#ih6 fluff

isackhadjar : ma jolie fille 🤍

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : my pretty boy 💋

liked by isackhadjar

↳ username775 : your honor i love them SO BAD

alex_albon : can we get a puppy paddock appearance soon pls??

liked by yourusername and isackhadjar

↳ yourusername : expect teddy kisses next race weekend!!!! 🧸

liked by alex_albon and isackhadjar

olliebearman : did you try to steal some of isack's food? he has that look on his face.

liked by yourusername and isackhadjar

↳ yourusername : he inhaled it before i could

liked by olliebearman and isackhadjar

↳ isackhadjar : i was hungry leave me alone 💀

liked by yourusername and olliebearman

visacashapprb : ynnnnnnn😻

liked by yourusername and isackhadjar

↳ yourusername : adminnnnnnnn!!! 💋

liked by visacashapprb and isackhadjar

alexandrasaintmleux : you look UNREAL. my jaw is on the floor 😻

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : says you😭 a real life angel

liked by alexandrasaintmleux

username005 : miss quantum physicist stays stunning. she never misses

liked by yourusername and isackhadjar

↳ yourusername : im crying ily

⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

defnotyourname 🔐

liked by notlando69, bearspam, alicia_torriani, defnotis4ck and 34 others.

defnotyourname : keeping up with the hadjar's pt 390

—

view 16 other comments.

bearspam : last i checked you were NOT a hadjar. is this your way of telling me i was not invited to a secret wedding????

↳ defnotyourname : you are so nosey- there is no way in hell isack and i could get married w out you knowing 😭

liked by alicia_torriani, spidermansbiggestfan and defnotis4ck

↳ defnotis4ck : this is his way of passive aggressively telling me to propose bc he wants to plan the wedding. SHE WILL BE A HADJAR SOON ENOUGH.

liked by alicia_torriani, defnotyourname, bearspam, spidermansbiggestfan, alexdoesart and golfgirlie

alexdoesart : little vivi is getting so big 😭 charles and i need a flower girl!!!!

liked by defnotyourname and defnotis4ck

↳ defnotyourname : she would be honored and misses you both sm!

golfgirlie : MILF MILF MILFFFFFF

liked by defnotyourname and defnotis4ck

↳ defnotyourname : my lilz😻

spidermansbiggestfan : you are welcome for the meme. found that on my late night twitter dive

liked by defnotyourname

↳ defnotyourname : thank you kimi

liked by spidermansbiggestfan

↳ defnotis4ck : OH ITS KIMI. are you the ihateisackhadjar on twitter?

liked by defnotyourname and spidermansbiggestfan

↳ spidermansbiggestfan : yup

liked by bearspam, notlando69, defnotyourname and defnotis4ck

↳ defnotyourname : kimi ilysm 😭

liked by spidermansbiggestfan, notlando69, defnotis4ck and bearspam

notlando69 : i do not understand how you two are parents sometimes

liked by defnotyourname and defnotis4ck

↳ defnotyourname : i do...have you seen my man? 👅

liked by defnotis4ck and bearspam

↳ notlando69 : BLOCKING YOU ON ALL SOCIAL MEDIA

liked by defnotyourname and defnotis4ck

⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

You wake up slowly, the soft morning light spilling through the curtains and warming the sheets. The apartment is quiet—rarely this quiet—and you take a second to savor it. Isack is already half awake beside you, one arm draped lazily around your waist, his face pressed into your shoulder like he’s determined to make sure you don’t even think about moving.

You shift a little, just enough to look at him. He blinks up at you, hair messy, eyes sleepy and soft.

“Morning,” he murmurs, voice still thick with sleep.

“Morning,” you whisper back, leaning forward to kiss the corner of his mouth. He catches your jaw gently, pulling you in for a second kiss—slower, warmer.

It’s calm. It’s domestic. It’s your little world.

You settle back into the pillows, letting him curl into you fully. His hand slides up under your shirt, resting against your ribs, thumb rubbing lazy circles. The two of you stay like that for several minutes—no alarms, no rush, no toddler climbing on your head yet.

You’re smiling, eyes closed, when you hear him unlock his phone to check the time. You look over his shoulder just enough to catch a glimpse of his wallpaper—one of the photos from your maternity shoot. The black and white one, where he’s kneeling and kissing your belly, his arms wrapped around you like he was never letting go.

“You’re sentimental,” you tease softly.

He grins and kisses your shoulder. “You looked beautiful. Still do.”

You hum, tracing your fingers down his forearm. “Sometimes I miss being pregnant.”

He glances up at you, eyes full of teasing mischief. “I can change that.”

You swat his arm immediately, laughing as he dramatically hisses in fake pain. “Absolutely not,” you giggle. “Not yet.”

Before he can reply, the baby monitor crackles—and then comes the tiny voice you both know better than your own. A small whine. A babble. And then: “Mamaaaa?”

Just like that, the quiet morning becomes warm and alive.

You both climb out of bed, practically racing each other to her room. Vivienne is standing in her crib, hair a fluffy brown halo, cheeks round and rosy, hugging her stuffed bunny like it’s a lifeline. Her eyes light up when she sees you.

“Mama! Papa!” she squeals, arms reaching up.

You both scoop her up together, pressing kisses all over her face while she giggles uncontrollably. Isack lifts her high in the air while you pepper her cheeks, and she goes limp with delight, laughing that full-body toddler laugh.

Your small, perfect family.

You’re the first to slip downstairs, tying your robe as you go. You start breakfast—cutting fruit, preparing oatmeal, heating a pan for eggs. You’ve barely gotten halfway through when you hear little feet kicking against denim and Isack humming softly.

He comes down the stairs with Vivienne on his hip, her head tucked under his chin and her tiny hand gripping the gold chain around his neck.

“Someone wanted Mama,” he announces.

Vivienne squeals at the sight of you, reaching out with grabby hands. You kiss her forehead before Isack gently sets her into her high chair.

Then he moves behind you without a word, wrapping an arm around your waist and placing a warm kiss on your cheek before making his way to the coffee machine.

“I’ll finish breakfast,” he says. “Sit. Drink.”

He hands you your coffee exactly the way you take it—warm, sweet, comforting—and nudges you toward the table until you obey with a smile.

You watch them: father feeding daughter little bites of banana while she babbles at him about absolutely nothing. He nods seriously like he understands every word.

Breakfast is simple and sweet. A few crumbs on Vivienne’s chin, Isack wiping them gently, her legs kicking happily as she eats. You’re filled with that quiet joy—the kind that doesn’t need fireworks, just warmth.

Afterward, you take Vivienne upstairs to get her dressed while Isack hops on a work call for the team. You wrestle her into tights and a soft pink dress, brushing her curls while she points at the mirror saying,“pretty,” and you feel your heart melt.

When you come back downstairs, Randa is letting herself in with the spare key you insisted she keep. Her face lights up immediately.

“There’s my girl!” she coos, reaching for Vivienne, who launches herself willingly into her arms.

“Hi, Maman,” you greet her warmly, leaning in for a hug.

She cups your cheek. “You look tired. Studying again?”

“Always.”

“And she wouldn’t have it any other way,” Isack calls from across the room, slipping his arms around you from behind.

Randa smiles at the two of you, utterly obsessed with the family you’ve built. “Your father and I will take Vivienne tonight,” she announces cheerfully.

You and Isack both start to object, but she lifts a finger sharply. “No arguments. You two need time together.”

And before you can say a word, she’s already got Vivienne’s bag and is halfway out the door.

“Bye-bye!” Vivienne waves dramatically from her grandmother’s arms.

And then she’s gone.

You and Isack look at each other, half amused, half helpless.

“She scares me,” you whisper.

“Me too,” he agrees, kissing your temple.

Soon after, you both go your separate ways—Isack to training, you to class. You check in with each other throughout the day, sending stolen selfies and quick messages about missing each other.

That night comes faster than you expect. You’re doing your makeup in the soft glow of your vanity when you feel eyes on you. You look up in the mirror and find Isack leaning against the doorframe, smiling in that soft, heart-warm way he only reserves for you.

“You’re staring,” you say gently.

“Well aware.”

He walks over slowly, sliding behind you and pressing a kiss to your neck before helping zip up your dress. His fingers are warm and steady against your back.

“You look beautiful,” he murmurs, smoothing the fabric over your hips. “Like always.”

“And you’re biased,” you tease.

“Maybe,” he shrugs, “but I’m also right.”

He kneels to help you buckle your heels, kissing your ankle and thigh playfully as you roll your eyes and try not to blush.

Dinner is perfect—your favorite restaurant, a private room tucked away from the world. Good food, better wine, and conversation that drifts from parenting to childhood memories to your dreams for the future.

He holds your hand across the table, thumb stroking your knuckles. “I love this,” he says softly. “Us. Everything we’re building.”

“I do too,” you smile, squeezing his hand.

The night ends back home, soft and warm. Isack helps you out of your dress with slow, gentle movements, placing a kiss on your shoulder as it slips to the floor. Later, the two of you curl up in bed, limbs tangled, your head on his chest.

You talk about Vivienne’s upcoming birthday. About where you might want to live one day. About the life you’re still creating together. And somewhere between kisses and whispered plans, you fall asleep feeling loved, safe, and whole.

⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

Race mornings are usually chaotic, but today feels smooth—quiet, steady, comfortable. In the hotel elevator, you slip your hand into Isack’s. He lifts it to his lips as the doors open into the lobby. Security moves into position immediately, forming a loose barrier to keep cameras from getting too close.

You and Isack exchange a familiar glance. Show time.

You walk in confidently, side by side, as if this is any ordinary stroll into the paddock—couple of the grid, unbothered, happy, and totally unaware of the storm the world will eventually unleash.

What nobody knows, though, is that behind the paddock, in a back entrance reserved for team staff, Randa Hadjar is sneaking in with a toddler on her hip. A tiny girl in a soft brown dress, curls tied with a bow, hugging a stuffed bunny. Security surrounds them like a shield while Randa whispers encouragements:

“We’re being sneaky, Vivi… like little spies.”

Vivienne giggles, covering her mouth like she understands mission protocol.

You and Isack walk through the main entrance at the same moment Randa and Vivi slip through the back. Perfectly timed. Perfectly hidden.

“Wish me luck,” Isack says as he leans in to kiss your cheek.

“You don’t need it,” you reply with a smile.

He heads toward the garage while you make your way to hospitality, weaving through a familiar route that avoids the media but takes you right where you want to be: the private lounge within the VCARB area. The door opens, and immediately you hear small happy feet kicking against the floor.

“Mama!”

Vivienne toddles toward you, arms wide. You scoop her up instantly, burying your face into her cheeks while she squeals in joy.

“You found your girls,” Randa smiles warmly.

You set Vivienne down, and she plops herself onto the padded floor, immediately grabbing tiny toy cars and running them over the carpet.

Randa sits beside you, elegance and warmth radiating off her like always. As soon as you found out you were pregnant, your own parents shut you out. But Randa did the opposite—she stepped in quietly, fiercely, lovingly. She became the mother you needed when the world felt cruel.

“Did you two have a good date night?” she asks knowingly.

“Yes,” you admit, unable to stop the soft smile that forms. “We really needed it.”

Randa looks down at the toddler making vroom noises. “You two are doing beautifully. Really.”

You’re about to respond when her phone rings. She glances at the screen. “It's for Isack,” she sighs fondly. “I’ll take this outside.”

She steps into the hallway while you pull your laptop from your bag and open your physics textbook. Differential equations. Quantum states. You’re deep in a derivation when a familiar voice enters the room.

“Is that my favorite girl in the entire world?”

Vivienne shrieks happily. “Gampa!”

Yassine Hadjar immediately bends down to pick her up, peppering her cheeks with kisses until she’s wiggling with laughter. You adore watching them—grandpa and granddaughter completely obsessed with each other.

Then he looks at you.

“And my other favorite girl,” he adds warmly.

He sits beside you, Vivienne on his lap, and leans over your notes.

“Stuck?” he asks gently.

You nod shyly. “The eigenstate simplification. I can’t get the last step.”

He takes your pen, scribbles a line, simplifies, and— Everything clicks.

“Oh,” you breathe. “That makes so much more sense.”

He smiles. “See? You have the brain. Just needed the right nudge.”

You shake your head, but you're smiling. No one is more supportive of your studies than him.

Time moves quickly. Soon, fans start buzzing in the distance. Engines warm up. You know the signs: race time is coming.

“I’m going to take her to see him,” you tell Randa, scooping Vivienne into your arms.

Randa kisses her granddaughter’s head. “Go. I’ll meet you in the suite.”

You slip out the back entrance of hospitality, carrying your daughter through the maze of corridors that lead to the drivers’ rooms. You know the timing perfectly—mechanics are too busy to notice, cameras too distracted, journalists not allowed in this hallway.

When you push open the door to Isack’s room, you’re met with immediate delight.

“THERE she is!” Harry grins, arms outstretched toward Vivienne.

Liam kneels on the floor, camera still strapped around his neck. “Miss Viv! Looking fabulous today.”

Vivienne babbles something excitedly, waving her bunny around. Both men laugh, absolutely in love with her.

They greet you with hugs before stepping toward the door.

“We’ll give you guys a minute,” Harry says knowingly.

“Have your family time,” Liam adds, smiling as he closes the door behind them.

Inside, the room is peaceful.

Isack sits on the couch, still in his underlayer, hair messy from his final prep. He holds out his arms.

“Come here.”

You place Vivienne into his lap before climbing in beside him, curling yourself into his side. He wraps his arm around you, the other around your daughter, his chin resting on your shoulder. Your small family, tucked into this quiet little bubble.

“You ready?” you whisper.

He nods slowly. “Not nervous. Just… grateful.”

You touch his cheek softly. “You’re going to do great. You always do.”

He leans in and kisses you—slow, soft, grounding. Vivienne looks up at both of you with big, curious eyes, then pats Isack’s cheek and babbles something that vaguely resembles, “Go fast, Papa!”

Isack laughs. “Best pep talk I’ve ever gotten.”

You watch the race from the private suite with Vivienne in your lap, her cheeks flushed with excitement every time her father passes the grandstand. Yassine cheers, Randa claps loudly, and Vivienne waves her bunny every time she sees her dad's helmet flash across the screen.

P5. A great result. A proud, solid drive.

When the race ends and celebrations begin, you quietly slip out of the paddock with Vivienne. The Hadjars go to congratulate their son while you avoid cameras entirely.

You meet everyone on the jet an hour later. You’re the first one on board, and you set Vivienne on the little table across from your seat. She giggles as you lean in close, fluttering your eyelashes against her cheeks.

“Again!” she giggles. “Mama, ‘gain!”

You give her another butterfly kiss. She squeals so loudly she startles herself—and that’s the exact moment Isack steps onto the plane.

He freezes.

His heart melts instantly.

You and Vivienne, all soft smiles and baby giggles, light up the jet cabin.

“That’s the best thing I’ve ever seen,” he murmurs, eyes warm as he walks toward you.

Minutes later, the plane lifts into the sky. Vivienne falls asleep against his chest, tiny breaths warm against his neck. You rest your head on his shoulder, fingers intertwined with his free hand. He presses a kiss to your forehead.

“I’m so lucky,” he whispers. “I couldn’t have asked for a better mom for my child… or a better partner in life.”

You lift your head just enough to kiss him softly, gratefully. And in the soft hum of the jet, above clouds and cameras and chaos, the world feels perfect. For now.

⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

formula1gossip

2,340,000 likes.

formula1gossip : EXCLUSIVE: ISACK HADJAR & Girlfriend YN… HIDING A BABY? 👀🍼 sources have sent in multiple photos over the past few months that suggest fan favorite couple, yn and isack, have been keeping a major secret from the public.

photo 1 appears to show yn walking through the paddock in a hoodie and sunglasses while carrying a toddler-aged child. photo 2 shows yn & isack wearing matching hoodies — the same hoodie yn was wearing in the paddock the day the mystery child was spotted. photo 3 is from an f2 weekend during isack’s rookie year, where yn’s dress slipped just enough to reveal what looks like an early baby bump. photo 4 shows a man rumored to be isack himself, pushing a stroller.

the couple has been together since they were 15, and rumors are now circulating that they welcomed a baby sometime during isack’s first season in f2. neither party has commented. more updates soon.

—

view 534,000 other comments.

username005 : i feel sick… imagine hiding your baby for their safety and a random gossip page decides to expose them.

username77 : if this is true i’m actually happy for them but omg this is NOT how this should’ve come out.

username58 : they were literally teenagers in f2… i hope everyone’s being kind.

username10 : no because if yn was pregnant in that photo… the timeline actually makes sense…

username887 : wait they’ve been together since they were 15???? my heart 😭

username115 : this better be fake because if they got exposed like this i’m rioting.

username75 : this is so heartbreaking. my heart goes out to isack and yn if this is true and it got exposed THIS WAY. delete this.

username990 : i’m begging you all to report this page. this is a massive violation.

⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

flashback! (we r pretending isack won the f3 championship thx)

It’s the night after Isack gets promoted to F2 and won the F3 Championship — the night everything changes.

You’re in his tiny apartment, the walls still echoing with the rush of celebration. His trophy sitting crookedly on the counter because he’d placed it there and immediately turned back to you, more interested in kissing you than admiring his own win.

Now you’re both tangled under his sheets — skin warm, breaths steadying, the world suddenly quiet after hours of noise and adrenaline. Isack has one arm tucked under your head, the other lazily stroking your hip as if he still can’t believe you’re real.

He kisses your forehead once… then again, slower.

“You know,” he murmurs, voice low from exhaustion and something softer, “I keep thinking this is all a dream.”

You look up at him. “Becoming a champion or this?”

He smiles — that warm, boyish one he only gives you. “Both. But mostly you.”

You press a kiss to his jaw, and he sighs contentedly.

He’s glowing — from the win, from being told he’s going to F2, from the future finally feeling like it’s unfolding for him. You’ve never seen him look more hopeful.

“What do you want now?” you whisper against his chest.

He hesitates, cheeks flushing. “Everything,” he says quietly. “A real career. You. A future.”

His thumb brushes over your stomach without really thinking. “And… one day… a family.”

You laugh under your breath. “You’re sentimental tonight.”

He nudges you with his nose. “Yeah, well. Winning makes me soft, I guess.”

You curl closer, breathing him in. “I want all of that too.”

Later, after the kisses turn deeper again and he holds you like the world outside doesn’t exist, he whispers against your shoulder:

“If we ever have a baby… they’d be perfect. Half you, half me.”

You don’t know it then… but Vivienne is already there, just beginning.

Weeks later, you’re in your lecture hall, forehead pressed to the cool desk as nausea rolls through you for the fourth time that morning.

Your friend beside you whispers, “Are you sure you’re not dying?”

You groan. “At this point I’d prefer it.”

You spend the whole day swallowing down that burning, terrible feeling — your stomach twisting every time you climb stairs or smell someone’s coffee. By the time you make it back to your apartment, your hands are shaking.

You buy a test on the way home.

You don’t even take your coat off. You just stumble into the bathroom, take the test, and sit on the closed toilet seat staring at the wall.

Two minutes. Three. Four. And then the world tilts.

Positive.

Your breath catches — a choke, then a sob tearing out before you can stop it. You sink to the floor, the test falling from your hand as you fold over your knees, crying and shaking and whispering, “No, no, no— what do I do?”

That’s how Isack finds you.

He comes home early from training, already calling out, “Baby? You here?”

And then he sees the bathroom light.

“Chérie?” he says softly, stepping in.

He freezes at the sight: you on the tile, crying, the test on the floor next to you.

He kneels instantly. “Hey — hey, hey.” His hands cradle your face, thumbs wiping tears before they even fall. “What happened? Are you hurt? Talk to me.”

You point at the test, unable to speak.

He follows your gaze, picks it up — and everything in him stops.

“Oh.”

His voice cracks. Just a little.

You’re shaking again. “I—I’m scared.”

He pulls you into his chest so fast you barely register moving. His arms wrap fully around you, one hand against the back of your head, the other splayed over your lower stomach almost instinctively.

“I’m scared too,” he whispers into your hair. “I won’t lie about that. I’m really scared.”

You clutch his shirt, breath shuddering. “We’re so young. You’re going to F2. I’m in school—”

“I know.” His voice is shaky but sure. “But look at me.”

He tilts your chin up so you have to meet his eyes.

“All I’ve ever wanted — since I was a kid — was to be a dad one day. And if I get to be one with you? That’s everything.”

Fresh tears fall, but this time they’re softer.

“But,” he continues, brushing them away, “it’s your body. Your choice. Whatever you want… I’m with you. No matter what.”

You collapse into him again, and he holds you for hours. He carries you to bed, tucks you against his chest, rubs your stomach absently like touching it makes all of it more real.

When you finally drift to sleep, you hear him whisper:

“I already love you. Both of you.”

You find yourself nauseous all over again — but this time from nerves.

Isack squeezes your hand three times as you step into his parents’ living room. Yassine and Randa look up from the couch, both smiling warmly.

“Is everything okay?” his mother asks.

You sit. The couch feels too soft, too deep, too dangerous.

Isack clears his throat. “We… have something to tell you.”

A long pause.

Then you force the words out. “I’m pregnant.”

Silence.

Randa gasps — a hand flying to her mouth. Yassine sits back like someone hit him with a shockwave. And then—

“Oh my god,” Randa whispers, eyes filling. “A baby? Our baby? Our little Isack having a baby?”

She’s crying as she rushes across the room to hug you both. Yassine follows, still stunned but grinning now, that slow, proud smile spreading across his face.

“We’ll help with everything,” he promises. “Anything you need — whatever makes this easier.”

Randa cups your cheeks gently. “You’re not alone. Not for one second.”

And something in your chest — something tight and trembling — finally loosens.

But it doesn't stay loose for long. This one hurts.

You sit across from them at their dining table. Your mother stiff, your father already irritated, as if the conversation is a burden.

“I’m pregnant,” you say quietly.

Your father’s face drops into disgust. “With that driver's child?”

Your mother looks away. “We warned you about ruining your future.”

You feel your eyes burn. “I… I just wanted you to be supportive.”

Your father stands. “We’re done. If you want to throw your life away, do it without us.”

The door closes behind them before you even process it. Isack finds you outside, sitting on the curb, cheeks wet. He kneels in front of you immediately.

“They’re not worth your tears,” he whispers, voice thick with anger he’s trying to swallow. “You have me. You have my parents. You have people who actually love you.”

You soon forget that horrible feeling when you realize all the little beautiful moments that come with pregnancy. Like Isack kissing your bump before every race.

Even when you’re barely showing. Even when he’s late for a briefing. He lifts your shirt, presses a kiss right under your belly button and whispers:

“Hi, bébé. It's papa. Be good today, okay?”

Sometimes he adds, “Your mama is the strongest person I know.”

Then your first ultrasound.

You both cry — loudly, embarrassingly, uncontrollably. The grainy image makes Isack grip your hand so tight you lose feeling.

“That’s our baby,” he whispers, voice breaking. “We made her.”

Isack made sure you had every thing you could ever need. Especially your late night cravings.

He runs to the store in pajamas and mismatched sneakers. Brings back way too many snacks. Feeds you strawberries in bed like it’s a sacred duty.

He even became an interior decorator towards the end of the pregnancy. The crib takes him five hours.

He swears in French the whole time. You sit on the floor laughing until he finally gets it and yells: “YES. I AM A FATHER AND A MAN WHO BUILDS THINGS!”

Then things got real serious, real fast.

Your contractions hit like a train. Randa rushes you to the hospital while Isack sprints behind with half the bags and his hair still wet from the shower.

He holds your hand the entire time — whispering encouragement, kissing your forehead, letting you crush his fingers.

Randa stands on your other side, brushing your hair back, reminding you to breathe.

When Vivienne finally cries — tiny, furious, alive — Isack sobs. Not pretty crying. Body shaking crying.

“She’s perfect,” he chokes out. “She’s so perfect, baby, you did it, you did so good—”

They place her on your chest, all warm and pink, and everything else disappears.

Randa wipes her eyes. “Welcome to the world, little one.”

Isack touches the baby’s cheek with trembling fingers.

“That’s Vivienne,” he whispers, voice full of awe. “Our Vivienne.”

⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

present day!

Your eyes open slowly, the morning light soft through the hotel curtains, the sheets still warm from where Isack slept beside you. You stretch once, groaning softly—

and then you hear it.

Isack’s voice. Not calm. Not soft. Tight. Panicked.

“No— no, you’re not listening— she’s two. She’s two years old. They can’t— why would they—”

You sit up immediately.

He’s across the suite, shirt thrown on wrong, phone pressed to his ear as he paces in frantic circles. His hair is a disaster. His cheeks are flushed. His hands won’t stop shaking.

“Isack?” your voice is groggy, confused. “What’s going on?”

He freezes. Turns. And you’ve never seen his face like this.

His lips tremble just slightly. His eyes look like he didn’t sleep at all. He ends the call without even saying goodbye.

“Baby… something happened.”

Your heart drops. “What?”

He swallows hard, jaw quivering. “The photos. Of us. Of Vivienne.”

His voice cracks. “They leaked.”

Your stomach turns to ice.

“What— what photos?”

“The one of your baby bump.” His breath catches. “The ones of Vivi in the stroller. Someone sold them. They’re everywhere.”

You cover your mouth with your hand.

“Oh my god…”

Isack pulls you into his chest immediately, arms tight—too tight—as if holding you harder will undo it.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, voice breaking. “I should’ve protected her. I should’ve— I should have done more— I should have—”

“Isack—”

He steps back like he can’t breathe.

“This is my fault,” he says, pacing again. “If I had a normal job— if I wasn’t in this fucking sport— you wouldn’t have cameras in your face. Our daughter wouldn’t be on gossip pages. You deserve someone with a normal life, someone without—”

You grab his face with both hands.

“Stop.”

His eyes flick up to yours.

“You are the only person I want. You are the only father Vivienne is meant to have. You did not fail her. The world failed us.” You kiss his forehead. “We’re a family. We face everything together. Full stop.”

He lets out a breath that sounds like he’s been holding it his entire life.

And then he collapses into your arms and buries his face in your shoulder.

Luckily, Vivienne spent the night with Randa and Yassine in the connected suite — a little sleepover that now feels like divine intervention.

Isack’s PR manager arrives within twenty minutes, hair wet from a rushed shower, laptop already out.

“We can control the narrative. You’re not alone in this,” she promises.

You sit beside Isack on the couch, thighs touching, fingers intertwined like you’re fused.

You make decisions.

No statements yet. No interviews. No photos of Vivienne released by you. No acknowledgment besides basic protection.

“Your daughter’s privacy becomes our priority from this second on,” the manager says firmly. “And I’m not letting anyone near her.”

Isack nods, swallowing hard. “Thank you.”

You and Isack head to the door to leave for the paddock — it’s a race weekend, after all, and chaos or not, work waits for no one.

Randa stays with Vivi… who immediately bursts into tears.

“Mamaaaa! Papa! I go!" Her little hands grab at your legs. “Pwease.”

Your heart cracks in seven places. You kneel down, wiping her tears.

“Baby, you know mama would take you everywhere if she could.”

You kiss her forehead. “But today… there’s too many people with cameras. And papa doesn’t want them scaring you.”

Isack crouches beside you, voice soft and wrecked.

“I’m sorry, chouquette.” He kisses her nose.

“I’ll be fast, okay? Then I come right back to you.”

She sniffles. “Can I have two kisses so you come back quicker?”

Isack nearly cries.

You both cover her little face in kisses until she giggles.

Randa scoops her up gently. “We’re going to have some cookies. And watch cartoons. And make a big mess.”

Vivi waves her arms. “I love you mama! I love you papa!”

You say it back. Over and over. But when the door closes behind you— Isack breaks. He clenches the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turn white.

“She was scared,” he whispers. “She didn’t know why she couldn’t come. She thinks we’re punishing her.”

“Isack—”

“I hate this.” His voice is barely steady. “She’s two. She just wanted to spend the day with us. She doesn’t deserve this.”

You place your hand over his on the wheel. “Look at me.”

He forces himself to.

“We are protecting her. Today hurts, but we’re doing the right thing.”

He nods slowly, jaw tight, and laces your fingers together.

People notice the second you step in. Not fans. Not journalists. Drivers. Ollie Bearman sees you first. He storms over, eyes wide and furious.

“Where is he? Which reporter did it? Point. Me. To. Him.”

“Ollie,” you sigh, “you’re twenty. Don't ruin your career before it starts."

“I’m also six foot tall and incredibly angry.”

Next is Charles. He’s on his phone, thumbs moving fast.

“What are you doing?” Isack asks.

“Tweeting insults,” Charles says without hesitation. “In French. They’ll never decode them.”

Kimi Antonelli walks by muttering, “I’m just saying… accidents happen. Microphones break. Cameras fall. People get punched."

Max Verstappen is stationed by the media pen like a guard dog, arms crossed, expression murderous. Someone tries to film you. Max steps forward just slightly — and the guy physically steps back. Nobody goes near you.

You’re almost to the hospitality building when a reporter calls out:

“Isack!” He smirks.

“Rough morning? Maybe your girlfriend should’ve kept her legs—”

Isack moves. Fast. Too fast.

He lunges toward the reporter, jaw clenched, eyes blazing.

You barely get the word out— “Isack, NO—”

—but two boys grab him from behind: Kimi around his waist. Ollie around his shoulders.

“Bro. BRO.” Ollie wheezes. “Think of your contract!”

“Let me go!” Isack snarls.

“Absolutely not,” Kimi hisses. “He’s not worth it.”

Finally, Isack stops fighting, breathing hard, shaking with fury.

You step in front of him, palms on his cheeks.

“Hey. Look at me. Only me.”

He does. And slowly, the rage drains out of him.

The second the door closes, he collapses onto the couch and pulls you onto his lap. You bury your face in his neck. His arms wrap tight around your waist. Neither of you speak.

You don’t have to. The world outside hates silence. You two need it to think.

“What do we do?” he whispers into your hair.

“I don’t know,” you whisper back. “But we’ll do it together.”

He nods into your shoulder.

He goes out for quali still furious, still scared, still desperate to get back to Vivi.

And somehow? He drives like a man possessed.

P2. His best ever in F1.

His engineer cheers. His team screams. Fans lose their minds.

Isack? He rips off his helmet, runs past the cameras, and says:

“No media. Fine me. I don’t care.”

He heads straight back to you.

Isack stays back to debrief with the team and sends you ahead to be with Vivi. You’re trying to leave. Calmly. Quietly. But a journalist corners you outside hospitality.

“Did you get pregnant on purpose to trap him?”

You freeze. Your stomach lurches. Your throat closes.

Before you can even react—

Max Verstappen steps between you and the journalist so fast the man stumbles backward.

“We’re done here,” Max says flatly. “You go near her again and the FIA won’t be able to save your job.”

The journalist sputters. Max doesn’t care.

He turns to you. “You okay?”

You nod shakily. “Thank you.”

He pats your shoulder, firm and protective. “You’re family. That’s enough.”

It’s past midnight when you finally get home.

Vivienne is curled up in your bed, clutching her stuffed bunny, waiting for you both. She wiggles under the covers so you can lie down on either side of her.

You lie on your back. Vivi crawls onto your chest, fingers instantly slipping into your hair as she drifts off.

Isack wraps himself around both of you — arm over your waist, leg tangled with yours, face buried in your shoulder.

“I just want to take you both away,” he murmurs, voice shaking with the weight of the whole day. “Somewhere quiet. Somewhere safe. Somewhere nobody knows our names.”

You kiss the top of Vivi’s head. Then Isack’s hand. Then his jaw.

“We’re safe here,” you whisper. “As long as we have each other.”

His breath steadies. And for the first time since the leak… He believes you.

⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

Your body is warm under the sheets, the room still dark, Isack’s arm slung around your waist, Vivienne curled up on his chest like she’s a tiny koala. But your laptop is blinking on the bedside table — a calendar alert.

7:30 AM — Meeting with Professor Grayson

Right. You’d forgotten about that.

Quietly, carefully, you slide out of bed, kiss Vivi’s forehead, kiss Isack’s cheek, and tiptoe to the living room to set up your laptop.

You’re halfway through reviewing your notes when the call comes in.

You sit up straighter, smile politely.

“Good morning, Professor.”

She doesn’t return the smile.

“Morning. Let’s get to it. I’ve been reviewing your recent submissions.”

Your stomach tenses.

But she continues, unimpressed:

“The work is excellent. But your commitment…” She sighs, long and dramatic. “Frankly, I’m concerned.”

You blink. Confused. “Concerned? My grades are—”

“Your grades are good because you’re talented,” she cuts you off. “But raw talent won’t matter if your personal life continues to… distract you.”

You freeze.

“Professor, I—”

“You’re a mother now,” she says pointedly. “You should be focusing on stability, not flying around the world for races and… whatever it is you do online.”

Your heartbeat spikes.

“My daughter is very well cared for,” you say slowly. “And my work has never—”

“I’m telling you this before you ruin your career,” she snaps. “This internship requires professionalism. You’re becoming a spectacle. Your boyfriend’s fame is bleeding into your studies. It reflects poorly on this institution.”

You swallow, jaw clenching.

“I am the top of your class.”

“Not for long,” she says coldly. “If you keep living like a celebrity instead of a scholar—”

A noise behind you. A soft inhale. You turn. Isack is standing in the doorway. He heard everything. His expression is unreadable — shock, guilt, anger twisting in his eyes. You end the call quickly, before your professor can say anything else. When the screen goes black, the room is silent.

“Baby… I’m so sorry.”

Isack walks to you slowly, like he’s afraid of his own shadow. He kneels down, takes your hands in his.

“I shouldn’t have heard that,” he whispers. “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay.”

“No,” his voice cracks. “It’s not.”

You see it hit him like a blow — the professor’s words sinking deep.

“She’s right,” he mutters, eyes dropping. “You deal with so much because of me. The press. The travel. The attention. And now your professors think you’re irresponsible—”

“Isack.” You grab his chin gently, lifting his gaze to yours. “Look at me.”

His eyes shine.

“You have never — not once — held me back. You are my partner. My life. I balance school and Vivi and you because I want all of these things. Not in spite of you.”

He swallows hard.

“You’re so strong,” he whispers. “I don’t want to make anything harder for you.”

“You don’t,” you say softly. “You give me purpose. And joy. And a family. No professor is going to take that from me.”

He exhales shakily and pulls you into his arms, holding you like you’re the only thing tethering him to the world. After a long moment, he murmurs:

“Let’s bring Vivi today.”

You pull back, surprised. “You think that’s a good idea?”

“The team’s already prepared for it,” he says. “Extra security. Closed routes. Controlled entry.”

“And the media?”

“They won’t get within twenty feet of her.” He kisses your forehead. “I talked to the team last night. They’ll protect her. And us.”

You nod slowly.

“Okay.”

The decision feels right.

Soon enough, Vivienne is dressed in her tiny race day outfit: little headphones, little sneakers, and a custom mini jacket that says HADJAR across the back.

She’s already bouncing excitedly.

“Un-cle Ollie? Uncle K-imi too?”

You laugh. “Yes, baby. They’ll be there.”

Randa hugs her goodbye but looks nervous — every maternal instinct on high alert. Still, she trusts you. Trusts Isack. Trusts the team. The SUV pulls up outside the paddock entrance. You expect security. What you don’t expect is… this.

Half the grid. Waiting outside the entrance. Lined up like a wall. Ready. Protective. Dead serious.

Ollie Bearman spots your SUV first. He waves both arms dramatically.

“There she is!! My favorite child in motorsport!”

Vivienne squeals and wiggles out of your arms and into his arms the second the car door opens. Ollie lifts her like she weighs nothing, swinging her around.

Kimi Antonelli steps forward next, putting a gentle hand on her back. “Hey, princess,” he says with a soft smile. “We missed you yesterday.”

Max Verstappen is already scanning the area like a security guard who wishes someone would try something.

Charles Leclerc cracks his knuckles. “Which reporter do we not like today?”

Gabriel nods solemnly. “All of them.”

George Russell crosses his arms. “Anyone comes close, we bark.”

“What?” Lando asks.

“We bark.”

And then—

They form a full circle around you. A moving shield. Paparazzi try to approach— Max steps left. Kimi steps right. Ollie’s already glaring. George actually growls once. (God knows why.)

Vivienne clings to Ollie’s neck, thrilled.

“Mama, look!”

You laugh softly. “You love Uncle Ollie.”

As you walk, you hear a thud. Max bodychecks a reporter who got too close.

“Oops,” Max says without a hint of remorse. “Watch where you’re walking.”

Kimi does it seconds later to another guy.

“Sorry,” he deadpans. “My shoulder slipped.”

It is beautiful chaos.

Once inside the garage, Isack is already in his race suit, zipper half-up, pacing nervously — until he sees Vivi in Ollie’s arms. His entire world lights up.

“Mon cœur!”

She launches at him, and he scoops her up instantly, lifting her high.

“You came,” he whispers into her neck. “Thank you.”

She cups his face with tiny hands. “Papa win?”

He laughs, eyes softening. “Always.”

You join them, smoothing his hair back, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips.

“For us,” you murmur.

“For my girls,” he corrects softly.

Lights out. The race is chaos from lap one. But Isack drives like a man on a mission. Clean. Sharp. Brilliant.

You watch from the private suite, Vivi on your lap with her headphones on, Yassine and Randa on either side.

When he makes the overtake for P1— the room erupts. When he crosses the finish line— you’re crying. Vivi’s babbling. Randa’s screaming in Arabic. Yassine has his hands over his face.

Isack won. His first ever F1 win.

He barely parks the car before ripping off his belts. He jumps out— And looks around wildly until he finds you.

You barely have time to step forward before he’s sprinting toward you, still in full gear, helmet half-off.

He crashes into you, arms wrapping around you and Vivi at the same time, lifting both of you into the air.

“I did it,” he breathes, forehead pressed to yours. “I did it for you.”

Vivi grabs his cheeks. “Papa won!”

He kisses her all over her face, tears in his eyes.

Then he kisses you — desperate, grateful, overflowing.

The other drivers swarm in too— Ollie lifts Vivi. Kimi hugs you both. Max pats Isack’s back and mutters, “About time.”

Charles ruffles Vivi’s hair. Lando takes twenty photos. George wipes his eyes dramatically.

It’s perfect. Wholesome. Loud. Chaotic. Family.

That night you all go to a quiet private restaurant — just his parents, a few trusted team members, and Isack’s inner circle. Vivienne sits between you and her grandpa, playing with her race car on the table.

At one point, Yassine gently taps your shoulder.

“Can we talk?” His voice is soft. Warm.

You nod, following him outside to a quiet balcony.

He takes a breath.

“I heard what your professor said this morning.”

Your heart stops.

“I— I didn’t want Isack to feel guilty—”

“He doesn’t,” Yassine says firmly. “He feels angry. I feel angry.”

You swallow.

“Yassine, you didn’t have to—”

“I did.” He smiles. “That woman has no business educating anyone’s daughter. Especially not mine.”

You blink. “Yours?”

He nods warmly.

“You are my daughter now. You have been since the moment you came into our lives. Since the moment you gave my son a family.”

Your eyes sting.

“So,” he continues casually, “I spoke with the university.”

You grip the railing. “Yassine—”

“She’s gone,” he says simply. “Fired. Effective immediately.”

Your jaw drops.

“And,” he adds with a small, proud smile, “I would like to offer you something.”

Your breath catches.

“A real internship. With me. Directly under my mentorship. You’d work on projects that actually matter. And you’d have flexibility — for school, for Vivienne, for life.”

You don’t speak. You can’t. You jump into his arms instead, hugging him tight.

“Thank you,” you whisper, tears slipping down your cheeks. “Thank you so much.”

He rubs your back gently.

“You deserve it,” he says. “And I take care of my children.”

You return to the table and sit beside Isack. He squeezes your thigh under the table.

“You okay?” he whispers.

You nod, smiling softly.

“More than okay.”

And when Vivi falls asleep in your lap, her curls all messy and her little drawing clutched in her hand—

Isack leans over and kisses your temple.

“I want every day to look like this,” he murmurs. “Win or lose. Good or bad. Just us. Always.”

You rest your head on his shoulder.

“Always.”

⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

yourusername

liked by kimi.antonelli, isackhadjar, lando, olliebearman and 10,005,000 others.

yourusername : our last few years in pictures<3 (ft uncle ollie!!!!)

tagged : isackhadjar and olliebearman

—

user has disabled comments on this post.

⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

several weeks later...

For the first time in months, everything feels quiet. Not empty — just peaceful. Your routine with Isack and Vivienne has settled into something warm, functional, and sweet in the way only a young little family can be. The media has calmed. Isack is collecting points and podiums like it’s nothing. And you’ve thrown yourself into your internship under Yassine, absolutely thriving.

Tonight, Randa and Yassine insisted on taking Vivienne for a sleepover.

A real night alone. Just you and your love. A simple night in. Well… that’s what you think.

You return from class, backpack slipping off your shoulder as you push open the bedroom door — and freeze.

Three gowns hang from the wardrobe door, shimmering under the soft light - a deep emerald silk, draping like water, a pale champagne corset gown with pearl detailing, a striking black velvet one-shoulder masterpiece. And pinned to the middle hanger is a small note in Isack’s handwriting:

Pick one. Car arrives at 7. — I

You groan into your hands, smiling so wide your cheeks hurt. Of course it’s something like this. Ever since you were fifteen, he has always been this way — the grand gestures, the surprises, the little ways he makes ordinary days feel like movie scenes.

You pick the champagne gown. It feels like a hint — a softness, a glow, a quiet promise you can’t quite explain.

The chauffeur practically treats you like royalty getting into the car. You laugh under your breath, already feeling butterflies.

The drive is familiar — the entirety of France at golden hour through the windows — until you pull into the courtyard of one of the most prestigious art galleries. You blink, confused.

The driver opens the door. And there he is.

Isack, in a dark suit that fits him obscenely well, leaning against the entrance with his hands in his pockets. His face softens the moment he sees you, jaw slackening.

“Mon dieu…” he exhales. “You’re… breathtaking.”

He kisses you on the cheek, lingering a little too long, as if trying to compose himself.

“Come on,” he murmurs, slipping his fingers through yours. “I want to show you something.”

The doors open and your breath completely leaves your body. Every wall — every panel, every spotlight — holds a photograph. Of you. Of Vivienne. Of you, Isack, and Vivi together. Some are candid, some artistic, some from moments you didn’t even know had been captured.

“Liam helped,” Isack says softly behind you. “He took most of them.”

You laugh breathlessly, tears already burning your eyes as you step toward the nearest display: a picture of you holding newborn Vivienne in the hospital, exhausted but glowing. Another of Isack kissing her tiny forehead. A third, the three of you asleep on the couch.

“Isack…” your voice cracks. “This is—this is incredible.”

He stands behind you, arms looping gently around your waist.

“I wanted you to see,” he murmurs against your shoulder, “how beautiful our life is.”

You turn the corner and see another wall — covered entirely in moments you didn’t know he adored: you in the kitchen with flour on your hands, you holding Vivienne at the beach, you asleep with your head on Isack’s chest, you cheering for him at his first ever F3 podium.

Then… You pause. One section of the wall is empty. A golden frame hangs there — blank.

“The only thing missing,” Isack says quietly behind you, voice suddenly trembling, “is wedding photos.”

You turn slowly. He’s no longer standing. He’s kneeling. Your hand flies to your mouth.

Isack is down on one knee, eyes already shiny, holding a ring so beautiful it almost glows. A delicate band, three small diamonds — simple, timeless, the exact style you once mentioned when you were sixteen and too shy to mean it seriously. He remembered.

He holds your hand with both of his, voice soft but steady:

“YN… I have loved you for half my life. Since the moment you walked into physics class with that ridiculous pink mechanical pencil and corrected the teacher.” He laughs shakily. “You have been my best friend, my home, the mother of the greatest miracle I’ve ever known. You make me braver. Kinder. Happier than I deserve.”

A tear slips down your cheek.

“I want to spend every day making sure you know how loved you are. I want to build a life with you — more than the one we already have.” His voice cracks. “Will you marry me?”

Your answer comes instantly, choked with emotion:

“Yes… yes, of course I will.”

He slips the ring on your finger with shaking hands.

From around the corner: A tiny squeal.

Both of you turn just in time to see Vivienne waddling as fast as she can toward you, curly hair bouncing, wearing a tiny white dress that’s slightly crooked on her.

She stumbles, then catches herself.

“MAMA!!”

You drop to your knees just in time for her to slam into your arms.

Isack joins the hug, burying his face in Vivi’s curls.

Your daughter notices the ring and gasps, grabbing your hand with her chubby fingers: “Pwetty…”

You laugh, crying again. Isack kisses her forehead, then yours.

Suddenly — a bunch of claps. You jump so hard you nearly fall backward as people flood out from behind the gallery curtains:

Ollie Bearman sprinting over yelling, “FINALLY! TOOK YOU LONG ENOUGH!”

Kimi Antonelli hugging you so tight your feet leave the ground. Isack’s parents beaming with pride.

Charles, Pierre, Max, Liam, Lando, George, Carlos — half the damn grid — all clapping, cheering, hollering.

Max pats Isack on the back and mutters, “Good man. About time.”

Ollie lifts Vivienne into the air and spins her until she giggles uncontrollably Randa wipes her tears. Yassine records everything on his phone.

You are surrounded — by love, by family, by every person who has been part of your story.

Isack takes your hand again, thumb brushing the new ring.

“You deserve magic,” he whispers against your temple. “I’ll spend the rest of my life giving it to you.”

And with Vivienne reaching between you to hold both your cheeks, the three of you press your foreheads together — a picture-perfect moment lit under the gallery lights.

A moment that will hang on your wall someday.

⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

isackhadjar

liked by yourusername, olliebearman, maxverstappen1 and 14,500,000 others.

isackhadjar : For the girl I’ve loved since 15: Thank you for giving me a family, a home, and a future I never dreamed I’d deserve. I can’t wait to marry you.

tagged : yourusername

—

user has disabled comments on this post.

⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

a glimpse into the hadjar wedding! 2 years later...

The morning of your wedding feels strangely calm. A soft kind of magic floats through the hotel suite — the kind that comes with realizing you are hours away from marrying the boy you met at fifteen, the boy who became the love of your life, the father of your daughter, your best friend.

Vivienne has her own suite across the hall — or more accurately, she has Ollie and Kimi chasing her around with tiny shoes, a half eaten croissant, and a flower crown she keeps putting on backwards.

You’re mid–lip gloss application when you hear a knock.

“Come in!” you call, assuming it’s a bridesmaid.

But instead, it’s Ollie, carrying a very wiggly Vivienne, followed by Kimi who has glitter on his cheek and the most helpless expression.

“Your daughter is feral,” Ollie announces. “We tried brushing her hair and she bit the brush.”

“She didn’t bite it,” Kimi insists. “She tried to eat it.”

Vivienne pops her head over Ollie’s shoulder and beams. “MOMMY!”

Every wag in the room — Alexandra, Lily, Carmen, Alicia — turns toward her with soft little “aww”s.

And then Ollie and Kimi’s eyes drift to you.

They both freeze. Actually freeze.

“Oh… wow,” Ollie breathes.

Kimi just blinks twice, stunned. “Isack’s going to die.”

You laugh, heat creeping into your cheeks as Randa gently finishes sliding your veil into your hair.

The room goes still. You look like a dream. And everyone knows it. Vivienne wiggles out of Ollie’s arms and sprints to you, almost tripping over her tiny flower girl shoes.

“Mommy, you look like a princess!” she squeals, grabbing your hands.

Your heart squeezes so hard you think it might burst. You scoop her up — very carefully — and pepper her face with kisses while whispering, “Thank you, mon ange,” trying your hardest not to smudge your makeup.

Your girls finish gathering their bouquets, each giving you a tight, emotional hug before heading out to line up.

“We’ll see you out there, love,” Carmen whispers.

“Try not to cry all your makeup off!” Lily giggles.

Alexandra kisses your cheek. “You’re about to have your perfect day. Enjoy all of it.”

They slip out.

Ollie kisses your cheek, dramatic and loud. “Let’s go get married, girl. He’s been pacing for like an hour.”

Kimi hugs you with surprising gentleness. “I’m proud of you,” he murmurs before following Vivi out.

Suddenly the room is quiet again.

Randa smooths the sides of your dress and holds your hands. Her eyes shine. “You have no idea how grateful I am that my son found you. And how grateful I am that you found us. You deserve all of this.”

You hug her tightly, and she kisses your forehead before leaving.

Then it’s just you and Yassine.

He steps into the room wearing his suit, and the moment he sees you — he stops. Breath caught. Eyes misting instantly.

“Oh, mon coeur…” he whispers, placing a hand over his heart. “You look like the daughter I never knew I needed.”

You swallow the lump in your throat as you hug him, his arms strong around you.

“Thank you for raising the man I’m marrying today,” you whisper.

He squeezes your hand.

“Thank you for loving him — and for giving us Vivienne.”

He offers you his arm.

“Ready?”

You nod. Music swells. The doors open. And there he is — Isack — standing at the altar, chest rising and falling unevenly.

He takes one look at you and breaks.

His eyes fill instantly, lips parting as though he physically can’t breathe at the sight.

You hear a tiny gasp from the front.

“Mommy so pretty!” Vivienne announces proudly from between Ollie and Kimi, who are holding both her hands.

The entire room melts into soft laughter. Isack wipes a tear, still staring at you like you’re the only thing in the world. Yassine gives your hand one last squeeze before placing it in Isack’s.

“Take care of each other,” he whispers.

“Always,” Isack answers without hesitation.

Your vows are soft. Emotional. Honest. Isack cups your cheek as he speaks, thumb brushing the corner of your eye.

“I loved you before I had words for love. I loved you when we were kids dreaming about a future. I loved you when we were terrified and tired and suddenly parents. And I’ll love you through every version of this life we build — no matter how it changes. You and Vivienne are my home. My whole world.”

You barely get through yours, voice shaking as you look at him.

“You’ve been my choice since I was fifteen. My comfort. My courage. My safe place. You gave me a family. You gave me a home when I lost mine. And you gave me the greatest joy of my life — our daughter. I choose you today and every day after. For the rest of our lives.”

Vivienne claps enthusiastically, causing the whole room to laugh softly. When you kiss Isack, he cups your face with both hands and dips you slightly, like he’s waited years for this moment. And he has.

There’s a quiet hallway behind the venue, lit only by soft golden lights.

Isack pulls you into it, one hand still intertwined with yours, the other on your waist.

“Madame Hadjar,” he whispers against your forehead, voice thick with emotion. “I’ve been waiting so long to call you that.”

You laugh softly, brushing your thumb across his cheek.

“You’re stuck with me now,” you tease.

He kisses you again — slow, deep, full of everything he can’t put into words.

“I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

Later, under a canopy of twinkling lights, you and Isack step onto the dance floor for your first dance. But before the first chorus even hits, you feel a tiny tug on your dress. Vivienne stands there, starry-eyed, holding her arms up.

Isack chuckles.

“Come here, princesse.”

You lift her between you, her little arms wrapping around both your necks.

And just like that, your first dance becomes a family dance — slow, sweet, perfect. Isack kisses your temple. Vivienne rests her cheek on your shoulder. Your hand finds his heart.

Everything feels full circle. Everything feels right. This is the forever you always hoped for.

isack and kimi’s private messages

isackhadjar

isackhadjar working with my chidhood hero, dreams come true! @lewishamilton 🐐

❤️ liked by lewishamilton and 2,1 M others

lewishamilton good luck kid 👊🏻 ❤️ by author

user8 this is so heartwarming

user9 father and son

user10 cute

user11 the goatss

F1 our favorite duo! ❤️

user12 guys have u seen his and y/n’s beef on twitter 😭?

⤷ user13 I WAS CRYING AT Y/N’S RESPONSE

⤷ user14 She’s so sassy i love her

⤷ user15 got it after her dad

user16 isack having secret lewis glazing account on twitter just makes sense

user17 is he trying to get y/n’s response again lol

⤷ user18 definitely

ynrosberg

ynrosberg always and forever my hero ❤️🐐

❤️ liked by kimiantonelli and 732,5 K others

nicorosberg ❤️❤️ ❤️ by author

user19 the best father&daughter duo

user20 she’s definitely daddy’s girl 🥹

user21 STOP IS THIS RESPONSE TO ISACK’S POST 😭

⤷ user22 i think so, she posted it 20 minutes after isack posted his photo + the goat emoji which she uses ironically only lol

user23 the first photo 😂

user24 this beef is such a nonsense but i love it tbh

⤷ user25 why are they even beefing in the first place

⤷ user26 simply cuz he is lewis fan who thinks 2016 was robbery and she’s nico’s daughter and defends her dad 🤷🏻‍♀️

⤷ user27 the lovestory is literally writing itself

user28 we might experience the best enemies to lovers in history btw

y/n and isack’s private messages

ynrosberg

ynrosberg 19 🩵 (no fight happened)

❤️ liked by isackhadjar and 999,9 K others

nicorosberg you’re growing up so fast, happy birthday and i love you ❤️❤️ ❤️ by author

⤷ ynrosberg thank you dad 🫶🏻

user29 happy birthday y/n !! 🎉🎉

kimiantonelli happy birthday! 🎂 you’re officially the same age as me again 😒 ❤️ by author

⤷ ynrosberg thank you diva 🙂‍↕️

user30 the cake is so perfect

user31 blue suits you girl !!

isackhadjar happy birthday

⤷ ynrosberg thanks

⤷ user32 ARIANA WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE

⤷ user33 LMAO THEY’RE SO NONCHALANT

user34 wdym NO FIGHT HAPPENED? WHY THERE WOULD BE A FIGHT 😭😭

user35 why does Isack suddenly like and comments on her post?

⤷ user36 have u ever heard enemies to lovers ?

user37 you’re so prettyy

isackhadjar posted a story!

y/n and isack’s private messages

y/n posted a story!

ynrosberg

ynrosberg plot twist

❤️ liked by isackhadjar and 1,3 M others

isackhadjar what a privilege to be posted by you babe ❤️ i love you ❤️ by author

⤷ ynrosberg i know, i love you too😘

⤷ user38 “I know” LMAOOO

nicorosberg such a nice guy 👍

⤷ lewishamilton he's still my fan

⤷ user39 HELLO? Brocedes in the big 2025

user40 caption did not in fact disappoint

kimiantonelli i ship

⤷ isackhadjar we know mate

⤷ ynrosberg it’s your fault anyway

user41 dare I say kimi is the strongest isackyn soldier

user42 is he rosberg fan now?

⤷ ynrosberg yes

⤷ isackhadjar no

user43 best couple of paddock

⤷ user44 fr they're so goofy

© norrisxcx 2025

The hum of the aircraft engines was a lullaby against your ear, but sleep was a distant country you couldn't reach. Every fiber of your being thrummed with a different kind of energy, a potent mix of excitement and trepidation.

You were flying to the Netherlands, and Isack had no idea. It was a secret mission, meticulously planned over weeks of stolen moments and coded messages with a sympathetic member of his support team.

Your heart, a frantic hummingbird, was convinced it would betray you at any moment.

You pulled out your phone, the screen lighting up his latest Instagram post. A shot from practice, helmet off, a determined glint in his eyes.

He looked tired, but focused, the weight of the upcoming Grand Prix evident even through a photograph.

You had messaged him earlier, a casual "Good luck this weekend, mon amour! Thinking of you always," carefully crafted to avoid any suspicion.

He’d replied with a simple heart emoji and a "Merci, ma chérie. Je t'appelle après la course." I'll call you after the race.

A call he wouldn’t be expecting to take in person, in the flesh, in his arms.

The decision to surprise him had been spurred by countless, quiet evenings spent staring at your phone, longing for his presence. The F1 season was relentless, a whirlwind of travel, media, and intense competition that left little room for anything else.

You missed his laugh, the way his hand found yours without thought, the easy comfort of his silence. He’d been consistent, fast, hungry for a major result.

You just had a feeling. A gut instinct that told you this was the moment to be there, even if only as a silent, unseen guardian angel.

Landing at Schiphol, the Dutch air was cool and crisp, a stark contrast to the stifling heat of your last shared holiday. You collected your small carry-on, careful not to draw attention, and navigated your way to the train that would take you towards Zandvoort.

The coastal town was quaint, already buzzing with the distant murmur of race fans, a sea of orange and team colours.

You’d booked a small, discreet hotel a short drive from the circuit, one that Isack’s team wouldn’t typically use. Anonymity was key.

The next day, you felt like a spy. You dressed casually, a large pair of sunglasses masking your eyes, a team cap pulled low. Your contact, a bubbly young woman named Sophie from Isack’s PR team, met you at a pre-arranged, out-of-the-way café. She was beaming, clearly thrilled to be part of the deception.

"Il n'a aucune idée, ma belle," Sophie whispered, pulling you into a quick hug. "Il est tellement concentré." He has no idea, my dear. He’s so focused.

"Parfait," you grinned, a nervous flutter in your stomach. "Je veux que ce soit une surprise totale." Perfect. I want it to be a total surprise.

Sophie had managed to secure you a pass for a general viewing area, tucked away but with a decent view of the main straight and the podium.

It wouldn't put you in the paddock, but it would let you feel the roar of the engines, the electric charge of the crowd.

Race day dawned with a clear, blue sky, promising perfect conditions. The air vibrated with anticipation. You ate a quick, tasteless breakfast, your stomach too knotted with nerves.

What if he had a bad race? What if he crashed? The thought was a cold knot in your chest.

But then, an image of his determined face flashed in your mind, and you pushed the anxieties away. He was a fighter.

You arrived at the circuit early, blending into the surging crowd. The scent of hot asphalt, exhaust fumes, and the sweet, sugary smell of Dutch stroopwafels filled the air.

You found your spot, a railing overlooking the final corner, close enough to hear the commentary over the loudspeakers, though it was mostly drowned out by the sheer, deafening volume of the cars themselves.

The pre-race buzz was intoxicating. The pitlane bustling, the grid forming, the national anthem echoing across the dunes. You saw Isack on the giant screen, standing stoically beside his car, his helmet already on.

He looked calm, collected, a picture of intense focus. Your heart swelled with pride and a fierce, unyielding love.

The lights went out. The roar was deafening, a primeval scream that shook the ground beneath your feet. The cars launched forward, a blur of colour and speed.

You leaned against the railing, your knuckles white, your eyes glued to the track where a tiny speck, designated by a number you knew by heart, was battling for position.

The race unfolded with breathtaking intensity. Isack was magnificent. He was aggressive but precise, making daring overtakes, defending fiercely.

He was holding his own, climbing positions. Lap after lap, your hopes soared. He was in the top five, then the top four.

The commentators, speaking in rapid Dutch, sounded increasingly excited, their voices rising with each pass.

You found yourself gasping, cheering, even letting out a silent scream when a rival tried an audacious move. Your eyes barely blinked, tracking his every move.

He was pushing the car to its absolute limits, dancing on the edge of disaster with exquisite control.

Then, with just a few laps to go, a car ahead of him had a mechanical issue, forcing it to retire. And just like that, Isack was in third position.

Your breath hitched. Third. A podium. Your hand flew to your mouth, stifling a cry.

Could he hold it? The final laps stretched into an eternity. Every corner was an agony, every straight a prayer.

The checkered flag waved.

He crossed the line.

Third.

The roar from the crowd was immense, a cascade of pure, unadulterated joy. But for you, it was a silence, a moment of profound, disbelieving awe.

Tears welled in your eyes, hot and fast, blurring your vision. He’d done it. His first F1 podium. And you were here.

You fumbled for your phone, hands shaking, sending a quick, breathless text to Sophie: "Il l'a fait!! Mon Dieu, il l'a fait!" He did it!! My God, he did it!

Her reply was instant: "Je sais! C'est le moment! Rendez-vous au point de rencontre." I know! This is the moment! Meet me at the rendezvous point.

Navigating the jubilant crowd was a challenge, but your adrenaline propelled you forward.

You met Sophie at a side entrance, your face still streaked with tears. She pulled you into a tight hug.

"Félicitations, ma belle! Et maintenant, au champion!" Sophie laughed, pulling you through a secure door, the sounds of the post-race celebrations growing louder. Congratulations, my dear! And now, to the champion!

You were led down a corridor, past buzzing media crews and excited team members. Your heart pounded against your ribs, a frantic drumbeat. This was it. The moment.

Sophie stopped outside a door, taking a deep breath. "Il est fou de joie. Prépare-toi." He’s ecstatic. Get ready. She gave you a conspiratorial wink, then knocked.

A moment later, the door swooshed open. Isack, his face flushed with elation, a champagne bottle still clutched in one hand, was standing there.

His racing suit was unzipped to his waist, his hair damp from sweat, his eyes still sparkling with the thrill of victory.

He was laughing, talking animatedly to someone inside the room, but then his gaze flickered to you.

His smile faltered. His eyes, usually so quick to recognize you, narrowed slightly in confusion.

He took a half-step back, as if he needed to verify what he was seeing.

"Q-Qu'est-ce que tu fais ici?" he stammered, his French laced with disbelief, the champagne bottle nearly slipping from his grasp. What are you doing here?

You couldn't speak, a lump in your throat. You just stood there, tears of joy still tracking paths down your cheeks, a tentative smile gracing your lips.

His eyes widened, the recognition finally dawning, chasing away the shock. "Mon amour?" he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

He dropped the champagne bottle with a clatter, uncaring, and launched himself forward. You met him halfway, throwing your arms around his neck, burying your face in his shoulder.

The smell of him – sweat, exhaust fumes, champagne, and that uniquely Isack scent you adored – enveloped you.

His arms squeezed around your waist so tightly it nearly took your breath away. He lifted you off your feet, spinning you gently, his laugh a pure, joyous sound that vibrated through your entire body.

"Tu es là?" he murmured into your hair, still sounding utterly floored. You're here?

"Oui, je suis là," you choked out, your voice muffled. Yes, I’m here.

You pulled back just enough to look at his face, framed by soft dark curls. His eyes were bright, glistening with tears of his own. You reached up, cupping his jaw, and he leaned into your touch.

"Félicitations, mon champion," you whispered, your voice thick with unshed emotion. "C'est incroyable. Magnifique." Congratulations, my champion. It's incredible. Magnificent.

He didn't answer with words. Instead, his lips found yours. It was a kiss born of surprise and elation, of longing and relief, of shared triumph and overwhelming love.

His mouth was soft and firm, tasting faintly of champagne and pure happiness. He kissed you deeply, hungrily, as if trying to commit the moment to memory, as if he couldn't quite believe you were real.

You responded with equal fervour, pouring all your unspoken love and pride into the embrace.

Your fingers tangled in his damp hair, tugging gently, as his hands slid down your back, pressing you impossibly closer.

The world outside, the cheers, the flashing cameras, the celebratory chaos – it all faded into a distant hum. There was only Isack. Only you.

When he finally pulled back, gasping slightly, his forehead rested against yours. "Je n'arrive pas à y croire," he breathed, his eyes still closed. "Tu es là. Et un podium. C'est le meilleur jour de ma vie." I can't believe it. You're here. And a podium. This is the best day of my life.

You chuckled, a shaky, happy sound. "Je savais que tu pouvais le faire. Je suis tellement fière de toi." I knew you could do it. I'm so proud of you.

He opened his eyes, his gaze intense, full of a love that stole your breath. "Mais comment… Comment es-tu arrivée ici?" But how… How did you get here?

You grinned. "C'était un secret. Une surprise. Sophie m'a aidée." You gestured vaguely behind you, remembering his PR manager’s vital role. It was a secret. A surprise. Sophie helped me.

He turned slightly, pulling you with him into the room, where a few close team members and Sophie were watching with knowing smiles.

"Sophie! Tu étais dans le coup?" he exclaimed, a playful glint in his eye. Sophie! You were in on it?

Sophie just laughed, raising her hands in mock surrender. "Il était temps, Isack. Tu avais tellement besoin d'elle." It was time, Isack. You needed her so much.

He pulled you closer, wrapping an arm securely around your waist, his thumb stroking your hip. "Oui, c'est vrai," he murmured, his gaze sweeping over your face. "Tu m'as manqué tellement, mon amour." Yes, it's true. I missed you so much, my love.

"Tu m'as manqué aussi, plus que tout," you confessed, leaning into his warmth. I missed you too, more than anything.

He turned back to you fully, his eyes alight with a mixture of joy, exhaustion, and adoration. "Viens ici," he whispered, pulling you into another kiss, softer this time, a promise of quiet moments to come.

This one was slow, deep, savouring the taste of him, the feel of his lips, the sheer impossible reality of him being right here.

The team eventually started to disperse, offering quick congratulations to Isack and a few amused glances at your intertwined presence.

Sophie gave you a final wave and a thumbs-up as she left.

Finally, you were alone in the small driver’s room. Isack sank onto a plush couch, pulling you down with him, your head resting on his chest.

He sighed, a sound of profound contentment, and wrapped both arms around you.

"Je n'aurais jamais pu imaginer un jour comme celui-ci," he murmured, his voice rumbling against your ear. "Un podium… et toi ici pour le voir." I never could have imagined a day like this. A podium… and you here to see it.

You tilted your head back, looking up at him. "Moi non plus. Mais je suis si heureuse d'être là. Pour toi." Me neither. But I'm so happy to be here. For you.

He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, then your nose, then your lips once more, lingering, savouring. "C'est le plus beau cadeau," he said, his voice thick with emotion. It's the most beautiful gift.

You traced the line of his jaw, feeling the slight stubble. "Je n'ai pas pu résister. L'idée de te voir et de t'embrasser… c'était trop fort." I couldn't resist. The idea of seeing you and kissing you… it was too strong.

He chuckled softly, pulling you tighter. "Je suis tellement content que tu n'aies pas résisté." I'm so glad you didn't resist. He kissed the top of your head, then rested his chin there.

"Maintenant, nous avons quelque chose à fêter. Ensemble." Now, we have something to celebrate. Together.

The world outside could clamour for his attention, for interviews, for celebrations. But for now, in this quiet room, with the scent of his victory still clinging to him, it was just the two of you.

His arms were your safe harbour, his presence the greatest prize.

You closed your eyes, feeling the steady beat of his heart against your cheek. The secret journey, the nervous anticipation, the tears of pride – it was all worth it. More than worth it.

Because standing there, on the precipice of his F1 dreams, Isack Hadjar had found his way to his first podium, and you, his unexpected surprise, were right there to share his victory, sealed with a kiss, in the language of your shared love. . . .

Obviously, you knew he was hot. Anyone with eyes and a brain saw the fact that he was conventionally attractive. But you never had that switch in your mind that your other friends had with their guy friends. They spoke about it like some day they just started seeing them differently. Like it was quick. Like it was a snap of fingers, and suddenly you're in love with him. It wasn’t the same for you. Isack was just… Isack. Your Isack. The Isack who bought you ice cream and held your hand walking down the streets of Venice, and that same Isack who would push you into the bushes in his back garden when you raced each other. He hadn’t changed much, just got taller, his voice got deeper, and he was an F1 driver. You hadn’t changed much either, ass and tits, hair longer than when you were five, and you finally didn’t work on the other side of the world, you were in Paris and he was in Monaco. 

“Come to Monaco,” he begged over the phone. “I’m so bored on my own and it’s so weird here.”

“I literally told you so, Isack,” you chuckled. “And anyway, I’ve a date this weekend, so I’m busy.”

He stopped. “A date? Like with a guy?” he asked. “Why do you have a date?”

You scoffed. “Wow, thanks. And it’s just this guy who asked for my number at work. He’s sweet.” 

“Seriously?” he scoffed. You didn’t notice the way his chest tightened and his jaw clenched. You didn’t see the way his breath hitched. “Just reschedule, please. I want you here.”

A younger you would’ve given in with the way he pouted, but you had a date. A date you wanted to attend. “No can-do pretty boy,” you shook your head, and he nearly passed out from the pet name. You didn’t see it, but caught a glimpse of the time. “Oh shit, I better go. Work,” you sighed, getting up. You didn’t wait for an answer. “Love you,” you smiled into your phone camera and hung up, knowing he'd say it back. 

“You’re so fucked for her, aren’t you?” Liam chuckled, sitting beside Isack. It pulled him out of the small world he created on the phone with you. When he saw your apartment, he just thought of the nights he spent there, the smell of the vanilla candles, the warm lights, the wool blankets, you. Isack groaned, putting his phone back into his pocket and looking at his hands. He didn’t like to talk about it. He didn’t really know what to say about it. “Talk,” Liam shrugged. “What’s going on?” “Nothing,” he shrugged. “That’s the problem.” 

“She doesn’t like you back?” he asked, cracking open a can of redbull and handing it to him, then opening one for himself. 

He sighed. “She doesn’t. She doesn’t notice me. I’m just her best friend.” 

“Have you talked to her about it?” Liam asked. 

“How am I supposed to admit something like that?” he questioned. “What if she hates me and doesn’t ever want to talk to me again? What if I lose her completely?”

It was his worst fear. More scary than crashing the car, than losing his seat, than anything. He couldn’t lose you. He refused. 

“I think you need to evaluate what you want and whether or not you can keep going like this,” Liam offered. “And I’m happy to listen more, if you need it.” 

Since when was Liam so philosophical? He listened to Zach Bryan for god’s sake. He got up, tapped Isack on the shoulder, and left him to ruminate. 

He remembered the exact moment he’d fallen for you. You were 15. You had come to visit him at Spa for one of his F4 races, and he’d won. He ran out of the car. You were waiting at the barrier. He couldn’t keep his eyes off you. You stood there, looking so proud, so caring, so you. He couldn’t get enough. He’d race the hell out of any car anyone handed him if it meant he saw that look on your face. And you’d hugged him. You’d kissed his cheek. You stayed up all night celebrating and fell asleep beside him. You didn’t question the way he was looking at you, because maybe he’d always looked at you like that. Maybe it was just him realising then.

But you didn’t feel the same, and that was fine. He didn’t care. Well, he cared a lot, but he wasn’t going to make it your problem. 

Quali was long and which was good and bad. Good, because it meant he was starting 4th in Monaco, which was incredible. Bad, because it meant he didn’t have his phone on him to track your location and watch your date play out in real time. Which is a totally normal thing to do, right?

He jumped out of the car, searching for Liam, or Ollie, or someone to talk to about how shitty the tires would be the next day, but he turned his head to the left and caught a glimpse of a face he knew all too well. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?!” he practically squealed. Ollie would have laughed, but he didn’t care. He wrapped his arm around your waist, lifting you up and against him. “Holy shit,” he breathed into your hair. Like he didn’t believe you were real. Like he couldn’t trust his senses. 

And it was like your eyes opened. 

You liked sleeping in the same bed as Isack. You like brushing your teeth beside him. You like the way he treats you. You liked the way he had kissed you on your 18th birthday when you were both wine drunk in Paris, walking along the river. 

You froze for a moment. You didn’t let him go. He didn’t seem to care, though he untucked his head from your neck and stared at you, confused. “Are you alright?” he asked, his face changing to panic. “Y/n.”

“You’re incredible!” you shook yourself back into the moment, as if you hadn’t just had the most insane realisation of your life. “4th in fucking Monaco!” 

He chuckled, his panic easing. “I know right,” he smirked. “I might just have to be your favourite driver now.”

“Of course you are,” you rolled your eyes. “Always have been,” he didn’t recognise the way you were looking at him, but he welcomed it all the same. “Come on, let’s get you something to eat.”

“You’re quiet,” he whispered, nudging your arm with his own. The paddock was loud and full of his name, but he still noticed you. Well, it would be hard no to, for him. “What’s up?”

You looked down, seeing where your foot collided with his in a constant, soft game of footsies. “Nothing, the sky,” you listed, stifling a giggle. He rolled his eyes and looked up, sighing. It gave you time to look at him. Notice the way his neck had gotten bigger, see the progress he’d made with his training, observe his bulging biceps and arms. Holy shit you had it bad for him, maybe all your mates were right? No, it couldn’t be. Because it wasn’t fast. You’d slowly fallen for him, over a matter of years. Slowly, you’d gotten used to the small things he does for you, you appreciated the hugs and cheek kisses, the protective arm around your shoulder every now and then, that stupid laugh you’d fallen so hard for. It wasn’t this quick, free-fall. It was slow, like a leaf falling down in the autumn wind. It was different. It was Isack. “I don’t know. This weekend just feels… different. Maybe you’ll get on that podium.” 

He chuckled, turning to face you. “I think something’s gone to your head,” he teased. “You sure it’s redbull in that can?”

You scoffed, playfully pushing him. “Never say never. Some things change, even when we don’t expect them too.” 

He stared at you, seeing that look in your eye again. “We’re alright?” he questioned. 

You nodded. “Always.” 

And once again, you walked away, leaving Isack all alone with his feelings. Liam always walked by at the right time, it was disturbing. “She’s in love with you, mate.” 

Isack jumped, not hearing his teammate join him on the bench (he was too busy looking at you longingly). “What the fuck-?!”

“She has it bad for you mate, I know these things,” he nodded. “You should ask her out, she’ll say yes.” 

“Do you remember any of our conversation from the other day?” He stared at him in disbelief as Liam shrugged. “And, I didn’t even think she was coming this weekend so what has changed between then and now, huh?” he questioned, his accent coming out the more he spoke. 

Liam cleared his throat. “Exactly mate, you’re welcome,” he smiled. “Nothing like an unrequited love story in Monaco, anything can happen here.”

“You brought her here?” Isack’s jaw dropped. “For what?!”

“For you, you fucking loser,” Liam chuckled. “Talk to her! Ask her out! Take control of your destiny!” the more he spoke the less Isack knew what he was saying. He stared at him dumbstruck as he walked off, winking at him. 

What a strange weekend. 

Every bone in his body ached to fall into bed, but he just couldn’t sleep. He’d tried everything. Meditation. Breathing exercises. Tea. that navy sleep technique. Visualisations. And now, walking the dark streets of Monaco. The barriers were up. The fanstands were empty, but by tomorrow morning they’d be full. And he’d be in a car on the second row. Part of him couldn’t believe it. Part of him didn’t want to. He had trouble sometimes with taking pride in his work, maybe because in his mind it was an obligation more than an ambition. He didn’t think he’d be truly happy with his career until he lifted that Championship trophy. It didn’t matter how many races he won, how many people called him the goat, or what people said about him. If he didn’t have that trophy it wasn’t worth it. His life’s work wasn’t worth it. And that scared the shit out of him. 

“Fancy meeting you here,” you spoke and he turned his head in disbelief. “Missed me too much already?” 

You had gone to bed earlier than him, and he didn’t have a chance to offer you his bed. Which was fine. But there you were, standing there in the streets he knew like the back of his hand (well, the hairpin he knew like the back of his hand), wearing your pyjamas out in the mild Monaco air. You couldn’t have looked more beautiful. He took a deep breath. “Always,” he smirked, walking up to you. “What are you doing out here so late?”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Do you always have to be so protective?” you chuckled. “I couldn’t sleep.”

You started walking in step with each other, your hand wrapping around his arm as you spoke. He cleared his throat. “Worried about tomorrow?” he asked, watching your side profile as you kept your eyes ahead. 

You turned to him. “Isn’t that supposed to be my line?” 

There was humor in your voice but it fell flat against the tension between the two of you. He was close. Too close. So close. You could feel his breath on your cheek, and he didn’t step back. He just kept staring. Staring and staring at your face as if he hadn’t seen it a thousand and one times. Like he didn’t know the layout of it like he knew the layout of the track beside you. The streetlamps illuminated his eyes, the perfect shade of brown. God, you could’ve just gotten lost in that moment, staring at him, when saying nothing truly meant everything.

He leaned over and his lips met yours. Not like it was planned but, not like it wasn’t either. Just simple, passionate, soft, and delicate. His hand cupped your cheek like he’d bruise it if he touched you too roughly. You didn’t mind. You kissed him back, gently running your hands through his hair as you felt yourself back up against a barrier. He didn’t stop and neither did you. 

“I love you,” he breathed out against your lips, not thinking clearly. He was drunk off the taste of you, off the moment. “I’ve loved you for a long time.” 

You didn’t answer right away, slightly shocked at the confession. People had mentioned it, pointed it out, or blatantly told you that he was in love with you. You didn’t take it to heart. It was hard not to when his hands were on your face as he kissed you against a barrier in Monaco. Your hands fisted his t-shirt, pulling him closer. “I love you too,” your voice was barely above a whisper, but he heard it. He always did. 

He pulled back with that soft smile on his face, fixing your pyjamas slightly. He looked at you with all the care in the world, but then again, he always did. 

navigation for my blog :)

It was a bit bigger than the one you had, but the designs were matching, and he quickly noted how you’d crocheted the letter 6 into one of the squares instead of the regular daisy. His heart melted right then and there. 

You didn’t think it was such a big deal, as the hat only took a few days to make, and you enjoyed every second of it, knowing how adorable you both would look in the matching hats. But to Isack? The little bucket hat is now worth more to him than all the designer clothes in the world. And he could never leave the house without it. At first you’re a little embarrassed when he’s insistent on wearing it to the paddock, but there’s also no chance you would be able to convince him otherwise, so you’re forced to go along with it. 

Every person attending the Miami grand prix who notes the different hat he’s wearing, compliments it, or even glances in the general direction of it is quickly hearing the same words fall out of his mouth. 

“Isn’t it so adorable? My girlfriend made it for me. Isn’t she so talented?” 

The fans, of course, are just as in love with it as he is, especially when the instagram posts come in. He takes a million pictures, the hat perfectly matching the bright pink VCARB gear special for Miami. It’s all over the team instagram, and his personal one too. He sneaks in a few couple pictures too— the need to show off the matching hats too strong. 

Of course all the fans are screaming and crying over the photos; especially the one on the final slide of his personal post, where he's kissing your cheek mid smile. Out of all the drivers on the grid, Isack is one of the louder ones about his girlfriend. He doesn’t miss a chance to bring you up or boast about you, especially when he has the hat you made on his head.

Race weekends were always alive on the paddock, buzzing with movement, voices, and the rumble of engines warming up. Isack had gotten used to tuning it out, to filtering through the noise until only the important things remained. But even he couldn’t help glancing over his shoulder every few minutes, eyes searching for her.

She was there, of course, leaning against one of the timing monitors, her hair pulled back messily, tablet in hand. She worked with the engineering team, double-checking telemetry like she always did before FP2. It was routine by now, her calm precision in the middle of the hectic garage, his quiet comfort in knowing she was nearby.

Liam wandered over, waving a bottle of water at Isack. “She dedicated, huh?” He said, nodding toward her with a grin. “Didn’t even look up when I said hi.”

Isack’s lips twitched. “Yeah, she’s focused. Always is.”

He didn’t explain the rest, that sometimes focus was her way of keeping steady. That it helped her manage things most people never noticed. He had learned to read the subtle signs over the months: the way her eyes went slightly out of sync when fatigue hit, the way she started rubbing at her wrist absently, grounding herself.

She hadn’t said much that morning, just a few quiet words between coffee sips and schedules. He knew she had a bad sleep the night before, the kind that wasn’t really sleep at all. He could tell by the faint tremor in her hands when she typed.

Still, she insisted on coming. “I’ll be fine,” she had said. “It’s a light day.”

But when she blinked slower and longer than before, he knew what was about to happen.

Liam followed his gaze. “Is she okay?”

Her voice faded mid-sentence, the tablet slipping from her hand. She slumped back in the chair, head tilting slightly to the side, eyes closed but body still upright, like her mind had just shut off mid-thought.

Liam froze. “Shit– what's happening?”

Isack’s hand was already reaching out, catching the tablet before it hit the floor. He crouched down beside her, his movements smooth and practiced, as if he had done this a hundred times before.

“It’s okay,” he said quietly, glancing up at Liam. “She’s just asleep.”

Liam blinked, incredulous. “Asleep? Like right now?”

“Yeah,” Isack said, his voice calm, almost gentle. “Narcolepsy. She’ll wake up soon.”

Liam hesitated, looking between them, unsure of what to do with his hand. “Oh. I– sorry, I didn’t know.”

“Not many people do.” Isack smiled faintly, sitting on the floor beside her chair, one hand resting loosely over her knee, not wanting to wake her, but just let her know that he was there. “It’s fine. It doesn’t last long.”

Around them, a few team members noticed but didn’t stare. Most of them had seen it before. I was rare, but not unexpected. And because Isack never made a scene, no one else did either.

Liam crouched awkwardly nearby. “You don’t look worried.”

“I was, at first,” Isack admitted softly, glancing up. “The first time it happened, I panicked. I thought–” He paused, the memory flashing briefly behind his eyes. “But then she taught me what to do. Or really, what not to do. Just let her be. She’ll wake up in her own time.”

Liam nodded slowly, watching as Isack adjusted the headset that had slipped sideways on her neck. There was something deeply tender in his movements, careful and unhurried, the way you’d handle something fragile, not because it might break, but because it mattered too much to rush.

A few minutes passed. The noise of the paddock filled the silence again. Someone shouted for a wheel gun. A camera clicked. Life went on, as it always did.

Then, she stirred.

“Hey, there you are,” Isack said, his familiar French accent being the first thing she heard. “Welcome back.”

Her eyes blinked open, confused for a second, before they found him. “Hi…”

“It was only a few minutes this time.” Isack told her before she had a chance to ask the question.

She groaned, rubbing at her face. “God. I’m sorry. Again.”

“Stop,” he said instantly. “Don’t apologise. You know the rule.”

That earned him a tired laugh. “Right. No sorrys for sleeping mid-sentence.”

“Exactly.”

She sat up a little, eyes darting around, noticing Liam for the first time. “Oh God– did you see that?”

“Uh yeah,” Liam said awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. “But it’s cool. Isack explained.”

“Explained, or terrified you?” She teased, voice still sleepy but warm.

“Little of both,” Liam admitted, but his grin softened. “You’re good now?”

She nodded, grateful. “Yeah. Just… a bit dazed.”

Isack helped her stand, keeping a steadying hand at her back as they stepped away from the monitors. He guided her toward a quieter corner of the garage, away from the hum of engines. “Come on,” he murmured. “You need a few minutes.”

Liam watched them go, something like admiration flickering across his face. It wasn’t pity but respect. For how Isack had been and how normal he had made it feel.

~~~

Ten minutes later, she was sitting on the steps outside the hospitality unit, a cold drink in her hands, sunlight warming her skin. Isack sat beside her, elbows resting on his knees.

“You handled that like a pro,” she said, still sounding half-amazed.

He chuckled. “I’ve had practice.”

She tilted her head towards him. “You could have freaked out in front of half the paddock.”

“Yeah,” he said simply. “But what would that do for you?”

That was the thing about Isack, he never treated it like it was a spectacle. Never flinched, never made her feel like she was something to fix. He just adapted. Learned the signs, learned her rhythm, learned how to steady the world until she came back to it.

She nudged him softly with her shoulder. “You make it look easy.”

“It’s not hard,” he said, turning to meet her eyes. “It’s just part of you.”

Her throat tightened, emotion catching her by surprise. She reached for his hand, fingers weaving through his, grounding herself there.

“Do you ever wish you didn’t have to deal with it?” She asked quietly.

He didn’t even hesitate. “No, I just wish it was easier for you.”

That answer made something ache in her chest in the best way - the kind of ache that came from really being seen. She leaned her head against his shoulder, exhaling slowly.

From a few metres away, Liam caught sight of them again as he passed, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “You two are disgustingly sweet,” he muttered before disappearing inside.

Isack only laughed, brushing his thumb over her knuckles. “You okay to go back in soon?”

She nodded, “Yeah. Just one more minute.”

“Take two,” he said softly. “We’re not rushing.”

She closed her eyes, not asleep this time, just resting. Isack sat there beside her, content to waist as the paddock noise faded away, a world that could spin as fast as it wanted, because for this moment, they had found stillness.

© rosietoesf1 — please do not repost, translate, or copy without permission ♡

Liked by isackhadjar,user731,and others yourusername Sundays are for poetry, coffee, and race days 🏁 imola didn’t disappoint..

View all comments

user1 the multitasking is unmatched user2 guys isack hadjar liked this like IMMEDIATELY user3 wait she watches f1 😭 ⤷ user4 oh you must be new here 🙃 ⤷ yourusername keeps me mentally sane for the entire week 😇 user5 can't wait for the new poetry book to drop 🎀 ⤷ yourusername trying my hardest to finish it within the next few months😭isackhadjar glad you liked watching the gp ⤷ user6 help 😭 he's back at it again

Liked by isackhadjar, scuderiaferrari, and others yourusername thank you scuderiaferrari for the invite, the speed and the sea were good for the soul ❤️‍🔥

View all comments

scuderiaferrari come back anytime poet 😇 charles_leclerc glad to have you watching from the paddock today ⤷ yourusername glad I got to meet Leo finally 😭 isackhadjar monaco suits you. ⤷ user3 ISACK. AGAIN. ⤷ user2 you aren't slick 💀 user6 imagine having your favorite team invite you to your favorite driver's home race ⤷ yourusername IKR I happy cried for about half an hour before letting it sink in 😭

yourusername posted a story

yourusername Definitely didn't expect this invite...but not asking twice 🌬️✈️ #vcarb

Liked by isackhadjar,visacashapprb,and others yourusername “wasn’t on the calendar, but surprises are good for the writing process 🇪🇸🌀thank you visacashapprb for the view

View all comments

isackhadjar You are a good luck charm L/n ⤷ yourusername thankyou always hadjar 🎀 visacashapprb we are fast learners 👏 ⤷ user3 and matchmakers 😭 user8 slide 3. i am eating the walls. user19 you’re telling me she just CASUALLY showed up at vcarb looking like THAT??? user5 if yall like eachother just say it 😭. end the suffering

isackhadjar posted a story

isackhadjar the world is more peaceful when she's the one yapping

yourusername thanks for not letting me fall face first in the cafe 😞 ⤷ isackhadjar always L/n

yourusername posted a story

yourusername another one? maybeee...😌

Liked by isackhadjar,visacashapprb, and others yourusername slow morning, caffine overdosage and isackhadjar

Veiw all comments

isackhadjar you do drink a very concering amount of coffee ⤷ user4 cant be that much... can it? ⤷ isackhadjar 6 cups a day is concering ⤷ yourusername who let you speak 💀 user8 i am NOT surviving this era user19 her softlaunch game is leathal 😭

Liked byyourusername,visacashapprb, and others isackhadjar too much caffine. yourusername

Veiw all comments

yourusername hey I made it less today 😭 ⤷ isackhadjar 4 cups a day is still concering ⤷ yourusername stop 💀 user8 how long are they going to drag this 😭 user1 its pure suffering at this point.

Liked byyourusername,visacashapprb, and others isackhadjar so we’re both terrible at being subtle and somehow still managed to say nothing until a fan tweet shoved us off the edge yourusername

Veiw all comments

yourusername sounds very us ⤷ isackhadjar very us user3 finallyy stopped beating around the bush 😭😭 user9 we finally made it out the blurry-photo era y’all user4 he fell first. she fell harder. user8 if she writes a poem about their soft launch i’m suing for emotional damage

Liked by isackhadjar,visacashapprb, and others yourusername so apparently ‘just friends’ don’t stare at each other like that isackhadjar. thank you, twitter, for the intervention. 🫶

Veiw all comments

isackhadjar i was just staring in a respectful, slightly obsessed way. that’s legal right? ⤷ yourusername you’re lucky you’re cute. and that you texted first. ⤷ isackhadjar justice for me typing and deleting that text 47 times btw. user9 THEY CONFIRMED??? OH WE’RE WINNING TODAY 🫠🫶 user4 his whole face changes when he looks at her i’m gonna cry on the floor brb user12 this isn’t a soft launch this is a swan dive into endgameuser83 is this why her last poem ended with “maybe the softest thing about love is the way he looked at me across a quiet room” user3 not the caption dragging them both and thanking twitter 😭 you’re welcome ig? user2 can’t believe we went from grainy café pics to full on mutual pining confession arc in a MONTH

It’s late. Way too late for you to still be awake, but here you are anyway, laid in bed with your laptop resting next to you, on facetime to Isack in Canada. 

You already know you’re going to regret the lack of sleep while you’re at work in a few hours, but he’s been gone for 5 days already and you’ve barely gotten 10 uninterrupted minutes alone. 

“I hate this” You blurt out, without really thinking about what you’re saying.

“Uh.. Oh.. I-I” Isack stutters, completely taken aback and misunderstanding what you actually meant by that. 

“Oh god no!” You cut in quickly. “I didn’t mean this, not us, not you. It’s just we’ve been together for four months and you’re gone all the time”

“I know bébé, I’m sorry” Isack looks disappointed, and a wave of guilt washes over you. You’re regretting saying anything about it now, but you significantly lack a filter when it’s late and you’re so tired.

“No baby, I'm sorry, please don’t apologise. I just wish we could stay in our little bubble all the time”

“We could” Isack said so matter of factly. 

You briefly frown, not out of anger, but confusion, because how could you stay in your bubble while he travels at least once a month. Before you get a chance to ask what he means, Isacks speaks up again with a cheeky grin on his face. “Travel with me, you can work on planes and in cars and in the paddock”

“You’re forgetting about time zone differences, I’d be working in the middle of the night, in like half the places you go” You sighed. “Plus, I can’t just follow you around like some lost puppy, I couldn’t afford flights every week or two, I can’t just leave everything behind and we’d be living in hotel rooms, an-”

Isack's laughter stops you in your tracks, he can’t help but think you’re completely adorable, even when you’re in an overthinking ramble. “Bébé” Isack mutters, while shaking his head. “Half of that isn’t even an issue. First of all, I’d love you to follow me around like a lost puppy” 

You roll your eyes playfully and mutter out “Of course you would”

“Listen to me bébé” Isack tells you gently. “The only thing you need to worry about is packing your bags and talking to your manager about working remotely”

“But” You squeak, taken aback at how simple this all seems to Isack.

“No, no buts, no what ifs” Isack tells you seriously. “If this is what you want, I won't force you, but if this is what you want, I will have it sorted by 9am”

You finally take a breath you didn’t know you were holding in, and then suddenly a fit of giggles slip past your lips. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

Isack’s grinning giddily and nodding through your computer screen. “I’ve wanted you to come with me since I left for testing”

“We’d only been official for like three weeks!” You gasped, covering your mouth. 

“We’d been spending time together for two months already! I just didn’t want to come on too strong and beg you to follow me everywhere” Isack admits as a crimson blush cascades over his cheeks. “Like a lost puppy” Isack added in quickly with a playful smirk.