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cheftsunoda · 21 days ago

Note

Hello! 🧚🏼

I'm not sure if you have any specific rules or guidelines when it comes to requesting, however I absolutely adore all of your poly fics and I've reread them so often! I'm just wondering if you'd ever consider doing a Yuki x Pierre x Reader? I'm open to anything with them honeslty. Your writing is so so good!! <3

If you aren't okay with it, that's absolutely no worries at all! ⭐️✨

(anything for you baby doll) (u made me blush and i hope you enjoy the fic)

haute and bothered — pg10 + yt22

smau + blurbs

pierre gasly x !hadjar fashion editor reader x yuki tsunoda

isack hadjar x !older sister fashion editor reader

YN Hadjar is Vogue France’s sharpest editor and the undisputed definition of elegance. A force in the fashion world, she’s used to front rows, flashing cameras, and never being the one caught off guard. But when she crosses paths with her younger brother’s teammate and his best friend at a fashion event, a playful request for style advice quickly unravels into something far more complicated—and far more intoxicating.

fc : aylin elma + various pinterest gals

before you read! : isack + yuki are still teammates for plot purposes— thank u, love u, bye

—

yn_hadjar

liked by isackhadjar, voguefrance, olliebearman and 1,205,777 others.

yn_hadjar : where to next? ✈️💐

—

view 127,045 other comments.

isackhadjar : how about to come see your little brother and go to one of his races? 🙄

liked by yn_hadjar

↳ yn_hadjar : we are literally going to the same event tonight and i’ve cleared my weekend for you. can we please keep the dramatics to a minimum?

liked by isackhadjar

username0 : yn! will you be dressing isack for the event?

↳ yn_hadjar : obv. i cannot be seen with him in something that he came up with.

↳ isackhadjar : she literally used to set out my clothes for school the next day and she still does it for me now.

liked by yn_hadjar and username0

username15 : everyone shut up. these two r so important to me.

voguefrance : our girllll 😻🔥

liked by yn_hadjar

visacashapprb : we can’t wait for our fave sibling duo to be reunited 💙

liked by yn_hadjar and isackhadjar

jacquemus : we 💛 you!

liked by yn_hadjar

olliebearman : my favorite fashion icon

liked by yn_hadjar

↳ yn_hadjar : my favorite f1 rookie

liked by olliebearman

↳ isack_hadjar : excusez-moi???

liked by yn_hadjar and olliebearman

yn_hadjar : he goes out of his way to read my editorials. do you???

liked by olliebearman

↳ isack_hadjar : no comment.

lewishamilton : 🔥🔥

liked by yn_hadjar

↳ isack_hadjar : can you two date so he can be part of the family?

liked by lewishamilton and yn_hadjar

yn_hadjar : menace

alexandrasaintmleux : si belle ma chérie <3

liked by yn_hadjar

—

yn_hadjar added posts to her story!

seen by isackhadjar, olliebearman, yukitsunoda0511 & 1,809,253 others.

{caption 1 : @/hugo_official event tonight} {caption 2 : someone tell him to take this off and put on what i pick out before i disown him.}

olliebearman : just disown him and adopt me as your brother

liked by yn_hadjar

yn_hadjar : deal

isackhadjar : i kinda got ts on tho

liked by yn_hadjar

yn_hadjar : you look like a gym teacher not like you’re about to be on a red carpet representing your team.

isackhadjar : fine then what event would you approve this outfit for

yn_hadjar : save it for your mid life crisis era

visacashapprb : thank you for making him change, yn.

liked by yn_hadjar

yukitsunoda0511 : can’t wait for my styling class you promised :)

liked by yn_hadjar

yn_hadjar : can’t wait for that meal you promised to make me after

pierregasly : si jolie mon amour

liked by yn_hadjar

yn_hadjar : merci mon angeeeee

—

I didn’t knock. I stormed into Isack’s hotel room like a woman on a mission—because I was. We had exactly ninety minutes until the Hugo event, and if my beloved younger brother showed up looking like a clown, it would somehow reflect badly on me. And sure enough, the universe really said, “Let’s test her.” I stopped cold. He turned around slowly, like he’d been waiting for this moment. Like he knew exactly what he’d done.

“Isack.”

He was wearing a shiny, deep red satin shirt, only half-buttoned, tucked into chaotically patterned pants that clashed so hard I actually squinted. And to top it all off? White Oakleys. Inside.

“What. The hell. Are you wearing.”

He gave me the most infuriating smile known to man. “It’s giving ‘fashion-forward driver off-duty,’ no?”

“It’s giving ’man lost in the sale bin at a Las Vegas souvenir shop.’” I walked in and tossed my bag on the bed. “Take. It. Off.”

"YN. Come on. It's kind of iconic."

“It’s kind of traumatic.”

He laughed, clearly proud of himself. “I wanted to see how mad I could make you before you threatened violence.”

“You’re so lucky we share DNA.”

I yanked open the garment bag hanging on the back of the door and pulled out the actual look he was supposed to wear— tailored black trousers, the clean charcoal turtleneck, and that sharp Hugo jacket that made him look like he belonged in a campaign. My campaign.

“You’re wearing this. Non-negotiable.”

“Jeez. Do you treat all your models like this?”

“No. Just the ones who try to show up to a luxury fashion event dressed like Pitbull’s stylist during a midlife crisis.”

He muttered something under his breath as he started unbuttoning the shirt, but I was too busy hiding a smile to care. Honestly, I didn’t know what was waiting for us downstairs or who else would be there. I just knew that if Isack made his red carpet debut in that outfit, I’d have to resign from fashion entirely. And that was simply not an option.

—

The Hugo event was in full swing by the time we arrived—cameras flashing, music pulsing, champagne being passed around like water. Isack, thankfully, looked decent in the outfit I’d forced him into. Better than decent, actually. Smug little bastard knew it too. We stepped inside the venue and he immediately peeled off to talk to someone from the team. I stayed behind near the bar, doing a lazy scan of the room. Models, stylists, influencers, the usual mix. I was half-distracted answering an email when I heard Isack’s voice again—closer this time.

“YN,” he said, a little too casually. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”

I looked up. Next to him stood Yuki Tsunoda, who I recognized from the grid but had never actually met. He was dressed immaculately—double-breasted navy suit, crisp collar, Hugo brooch pinned just so. And standing beside him, just slightly behind, was Pierre Gasly. All charm and smirk, wearing that kind of black turtleneck that only worked when you were French and stupidly handsome.

Yuki gave me a polite smile. “Hi. Teammate-slash-regretful Oakley enabler.”

I blinked, caught off guard by how quick he was. “So you’re the one who told him the sunglasses were a good idea.”

Yuki nodded solemnly. “I can’t be trusted before 6 p.m.”

I laughed—genuinely. “Well. At least you’re self-aware.”

Isack, annoyingly pleased with himself, gestured between us. “YN, Yuki. Yuki, YN. This is my very controlling older sister. She works at Vogue. Bosses people around. Yells at me a lot.”

“I keep him alive,” I corrected.

Yuki’s eyes twinkled. “She yells fashionably.”

Pierre stepped forward then, offering his hand. “And I’m just the plus-one. Pierre.”

“Vogue France,” I replied, shaking it with a tilt of my head. “YN Hadjar. And no one is just the plus-one if they wear a turtleneck that well.”

He grinned, teeth flashing. “Merci. I dressed to impress.”

“You succeeded.”

Isack groaned like we were already too much. “I shouldn’t have introduced any of you. I can feel the ego growing in the room.”

“Relax,” I said, taking a flute of champagne from a passing tray. “If anything, this might be the most normal group here.”

Yuki raised his glass. “Cheers to that.”

—

The party had started to blur. Most of the photographers had cleared out, the music had slowed to something low and hypnotic, and people were either drunk, half-asleep on velvet couches, or deep in conversation with whoever they were hoping to leave with. I’d lost Isack about an hour ago—probably cornered by a PR rep or sneaking off to find sliders. I was tucked into a quieter corner of the venue, perched on a velvet bench with a glass of wine in hand, shoes dangling from my fingers. And somehow—like gravity knew exactly what it was doing—Yuki and Pierre ended up there with me. They’d brought more drinks. I wasn’t even sure when they left to get them.

“This is your version of relaxing?” Pierre asked, settling in beside me with one arm stretched along the back of the booth. His thigh brushed mine casually—but it stayed there. “Watching the fashion crowd fall apart after midnight?”

“It’s better than the Met Gala,” I teased, swirling the wine in my glass. “No one’s pretending to be sober.”

Yuki laughed, sitting on my other side, close enough for our shoulders to touch. “You really know everyone in this world, don’t you?”

“I’m paid to,” I said, shrugging. “It’s part of the job. Know the faces, the designers, the drama. And make sure the magazine doesn’t implode.”

Pierre leaned in slightly, eyes warm. “So what happens when we ask you for your professional opinion?”

I arched a brow. “You mean you’re not just here for the free champagne and Isack’s tragic outfit reveal?”

Yuki smirked. “That was worth the invite alone.”

Pierre tilted his head. “But seriously. If someone… let’s say two very handsome drivers, wanted to evolve their wardrobes. Less teamwear, more… effortless Parisian heartthrob—could you help?”

I looked between the two of them—Pierre’s charming grin, Yuki’s quiet curiosity. The idea was ridiculous. And kind of… adorable.

“You want me to style you?” I asked, pretending to sound skeptical, even as something fluttered in my chest.

Pierre gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Why not? You have the eye. And we trust your taste.”

Yuki added, voice a little softer now, “We trust you.”

That—that—was what did it. The way he said it. Like it wasn’t a throwaway line. I let the silence sit for a second, the energy shifting in that charged, unspoken way you don’t quite want to look at too directly.

“Fine,” I said, lifting my glass. “But if I style you, you have to give me full control. No last-minute Oakleys. No sneakers with suits. No team caps unless we’re on a track.”

Pierre lifted his glass to mine. “Deal.”

Yuki smiled, slow and sure. “As long as you’re the one undressing us.”

I choked on my wine.

Pierre smacked him lightly on the shoulder, laughing while very pointedly not denying anything. And me? I just sat there between them, flushed and flustered, fully aware I might be in so much trouble. And maybe… maybe I didn’t mind one bit.

—

The fitting studio I booked was quiet—no interns, no stylists, no chaos. Just warm lighting, racks of carefully curated looks, a stack of espresso cups on the side table, and two very smug drivers sprawled across the velvet couch like they were born for it.

“Okay,” I said, clapping once for drama. “Fashion boot camp begins now.”

Pierre stretched his arms behind his head. “I’m ready to be transformed.”

Yuki leaned back with that deceptively innocent look on his face. “Are you going to watch us change, or…?”

“Don’t tempt me,” I muttered under my breath, already pulling hangers from the rack.

I handed Yuki a dark forest green suit with a satin lapel and shoved Pierre a moody charcoal turtleneck and tailored check trousers. They disappeared behind the curtain with too many smirks and zero urgency, clearly enjoying how flustered I already was. Pierre stepped out first, tugging the sleeves into place, and honestly? He looked unfairly good. Like something from a magazine I’d kill to shoot for.

He turned in front of the mirror, then looked at me over his shoulder. “Well?”

I crossed my arms. “Could use a belt.”

He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You gonna help me with that too?”

Before I could answer, Yuki appeared—and my mouth actually fell open.

The suit fit like it was tailored to his existence. Clean lines, sharp collar, a single undone button at the top. He noticed my stare immediately.

“Too much?” he asked, feigning bashfulness.

I blinked. “It’s… dangerous, actually.”

Yuki smirked, stepping closer. “Dangerous how?”

“Dangerous like I might start taking back my professionalism clause.”

Pierre came to stand on my other side. “Remind me—did that clause include hands-on adjustments?”

He was teasing, but there was something in the air now. He was close. They both were. Close enough that I could feel the warmth of them, smell their cologne. It was suddenly hard to focus on fashion.

“You’re both ridiculous,” I muttered, reaching to adjust the lapel on Yuki’s jacket, fingers brushing his chest. He didn’t move. Then I turned to Pierre, smoothing the shoulder seam, just barely grazing his collarbone. He didn’t move either.

“You’re blushing,” Yuki said softly, and I hated that he was right.

“You’re both standing way too close,” I whispered.

“Maybe we like it here,” Pierre replied, voice low, steady.

It hit me then—how easy this had become. The three of us in a quiet studio, skin brushing, laughter on our lips, heat simmering just below the surface. I had invited them here to play stylist, to stay in control. But somewhere in the middle of the zippers and buttons and side glances, I’d lost my upper hand. And for once… I didn’t really care.

—

I was trying to play it cool. Trying to pretend I didn’t just spend the last hour dressing two of the most dangerously attractive men alive and getting thoroughly wrecked by the way they looked in my clothes. Professionally speaking, of course. But then Pierre ran a hand through his hair and leaned against the mirror like he belonged in a Saint Laurent campaign, and Yuki looked at me with that quiet, unreadable expression of his—the one that always made me feel like he already knew what I was thinking.

“You didn’t give us a grade,” Pierre said. “On our final looks.”

I exhaled, tucking my phone back into my pocket. “You passed. Barely.”

Yuki grinned. “That sounds like a dinner-worthy score.”

I looked between them. “You want to go to dinner like this? Fully styled?”

Pierre tilted his head. “You did say no team caps. We’re trying to be on our best behavior.”

Yuki stepped closer, casual but intentional. “Come on. We’ll feed you. You’ve been working hard. You’ve earned a glass of wine that doesn’t taste like it came from the Hugo party’s gift bag.”

I raised a brow. “Are you bribing me with carbs and alcohol?”

Pierre smiled slowly. “Is it working?”

It was. God, it so was. And maybe it was the lighting or the way they were both looking at me—equal parts challenge and invitation—but suddenly dinner didn’t feel like just dinner. It felt like… the next page of something we weren’t ready to name yet. I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, fighting a smile. “Fine. But if we’re going out, you’re both paying. For emotional labor. And trauma. From Isack’s outfit this morning.”

Yuki laughed. “Fair.”

Pierre offered his arm like a damn movie character. “Lead the way, Hadjar.”

I took it—of course I did—and let Yuki fall into step beside me. And as the three of us stepped out into the night, our reflections in the shop window caught my eye. We looked good together.

—

Dinner was supposed to be normal. A low-key place tucked into a side street in the 7th arrondissement. Candlelight flickering against the windows, soft jazz humming in the background, and a little corner table that Pierre insisted on—for privacy, he said with a wink. I’d let them order for me. I was too busy trying to process what exactly this was. A friendly dinner? A thank-you? A tease? I didn’t know. But I was wearing heels again. And lip gloss. So it wasn’t nothing.

Pierre had undone the top two buttons of his shirt, gold chain peeking through. Yuki looked effortless in a crisp white tee under a jacket I hadn’t even realized I picked for him earlier. They looked like trouble. Like my trouble. Conversation was easy—almost too easy. Laughter flowing, legs brushing occasionally beneath the table. We talked about the grid, my job, fashion week disasters, and how Yuki once fell asleep mid-photoshoot.

“I was jet-lagged,” he said, totally unapologetic.

Pierre chuckled. “The stylist threatened to cry. He still follows Yuki on Instagram.”

Yuki smirked, taking a sip of wine, and then leaned toward me just a little. “Would you cry if we fell asleep during a fitting?”

“I’d make sure you didn’t wake up in anything flattering,” I shot back.

That earned a soft laugh—and then, casually, effortlessly, Yuki let his hand fall under the table. And found my knee. My brain short-circuited. It wasn’t a graze. It wasn’t an accident. His fingers curled lightly just above the hem of my skirt, warm and unhurried. Just… there. Not possessive. Not demanding. Just… interested. I swallowed. Pierre didn’t notice at first. He was halfway through a story about a party and a very confused DJ. But then his gaze drifted down. He saw the way I shifted in my seat, just slightly. The way Yuki’s hand stayed. And his expression changed. Slowly. He smirked. Looked back up at me.

“You okay?” he asked, innocently.

I cleared my throat. “Mhm. Wine’s strong.”

Pierre leaned closer, voice low. “Is it the wine… or the company?”

I didn’t answer. Because Yuki was tracing slow, gentle circles against my thigh now, his face unreadable, like we weren’t in a room full of people. Pierre’s foot tapped mine under the table. Light. Intentional. Okay. So I wasn’t imagining this. I set down my fork, took a long sip of wine, and smiled—sweet, measured, practiced.

“Both,” I said. “Obviously.”

They didn’t push. Not yet. Just sat back, smug and satisfied, the tension between us like a stretched silk ribbon, ready to snap. And I realized then—this dinner wasn’t just dinner.

—

The air outside had that warm, early summer weight to it—the kind that clung to your skin like a secret. We left the restaurant slowly, like no one wanted to break whatever fragile thing had formed between the wine and the way Yuki’s hand lingered on my thigh. Pierre walked on my right, close enough that our arms brushed every few steps. Yuki was on my left, quiet but there, his hand grazing the small of my back as we waited for the crosswalk light to change. Paris looked soft at night. Golden. But the silence between us buzzed with anything but calm.

“You live around here?” Pierre asked casually, like he didn’t already know from the reservation name and the way I’d reflexively glanced down the street.

“Mhm,” I replied, lips curled just slightly. “About five minutes.”

Yuki looked over. “We could walk you.”

“You are walking me.”

“Then maybe we finish the job.”

I bit back a smile. When we reached my building, I stopped on the steps, keys dangling between my fingers. They both turned toward me, waiting. Expectant, but never pushing.

“You could come up,” I said carefully, not looking at either of them yet. “Just for a bit. If you want.”

Pierre tilted his head, slow grin spreading. “Are you inviting us up because you want help reorganizing your closet?”

I looked at him. “I’m inviting you up because I had dinner with two men who managed to flirt, emotionally destabilize me, and look criminally good in every outfit I styled. So. No. Not for the closet.”

Yuki’s smile was softer. But his eyes held something heavier. “We don’t have to come in.”

I finally met his gaze. “I know.”

And I did. That was the thing. There was no pressure here—just possibility. The kind of quiet, magnetic maybe that I’d spent years writing off. But tonight? With them? It didn’t feel like a risk. It felt inevitable. I pushed the door open. And when I looked back over my shoulder, they were already following me in—Pierre with that devil-may-care confidence, Yuki with that quiet steadiness that somehow made me feel safer than I expected.

I closed the door behind us, letting the soft click of the lock settle between us. Pierre wandered further in, glancing around with casual curiosity—his fingertips dragging across the back of my sofa like he was trying to read the room through touch. Yuki stayed near the door. Watching me. Always watching.

“You really live like a Vogue editor,” Pierre murmured, picking up a coffee table book and flipping it open. “Minimalist. Expensive.”

“I try,” I said, leaning against the entry wall, pulse fluttering under my skin. “Want the tour?”

Yuki raised an eyebrow. “You offering… the apartment? Or something else?”

I blinked at him, and something must’ve shifted in my face, because he smiled like he already knew my answer.

“I don’t play games,” I said, quieter this time.

Pierre had crossed the room by then. He was in front of me before I realized how fast he’d moved, his hand ghosting along my hip. “Good. Because I’m not here to waste time.”

Yuki came closer too—slow and measured. His fingertips grazed mine as he passed me, just a brush, but I felt it in my spine.

“I just want to make sure you want this,” he said, voice low. “That this isn’t about wine or adrenaline or proving a point.”

I looked at him. Then Pierre. Two different energies. One storm. One fire. And somehow, I wanted to get lost in both.

“I invited you up, didn’t I?” I asked.

Pierre smiled like I’d handed him something precious. He leaned in first—his lips brushing mine, warm and teasing. Not claiming. Just tasting. Yuki’s hand slid up the back of my neck, fingers threading into my hair. His kiss came next. Slower. Like he had all night. Like I could take as long as I needed to decide. But I didn’t need long. I reached for both of them—tugging Pierre closer by his shirt, letting Yuki pull me against his chest, our bodies finding a rhythm I hadn’t even realized we’d been building all night. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t messy. It was intentional. Lips on my neck. Fingers on my waist. The kind of warmth that blooms low in your belly and makes you forget your own name. Somehow we made it to the bedroom without breaking apart too long. Jackets hit the floor. Pierre’s chain dangled against my skin. Yuki’s voice whispered things in Japanese that I didn’t understand but felt in my bones. They treated me like something rare. Reverent. Like I was the thing they’d both been waiting for. And when everything finally faded into soft moans and tangled limbs, when my skin was flushed and my breath shaky, I realized—This wasn’t just about pleasure. It was about belonging.

—

yn_hadjar

liked by isackhadjar, yukitsunoda0511, pierregasly & 2,090,555 others.

yn_hadjar : jet lagged as fuck so have a photo dump

—

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chanelofficial : always timeless 🩷🤍

liked by yn_hadjar

username0 : am i delusional or does that look like yuki in the bed??

↳ username15 : i thought the same thing but then the other pic looks like pierre

username0 : oh to be in a yukierre sandwich

isackhadjar : why is there an unknown man in your bed?

↳ yn_hadjar : who said he is unknown?

isackhadjar : i am ending it all

yukitsunoda0511 : don’t remember you taking that

liked by yn_hadjar

↳ yn_hadjar : u were 😴

username0 : not delusional.

pierregasly : white looks good on me, no?

liked by yn_hadjar

↳ yn_hadjar : you look good in anything

lilymhe : you are so beautiful it is insane

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↳ yn_hadjar : you are so kind 🥺

—

yukitsunoda0511

liked by yn_hadjar, pierregasly, isackhadjar & 1,220,005 others.

yukitsunoda0511 : dubyeeeeee

—

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pierregasly : still have frosting up my nose

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↳ yn_hadjar : my bad

username0 : unexpected trio on a vacay together??

yn_hadjar : was not prepared for a thirst trap on my feed

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↳ yukitsunoda0511 : don't act like you don't like it

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isackhadjar : are you just a professional third wheel now?

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↳ yukitsunoda0511 : mmm if third wheeling involves being apart of it then sure

username0 : YUKI

—

pierregasly added a post to his story!

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yn_hadjar added posts to her story!

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{caption 1 : never let me drive in the sand} {caption 2 : i don't want to leave}

pierregasly : you are so beautiful

liked by yn_hadjar

isackhadjar : wait- why are you in dubai too??

↳ yn_hadjar : happened to be over here for something with work

↳ isackhadjar : oh ok

↳ isackhadjar : you look beautiful though ma sœur

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yn_hadjar : first nice thing you've said in years. love you

liked by isackhadjar

alexandrasaintmleux : i think i am finally catching on here;)

liked by yn_hadjar

↳ yn_hadjar : glad someone is because isack sure isn't

yukitsunoda0511 : 美少女

liked by yn_hadjar

—

The desert stretched out endlessly beneath a blazing sky, waves of sand rolling like golden ocean tides. The sun was beginning to dip, casting long shadows and painting everything with a soft, honeyed glow. Yuki, Pierre, and I had escaped the noise of the city for a few hours, trading skyscrapers for silence and luxury for raw nature. We stopped the jeep on the crest of a dune, and the world felt impossibly vast and quiet. The wind whispered through the sand, carrying a scent of earth and something wild. I kicked off my shoes, letting the warm grains sift between my toes. Pierre pulled a blanket from the back of the jeep and spread it out. We settled down close, the three of us a small island of warmth in the wide, empty desert. Yuki reached out and took my hand, fingers threading together naturally, as if this had always been meant to be.

“I could stay here forever,” he murmured, eyes soft in the fading light.

I leaned into him, resting my head against his shoulder. Pierre draped an arm around both of us, and suddenly the desert didn’t feel so big anymore. It felt like home. As the sun sank lower, the sky exploded into color—pinks, oranges, and purples bleeding into one another. We sat in comfortable silence, watching the horizon burn and cool at once. Yuki whispered something funny, and Pierre laughed, the sound low and warm. The first stars began to blink awake above us, shy at first, then confident, until the entire sky was a glittering dome. I felt their hands tighten around mine, grounding me in that perfect moment. The desert was endless and timeless, but right there, wrapped in their arms, I knew exactly where I belonged.

—

The soft chime of the boutique’s doorbell barely registered as I stepped inside, still savoring the warmth of the Dubai sun on my skin. Yuki and Pierre followed close behind, both grinning like they were up to something—which, knowing them, they definitely were.

I was halfway through scanning the latest collection when Pierre’s voice pulled me from my thoughts. “Hey, have you seen that new limited edition bag from [your favorite designer]? The one with the gold clasp and the little pearls?”

I laughed, trying to play it cool. “Yeah, I’ve seen it. It’s beautiful, but honestly, a little impractical.”

Yuki raised an eyebrow. “Says the Vogue editor who probably writes about impractical all the time.”

Pierre winked. “We know you’ve been drooling over it for months.”

I tried to brush it off, but my heart sped up. I hadn’t said much—it was just a tiny detail I’d mentioned once, months ago, during a dinner with Yuki and Pierre. I never expected them to remember. Yuki tugged me toward a quiet corner of the boutique, where a sleek black box rested on a velvet cushion. My breath caught. Pierre opened the box slowly, revealing the bag—exactly the one I’d admired in magazines, the one I’d secretly dreamed of owning.

“Surprise,” Pierre said softly, watching my face light up.

I stared, speechless, the words caught somewhere between shock and joy.

“You actually remembered,” I finally whispered.

Yuki chuckled, sliding an arm around my waist. “Of course we did. You’re kind of hard to forget.”

I reached out, touching the bag like it was something fragile, something magical. “This is… you guys didn’t have to.”

Pierre grinned. “We wanted to.”

I laughed, eyes glossy, heart full. “You two are seriously impossible. But I love you for it.”

—

The soft glow of candlelight flickered across the table, casting warm shadows on crystal glasses and polished silverware. The restaurant was quiet, tucked away in a secluded corner of the hotel, and for once, the world outside felt miles away. Yuki reached across the table, gently brushing a stray lock of hair behind my ear. His touch was tender, deliberate, and it sent a shiver down my spine. Pierre caught my hand next, his fingers curling around mine with a quiet strength that grounded me. The way they both looked at me—like I was the only person in the room—made my heart swell.

“So,” Pierre said softly, voice low and steady, “how does it feel? Being spoiled by us?”

I laughed, eyes shimmering. “Like I’m living in a dream I never want to wake up from.”

Yuki’s grin was slow, mischievous. “Good. Because we’re just getting started.”

We talked through the courses, sharing stories and stolen glances. Every laugh, every brush of skin, pulled us closer. There was something electric in the way their hands found mine under the table—light touches that spoke of promises and possibilities.

Later, as the waiter cleared the plates, Yuki leaned in, whispering, “You make even the quietest moments feel unforgettable.”

Pierre’s eyes softened as he added, “We want to be part of your every moment, YN.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat, feeling overwhelmed with everything and nothing all at once. This wasn’t just a dinner. It was a beginning.

“I want that, too,” I whispered back. “With both of you.”

Yuki’s smile was pure warmth. Pierre’s fingers tightened around mine.

—

f1gossipgirls

89,003 likes.

f1gossipgirls : Things looked a little extra on the fashion front this morning—coincidence? We think not. @/yn_hadjar, Vogue France’s top editor (and big sister to Isack Hadjar), is in the paddock today… and suddenly the boys remembered what a steamer is. We spotted more linen, more color, and more intentional fits than we’ve seen all season. Let’s just say—if this is the YN Hadjar effect, we are absolutely here for it. Fashion queens, please stand up.

—

view 508 other comments.

username0 : ISACK-omg. @/yn_hadjar...do you want a sister in law??

↳ yn_hadjar : if you take over the duty of steaming his clothes...welcome to the fam

username15 : aw yn and ollie!! he rlly is her favorite rookie

↳ yn_hadjar : that's my boy. i don't play about him.

liked by olliebearman

username10 : it isn't the YN effect for Yuki and Pierre- it's the girlfriend effect.

liked by yn_hadjar, yukitsunoda0511 and pierregasly

username10 : OH MY GHDFNDKJ

isackhadjar : she held me down and threatened me to put on what she picked out.

↳ yn_hadjar : and clearly i did you a favor bc there is a comment section full of women waiting for you

isackhadjar : fair

oscarpiastri : yn i did not get the memo that you were here today. pls don't hurt me

↳ yn_hadjar : i forgive you

yukitsunoda0511 : she literally dressed me this morning so yes it is because of yn. everyone say thank you, yn!!

liked by yn_hadjar, pierregasly and f1gossipgirls

pierregasly : it is common courtesy to look good for someone as beautiful as yn

liked by yn_hadjar and yukitsunoda0511

↳ isackhadjar : barf. she is just my sister. not god.

↳ yukitsunoda0511 : ive seen god and god is a woman.

liked by yn_hadjar and pierregasly

username8 : YUKIIIIBD :fj

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yn_hadjar

liked by isackhadjar, olliebearman, pierregasly & 3,030,053 others.

yn_hadjar : so cutesy

—

view 115,023 other comments.

isackhadjar : ollie and i carried this post

liked by yn_hadjar

↳ isackhadjar : also why are you letting random men hold our dog??

↳ pierregasly : you talk about me like im some common whore

liked by yn_hadjar

alexandrasaintmleux : you are ethereal. i am in love

liked by yn_hadjar

olliebearman : you are right. the gucci wrap was necessary for the outfit

↳ olliebearman : you ATE

liked by yn_hadjar

↳ yn_hadjar : add to the folder of reasons why ollie is my fave

yukitsunoda0511 : i do not remember anything from karaoke and i am glad i do not

liked by yn_hadjar

↳ yn_hadjar : i have videos if you need reminded

↳ maxverstappen1 : give them to me.

↳ lando : need

↳ olliebearman : pls share with the class

—

I was curled up on the couch with Yuki, his arm around my waist and his stupidly warm hands resting under the hem of my t-shirt, tracing lazy circles against my skin like he had no plans of moving for the next decade. We were watching the most unhinged documentary, but I’d let him pick because I liked hearing his dramatic commentary. It was peaceful. Dreamy. Domestic. Then the front door slammed open like we were in a horror movie.

“I BROUGHT DONUTS!” I heard Isack yell from the hallway.

I blinked. Yuki didn’t even flinch. He just muttered, “You gave him a key?”

“No,” I hissed back, still fully horizontal. “He stole it after fashion week. I just… forgot to take it back.”

And then Isack appeared in the doorway. Bag of donuts. Sunglasses on his head. Immediately offended.

“WHAT the actual hell is going on here?” he asked, eyebrows halfway into orbit.

“Breakfast,” Yuki answered flatly, as if he belonged here. As if my little brother hadn’t just caught him spooning me. I didn’t even bother sitting up. What was the point? It was already spiraling.

Isack’s jaw dropped. “Are you—YUKI?! You?! My teammate?! What the fuck?!”

“You know,” I said, grabbing a donut from the bag like this was brunch and not a betrayal, “you could’ve knocked.”

“You could’ve warned me before I walked into my literal teammate dry humping my sister on the couch!”

“We’re literally just cuddling,” I deadpanned. “Calm down.”

Yuki, to his credit, gave the most Yuki shrug of all time, like: yeah, this is happening, keep up.

“I’m gonna throw up,” Isack muttered. “I’m gonna throw up on your designer rug. You’re both—this is illegal. Against the sibling code. Against F1 regulations. This is—”

And then, like God decided this couldn’t get worse fast enough— Pierre walked out of the bedroom. Shirtless. Hair tousled. Stretching like he’d just woken from a coma.

“Oh no,” I muttered.

“Oh WHAT THE FUCK,” Isack shrieked.

Pierre froze mid-stretch, looked around, blinked. “Didn’t know we had guests.”

“WE DON’T,” Isack yelled. “WHO EVEN ARE YOU TO THIS STORY?!”

Pierre grinned. “Depends. What genre is it?”

I slapped a hand over my face. Yuki, still annoyingly calm, yawned. “Rom-com. Heavy on the com.”

Isack stared at the three of us, twitching like a sim about to catch fire. “This is a nightmare. I’m calling our mother. I’m calling the FIA. I’m calling God.”

“You want a donut before you have your little meltdown?” I asked sweetly, tossing one at his chest.

He didn’t catch it. It hit the floor.

“Unbelievable,” he said, turning and storming out. “I’m changing my last name. Don’t talk to me at the paddock. I’m disowning everyone in this room!”

“Love you!” Pierre called after him, totally unbothered.

“I hate it here!” Isack screamed from the hallway.

The door slammed shut again. Yuki looked down at me. “He took that well.”

I bit into my donut. “Honestly? Better than I expected.”

Pierre flopped back onto the couch, grabbing Yuki’s abandoned half-donut. “So… are we doing the pigeon documentary or something sexier?”

I groaned. “You two are never allowed to be shirtless in front of my brother again.”

Yuki just smiled. “Noted. We’ll wear robes next time.”

—

yn_hadjar

liked by pierregasly, olliebearman, yukitsunoda0511 & 5,090,777 others.

yn_hadjar : comments will be turned back on once isack stops having a meltdown (so never). however, i have two sexy men in my bed every night so idc.

tagged : pierregasly and yukitsunoda0511

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user has disabled comments on this post.

—

pierregasly

liked by yn_hadjar, charles_leclerc, yukitsunoda0511 and 4,008,013 others.

pierregasly : my brother in law isack is not very happy with me rn so why not add fuel to the flame. love you bothhhhhh

tagged : yn_hadjar and yukitsunoda0511

—

view 175,090 other comments.

yn_hadjar : so cuteeee. love my boys

liked by yukitsunoda0511 and pierregasly

charles_leclerc : how did he not know?

↳ yn_hadjar : he was born naturally oblivious

liked by charles_leclerc, pierregasly and yukitsunoda0511

username0 : isack's recent google search is how to make yn - no yuki no pierre

liked by yn_hadjar

↳ yn_hadjar : i fucking love you lmao

isackhadjar : you are NOT my brother in law

↳ isackhadjar : i refuse

↳ isackhadjar : my eyes are still burning.

↳ isackhadjar : had to walk in on yuki practically having sex with my sister

↳ yn_hadjar : we were literally watching a pigeon documentary

↳ username20 : always thought isacks 2025 crashout would be racing related not due to pierre and yuki dating his sister.

—

yukitsunoda0511

liked by pierregasly, yn_hadjar, olliebearman & 2,097,008 others.

yukitsunoda0511 : love you both even if it means putting up with her brother and the fact that pierre is a blanket hog.

—

view 125,075 other comments.

pierregasly : love you more- even when you talk in your sleep

liked by yukitsunoda0511 and yn_hadjar

visacashapprb : we both ask that you both behave in a manner that is professional as you are teammates.

↳ yukitsunoda0511 : @/isackhadjar ^^^^

liked by yn_hadjar

lando : i need a diagram of who sleeps where

liked by yn_hadjar

↳ yn_hadjar : i sleep in the middle and those two switch sides like every 3-5 business days

liked by lando, pierregasly and yukitsunoda0511

yn_hadjar : my cutie pies

liked by yukitsunoda0511 and pierregasly

isackhadjar : i am the victim in this story and no one is talking about it

↳ pierregasly : isack erasure :(

↳ yn_hadjar : the only thing you are victim to is a horrendous fashion sense

↳ yukitsunoda0511 : yes you def are the victim after walking into an apartment that is not yours unannounced.

—

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