legs over the bed and stepped into the dimly lit hallway. The floorboards creaked beneath your weight, the air colder than it should have been. You followed the unease settling in your bones, your feet carrying you forward before you could second-guess.

As you passed the staircase, something caught your eye. A shape—a figure—just at the edge of your vision.

You froze.

Someone was standing at the bottom of the stairs.

Your breath hitched. The shadows clung to them, obscuring their features, but you could make out the silhouette of a man. He stood completely still, head tilted slightly, as if observing you.

Your fingers loosened around the barrister, your voice caught in your throat. A scream threatened to rip out of you, but something was stopping you from doing so. Hesitantly, your feet pulled you towards the light switch, flicking it on without turning away from the figure before you.

And just like that, it was gone.

The air around you felt heavier now, pressing in on your lungs. You knew fear. You had felt it before, in the attic, in the dream, in the weight of those stares. But this? This was something else.

Gathering whatever courage you had left, you descended the stairs slowly, each step measured and careful. The wooden boards groaned beneath you, but the house was still, too still. The silence felt unnatural, charged with something unseen.

Then, from the living room, the record player clicked on.

A soft static hummed through the air before a hauntingly slow melody crackled to life, its sound eerily distorted. The hairs on your arms stood on end. You didn't own a record player.

Your pulse pounded in your ears as you turned toward the sound. The living room was empty, but the record player spun lazily, its needle gliding across the vinyl.

A voice spoke out.

Soft, low, and undeniably real.

"You're not supposed to be here."

It came from behind you.

Ice shot through your veins. You turned, pulse roaring, eyes darting across the dim space. There was nothing. No one. But the air was charged, as if something unseen had just been there.

The melody from the record player warbled, slowing, distorting into something unnatural before cutting out entirely.

The silence returned, deafening in its weight.

You took a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself, but deep down, you knew you were not alone in this house.

Millions of thoughts raced through your mind. Was this somehow connected to the paintings? It couldnt be, right? Your heartbeat pounded unnaturally fast, breath hitching as your entire body trembled. A violent sob tore from your throat before you could stop it.

Without thinking, you bolted up the stairs, desperate to reach the safety of your room. But just as you reached for the door, it slammed shut in your face.

Tears burned at the corners of your eyes, throat tight with unshed tears. Your gaze darted frantically around the dim hallway before you lunged for the handle, yanking it open.

A ghost? A spirit? No. That thought had long been buried. This wasn't some supernatural force—this was real. Someone had broken in.

You threw the door shut behind you, heart hammering as you stumbled towards the bed and snatched up your phone. Your fingers, trembling and slick with sweat, tapped out the first numbers that came to mind.

911.

Seconds dragged unbearably long as the ringing tone buzzed in your ear. You sank onto the bed, one leg bouncing uncontrollably, hands clenched into fists. Until, finally, a voice called out from the other side.

"911, what's your emergency?" A woman's voice. Soft. Steady.

You sucked in a shaky breath. "I— There's s-someone in my house. I think they broke in. I—I'm pretty sure they're still here." The words spilled out, tripping over themselves.

"Okay, miss. Take a deep breath for me. What's your name and address?"

You answered quickly, throat tightening as you waited.

"Stay on the line with me. Can you tell me what makes you think someone broke in?"

Your fingers clenched tighter around the phone. The memory surged back, ice-cold and unmistakable.

"I saw a man," you whispered. "They spoke to me."

The line crackled for a moment, filling the silence in your room with static. Then, the dispatcher's voice returned—calm, controlled, as if she hadn't just heard the most terrifying thing you've ever said.

"They spoke to you?"

You swallowed hard. "Yes."

"Can you tell me what they said?"

Your mind raced back to that moment—the voice, the way it seemed to slither into your ears like a whisper only meant for you. You could still hear it, low and deliberate, replaying over and over.

You're not supposed to be here.

You squeezed your eyes shut, as if that would make it go away.

"They said I—I shouldn't be here.," you managed, voice barely above a whisper.

A beat of silence. Then, "Y/N, are you somewhere safe?"

Safe.

Your eyes flickered toward the door, the flimsy lock on the knob. A thin piece of wood separating you from whoever, or whatever, was out there.

"I don't know," you admitted.

The dispatcher's voice softened. "Help is on the way, okay? I need you to stay quiet and listen carefully."

A rustling sound echoed from outside your room. Footsteps. Slow. Measured.

Your blood turned ice cold.

"They're still here," you whispered into the phone.

Another pause—this one heavier, more urgent. Then, the dispatcher spoke again, voice low and firm.

"Lock the door. Now."

You lunged for the knob, twisting it until you heard the soft click of the lock sliding into place. You barely had time to step back before a thud sounded from behind it.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Something had just pressed against the door.

The phone shook in your hands. The dispatcher's voice was still in your ear, but you could barely hear her over the blood rushing in your head.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

A slow, deliberate knocking.

Your stomach dropped.

The voice from the other side was familiar.

"Let me in."

It was the same one from earlier.

Your breath hitched.

Every fiber of your being screamed at you to move, to do something, but you were frozen in place, your body paralyzed by sheer terror.

"Let me in."

The words slithered through the door, slow and deliberate.

Your entire body went rigid. You knew that voice. That painstakingly low, guttural tone that had sent a chill down your spine the first time you heard it. The kind of voice that didn't just speak, it crawled under your skin, wrapping around your bones like something cold and suffocating.

It was him.

The man from earlier. The one you'd tried so hard to convince yourself wasn't real.

And now, he was standing just outside your door.

The phone nearly slipped from your grip. Your fingers clenched around it in a desperate attempt to hold on, but the tremors in your hands made it feel like you could drop it at any second. Your breath came in shallow, uneven gasps, chest rising and falling too fast, too erratic.

You opened your mouth to speak, but the words tangled themselves into knots at the back of your throat, choking you. Finally, you forced them out in a ragged whisper.

"T-There's—" Your voice faltered, barely audible over the pounding in your ears. You swallowed hard, forcing down the rising panic threatening to consume you. "There's someone outside my door."

The silence that followed was thick, almost unnatural.

"They're—" You sucked in a sharp breath, gripping the phone so tightly your knuckles turned white. "It's the same one from earlier."

The moment those words left your lips, the air in the room changed.

On the other end of the line, the dispatcher hesitated. It was barely a second, but you felt it. The carefully measured calm in her voice cracked, just slightly, but enough to tell you that she knew that something wasn't right.

"Y/N," she said, slow and deliberate. "Is there anyone else in the house with you?"

You shook your head instinctively before realising she couldn't see you. You swallowed again, throat dry and tight.

"No," you whispered.

Another pause. Another moment of silence.

Until the handle rattled.

Not violently. Not in an attempt to break in. It was slow. Controlled. Testing it.

Your breath hitched, a sharp, strangled sound catching in your throat. You staggered backward, nearly losing your balance as your legs collided with the edge of the bed.

And then it spoke.

"End the call."

The voice was different now, more soft. Too soft. It shouldn't have made your blood run cold, shouldn't have sent that horrible, skittering sensation crawling up your spine.

It sounded like a recording played back at the wrong speed, stretched and warped just enough to feel off. Just enough to make your body reject it, to tell you that whatever was on the other side of that door wasn't supposed to exist.

The dispatcher's voice was tighter now. Urgent. "Listen to me. Stay where you are. Do not open that door. Officers are on route. Can you find anything to barricade it?"

Your brain struggled to process her words, to latch onto them through the growing fog of terror. Your eyes darted around the room, searching desperately for anything to use as a barricade.

The desk. The dresser. The chair in the corner.

Could you move them in time? Would it even matter?

"You're not supposed to be here."

Your stomach twisted violently, nausea clawing its way up your throat.

The rattling of the door handle combined with the knocking managed to drown out the comforting voice on the other side of the phone.

And then, silence.

The knocking stopped. The rattling ceased. The presence outside the door just... vanished.

The air in the room felt heavier now, thick and unmoving, pressing down on you from all sides. It was as if the walls themselves were holding their breath, waiting.

The dispatcher's voice crackled through the phone, but it felt distant, muffled beneath the deafening ring in your ears.

"Miss? Are you still there?"

You couldn't answer. You couldn't move.

Because your gaze had drifted—just slightly.

The door was still closed. Still locked. But, behind you, the closet was open, creaking slightly as it continued to open until finally, it slammed against the wall.

The closet door slammed against the wall with a force that sent vibrations through the floor, and your breath caught in your throat. The silence that followed was suffocating, a thick, unnatural quiet that pressed against your ears like cotton.

Your body refused to move at first, the sheer weight of the moment rooting you in place. Your eyes locked onto the darkness beyond the threshold of the closet. It wasn't just darkcit was void, an abyss that swallowed the faint glow of your bedside lamp before it could reach inside.

Then, something shifted.

A presence.

At first, it was subtle—a slow, creeping awareness that prickled at the back of your neck. The unmistakable sensation of being watched. A deep, bone-chilling cold seeped into the room, frosting over your skin and sinking into your muscles.

"You're not supposed to be here." The voice from the beginning called out, slithering through the air like an icy tendril, curling around your ear in a breath that wasn't entirely human. It was layered, distorted almost, as if spoken by multiple voices at once, each one slightly out of sync with the other.

Your body reacted before your brain could. You stumbled backward, a sharp gasp escaping your lips as your heel caught the edge of the rug. Your legs buckled, sending you crashing onto the floor.

The phone slipped from your grasp and landed beside you, the dispatcher's voice buzzing through the speaker in broken static.

"Officers... on their way... stay with me—"

You barely heard her.

Because something moved in the closet.

A figure.

It was impossible to make out, but it was there, a mass of shifting darkness that loomed just beyond the threshold. Not quite human, not entirely formless. It seethed in the black, pulsing with something unnatural, something wrong.

And then it stepped forward.

Your breath turned to ice in your lungs.

The air itself seemed to warp around it, bending and distorting like a heat mirage, but cold. Unfathomably cold. The shadows clung to its frame, shifting and unraveling, like the edges of its form couldn't quite stay together.

Then, the hand shot out; long, spindly fingers, impossibly thin yet unnervingly strong, clamped around your wrist. A chill unlike anything you had ever felt surged through you, locking your muscles in place. It wasn't just cold, it was absence, a void where warmth had never existed.

The grip tightened.

A sharp, excruciating pain shot through your arm, like icy needles burrowing beneath your skin. Your pulse thundered in your ears as you let out a strangled scream, instinctively yanking back.

It held firm.

The thing in the closet didn't move, didn't lurch or stagger. It simply existed, an unrelenting force beyond the grasp of reason.

Slowly, deliberately, it began to pull.

Your heels dug into the floor, desperate to find purchase, to fight against the inhuman strength dragging you toward the black maw of the closet. Your free hand flailed wildly, knocking over a lamp, sending glass shards scattering across the hardwood.

A scream tore out your throat, thrashing against the tightening grip.

But just as suddenly as it had grabbed you, it released.

You fell back hard, the impact rattling through your bones as you gasped for air, clutching your wrist. The skin there was ice cold, a deep, aching numbness settling beneath the surface.

The room was still.

Too still.

The figure had retreated.

But the closet door remained open.

The dispatcher's voice crackled through the phone, sharp and urgent.

"Y/N, are you safe? Are you safe?"

You couldn't answer. You couldn't breathe.

Because just as the sirens outside wailed closer, flashing red and blue against your window—

The closet door clicked shut.

And in the heavy silence that followed, you swore you heard it again.

That voice. A breath against the shell of your ear. It was hard to make out what it said, but you could feel its lingering presence all over your body—like hands roaming over you.

Another scream ripped from your throat, raw and unrelenting, as sobs shook your entire body. Your mind struggled to grasp the impossibility of the nightmare unfolding around you, but reality felt fractured, distorted beyond comprehension.

Somewhere in the distance, the dispatcher's voice crackled through the phone, urgent and persistent, The shrill noise of the sirens blended with the dispatcher's frantic calls, layering over the ringing in your ears. A flicker of red and blue light pulsed against the windowpane, flashing in rhythmic bursts, casting eerie shadows across the room.

But you couldn't form words, you could barely even breathe properly. The weight of fear pressed down on your chest like a vice, suffocating, paralyzing.

Your fingers dug into the cold wooden floor, grasping for any sense of stability. With trembling arms, you pushed yourself up, legs wobbling beneath you. Every movement felt sluggish, as if you were moving through water, but you forced yourself to stand.

Help was finally here, but you didn't feel any safer than you did before. What could they possibly do now? There was something much more deeper, darker happening here that the police would not be able to solve.

Deep voices, commanding shouts joined the chaos outside, overlapping with the howling sirens.

Short, rapid breathes left your throat in an attempt to calm yourself down as you slowly took steps towards your door which was still surprisingly locked. Your quivering hands reached out, clasping onto the metallic handle and twisting the door open. A violent banging sounded from downstairs, causing you to flinch in fear, before realising it was just the police outside. They continued to shout, and you managed to make out the sound of your name frantically being called by someone.

Your feet dragged you down the stairs, as you wiped your face, removing any trace of the former tears that had fell from your swollen eyes. Before you could open the door, it was already being pushed open and officers rushed inside.

Two officers stood in front of you, the other two had taken on the task of exploring your house, checking if there truly was a burglar -- an invader -- lurking inside.

You carefully explained the previous events that had occurred before their arrival, and they listened intently, nodding along to everything you said. Soon enough, the other two joined in with a concerned look etched on their faces.

"There's.." one of them began, all eyes on him. "There's nobody here. We checked every room." He clasped his hands behind his back, glancing towards his colleague.

"There wasn't a trace of anybody.. But you did leave the front door unlocked." the other added.

"Oh, it must've slipped my mind..." you trailed off, mentally facepalming at your stupidity. You never left the door unlocked. Ever.

Noticing your sullen expression, the female officer spoke up, "Hey, don't worry. We'll do one last check, right?" she looked over at her peers, causing them to nod along, followed by a chorus of 'yes'.

You muttered out a quick thank you, hands clenching into balls in your lap as you watched them make their way back up the stairs, in search of someone you were no longer sure had ever been real.

267 notes · View notes

yourfavouriteprettyboy · 3 months ago

Text

absolutely breaks me to think about how maybe the Theerapanyakul kids were once close. maybe there was a time when Vegas would jump out of the car as soon as they reached the Major family base and go play with Kinn. maybe they shared toys, maybe Tankhun taught them how to ride a bike, maybe Vegas held new born Kim and never wanted to let go, maybe all of them once tried to take care of Macau when he wont stop crying.

Maybe once, they loved each other.

#dt's rants and vents #someone write a fic AAAHH #i love them #all of them were just kids thrown into war #no one got out unscathed #not even kim who tried so hard #kinnporsche #vegaspete #kinnporsche the series #pete kinnporsche #pete phongsakorn #vegas theerapanyakul #kinn theerapanyakul #tankhun theerapanyakul #macau theerapanyakul #kim theerapanyakul

225 notes · View notes

saintescuderia · 5 months ago

Text

STUCK ON THE PUZZLE // DR3

(a pancakes! one-shot)

AKA - how daniel's famed 2018 monaco win was the beginning of the end

series masterlist here :) // the pancakes recipe here :)

A/N: hi there. apologies for being mia. lot of life changes. here's something i started pre-hiatus. also shout out to dr3, mans had such an impact on my life. the prince who would've been king. words: 9.6k (strap yourself in kids) warnings: angst. like a whole lot. breakup. bit of cheating. etc.

You loved Daniel.

You had loved Daniel with your whole being.

Because Daniel was not someone to take half-heartedly. People either loved him or hated him - there was no in between. And when you first properly met Daniel, sticking chopsticks under the gums of his mouth to make a young Max Verstappen laugh after a bad race, you found your mouth falling open at the sight of such person.

“Hi! Nice to meet you. I’m Daniel!” He had smiled with his whole face, eyes crinkling even all those years ago when the sun had yet made its mark on his face. A younger, fresh-faced Daniel still smiled with his whole being. Seeing Daniel smile made it feel as if the sun had decided to stop shining on the world - and, instead, focus all its rays onto you. A singular sort of warmth filled you from head to toe as you met the famous Red Bull driver who somehow made everything around him a few shades lighter, warmer, more yellow.

Love.

You fell in the category of people that loved Daniel Ricciardo.

To say that you fell in love then and there would be an insult for the love that steadily grew within you for the beautiful boy who lit up your entire world. Because he did. Every time you walked into a room and found him there, you found yourself able to breathe easier. It was as if you finally could gasp at air, unaware you had been holding your breath until then, until you saw him.

When you would later talk to your therapist about it all, you would compare to when you were younger and had really bad asthma.

“Daniel was like my puffer. I could breath easier around him.” You had said. “Now it just feels like I’m drowning again.”

The first time you had properly hung out with Daniel, it was because of Max. Your best friend had dragged you to some campfire that Daniel was having with a bunch of his friends. You felt awkward and out of place since Daniel had invited Max - not you. Still, Max was adamant you come. At the very least, you could keep each other company. Or so Max had argued by way of finally convincing you.

And so you followed Max through the nice looking beach house Daniel had rented out. It was even more picturesque with the sun that was just about to set. Your grip on the two cases of beer you had brought with you now becoming a lifeline as the social anxiety set in.

Walking closer, you heard music. Soft strums of a guitar playing. It was interrupted by a loud round of raucous laughter. You took a deep breath.

Daniel was playing the guitar. He was laughing. And you finally exhaled.

God, he looked beautiful. There was no other way to describe him.

Your crush aside, even a blind man had to admit it. The whole scene of him was beautiful. To this day, you could paint the picture clear as ever. The black and white striped Stüssy shirt, the bright pink board shorts and the bare feet. Tattoos spotted all over his body.

He was sitting right in the middle of everyone, a half drunk corona light - lime, not lemon - pushed in the neck of the beer bottle by his tattooed thigh. The flickering lights of the dancing flames shining on his tanned skin as the sun continued its slow decent to the horizon behind him.

“Ah, here they are!” Daniel said, putting the guitar away as he spotted you and Max. His smile grew and he stood up to dap Max. You, however, were awkward as fuck. You gave a general wave to everyone else, the boys nodding or holding up their beer in greeting. You suddenly realised how there were all guys here and felt even more out of place.

But then Daniel turned to look at you.

“Uh, hey. I brought more beer.” You immediately said because you weren’t sure what else to say.

“Oh, thank you! Legend!” Daniel said, taking them from you and setting them down. He then turned to give you a hug and you found yourself holding back. His arm went right around you and you wanted nothing more than to that just melt into him. Did everyone find him this cuddly?

“Did you find the place alright?”

It took you a second to realise he was asking you, and not Max. Daniel’s eyes were on you. His big brown eyes and the wide smile, teeth and all. On you.

“Uh, yeah. Actually no.” You said, realising you were just on auto pilot and needed to snap out of the nerves. “Max wouldn’t listen to my directions.”

“Tsk, Maxie. You need to listen to her. Look what listening to her got you.” Daniel said to the boy behind you who was now sat, holding a beer. Max had recently been upgraded from Torro Rosso to Red Bull and, as such, now went to social events like Daniel Ricciardo's private hang outs.

Though why Max made you come with him was beyond you.

“You’re lucky to have a trainer like this one, mate.”

You had to steel yourself from that compliments Daniel was giving you. You watched him open the esky and dump the beers you had bought into it. He then pulled a cold bottle out and opened it to shove a lime into the neck. Daniel then turned to you, hand slightly outstretched. “I’m gonna guess beer is okay since you brought more?”

“Yeah, no worries.” You said even though you were trying to cut and technically weren't supposed to drink. It was one of the many reasons you thought it not fitting to come but Max had just dismissed a hand anyway.

You watched Daniel use a keychain to open the bottle lid and felt the need to also explain, “Max kept saying I should come but I didn't realise it would be all guys and - ” You were interrupted as Daniel handed you the drink. “- oh, thank you.”

“Don’t worry. I wanted you to come. I told Max to bring you.”

“You… oh.” You found yourself unable to form a response at that. Your body did that for you. Your cheeks warming up with the blush that set in.

“Yeah. You’re cool. And we always have fun so it’s nice to shoot the shit outside of the garage and all the cameras of the Paddock.” Daniel said. “But, uh yeah my bad. I hope you don’t mind us guys. All these guys are lame and don’t have any girlfriends.” He raised his voice, aiming the last part at his friends who were all sitting just to the side.

One of his friends flipped him off. “Oi mate, neither do you!”

“Yet.” Another said quietly, taking a sip of his beer as he did so. The friend beside him laughed. You found yourself blushing even more and you wanted to meet Max’s eyes - but the idiot was too busy looking up at the sky.

Fuck's sake, Verstappen.

“Anyway, listen since we finally have a girl here you can give us advice.” One of the boys called out as you came to sit down. You ignored how Daniel didn’t go back to where he was sitting before, opting to sit next to you on a log that was definitely too small for two people. “So our mate Tommy here is slowly falling into the friend-zone. Tell him what he needs to do.”

And so the night passed where you hung out with Daniel Ricciardo and his friends. The sensitive soul, Tommy, who was in love with his neighbour. The trainer Blake who had known Daniel since they were both three years old - and it showed in how many inside jokes they had. The cousin Corey, who worked as a teacher and was a serious lightweight. Then, of course, there was Max. You hadn’t realised how close Daniel and Max had gotten but seeing them outside of racing suits put a new perspective on their friendship with how integrated Max was with the rest of Daniel’s friends.

It all made the imposter syndrome deepen. Even though the boys included you in the jokes and explained the context behind all their stories, you couldn’t get it out of your head. Why were you here exactly?

And so on the drive back home, you grilled Max. Incessantly.

“Daniel called me said if you would be down. I said yes.” Max explained. “Maybe it was a mistake. Were you that uncomfortable?”

“Yes. No. They were all guys.” Your response was pathetic at best. That reason wasn’t justification enough. Most of your social circles lay in cars and sports. As such, Max gave you an odd look and you shook your head. The universe, as if to prove the point, Charles’ name came up on the car screen as your phone started buzzing.

You pressed decline and huffed. Max gave you another suspicious look. “I’ll call him later. I just — “

“What?”

“I like Daniel!” You finally snapped, saying It. “Alright, Max. I like him. And it’s fucking awkward. I can’t hang out with him like I would with you and Charles and the whole thing is fucking messing with me. We work together, he’s your teammate. More than that, he's Daniel fucking Ricciardo.” You finished with a huff. You ran a hand over your face and took another breath. “So next time he asks you just say no."

“Why?” Max asked calmly, not commenting about your abrupt mental break down. Or even the fact that you had just admitted you liked his teammate.

“Did you not hear me?”

“I heard you. I don’t agree with you. At least, not for those reasons.” Max said. “You and Daniel are cut from the same cloth. I can see it happening. He might need to grow up a little but…” Max pursed his lips. “It’s you and Daniel.”

“Well there's the big thing about him not ever liking me back.” The tone of retort was a harsh but Max ignored it.

“Who says he doesn’t?” Max said with a shrug and a smile. “I mean, he asked me to bring you there. Daniel never brings just anyone to those things."

You were silent, pressing your lips together. You couldn’t — Daniel was — what? Daniel didn’t like you. Daniel was just a nice guy. That was — no. You couldn’t bring yourself to accept that fact. You had been crushing on Daniel for how long now? From before you even started working at Torro Rosso and saw a charming Australian grinning widely on the podium beside Seb. You’d always noticed Daniel.

It was Daniel.

Daniel remembers all too well the first time he really noticed you.

You had been walking by yourself in the Paddock. It had been a windy day and your hair, curls and all, were blowing from the wind. Music had been playing from the headphones Daniel had kept over his ears during the trip to Paddock.

Now, as he watched you, two things happened simultaneously.

Alex Turner’s voice fills his ears with the lyric: “I’m not the kind of fool whose gonna sit and sing to you about stars, girl.”

His brain buzzes with a sole thought passing through his mind: 'God, she’s beautiful.'

He blinked and pulled down his headphones. Someone called out your name and you turned to look and see that new Torro Rosso kid bounding up to you. Daniel pulled his headphones back up and shook his head. You were in the uniform so he could easily find you later and talk to you but - nah. What would that achieve? If he was going to approach you, it wasn’t to just be mates. He would want your number. He would want - what? A quick fuck? That wasn't uncommon in the Paddock but that could also get messy if you worked in Red Bull's junior team. He didn't know what you'd be like.

All he knew was that you were beautiful.

Maybe that’s why Daniel didn’t know how to act around you. He was nice, perfectly polite. He would joke around - as he did with everyone. But inside he considered the bonus points for every time his jokes brought you to tears. Because he was always secretly waiting to see if you would laugh or not.

Daniel joined you and Max for track walks, he got you a coffee every so often, sprayed the champagne directly at you when he won. Then he give you a big hug as everyone rushed to congratulate him. And he would count the seconds where your arm was around him. He basked in that. He liked hugging you.

But he never asked for your number. He didn’t hit follow when he finally found your Instagram. Which was surprising considering how close you two seemed, how well he got along with you and enjoyed your company.

“Ah, my phone died. Daniel can you call Y/N? And tell her to bring Max with her.” Christian said, sighing at his dead phone that he set on the table. You and Max were late for a briefing meeting.

“Oh, I don’t have her number.” Daniel said. Some people looked at him. Even Christian Horner frowned in surprise.

“What? Oh, uh. Okay. Angela can you try?”

“Sure thing.”

Daniel wasn’t even sure how he got your number. Probably needing to call you for something and Max gave him the number. Or it very well could’ve been Christian giving it to him. Either way, your name was saved in his phone without much intention.

Because he didn’t have any. He couldn’t.

As always, there was just that something missing. He had something missing.

But he liked spending time with you. He liked seeing you rip into Max for not following the routine you’d planned for him. He liked seeing you talk soccer so enthusiastically with Guenther Steiner or that Spanish Toro Rosso kid. He liked how nice you were to hospitality workers and kids. He liked how knew cars and even managed to fix the temperamental engine in his own car once or twice. He liked that you never got starstruck and were honest and straightforward and that the gym was your safe spot. He liked how you wore your hair with a bandana — even if meant you often got in trouble with Christian for the 'creative liberties' you took with the Red Bull uniform. And he really liked seeing you in a hoodie. He knew you often wore them outside F1.

All your interactions had been through Formula 1. Daniel thought about it for five seconds before dropping a message in the group chat during the winter break.

Catch up in the beach villa.

Then he dialled Max’s number. “Hey Max! Are you free this weekend? We’re planning on having a bonfire, you should come.” Then Daniel paused and added, “And, hey, bring Y/N with you.”

It was only a few weeks later that Max finally just asked him the question.

“Why don’t you just date her?” Max said as Daniel watched you talk to that Spanish junior, Carlos Sainz, about some soccer team you both liked. Daniel knew Max’s old teammate had a thing for you but Daniel wasn’t worried. Carlos would’ve made a move by now if he had the balls. Then again, Max’s question pointed out the very same thing about him.

“What?” Daniel asked and then grinned when Max gave him a pointed look. “Ah, Maxie. You’re too young to understand love.”

“I understand that Charles is debuting soon.”

“And?” Daniel asked, puffing his chest. He knew briefly of your connection to another driver, some rich Monaco guy called Charles Leclerc. But you’d always spoken of him like he was your brother. You referred to him as ‘bro.’ From how he understood it, Charles was to you like Blake was to him. Best friends that grew up together.

Evidently not, according to Max. “And I have seen the way Charles looks at her.”

“Yeah?” Daniel said, staring at how Max’s race engineer, GP, called you over and Carlos watched you walk off. Did you not notice this? Carlos was literally all over you.

“Yeah. It’s similar to how you look at her.” Max said with a huff. Daniel considered this and suddenly looked away from Carlos to stare at his own two feet - and the fancy sneakers you had bought him.

“Look, you like her, yes?” Daniel looked up at Max who was watching him, expectant. He nodded. “So what’s the issue? I said it before - you both cut from the same cloth. And I say that when her and Charles grew up together. You and her have something… you’re the same.”

You reappeared with GP beside you, papers in hand that he was clearly reading aloud to you as he gestured to Max’s car ahead of the upcoming race in Germany. You were nodding but then looked up and caught both him and Max looking at you. You smiled widely at them, at him.

From outside the garage, the wind blew, the papers and your hair rustling.

“I’m not the kind of fool whose gonna sit and sing to you about stars, girl…

Daniel stared at you. He liked you. He really, really liked you. And Max had a point.

… But last night I looked up into the dark half of the blue. And they'd gone backwards.”

“Alright, deal.” Daniel said, looking at Max. “If we win today, I’ll make a move.”

“Daniel said that he told Max, ‘If we win today, I’ll make a move.’” You said, looking at the young woman with the notebook in the chair in front of you, “He always liked to leave things to chance and stuff. But, he didn’t win. He came second. Maybe that’s why it failed. Bad luck because he didn’t actually win.” You shifted in your seat, the used tissue in your hands half ripped to shreds.

“Is it not considered a win if they are on the podium?” Your therapist asked, not very aware of the ins and outs of Formula 1.

“No, only if you come first.” You explained. “Then it’s a win. In Hockenheimring, Lewis won. Daniel came second and Max was third.”

Louise, your helpful therapist, jumped in. “But Daniel did say we. So I don't think it mattered much who was first or not."

“So then why would he start something if…” You stopped and found the lump in your throat growing again. You looked down at the tissue that was too ripped up to be of much use. Even with your eyes blurring, you still saw Louise push the tissue box over to you.

“I think that’s the current problem. It’s not very helpful in your state to go down these rabbit holes of if thinking. Because then we can start hypothesising this and that and you’ll fall into more downward spirals.” Louise said. “Any time a thought begins with ‘if’ I want you to try and practice what we said before about curbing those thoughts.”

If.

It was something you thought about a lot.

If, in late July 2016, at the Hockenheimring, Daniel and Max didn’t get on the podium. What would’ve happened then? Would you have still have had the tears in your eyes, feeling like you literally burst from happiness? Would you have stared up at Max filled with love and fondness for the boy who was starting to break through all his past hurt and make it. Seeing Max’s hard work finally pay off and placing on the podium had set you off.

And he was on the podium alongside Daniel.

Daniel who had somehow wormed his way deeper and deeper into your heart with every passing day. Christian Horner had even waived the family exception of your contract for Daniel because there was no way he couldn’t. You and Daniel were attached at the hip - even beyond the scope of you training his teammate.

He had starting joining you in your personal workouts - and now was your workout buddy. He had built up a habit of always asking whoever was sat next to you on the plane to switch. To the point that just last weekend Taylor, a nice PR lady, saw Daniel walk in and immediately started unbuckling her seatbelt to move for him.

Not Max - him.

You went for coffee runs during your break with him, not Max. You complained about your day to him, not Max. You wore his DR3 merch, not Max’s. And even though Max was yet to release any of his own branded merch, there was no denying it.

You fell asleep to Daniel’s voice, not Max’s, sounding through your phone after your call duration ticked over the 2:00:00 mark.

There was always the nagging thought, though. What are we? Where are we going? Daniel had made it clear many times before that he wasn’t looking for a serious relationship, not at all thinking himself mature for those responsibilities.

But then he would send you pictures of him with his nieces and nephews. But then you would spend two hours on the phone even after being around each other all day. But then he would fall asleep on your shoulder half way through the movie - and you didn’t have the heart to get him to move. And so you slept beside him.

You had grown up with the Leclerc boys, all of whom you were super close with. And if you got married tomorrow, you would probably get Max to be your Man of Honour. Being friends with boys was not exactly knew to you.

With Daniel, it was different. From the very first bonfire, you knew it was different. Hanging out with him was different. You did and said things you didn’t share with just anyone.

You shared your thoughts, your dreams. You told him how your missed your father and still hated your mother. You told him about the bullying. You told him about the feeling of hollowness you sometimes felt - and the fear that it would never go away.

“You… you actually make it go away. I never feel it when I’m around you.”

“Then I just need to always be around you, huh.”

Daniel had come 2nd and Max 3rd. You still congratulated Lewis’ 1st place but you were more excited to see your boys and celebrate accordingly. You couldn’t contain yourself seeing them spray the champagne. Your phone was out, snapping as many pictures as possible. In that moment, you felt pure joy. Looking up at them, at your boys, you wanted the moment to never end.

Daniel then leaned into Max and whispered something. He pointed down, down at you. Max followed his hand and suddenly both the Red Bull drivers were looking at you and spraying their champagne directly at you. The people around you cheered and your name was called out amongst all the ruckus of the celebrations.

Everything after that race passed by as a blur. You couldn’t even tell Louise how it happened. The boys had to go to the cooldown room and then the media with the post-race briefing. However, in amidst all of that, you managed to see Daniel.

Still in his race suit, the top half hanging off his hips and his entire body and hair drenched in sweat. Your face lit up seeing him walk towards you.

“Hey, there you are! Wait, aren’t you supposed to be in media? Where’s Max — “

Daniel didn’t even say anything. He just grabbed you and wrapped his arms around you to press his lips against yours. When he eventually pulled back to rest his head on yours, he said something that set you off.

“Okay, what now?”

You should’ve known. You really, really should’ve known back then. It wasn’t even the wishful if thinking. You just should’ve seen it coming when he was asking you what the next move was.

But back then, you were too dumb to know better. Back then, you were still trying to process the kiss, let alone his words. Back then, all you wanted to do was kiss him again.

And so you did.

Being with Daniel reminded you of one key factor - you either loved or hated him. You couldn’t be indifferent to the guy. He was not to be taken lightly. And much like he was not to be taken light, he also himself did not take things lightly.

When he laughed, Daniel laughed with his whole body.

When he cried, Daniel let the sobs wreck through his whole entire being.

No one saw that, though. Daniel never let anyone get close to that side of him. You had come close, but he always still held you at arms length. Even in the peak of everything, when the sun was shining and the flowers smelt sweet and you two were in the utter bliss of the honeymoon period… he always had a part of him that he didn’t let anyone get to. Not even you.

You had tried. Many times. But he wouldn’t.

He would just smile, shake his head and say he was “wired that way.” Then he would shut you off and you would be left to try and pick up the pieces until the door slowly fell ajar once more.

Because you loved Daniel. You loved Daniel with your whole being. And if all he could give you were these pieces… then surely it would be enough? You loved him, and Daniel loved you.

He loved you in how he arrived to work every day with your coffee order “extra hot so it’s still nice and warm for you.” He loved you in how he spent the time every night doing your rehab with you after the foot injury. He loved you in the goofy selfies he sneakily took on your phone for you to later find, in the hoodies he bought as “joint custody for me and you.” He loved you in the lyrics he would randomly text you of songs he thought you might like or that reminded him of you.

He also loved you in how he was always driving you anywhere and everywhere. In the three years you were with Daniel, you probably needed your license once. And that was for the time you had to pick him up from the airport - flowers and sign abandoned on the floor when you saw him walk through the gate and you rushed and jumped into his arms.

He loved you in all of this. He just never said the words to you.

But that was fine because you still had him. You had the Daniel who ran on the treadmill beside you, who stopped by Max’s side of the garage to give you a hug and a coffee, who cracked jokes when you were stressed and made you feel seen. Any time you felt yourself floating away, Daniel was right there to ground you, the asthma puffer to make you smile and breathe.

So, for a while, you managed to live in bliss.

Even with all teammate drama, it worked. Somehow. Sometimes you needed to step in between the two highly competitive men and remind them of how they were friends. Occasionally you might use the ‘it’s hurting me’ card which wasn’t the biggest lie. Max was like a brother to you and Daniel - Daniel made you start thinking about guest lists and buying property. The entirety of 2016 and 2017 was marked with such joy from the fact that you had your best-friend and boyfriend always beside you.

The late night car rides where you and Daniel argued about music. Or the late night Fifa championships where you and Max argued about football. Or, your personal favourite, the early morning meetings where you all three took the piss with an exasperated Christian Horner.

In short, you felt yourself finally making a family for yourself. This wasn’t yo, an added extension of the Leclerc family - this was you and what you had built for yourself.

In fact, you were starting to feel that your world and Daniel’s were becoming all the more closer. Tommy called you every so often for girl advice, Blake and you sending each other gym memes and Corey needing your help to buy Daniel a birthday present. It seemed like the years of loneliness was starting to pay off and God was finally giving you what you had spent so long wishing for.

Of course, nothing stays the same. The one certainty about life is that everything changes.

It happened during the Hungary Grand Prix. You had gotten a call from Pascale about a family friend’s upcoming wedding. You had received the invitation from the bride herself not too long after that in a group chat with you, her fiancé and Charles. You four had all gone to school together anyway.

Her wedding was just over a year away but she wanted to know RSVP’s ASAP because it was happening Monaco and she needed to plan around the Grand Prix. Such was life.

Not thinking much about it, you told Daniel.

“Oh, yeah sure. May - wait, that’s like… next year?” He said, pausing what he was doing on his phone to stare at you, confused.

“Yeah. She needs to know responses because I think she’s planning to have it close to the Grand Prix so the venue needs numbers now.” You explained. “But it’ll be nice since you’ll be there anyway and you can finally meet Charles and the Leclercs properly. I can show you where I grew up and - “

“Uh, I mean. Babe, that’s kind of far away.” Your enthusiasm slowly died seeing the tells of Daniel slipping away slightly. He brought his hood up and went back to his phone.

“Ah… yeah.” You said. For some reason, that feeling was coming back. Panic. Stress. Unease. You tried to play it off. “I can… go with Charles, if you don’t think you can make it.”

“No. Fuck that I’m your… Charles can - no.” Daniel shook his head. “Look can we just…” He let out an exhale and sat on the hotel bed and pulled up a pillow behind him. “What do you wanna do for dinner?”

“I - “ You tried to think of answer but food was the furthest thing on your mind. You looked down at your phone and Charles’ response to the save the date chat.

Felicitations ! Of course I will be there with my family !

You knew you had to respond but hated that you couldn’t send your own message with the same level of surety. Will you be there? And with Daniel? The bride was asking how many plus ons to pass the number of heads to the venue. Charles had made it clear. You - not so much.

“I need to know Daniel.” You said, feeling a bit fed up of not being able to be sure of things with Daniel. “She’s asking me for numbers. Do I put you down or not?”

Daniel let out of very heavy sigh. "Does this really matter right now?"

“Yes it does.” You stuck to your gun. “I mean, what’s the problem? That it’s in a years time?”

“I’m not having this conversation.” He immediately dismissed and went to fluff the pillow, hitting it with a little too much force.

“Well I want to have it. What’s the problem?” You asked, coming round to stand in front of where he was sitting. “You literally couldn’t even say it before.”

“Say what?”

“Boyfriend. When I said I can go with Charles you said ‘No, fuck that I’m... ’ and then trailed off. Like you always do.”

“I don’t always trail off.”

“Yes, you do! I mean, we’ve been together for how many months and we’ve never even had the conversation about it being official.”

“Are you being serious right now?” Daniel said with a dry laugh. “Seriously? Are we fourteen and kissing in a tree also?”

You frowned and felt the hurt wash over you. It was one thing for him to not understand but to make a joke about it. You clenched your hands into fists, the nails digging into your palms. “Daniel.” You said, trying to be calm. “It feels, to me, like you’re scared to fucking commit.”

“Oh for fuck's sake, babe! What? Because I don’t know if I can make it to a fucking wedding in a year!” Daniel yelled back. He then pushed himself off the bed. “Fuck this, I’m going out.”

“Daniel! We’re talking.”

“Yeah? I’m done talking.”

The door slammed on his way out. Daniel didn’t come back to the hotel room. Around 3am you texted Max to see if Daniel had gone there instead.

No, he’s not with me. Are you okay? Did something happen?

You didn’t respond. You just continued to cry in the pillows of the too large hotel bed. They still smelled like him.

Max swore it was not because of you.

But then you saw how cold he’d been to Daniel all weekend. But then you saw the crash on the opening lap.

Max cared about you, and seeing you cry about Daniel pissed him off.

You heard Daniel swearing on the radio as he spun out of the race. Thankfully, he recovered to 6th, his original starting position behind Max, who also originally started 5th. All in all, it could’ve been much worse. Still, everyone in the garage was fuming. A few members gave you the side eye, knowing your relationship between the two of them. You couldn’t even be mad at the “trouble in paradise” comments because, well, they were true.

You went to Daniel’s driver room and let yourself in.

“I said don’t bother me for — oh.”

“Hi.” You said, closing the door behind you. You went to him and kneeled down on the ground to bring yourself eye level to him.

“Shouldn’t you be with your driver?” He asked, not meeting your eyes.

You took a breath, ignoring it and letting him just let it out. Instead, you forced a smile on your face and look at him with gentle eyes. “I’m with my boyfriend.”

“I can’t say that word, remember?” His voice was sardonic and you rolled your eyes.

"Can we stop it with the dumb shit?" You said and lifted a hand to his face. "None of that matters right now."

"I thought it did."

"Daniel." You exhaled. "Where do I go home to?"

"What?" He frowned and gave you a confused look that bordered on annoyance. You ignored it and repeated your question.

"Home. Where is it?"

He frowned. "Fucking Monaco? I don't know."

"True. I go to Monaco and dump my bags at your doorway, kick off my shoes by your mat and raid your fridge. Every track, I leave Max's garage and go to your hotel room. You're home. That's all the matters."

Daniel's face changed at your words. Gone were the tells of anger and now you saw something that hurt a little more - the sadness. Daniel being sad felt unnatural. To see the happy-go-lucky boy do anything but smile felt wrong.

"This weekend has been a shit run. Not just on track. But don't think that means I'm not still by you."

Daniel's eyes welled. He put a hand over yours. "Fuck, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

You weren't sure what he was sorry for. So you ignored it. And you smiled at him. "It's okay. I'm here. And I love you."

He didn't say it back. But he hugged you. And for that moment, it was enough.

After a while, a new pattern emerged between you two.

You and Daniel would be good. In fact, you would get closer and closer. He would get a tattoo of something that symbolised you. You would change your emergency contact to him. You two would get so close in fact that you would continue to be deluded that everything was fine and that you were both on the same page of where you would both heading.

Then something like your friend's wedding would happen.

Daniel doesn’t politely reject the advances of the model hitting on him at some PR event. Or he ignores you for most of said PR event. He goes on a three day fishing trip without telling you about it. He gets mad that you planned a week in Hawaii for summer break without telling him.

He doesn’t say I love you back.

Not that he ever did. It was the common recurrence. But sometimes his lack of response to the three words hurt you more than others. Especially because you would say them hoping that that time would be enough for him to say it. Because you needed to hear him say it. Just once.

Maybe if he said it, you would’ve been fine. If he said it, then you wouldn’t feel the need to say it less. If he said it, you wouldn’t get hurt when he declined moving in together, when he made up an excuse as to why he couldn't go for dinner with Pascale and the Leclercs.

If he said it, you wouldn’t get mad when he left you at a party to hang out with Heidi Klum or some other Victoria Secret model. If he said it, you wouldn’t find yourself stressing between the hours of 11pm to 3am when he didn’t answer his phone and no one seemed to know where he was.

You and Daniel would be good, great even.

Then someone would happen that made you need to bring up the future, the reality of you and him.

Daniel would then freak out and close himself off. This would end up in an argument.

And then he would disappear and leave you for the night. Maybe a whole day if it was really bad.

But he would come home and you would make up and things would seem better, stronger even, as you both got closer. He would get another tattoo, burn you an actual CD mix of songs and whisper sweet nothings in your ear.

Looking back, that should’ve been the part that made you end it. The toxic cycle you had found yourself in with Daniel was not helping anyone. It was dangerous and damaging and even Max was getting sick of it. “I said you were both cut from the same cloth but I also said Daniel needed to grow up a little bit.”

Because Daniel wasn’t ready to stop having fun. That fact never became more apparent than it did when it came to the 2018 Monaco Grand Prix.

And if Max was starting to get tired of you and Daniel, then Charles was beyond over it.

“Where’s Daniel?” Charles blue/green eyes shone in the sun as he helped unhaul your bags from the taxi.

“He’s coming later. Apparently, there’s a yacht party. Don’t tell your mum. Pascale invited him to breakfast and I feel bad.” Charles opened his mouth and you gave him a look. “It’s impolite, I know. We just had a fight and I don’t feel like talking about it.”

“A fight about what?” Charles asked, rolling your bags into the Monaco home you and him had grown up in. And it was this very home that you and Daniel had argued about.

You saw Monaco as a way to be at home with your family - to get your yearly haircut (yes, yearly) from Pascale and visit Hervé’s grave. But it was also time for you and Charles to hang out the house the two of your grew up in. To play Mario Kart with Arthur, workout with Lorenzo or cook dinner with Pascale. You liked to be at home with your family and take it slow.

Whereas Daniel didn’t see Monaco as this. Instead, he was hitting up every party, every club. He was sleeping on yachts and drinking his weight in mimosas for breakfast. At first, you had accepted it, thinking that maybe that was just the Formula 1 driver life style.

But Max never did this. And Charles had invited Lando, George and Alex over to play video games and have lunch. A lunch that was likely going to be cooked by you and Pascale. They weren’t going out clubbing or anything. And you saw Carlos Sainz up bright and early every morning when you tapped in at 6am to go the local gym.

No, it was just Daniel being Daniel who wanted to follow any sounds of heavy bass, laughter or glass clinking. Sure, he wasn’t the only person in F1 who did this - quite a few tended to - but you had hoped that now he was with you that he could give Monaco a chance to be a place of calm, a place for family. Weren't you guys growing up and sharing your lives together? Wouldn't that mean he saw Monaco for what it meant to you, and not what he always knew it to be; a hunting ground for a good party.

It didn't help that Charles was always feeding into these thoughts. Like right now when he sighed deeply and went on to say. “The boys are coming at midday.” He said, seeing your lack of response as Charles set your stuff down in the spare room that was, really, just your room. “You’re more than welcome to join.”

“I might take a nap.” You said, looking at the bed. “Or go for a run.”

“I think Lorenzo was going to go for one.” Charles said.

“Actually I might go by myself.” You went to unzip the bag but Charles’ hand came over to yours. You looked up at him and Charles quietly used your hand to pull you into him. He wrapped his arms around you and you tucked your head in between his shoulder and neck.

Then, you started to cry.

Daniel was driving beautifully.

He finished first in all three practice sessions. Come qualifying, he was one with the car and it would not at all be a surprise to anyone if he got pole position.

Max was fairing much worse. He had crashed in FP3 and the mechanics had been unable to fix it for ready for qualifying. You knew seeing Daniel do well was only adding salt to the wound and after doing all you could, felt it best to leave Max alone in his room for now. Besides, you needed to see where Daniel finished in Qualifying.

“Excuse me, where is the VIP section?”

“Oh, who are you?”

“Monica Richelli. I’m a friend of Daniel Ricciardo’s.”

It was hearing his name that had you turning to look. There in front of you was perhaps one of the most beautiful women you had ever seen. And considering your time in Formula 1 and the constant parade of models back and forth, that was saying something.

However, as your time in Formula 1 had taught you, the constant parade of models back and forth was usually for one thing. Models were never just friends of someone. Everyone knew. You knew. The guest pass, the way she smiled coyly, the fact that this was Monaco.

You wanted to throw up.

Qualifying suddenly became background noise. The rest of the time in the garage you stood there unable to focus on anything else. Monica. Her name was Monica. She has beautiful blonde hair. She has great posture. You stared at the effortless way she stared at the screens with the headphones on, as if that in itself was a posed picture for a brand. Her waist was thinner than anything you could ever train yourself to get. Her fingers were long and delicate and covered with pretty gold rings. She was so pretty. You wanted to cry. You wanted to throw up. You wanted to scream and die and get rid of this feeling because why did Daniel invite some pretty girl to the Monaco Grand Prix?

Daniel got pole position. Unsurprisingly. You ignored the fact that you were not the first person he celebrated with. We need to be discrete. We've always needed to be discrete.

You ignored the way he gave her a big hug, the way Monica wrapped his arms around your boyfriend. You shook your head. Many girls had thrown themselves at Daniel. Horner had given you many apologetic looks over the years when a sponsor's daughter got too comfortable with your boyfriend and Christian nor Daniel could do much since, well, they were a sponsor's daughter.

This was just like all those times. Daniel is excited and everything's fine.

That thought became a bit more concrete in your mind when Daniel finally did come up to you. Away from the cameras, he lifted you up in his arms and screamed.

"Fucking pole baby!"

The energy had you bursting out into laughter. He pressed kisses all over your face and you felt all your anxiety melt away. This was Daniel. Your Daniel. He loved you.

Tucked away in his Driver's Room, you two could finally be. You and him. No one else. Seeing him like this, you forced all the doubts and worries of earlier out of your mind. He's a driver and he's currently competing against Max right now. Daniel's had a lot on his mind and you could excuse all the funny behaviour as Monaco stress.

"I'm proud of you." You said, grinning wide. Seeing him so happy, you could excuse it all. This... this was worth it.

"Man, I feel good. I'm feeling so good." He said, taking off his helmet. "I'm going to win this. I feel it."

"I know you will." You smiled, letting him hand you his helmet. "Just remember to keep that part in portier - "

"Daniel?"

You both turned to see a pretty head of hair peeking her head in his doorway. Your eyes grew seeing Monica there. Your stomach dropped and whatever reprieve you had felt suddenly was ripped apart as that feeling came right back.

"Oh hey Mon." He grinned. "Good to see you."

The growing ache in your chest hurt just that little bit more hearing the nickname. Mon.

"I hope I'm not interrupting." She said smiling, letting herself in through the door. Your mouth fell open at the familiarity and, well, audacity. "I just wanted to congratulate you on pole. I hear that's the secret to winning in Monaco."

"Yeah it is." Daniel laughed. Ever so cheerful, ever so happy, ever so easy-going. Completely different to how you were feeling inside.

"Oh, sorry. Is this your assistant?" Mon's eyes finally fell to you.

For a second, all the anxiety was replaced with white hot anger at the fucking gall of this bitch. "Excuse the fuck outta me - "

Daniel said your name. You stopped and looked at him. He didn't meet your eyes. Enraged, you forced yourself to bite your tongue.

"This is Max's trainer. She was just helping me out since he DNF'ed. Shall I meet you outside?"

"Yes, that sounds lovely." Mon's eyes darted to you once more before she smiled up at Daniel then she left the room.

He just got pole in Monaco. He just got pole in Monaco. He just got pole in Monaco. He just got pole in Mon -

"Who the fuck is she Daniel?"

You couldn't help yourself.

"Come on, I just got pole in Monaco."

"I know. And you just dismissed me as Max's trainer."

"That isn't the first time we've had to do this. You knew what it was going to be like dating me." Daniel argued back. His voice was clipped and, to be fair, you couldn't understand why. He had just gotten pole in Monaco and you were arguing with him about a girl. Daniel was right, there were numerous times where you two had to downplay your relationship in front of some sponsor or big name.

If anything, him doing that should just be reassuring that this was another case of some random big wig's daughter they had to appease and play the game again with.

But... you just had that feeling.

She had come into his room.

"Daniel. How does she know you?"

"Maybe because I'm a fucking Formula 1 driver and it's the fucking Monaco Grand Prix."

"Don't speak to me like that."

"Then don't be a fucking idiot." Daniel dismissed. "What do you want me to say? Why are you jumping down my throat right now about some girl? Now? When I just got pole? You're my girlfriend. Shouldn't you be celebrating with me? Not worried about some dumb shit in your head."

"It's not in my fucking head. Since when has a some sponsorship bitch come into your room? We're in Monaco and this shit doesn't even happen with Charles and - "

"Fuck's sake!" Daniel snapped. "I don't fucking need this right now!"

And then he stormed off.

And his helmet was still in your hands.

You looked down to the DR3 print and saw yourself in the reflection. You weren't sure at what point you started to cry.

The celebrations for Monaco 2018 were some of the worst days of your life.

Even after Daniel won and fell into the pool, something didn't feel right inside, in your gut. Naturally, the parties went all night long and Red Bull spared no expense. Even Max eventually got over his own shit weekend and mood and join in the festivities.

But you weren't. No amount of alcohol helped seeing your boyfriend dance with all those girls. Not that you could drink. It felt like anything you consumed might just come right back out.

Monica had been there every single second. You had to watch as she sat in his lap, as she pressed kisses on his cheek. Max was nowhere to be seen and Charles had decided to leave the parties to go spend time with the family. Something you really should be doing. But you couldn't drag yourself away from it.

It hurt, it down right fucking sucked to watch Daniel like this - completely in his element and overjoyed - and that you were in no way part of his picture.

"You should go home."

You looked to where the Spanish-lilted voice disrupted the tunnel vision you had on Daniel pouring tequila straight into Monica's mouth.

Carlos was smiling softly at you. He had a gin and tonic in his hand and was dressed in a white linen shirt. You frowned, wondering since when he looked so grown up. Like a man.

"You look like a man." Maybe you were a lot more drunk than you had thought.

His smile became slightly amused. "Maybe because I am, bella."

You smiled at the pet name and found yourself tilting your head to the side. "Did you shave?"

His amused smile turned into an all out laugh. "I did. I felt like Monaco needed a clean face."

You nodded, considering this. In hindsight, the alcohol was a blessing since you could stand here and talk to Carlos about his hair habits and have a momentary reprieve that that was the only thing your mind was processing.

Not the girl dancing on your boyfriend.

"Ricciardo doesn't deserve you."

You looked up at Carlos. He was staring at the scene you had been studying for the past two hours, ever since you had arrived. You had decided to play a toxic game with yourself where you would wait until Daniel asked about you and then you would reveal yourself. After forty five minutes of this game, you ended up at the bar wondering you were even in this relationship. If you could even call it that.

"Thanks Carlos."

"Can you let me take you home?" Carlos asked. "Please."

You blinked at this, at his gentle insistence. You knew it stemmed from pity, that he really wanted to save you from the embarrassment that was your partner going off with anyone woman right in front of you.

"Okay."

Carlos helped you up and put a gentle hand on your back as he guided you out of the club. You thought it very kind and gentlemanly of him. And whilst Carlos would pride himself on being a gentlemen, the real act of kindness was guiding you away so you wouldn't see Daniel stick his tongue down a model's throat.

Carlos' kindness, however, was short-lived. He blames himself. He had wanted to take you for the scenic route around Monaco, get your mind off of it. He bought you ice-cream and was pleased that he would be walking a now smiling you to your hotel room.

Only that you'd open your door and be met with groans and moans. Familiar groans and moans.

Daniel. With multiple women.

In the hotel room you both had shared. As you always had shared. Your home. Supposedly.

You said nothing. What could you say? You weren't exactly prepared to go in there and scream and wail about him - him -- Daniel your -

No.

You found yourself closing the door. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath.

"Please... don't tell anyone." You spoke to the man beside you.

"Bella..." He began in a soft voice.

"Please Carlos."

"Of course." He said and reached for your hand. You looked down at him reaching for your fingers, holding them oh so gently. "You've asked me to."

Carlos pressed your fingers to his lips. Your eyes watered at the kindness.

"Please don't cry about that fool."

But you did. Carlos pulled you close as your tears spilled. You weren't sure how or when but Carlos had brought you into another hotel room, one less flash and in retrospect, it had to be his. But in that moment, nothing made sense. Your attention was focused on one thing and one thing alone: Daniel didn't want you.

And so you spent the entire night crying on the bathroom floor.

And it wasn't even yours.

Charles eventually found out.

Not from Carlos. You were surprised he stuck to his word. He had reached out in the few days following Monaco but you ignored him. You just didn't - you couldn't.

It happened, again, in the bathroom. You were brushing your teeth in Charles' ensuite. He knew something was up - you were always asking what he was up to and if you could do whatever with him. Not that Charles minded but he knew you. You were avoiding something.

And if you wanted to avoid Carlos and Daniel and even Max, that was doable. But you couldn't have foresaw the text you'd get one random day.

I didn't realise you were his girlfriend. I'm sorry. He never told me.

You stared the message. Three lines. You stared at them for a good few minutes. Then came the three dots dancing. Then came the screenshots. All the screenshots. Screenshots of Daniel messaging Mon. Messages that dated all the way back before Hungary.

You had toothpaste in your mouth. You immediately spat it out. Then you went to the toilet and heaved. The sounds of vomiting must've alerted Charles because in he came and held your hair back.

You cried and cried. It all broke you again. You don't remember at what point you were verbal enough to tell Charles. Or maybe he read your phone. Nonetheless, Charles somehow figured out what happened and boy was he furious.

That had caused some commotion in the Leclerc household since Charles was all ready to grab his keys and drive to Ricciardo's place. It took Lorenzo being the calm, sensible elder to point a finger at you and ask Charles what was really important now.

"Pense à elle! Maintenant, elle est la plus importante!"

And so the t-shirt Charles had been wearing, a strippy oversized T you'd bought him one random Tuesday, became ruined from your tears. Snot, mascara, the works.

You slept in Charles' arms that night.

You woke up in Charles' arms the next morning.

You spent the day in Charles' bed.

You spent the next week in Charles' bed.

Charles went with Lorenzo to pick up your stuff from Daniel's apartment. Charles copped the earful from Pascale for punching Daniel in the face when the Australian kept probing him for information on your radio silence. Charles bought you a new phone and set it up - making sure to block Daniel's number. Charles sat through all the Top Gear reruns. Charles made sure you ate, even just a little bit. Charles organised a lawyer for you to speak to Christian Horner and Daniel Ricciardo. Charles prepared the paperwork for you to move from Red Bull to join him at Sauber and then, God hoping, Ferrari afterwards.

"Imagine it mon tresor! You and I at Ferrari. We win the Championship and you can fuck off all the idiots." You smiled at Charles who was once again doing the most to make you smile.

"Thank you Charles." You said, smiling at the beautiful boy. You were laying on his bed and Charles jumped on to land on his stomach with an oof.

He booped your nose and then rolled over to turn on the TV and cast the next Top Gear special onto the flatscreen. "Okay, Middle Eastern special. Vas-y!"

You looked at your best friend, your Charles. The break-up with Daniel was going to suck - it was sucking - but Charles made it all the more easier. Everything would get easier. 'Just give it time.' As he said. In time, you'd be working with him and not have to ever talk to Daniel Ricciardo ever again.

It's okay. You reminded yourself of this fact over and over again. Looking over at Charles, you felt some serenity. It would suck, but you knew you could live life without Daniel Ricciardo. But losing Charles? God help you, you'd probably die.

A month later, Charles left.

taglist:

@eugene-emt-roe @spookystitchery @vicurious28 @taytaylala12 @c-losur3

@hiireadstuff @samantha-chicago @fionaschicken @casperlikej @bookstore-of-dreams

@itsjustkhaos @sam-is-lost @laneyspaulding19 @formula1mount @bokutos-babyowl

@stampiej @alilcloudy @bingussthirdtoe @lilymurphy03 @inlovewmarlenemckinnon

@charllleclerc @richardniixon @sp1rl @nikfigueiredo @lozzamez3

@butterfliesflyaroundmymind @vellicora @ellen3101 @michelleyw81 @samantha-chicago

@bloodyymaryyy @a-beaverhausen @bokutos-babyowl @tsireyasgf

167 notes · View notes

sequinsandfins · 5 months ago

Text

Carlos’ millions of followers want to know who he’s giving heart eyes to behind the camera of so many of his videos.

Or a little carcar au ficlet idea.

Oscar rolls his eyes at the first question Lando reads out before realising that Carlos’ eyes are on him, an amused twist to his lips.

Oscar knows this because he’s had to review and edit hours of footage featuring Carlos.

When Lando first asks Oscar to be his ‘cameraman’ for a client, Oscar just looks at him dubiously, but Lando promises that it is legitimate, he just needs someone he can trust.

Turns out his client is Carlos Sainz Jr.

Oscar doesn’t live under a rock and so is well aware of the popular influencer, thrust into the public eye care of his famous father, Carlos had stayed largely out of the public eye until in 2020, seemingly bored out of his mind during lockdown Carlos had started a public Instagram.

Five years later and Carlos had over 10 million followers and had decided that he needed some professional assistance.

The goal of a good reality filmmaker is to blend into their environment, to capture their subject and not affect what is happening.

Turns out Oscar isn’t great at any of that.

Luckily for him Carlos doesn’t seem to care. Quite the opposite, over the last six months that Oscar has been assisting Lando with filming, Carlos has made it his mission to get Oscar to laugh.

He doesnt mean to become a viral sensation. In fact it’s all Carlos’ fault.

If it were up to him the footage would never have been uploaded. Unfortunately for Oscar, he doesn’t make those calls.

The video is pretty standard, it’s an ‘AMA’ style with Lando reading out questions and Carlos answering them. That is until Lando asks, “Carlos, describe your perfect date?”

Carlos feigns deep thought for a moment before responding, “April 25th because it's not too hot or too cold.” And Oscar can’t stop the snort from escaping. Carlos looks triumphant and yells “Aha!” Pointing to Oscar offscreen, even as the camera is dropping downwards and to the ground, you can hear Carlos crowing with glee.

Needless to say the internet goes insane trying to work out who Carlos is so happy to amuse.

In the end, Oscar thinks Carlos might actually be trying to break the internet, and his mind when he starts throwing out suggestive double entendres.

His main goal, to get Oscar to drag them behind the nearest closed door, leaving Lando behind.

Lando is thankful they are away from the public eye, but he also looks like he’s questioning every single life choice he’s made up until that point.

Oscar doesn’t regret a thing.

#carcar #oscar piastri #carlos sainz jr #f1 rpf fic #an au in which Carlos is an influencer #Oscar is a camera operator because apparent Lando can’t film and ask questions at the same time #just go with it #blatant miss congeniality quote stealing #I imagine both oscar and Carlos being forced to watch the movie by their sisters multiple times #avoiding DTS season 7 for now #carloscar #carcar socmed au

165 notes · View notes

justaboutsnapped · 1 year ago

Text

it's time to let the "they got into f1 through DTS" discourse die. we should be preparing ourselves for an imminent and decidedly more frightening prospect*: people getting into F1 through F1 the movie

#*: /hj I will never be a gatekeeper because I got into f1 through [REDACTED]#- if anything I mostly feel sorry for anyone whose first proper introduction to the sport is b.rad p.itt larping as an f1 driver #additionally I'm dreading the impending onslaught of driver b.rad p.itt edits/x reader fics #em speaks #f1 #dts #drive to survive

434 notes · View notes

f1-stuff · 1 year ago

Text

Drive to Survive S6E1 // Money Talks

#carlos cannot resist pinching the chaist at any and every opportunity #it's why I write it in fic so much smh #carlos sainz #charles leclerc #charlos #dts #2023 #Bahrain GP '23 #gifs #mine #formula one #f1 #ferrari

622 notes · View notes

babsvibes · 1 month ago

Text

Dread String of Fate

Louigan soulmate AU is now complete! Thank you @drawthething for the incredible art ♥️ you can check out her commission page here!

#babsbles #my fic writing #louigan #louise x logan #louise belcher #logan bush #bob’s burgers #when I commission people I’ve learned it’s best to keep it kind of vague #like give an idea but let the artist take over with their vision #for this piece though DT and I were so in sync like I said you know what about this and she went BET #I love it so so so so much #and alsooooo I’m so happy this damn fic is done #I hope people like it 😭#because let me tell YOU it was agony writing it lmao

59 notes · View notes

lavampira · 1 year ago

Text

golden hour

#i’ve given up on the 4th pose i’ve been trying to do over a week bc it keeps falling apart shdgdh #but i’m excited about how these ones came out!!#they’re lil snapshots of parts of this post-DT fic i’m trying to write <:#dani plays ffxiv #game: ffxiv #oc: d'alia liveq #ch: koana #alia/koana #golden hour #lavampira poses #ffxiv gpose #gposers #miqo'te #wolkoana #koanawol #wol x koana #koana x wol

201 notes · View notes

cadillacjohnf1 · 5 months ago

Text

i'm not saying Drive to Survive is good i'm just saying where else would you hear James Vowles saying that he thinks of nothing else day and night but having Carlos Sainz by his side

#f1 #dts s7 #how do i incorporate this into the fic #james vowles #carlos sainz #drive to survive #formula 1 #formula one #f1 memes #cs55

97 notes · View notes

faerygardens · 2 years ago

Text

There are more tallulah & tommy fics on ao3 than there are pac & mike fics

#fae.txt #mcyt #qsmp #Idk if this counts as discourse #No hate to dsmp fic writers and crossover fic writers in general #I just find it super annoying how often these fics are just the dsmp with like one qsmp element added and are only tagged qsmp #Like if you’re writing a dsmp fic please tag it as such because some of us aren’t looking for that #I also say this as someone who was a sbi main for the longest time #It’s just rude #Also it’s not just sbi mains who do it btw I’ve seen a lot of dt fics in there too #I hate these fics for the same reason I hate x reader fics: they’re untagged and annoying to filter out

867 notes · View notes

eternal-stay · 6 months ago

Text

MILDLY SCREWED

SICKIE⇒CHAN

4.1k words

snowy winter day, late morning, light schedule, it was going to be the perfect day for chan. but when he woke up, he felt wrong.

he could see the snow through his window and his phone showed 11:37, the dorm was- fuck, 11:37. he never slept that late. yet, somehow, he didn’t feel well rested either.

he really didn’t feel like going about his day. dance practice would start in an hour, then he guessed he’d have lunch with 3racha, and lastly they had recording in the afternoon.

it wasn’t much, really, but his motivation to get out of bed was about zero. he was deep in self pity when a loud noise from the kitchen startled him into sitting up.

‘clumsy maknae’, he thought as he heard the familiar sound of a pot clattering to the floor. sighing, he forced himself to stand up and his vision immediately filled with dots. yeah, that was his blood pressure dropping as fast as his mood.

he groaned as the dots finally faded and grabbed grey sweatpants and a matching hoodie and beanie before walking into the kitchen where jeongin was, in fact, glaring at a pot on the floor.

hearing the approaching footsteps, the maknae looked up at him and gasped.

“woah, hyung, you look super pale! like, more than usual”, he said, walking over to chan as the older shrugged.

why did jeongin look so worried? he must look worse than he feels. “i don’t feel bad”, chan told him, “just off”.

jeongin raised an eyebrow at that, “very descriptive, hyung. explain a bit?”. chan chuckled and rolled his eyes, starting the coffee machine.

he noticed that the maknae was ready to go out, shoes on and everything.

“i have no energy”, the leader said, “but like, i slept a lot”. the maknae hummed and crossed his arms as he about it for a moment. “maybe you slept a lot but not well?”.

assuming it was indeed just tiredness, chan nodded, “probably”. after some more light chatter, he went ahead with his morning and made some toasts.

i.n had actually woken up a long while before ago, so when chan sat down with his coffee and toast the boy was already going to leave the dorm. “see you later, grandpa”, he said with a smile that showed his dimples, and left.

as for chan, he spent the next half an hour completely spaced out. he barely registered finishing his breakfast and was only brought back to focus by the chills that had started going through his body.

he groaned, annoyed that the heating wasn’t on, and made his way to the thermostat before stopping on his tracks. oh, so the maknae did turn it on. why was he so cold, then?

chan didn’t bother thinking about it and instead went back to his room since he still had a while until dance practice started. he sat on his bed with a blanket to try and stop the shivering. it didn’t work.

actually, the longer he sat there, the worse he felt. somewhere during the last 10 minutes his head had started to throb. it wasn’t bad, it was barely there, but it was still annoying.

his eyes had started watering too so he put his phone down and dabbed under his eyelashes with his sleeves. what a great fucking morning.

when he felt like he’d silently complained enough, chan reluctantly got out from under his blanket, put his phone, keys, computer and bottle of water in his bag and deemed himself ready to leave the comfort of his room.

he wasn’t ready at all though. the pounding behind his eyes had only grown stronger and when he looked at himself in the bathroom mirror, he saw what jeongin had meant when saying he was paler than usual.

he genuinely looked like a ghost. a hot one, but a ghost nonetheless.

chan splashed his face with cold water in hopes of regaining even the slightest bit of colour, but he was unlucky. thinking about it now, there was no denying that he didn’t feel good.

could he stay home today? it might be an option, but the schedule was so light that he doubted he’d be allowed to skip it. plus, he wasn’t sick sick, because he didn’t have a fever.

‘that’s dumb, you don’t need a fever to be sick’ chan thought, but soon forgot about any chances of missing work when his phone rang with the managers number.

oops, he was going to be late, and if the manager had gone as far as calling instead of texting then he definitely couldn’t stay back.

deciding not to waste anymore time dwelling on his discomfort, chan got out of the bathroom, put on some random nikes he found, grabbed a jacket and finally left the dorm.

the cold winter air greeted him mercilessly and he almost called a cab before deciding that the cold wasn’t worth risking getting recognised by the diver and having to have a conversation.

antisocial chan was a rare find, but he came to the surface every once in a while.

it felt like an eternity before he finally reached the company, and by then his teeth were chattering and his body was trembling from the cold. at least, at the very least, he didn’t have a stuffy nose. or a fever, that would be even worse.

luck wasn’t on his side that day because chan ran into more people than he had talked to the whole year, and everyone seemed to have a conversation to strike with him. yes, he was definitely going to be late to practice.

when he finally made it to the practice room, he was greeted by lee know’s glare. “you’re late. very”, the dancer said, but he was quick to let it go when he saw chan’s lack of response and the way his face had less colour than a paper sheet.

the leader himself felt bad for making his members wait, but he found himself not caring that much.

he’d showed up, that felt like enough effort today. quickly dropping his bag to the side, chan walked to the centre of the room and was relieved to see that the others had waited for him before stretching.

“you didn’t take off your jacket”, changbin pointed out when chan sat next to him, “oh- never mind, hyung, you’re shaking. are you okay?”.

the leader caught sight of the worried expression on the rappers face and it made his chest feel warm. he shrugged and said “its freezing out there and i came walking, i feel like an ice cu-”.

“YOU CAME WALKING?? IN THIS WEATHER??”

startled by the yell, both chan and changbin looked up to an amazed han. “hyung, you have superpowers or something”, the youngest member of 3racha said, wincing when he saw chan’s shaky hands, “not very good decision making skills, though”.

chan chuckled mid stretch and argued that “it didn’t feel so bad when i left the dorm”. their discussion halted when minho walked over to the speakers and started looking for a song to dance.

he must’ve caught felix making puppy eyes at him because he chose mountains. that was a fairly easy dance compared to what they had and chan silently thanked god for it.

the rest of practice was uneventful, mostly. they had to learn a dance for one of the next comeback songs and chan struggled more than usual to get the moves down, but it could have been worse.

through the fog that had settled over his brain and the constant waves of pain in his head, the leader didn’t notice lee know’s careful eyes watching him throughout the whole practice.

instead, he was just grateful that the dancer was in a seemingly unprompted forgiving mood and said nothing when he kept making the same mistakes in a row.

of course, minho had a reason to be so patient. all of the members had noticed chan’s low mood today and the way his face lacked colour. the flush on his cheeks made up for the paleness though, but it eased no one’s worries.

moreover, none of them missed the leader’s winces whenever the music’s bass echoed louder in the room or the way he’d quietly sit down next to his water bottle during the breaks. normally, whenever he had trouble with moves, he’d spend the breaks practicing them, but he didn’t today, and they could guess that he didn’t feel the best.

lunch with 3racha passed in a blur for chan. he didn’t pay attention to their conversation at all even if he probably should have and he appreciated the fact that neither changbin nor han forced him to talk.

dance practice had messed up his stomach, maybe he’d drank too much water? whatever it was, he didn’t feel like eating, but changbin didn't let him leave his food untouched.

‘probably for the best’ chan thought ‘it’s not like i have enough energy to just not eat’. yes, his stomach felt kinda bad, but he was thankful that he didn’t feel actually nauseous. maybe it was just sore from so much dancing? most definitely not.

walking to the studio, chan assessed the situation. his head was pounding, his stomach felt sore and the chills that racked through his body hadn’t completely disappeared.

not good, but not too bad. on a scale from 1 to 10, he was mildly screwed.

now that he thought about it, what bothered him the most was the exhaustion that hadn’t let up ever since he woke up. okay, he could deal with being tired.

han grabbing onto his arm pulled him out of his thoughts and he smiled at the rapper. “what’s up?”, chan asked, slightly amused at the gesture. han replied with a soft “nothing”, so the leader just let him be clingy. he was warm anyway, chan welcomed that.

out of the corner of his eye, he saw changbin jokingly pout over ‘not being chosen by han’ and he couldn’t hold back a laugh. could he ever not laugh while he was with 3racha? probably not.

when they got to the studio, he was surprised to see that the equipment was already set up. changbin must’ve caught his confused expression because he giggled. “we were recording han’s song in the morning, hyung”, he told chan in a playful tone, “you’d know if you had listened to us during lunch”.

the leader rolled his eyes and smiled, plopping down on the couch and pulling out his phone before replying “y’all talk too much, i can’t listen to everything”.

at that, han gasped like he was offended and sprawled out on the couch half on top of chan’s legs. “how could you, hyung, you like listening to me talk”, the boy complained, and then bragged, “everyone does, actually”.

the two older boys laughed and chan ruffled han’s hair playfully, which sent the younger on another round of whined complaints even though he had no intention on moving off of chan’s legs, which at some point started to feel numb from the lack of circulation.

“let him breathe, hannie”, a teasing voice said from the door. 3racha looked up to see minho there. “whats with the looks”, the dancer questioned, “wasn’t i first for recording?”.

to be honest, chan had no idea. he hadn’t checked the order at all but minho was responsible enough. if he said he was first, then he probably was.

“sure”, the leader answered, acting like he knew, “you know the lyrics or…?”. lee know seemed to ponder the question for a moment before saying “let me read them again. han can start recording if he wants”.

the truth was, he did know the lyrics, quite well actually since for once they weren’t in english, but he wanted changbin and han to focus on recording so he could check on chan.

and hey, it worked. han left the couch and got into the booth while changbin sat on the producer’s chair, so now lee know had chan all to himself.

“hello, hyung”, he said a little too sweetly, sitting down next to chan on the couch, “how are you feeling?”. he couldn’t help but laugh at the leader’s surprised expression. he looked like a deer caught in headlights.

“is it that obvious?”, chan asked quietly, not wanting the other two to hear them, “i don’t even feel that bad”

lee know smiled at him, trying to seem reassuring, “not that obvious, just enough. so?”. chan internally cursed but decided to keep it simple. “my head hurts”, he said, “and i’m cold. freezing actually”. a shiver accompanied his words, giving away just how freezing he waqs.

still, the dancer didn’t look convinced. “you made way too many mistakes earlier to be just that”, minho said, and then winced at his words, “no offence”.

chan fidgeted with the sleeves of his hoodie, feeling bad that he did so bad at practice. surely he had been an inconvenience, but he swore he did as well as he could. “sorry”, he mumbled, “i don’t know. i’m really tired but i don’t have a fever, so i- i don’t know”, he looked at his lap, “my stomach feels bad too”.

lee know frowned, getting kinda worried. he reached up to feel chan’s forehead with the back of his hand and then moved it down to the older’s cheek.

“not a fever”, he agreed, smiling slightly when chan unconsciously closed his eyes and leaned into his touch. “see? i’m f-” chan tried to speak but lee know interrupted him with a firm “yet”.

“what do you mean yet”, chan huffed, maybe a bit childishly if the amused expression that took over minho’s face was anything to go by.

“i mean,” lee know started, dropping his hand from chan’s face and smirking at the sad expression the older made, “that you don’t feel too warm. but you don’t feel cold either and your cheeks are rosy, so lets see how long ‘no fever’ lasts”.

chan glared at him and automatically reached up with both hands to touch his face. “i don’t feel warm”

“yes you do”

“no. i’m not warm”

“yes you are, hottie”

“minho!”

the dancer laughed and stood up. “my turn”, he said, pointing at han that was leaving the recording booth. chan rolled his eyes and moved to sit next to changbin, now frowning.

“what’s with the grumpy look, hyung?”, the rapper laughed, playfully nudging the leader’s arm when he mumbled “i’m not grumpy, focus on the recording”.

while minho was smoothly recording his lines, jeongin and seungmin came into the room and sat on the couch to review their part, quietly talking between themselves.

chan liked it when the boys recorded in korean because they barely made any mistakes and didn’t need help with the pronunciation. that meant he, as a producer, didn’t need to be that focused.

of course he always payed a lot of attention to everything, but on days like this when he only wanted to be in his warm bed, a break from hyper-focusing on every detail was very welcome.

changbin was there anyway and he was just as professional as chan was. in fact, it was the rapper that was doing the most work today, because chan soon realised that his headache was steadily getting worse and he couldn’t help but zone out for the most part.

he was still halfway in a daze when minho finished his lines for the day and seungmin took his place in the booth.

“chan hyung”, minho called, standing next to chan who was now slumped over the table with his head resting on his crossed arms. no response. “channie hyung, channie hyung, chan-”

“what.”

lee know smiled at him, “you look dead”, he said, resting his hand on chan’s back. “i feel dead”, the leader groaned, wrapping his arms around his stomach and dropping his head on the table, “everything hurts”.

“sounds fun”, the dancer replied sarcastically, but against his words, he crouched down next to the leader and ran his hand down his back, “do you want pills?”.

chan cracked a smile at that and propped his head up on his hand, “don’t say it like that, it sounds sketchy”. minho laughed and shrugged, “not unless you make it sound sketchy. do you want painkillers or not?”.

when he received a nod in response, he went over to his bag and rummaged through it it until he found pills. “tell me you ate something at lunch”, the dancer said, walking back to chan, who nodded. “changbin made me”.

the rapper seemed to hear their conversation because he smirked, “you can thank me now hyung”. chan glared at him and sat straight to take the pills, which he swallowed dry. “disgusting” changbin mumbled, to which minho agreed, “very disgusting, are you dumb? you have water right there”.

“leave me alone”, chan complained, annoyed that his members were teaming up against him. the other two laughed, but let him be since seungmin needed to start recording.

chan couldn’t really complain right now. changbin was carrying most of the recording, the maknaes’ voices sounded as angelic as always and felix and hyunjin arrived on time to record their parts. everything was going perfectly well.

but still, the later it got, the worse chan felt. don’t get him wrong, the painkillers did work, but they had worn off way too quickly. now, his head was throbbing intensely, making his eyes water.

at some point, changbin had called han to take chan’s place because anyone could tell that the leader wasn’t able to do much even if he tried.

chan himself didn’t even put up a fight, instead giving up his seat to walk to the couch. as soon as he stood up a wave of dizziness washed over him and he was sure he’d have fallen if minho hadn’t been quick to steady him.

the dancer helped him to the couch where chan sat with his knees to his chest. minho felt his forehead again, and in a low voice so as not to make the headache worse, he announced “you now have the fever”.

chan bit his lip, of course everything had to take a turn for the worse before the schedule was over. if he was honest, he could cry.

“of course i fucking do”, he mumbled shakily, rubbing his eyes. at least if he ended up crying he could blame the headache for making his eyes water.

lee know looked surprised at the leader’s reaction. he usually coped well with being sick. apparently not today. “hey”, he said softly, “it’s fine, you’ll be good tomorrow. do you want to go home?”

did chan want to go home? yes he did. he was cold and tired and sick so he legally had absolutely no reason to be here. but he didn’t want to go home alone and miss what little was left of the recording, so he shook his head.

“no? why not? this is almost over- oh, that’s why, this is almost over”. it was almost funny, really, how the second oldest was able to read his mind, but he appreciated it. “then…”, minho continued, “try to fall asleep? you can at least rest, can’t you?”.

chan shrugged. could he? he always found it hard to sleep when he was in pain, so probably not. but it wouldn’t hurt to try.

seeing how he was having an internal debate, minho gently pushed chan’s head to his shoulder and rested his arm over the older. “just try, hyung, it’s fine if you can’t”.

so chan tried. he closed his eyes and tried to focus on the background noise. felix’s and hyunjin’s raps were great for stage, but weren’t exactly relaxing, so it wasn’t long before he needed to grab his airpods to block the noise.

minho winced in sympathy at the way chan kept moving in his seat because he couldn’t get comfortable and started rubbing the leader’s back in a way he hoped was comforting.

it was comforting, that was for sure, but chan felt too bad to rest. he kept moving around, trying to get comfortable, but he didn’t get anywhere. “i can’t”, he whimpered quietly, sitting up and struggling to take a deep breath in without breaking into tears.

minho bit his lip sadly. the leader looked awfully pale and his eyes were glossy, wether that was the fever or tears he couldn’t tell. “i don’t know, hyung…”, the dancer said softly, “i really think i should take you home. binnie and han got this”.

chan didn’t even find it in him to say no this time. his head hurt so bad, his stomach was flipping and he still felt as freezing as he did in in the morning.

plus, he was sure he’d end up crying and he didn’t need everyone watching him. “okay”, he told minho, looking down at his shaking hands, “i-i just want… i r-really want this to s-stop”.

“of course you do”, minho hummed, standing up and giving the leader an unusually gentle smile, “we’ll go, just let me tell changbin first”.

he went over to the rapper and whispered “i’m taking hyung home, he’s dying over there”, to which changbin’s eyes widened in worry.

chan watched the interaction, not even able to feel guilty because he knew there was no way he could stay here, in the crowded recording room, any longer.

out of the corner of his teary eye, he saw changbin shoot him a reassuring smile, and he couldn’t help but smile back, albeit a bit unsteadily as a tear rolled down his flushed face.

when minho came back, took his hand and helped him up and towards the door, he didn’t resist.

when he was gently pushed to the backseat of a car and minho had to buckle him up because his hands were shaking too badly to fasten the seatbelt himself, he didn’t protest.

and when the soothing and constant motion of the vehicle finally lulled him into a light doze, he didn’t catch minho’s loving smile.

but the short drive to his dorm was too short for sleep to help him, and he was woken up by minho slowly shaking his arm. minho, who had apparently taken the role of chan’s pillow.

the leader sat up, a bit shy that he’d acted so… soft? was that even the word? his clouded mind didn’t even know, but he was embarrassed.

as for the dancer, he simply chuckled and waved his hand in front of chan’s face, breaking into a laugh when the older looked up at him with a very not intimidating glare. “let’s go”, he said, leaning across chan to open the door for him, “what a gentleman i am, hm?”.

chan rolled his eyes at minho’s cocky manners, but the movement made him wince. right, his head was killing him and he was feverish. he almost forgot. slowly, so as not to trigger another wave of pain, he got out of the car and thanked the driver.

immediately, minho wrapped an arm around his shoulders and walked with him. once again, chan’s shaky hands prevented him from unlocking the door and, with a poorly concealed pout, he gave the keys to minho.

“can’t believe you’re still cold”, minho teased, opening the door quickly to let chan out of the winter air asap. “don’t believe it, then”, snapped the leader. more like mumbled, actually, because his voice was weak and his expression not offensive at all.

the dancer laughed at him yet again. how many times would he today? it was unfair. chan took small steps into the elevator and slumped against the wall, not having the energy to stand up on his own.

when minho got inside too, next to him, chan couldn’t help but drop his head on the younger’s shoulder.

the dancer let him and even brought a hand up to his neck, but removed it when it’s coldness made chan shiver. “sorry”, he apologised quietly, instead touching his forehead again, “still too warm. you’re taking more pills as soon as i find them”.

true to his word, minho didn’t waste a second, and when they finally got into chan and jeongin’s dorm, he made the leader change into warmer sweatpants and a long sleeved shirt—he didn’t think the thick hoodie would be of any help to the fever, so he made chan take it off—before finding fever reducers and giving them to him.

“comfy?”, he asked after a while, proudly looking at the way he’d gotten chan settled on his bed under a fluffy blanket and looking the slightest bit more colourful. yeah, not colourful, he wasn’t a rainbow (lowkey tho-), just less pale. chan, for maybe the first or second time that day, giggled quietly and nodded.

“won’t you sit with me, lino-yah~?”, he asked in a playful voice, but there was a slight pleading hidden in his words that minho couldn’t ignore, so he just nodded and sat next to the leader, letting himself be used as a pillow once more.

chan was still hurting, of course, but he was in his comfy warm bed and had his ‘cutest little thing’ next to him. and minho would make it better if the pain got worse again, would wake him up if the fever gave him the nightmares that always chased him when he was sick.

minho was there, and would take care of him, right? yes, 100% right.

91 notes · View notes