FABIO QUARTARARO MOODBOARD

Please dooo guys

reblog if it's okay for your mutuals to message you and create an actual friendship, not just interactions

· LOVE ALL AROUND ·

✮          you make me smile despite the miles.

⭒ Fabio Quartararo × Male Reader × Isack Hadjar

⋆ established long-distance relationship ⋮⋮⋮ athlete reader ⋮⋮⋮ social media + narration.

⋆ summary ┈ you & your two boyfriends against the world (long distance and full schedules), even if the world isn't sure you're boyfriends.

⋆ face claim ┈ nobody, but I'm using some photos from pinterest for all of them. Also, there are 2 pics of a cyclist: he's Fabio Wibmer.

⋆ warnings ┈ reader injury.

⋆ requested? ┈ Yes! ◀ @fabioenthusiast (thanks for the request! <3)

· Hope yall enjoy :]

            Dating an athlete is not for everyone, it is not something easy. When two athletes in different sports are dating it's hard, the year seems to have not enough days. Now, imagine how it is when three athletes decide to date.

            Well, that’s your case.

youruser

            Being injured is never a pleasant experience. Knowing you're missing a large part of the year with recovery and rehabilitation didn't bring you much hope either. The only ones who had managed to cheer you up were Fabio and Isack.

            "We'll be able to spend more time together".

            "You can be at our garages every weekend".

            "We can help take turns to help you with rehabilitation exercises".

            With them, everything was much easier.

            Not only for you. Because when Fabio's home race did not go as you all expected, you both were there for him, as Fabio and you were after Isack's Formula 1 debur –even if Fabio wasn't literally there, because of the MotoGP race–.

youruser

♥️          Liked by fabioquartararo20, denizoncu, isackhadjar, lando, liamlawson30, and others

youruser: Posing as if their mother was forcing them to take this pic

                        View all comments

isackhadjar: You actually force us to take this pic

↳ youruser: Come on, we needed some photos to remember this beautiful day

↳ isackhadjar: Define beautiful

↳ youruser: Every day shared w you two is a beautiful day 😙

↳ userone: Smooth

↳ usertwo: I owe you an apology. I wasn’t familiar with your game 🙌

↳ userthree: The beauty of a homoerotic friendship 😩🤌

↳ userfour: THEY ARE JUST FRIENDS ???

↳ userfive: WERE WE THINKING ABOUT SOMETHING ELSE ??

↳ usersix: no wait. bc I get why @️userfour think they were dating. They just– They are *They*

↳ userseven: ngl This whole time I was thinking that Isack & y/n were dating

↳ usereight: I thought these were the normal homosexual tendencies among athletes...

fabioquartararo20: my guys ❤️‍🩹

↳ isackhadjar: ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

↳ youruser: 😭❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

youruser

youruser

♥️          Liked by liamlawson30, lando, pierregasly, fabioquartararo20, and others

youruser: My guys <3

                        View all comments

usernine: they were watching Fabio & Fabio was watching them 😭😭😭

userten: friendship goals

↳ usereleven: I've know them for 1 week, but that was enough to believe they aren't just friends

↳ usertwelve: as a new fan I'm clueless

↳ userthirteen: as someone who was here since 2023, we are also clueless. don't worry

userfourteen: But wait, is so cute how they are always supporting each other 😭😭

userfifteen: wtf are isack nd liam doing bwahws

fabioquartararo20: Isack took all the luck between the three of us

↳ youruser: fr he's so bad w us 💔💔

↳ isackhadjar: Sorry guys😔

↳ youruser: no. too late. now I'm retiring & Fabio too. u are our sugar

↳ fabioquartararo20: I'm retiring !?

↳ isackhadjar: okay, but we're living in Fabio's house

↳ fabioquartararo20: !?

↳ fabioquartararo20: No, actually, I like that. I'm making room for you here. Move with me.

↳ usersixteen: Guys, don't you have WhatsApp to tell each other this things?

↳ userseventeen: NO SHUT UP I WANT TO READ

↳ usereighteen: lit. I need to know if any of them is dating someone else. COME ON, KEEP TALKING

liamlawson30: Am I one of your guys? 🥺

↳ youruser: You're my child. I'm your teen mom

youruser

♥️          Liked by fabioquartararo20, denizoncu, yukitsunoda0511, t0m06600, and others

youruser: This mf are RUNING as if I could keep up with them

                        View all comments

usernineteen: not very nice of them

usertwenty: not an red bull athlete posting a monster can😭

↳ youruser: those are Fabio, Isack & me

↳ usertwneyone: OMG ? 😭😭

usertwnetytwo: hit them with the crutches

fabioquartararo20: we are sorryyyy😭

↳ youruser: I don't know if you are really sorry

↳ isackhadjar: We know you know, but ok. Tell us what u want to prove it

↳ youruser: You know me so well 😊 Fav breakfast on bed, every day, until I'm sure you're sorry

↳ fabioquartararo20: We don't even live near to your house...

↳ youruser: We are all living in your house, u silly

↳ fabioquartararo20: Oh, right.

↳ usertwentythree: they are so weird. I love them

↳ usertwentyfour: I don't even know what they are, or wich part ofall this is true, but I'm so here for whatever this is

youruser

♥️          Liked by t0m06600, isackhadjar, hausmann.tina, pierregasly, lando, and others

youruser: bros' races so stressful they almost kill me (one last successful surgery! we are gonna be so back soon)

                        View all comments

usertwentyfive: I don't know how you can hold the stress of no one, no two, THREE dangerous sports

↳ youruser: tbh, I don't know either

↳ usertwentyfive: 😭😭😭

usertwentysix: so real dude. same

usertwentyseven: This is not a sport fandom, is a prison

usertwentyeight: "BROS" ???? ARE U SURE???

fabioquartararo20: We are so sorry, nounours (@️isackhadjar ask for forgiveness before he asks us for something else) 🌹

↳ isackhadjar: WE ARE SO SORRY 🙏💔😭

↳ usertwentynine: EXCUSE ME WHAT

↳ userthirty: I think calling your friend "teddy bear" is not casual, but since I used the translator to find out the meaning, I better not give an opinion

youruser

♥️          Liked by pepemartiofficial, lando, fabioquartararo20, hausmann.tina, and others

youruser: The gang is together again (we are living in Fabio's house) (Neverending sleepover) (i NEVER lie) (if someone is wondering, yes, they are taking good care of me🙂‍↕️)

                        View all comments

userthirtyone: is it casual when u & "ur guys" live together?

↳ userthirtytwo: when u make breakfast to "nounours" every morning w your french compatriot

↳ userthirtythree: & THEY ADOPTED LIAM

↳ youruser: No. Liam is only my kid

↳ userthirtyfour: ANSWER THE REST OF THE QUESTIONS. WE WANT TO KNOW

fabioquartararo20: qu'il est beauuuu !!!

↳ youruser: 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

↳ isackhadjar: 🙄

↳ youruser: nonono. here is where u comment "my guys❤️‍🩹" & ppl make theories bc we all 3 comment that

↳ userthirtyfive: YOU MF

⋮⋮⋮                 481MCLARG | 04 . 06 . 2025

Love And Sickness

Eleventh Doctor x Male Reader

Warnings: Sickness mentioned, like vomit.

*I got this idea from someone else’s oneshot, but can’t remember who. If it’s yours, please tell me so I can credit you or if you want me to take it down*

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We’ve been parked in the same spot for what seemed to be about two weeks. The first week consisted of the newly regenerated Doctor avoiding me, re-exploring the TARDIS, and where he was. The second week consisted of him being sick. Not just I-have-a-headache sick. Like, coughing-throwing-up-fever sick. He couldn’t keep anything down first couple days. About the fifth day, he was able to keep water down but hardly anything else. He couldn’t sleep well either – barely an hour a night. He hasn’t showered for about a week, and he refused to change his clothing.

He needed help, but do you call when the Doctor is sick? A doctor? Or another Doctor… 

Weiterlesen

Honeypie!

pairing: isack hadjar x male!reader author's note: thank you 2 @milessunflowers for helping out a little with the planning of this fic!!! isack brainrot has hit me like a truck lol,,, either way, this fic is just trying to encompass summer and sweetness all in one and i hope you can feel that while reading!!! as always, no use of y/n! hope u enjoy!! tags: childhood friends-to-lovers, two idiots in love, summertime romance warnings: small bits of french word count: 3.0k songs: honeypie by jawny. fine kind of day by max mittelman. best friend by rex orange county. the spins by mac miller, empire of the sun.

The summer breeze is a feeling you’ve missed throughout the entirety of winter and spring. The humid warmth and the gentle, chilling gusts of wind that brush past your cheek—barely grazing it.

Summertime is finally here. The air smells like pastries, strawberries, and cigarette smoke. The screeching of tyres and chatter outside your window is louder than you imagined—and despite it recurring every year—the streets of Paris have never felt busier.

Your room already smells like croissants and baked goods; the rustling in the bakery beneath you has been ongoing for hours already, baking in full. Your steps are slow, careful—yet they still manage to creak the old attic floorboards beneath the soles of your feet. You slip into your clothes, folding your pajamas into a careful pile in your drawer, letting your bed remain unmade for the morning. You tell yourself that you’ll fix it later, but really, you’re just fooling yourself.

The stairs twirl down into the side of the kitchen as you walk down them, and as the air-conditioned chill of the kitchen hits you, you catch the whiff of half-made dough.

“Mm, you’re baking already maman?” You hum, stepping into the kitchen. Eyes darting around the chaos ensuing, your father piping meringues onto parchment, while workers fished trays of pastries and breads from the oven.

“Bah ouais—we open in just a few minutes, amour,” her voice echoes out from behind the baking trays, her French accent laying thick in her words, hand gesturing for you to come closer, “vas-y. Help me put out these macarons in the display window.”

It’s still warm when she hands it to you, but cool enough to hold—barely. You hiss as the tray scorches your palm. Their scent is nutty and sweet, and this batch is mixed with strawberry and vanilla. As you feel no one is looking, you pop one into your mouth, the almond taste immediately exploding on your tongue, letting out a delighted sigh. As good as it always is, as it always has been.

The bell to your bakery chimes, too early—not quite yet open, you speak without glancing up, “desolé, we’re closed. We open in just a few minutes.”

“Not even open for me?” His voice is familiar. Too familiar, the same sweet accent and slight twinge of nasal in his tone as he had when you were kids.

“Isack?” Your eyes snap up to meet his, his smile so wide and warm—like he is the summer sun himself, “Mon dieu! It’s you!”

Your heart swells with comfort, familiarity, and something you cannot quite name, almost dropping the tray of macarons as you throw them to the side, rushing to hug him, your cheek brushing his before your arms catch up. His hug is strong, stronger than you remember it being—arms stiffer, tenser with muscle—but still just as gentle.

“Calm down, mignon,” his laugh bounces through the bakery, patting your lower back with more force than he probably intended, “I’m back for the entire summer, or most of it at least. I’m not disappearing, not for a while.”

His hands fall to rest at the bone of your hips, and you pull back to get a good look at him. You knew what he looked like—you kept yourself aware enough with all the Instagram fan pages and update accounts, but it felt so weird seeing him in real life. Taller, more muscular, his black tousled hair just a little bit longer, but he’s still the boy from Paris with a mole on his face and a grin that made your heart flutter. Just a little.

“I know, I know,” you step back beaming, “but I’m just so happy to see you! It’s been ages!"

“It’s been like, five months.”

“Like I said, ages.”

Isack tuts, but smiles nonetheless. Glancing at you for merely a second, he shakes his head. His eyes drift across the bakery, almost lost in the warm locale. “You’ve renovated.”

“Barely. Moved the shelves and switched the places of some pastries.” Your eyes scan the shop for something to comment on, “nothing much. Only the regulars would probably notice.”

And as you’re busied looking elsewhere, Isack moves past you, sniffing the air and reaching out past the display, onto the tray of macarons you were supposed to put out. He grabbed one of them with slow and careful movements, quickly popping it into his mouth—like a master thief doing his grand heist.

“Ah- hey!” You exclaim, wafting your hand at him, “Don’t eat those! At least pay!”

“Come on! It’s just one!” He laughs, blocking your feeble attempts at smacks, “Besides, you took one too! I saw it on the tray. One was missing! Spare me, mignon! S’il te plaît!”

“That’s different!” You protest, “I work here!”

“Please, it was just one!”

You concede, pouting, letting your arms fall back to your sides, “fine. Just this once. As a welcome back gift.”

He takes just one step back, still staggering from your hits, “Since when did you become so aggressive?”

“Since people started to steal,” you retort, eyes narrowing at him without any heat behind them.

A beat passes, and he merely huffs and crosses his arms in response.

“Anyway, I came here to say that—well, I’m back, and if you want to hang out, just message me.” He says, arms still crossed. You can feel his eyes trailing down the back of your neck. One of your free hands flees to rest there.

You turn around to face him, “Yeah. Yeah, I will.”

“Then I’ll see you around, mignon.”

You’d been staring at the blindingly white screen of your messenger app ever since your shift ended, writing, deleting, and re-writing messages like it was some sacred ritual. Hell, you weren’t even sure what you’d invite him to do. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, unsure.

you 4:02 pm

hey! thought i’d take u up on the offer to hang out, what do you think about going around the city and the beach later? i’ll drive us

isack ★ 4:02 pm

since when did u have a real car??

isack ★ 4:03 pm

don’t tell me ur gonna be driving me around in ur old punch buggy…

you 4:04 pm

i’ll have you know that she’s my pride and joy. don’t u dare insult her, hadjar

isack ★ 4:04 pm

she’s small and odd that’s what she is

isack ★ 4:05 pm

i thought u had better tastes than that honestly

you 4:05 pm

WHAT DID I JUST SAY ISACK

you 4:05 pm

now are we hanging out or NOT

you 4:06 pm

ur honestly gonna make me retract my offer atp

isack ★ 4:07 pm

wait no i’m sorry she’s just... unique 💔

isack ★ 4:07 pm

i’m up to just hang though even if it’s in ur unique car…

you 4:08 pm

i’m not getting any better than that i guess

you 4:09 pm

meet me outside in like 10?

isack ★ 4:10 pm

u got it 👍

Music blasts through the walls of the kitchen, blaringly loud—some cheesy French love song your mother always turned on when she knew Isack was around. You step down into the heat of motion, brushing by someone hastily getting their dough out of the fridge, deliberately passing by your mother, and lowering the volume of the speaker. She turns to you with a smile.

“Mon beau,” she says. Too gleefully, mischief lacing her words, “Aren’t you gonna take something with you for Isack? I’m sure he’d like some snacks.”

Her hand trails down the trays in the back, the ones with pastries that are for the workers or close friends. Batches that went just slightly wrong, or aren’t good enough for the customers.

“Maman, he’s a Formula 1 driver now, une pilote de Formula Une—I don’t know if he can eat pastries anymore.” You reply, but walk towards her nonetheless, eyes gleaming over the goods.

“Mon fils, come on! I’m sure there’s something he could eat here.” She pulls out trays filled with desserts, some healthier than others, but you still have your doubts.

“Isack said he’s gonna be here for the entire summer, if I want to treat him, I’ll be sure to make something.” Your knuckles brush past hers, quickly pushing the trays back into place, purposefully disregarding the pointed look she shoots you.

She turns around with a huff, a quick Il arrive bientôt, vas-y, thrown over her shoulder as she heads into the kitchen once again. You’d retort something back, but the chime of your entry bell throws you off.

Isack steps into the bakery like he owns it. For a second, you think he almost does—with how he used to visit every day, or every day he could with karting championships and whatnot—his confident stride a little charming. There are two cups of coffee in his hands.

“Salut, mignon,” he smiles, reaching over the cup to you, “got it on my way here.”

You blink, but grab it either way. It’s lukewarm at best, which is surprising considering it’s not even raining out. “Thanks. It’s a little cold, though.”

There’s a beat of silence, and when you meet his eyes, there’s a hint of awkwardness behind them, “ah. Is it?”

“It’s— it’s fine, don’t worry,” you hold it in your hands, “well, let’s head out?”

Music whirs to life as your engine turns over. That old CD you burned years ago stutters, then bursts into sound—one of those scratchy French pop songs you’d probably be embarrassed to admit you still listen to.

You hear how Isack snorts in the seat beside you, and he blinks, caught somewhere between recognition and disbelief.

“No way,” he says.

You try not to grin. “Don’t tell me you forgot.”

“I think this CD was burned into my memory the second you played it the fourth time,” he laughs. “Honestly, I thought I’d escaped it at this point.”

You nudge the gear stick into reverse, pretending not to look as he settles deeper into the passenger seat like he belongs there. “Tough luck. You’re trapped now.”

Another song starts—an English song flaring up in the speakers. It’s one of those that had lyrics that didn’t make any sense, but still feel like they say everything that you can’t.

The drive is easy. The streets blur by, the city melting into open air and stretches of trees. Occasionally you take a stop to point out places that’ve changed over the years, or to point out the places you used to visit as kids, but there’s a comfort in the silence between songs, in the way Isack drums his fingers against his knee in time with the beat, in how he glances at you during red lights, always with that same half-smile.

Every time, it makes your heart flutter. Every time you pretend that it doesn’t. You pretend not to realize how his hand hovers over yours, resting on the gear, how his fingertips brush against your knuckles as they retract back to his lap.

You don’t speak much. You don’t have to.

Until Isack pipes up—quiet, casual—the kind of comment that was soft, but still kept your mind sharp:

“Ever think about the roadtrips we’d do? Just the two of us?”

There’s a short silence before you respond, contemplative, “kind of. Mostly when this CD plays.”

He hums, “You were always the one driving.”

“Because you drive like it’s a competition, even when you’re off-track.”

At that, he laughs again. Loud, boisterous, yet you still feel it in your chest. A warmth creeping up through your body and gathering at your cheeks.

You pull up to the beach, your lukewarm coffee long forgotten in the cup holder in your car. The air’s a gentle breeze of sand and sunscreen hidden behind the sweltering sun. You slip out of your clothes and into the bathing shorts hidden underneath, glancing over to Isack, who’s done the same.

The car doors slam shut behind you. Sand clings to your ankles as you make your way across the shore, towels slung over shoulders and old song lyrics still dancing in your heads.

He throws you a sideways smile, stepping towards you with a towel wrapped around his shoulders like a cloak. His hand grabs your shoulder, “Come on. Let’s go sunbathe, yeah?”

The beach was far from empty. Kids' shrill yells and the crashing of waves fade into background noise as you lie down, basking in the sun.

Isack's soft breathing steadies you, the rise and fall of his chest slowly mimicking yours in deep rhythmic breaths. His bathing shorts hiking just a little further down his hips than usual, resting far down enough that his tan lines are visible in the bright shine of the sun. Your hand reaches out, fingertips grazing his skin. Hot. Silky. Just calloused enough that it's different from yours.

His skin is barely beading with sweat, glimmering like prisms along his toned stomach.

"Mon dieu," he sighs, voice barely audible amongst all other noise, "I'm so happy to be home for the summer."

Your hand lingers a second too long, resting just beneath the curve of his rib. He doesn't move.

You don’t say anything. Not right away. But when the moment feels like it might slip away with the tide, you murmur, “You say that every time.”

“Because it’s always true,” he replies. Then he turns his head, just slightly, just enough to catch your expression in the corner of his eye. “You don’t believe me?”

You smile, dry, barely there. “I do. I just think maybe you’re happy for other reasons, too.”

He shifts onto his elbow, weight pressing the towel down beneath him. His eyes find yours—not intense, but careful. Like he’s examining you, searching for something behind your gaze.

“And what reasons would those be?” he asks.

You almost laugh. Almost say ‘me’. Instead, you offer: “The beach. The macarons. The CD.”

He huffs. “You.”

And then he goes quiet, like he didn’t mean to say it out loud.

You blink. Your stomach flips, and you’re not sure if it’s because of him or the heat. “What?”

He doesn’t repeat his words, just lies back down with his head tilted up to the sun. His eyes are narrowed, eyebrows furrowed—moving past it like it was nothing.

“Wait, Isack—” you stammer, “what do you mean me?”

A beat. Then, he turns to you. There's a slight pout grazing his face, like he's not quite sure what you mean.

“I meant you, as in you are one of the reasons I look forward to the summer,” he states, as if that's the clearest thing in the world.

The sun has dipped just past the horizon, streaking orange and rose across the sea. Isack lies beside you, arm curled behind his head, gaze tilted skyward. Towel half-draped across his chest like he’d forgotten it was even there.

Your knees are drawn up to your chest. You’re still damp from the warmth, salt clinging to your skin, the feeling of him brushing against you earlier carved deep into your memory. Neither of you have said anything in minutes now. The beach is quieter—most people have packed up. The cries of children are distant. All that’s left is the hush of water and the occasional distant bark of a dog.

“I missed this,” he says, voice low. Thoughtful. His eyes are still on the horizon. “Not just the sweets and sand. I mean everything. All of it.”

Your fingers curl into the towel on your lap. You glance sideways. “So, you're saying you missed me?”

He blinks, like he didn’t expect you to speak. “Say what?”

“That you missed me.”

He exhales a short, half-laugh. Almost incredulous.

“I did. I missed you like hell.”

His admission slips out so quickly you almost don’t catch it.

Your heart skips. Then stumbles, like you didn't expect him to say it despite you telling him to. The sea creeps closer, waves brushing higher and higher onto the shore.

You swallow, “Then say it again.” A plea suffocating in your throat.

He shifts to face you, propping himself up on one elbow. The sun glows behind him, catching in the strands of his hair, softening the lines of his face. His smile was more blinding than the light behind him.

“I missed you,” he says. “I thought about you when I landed in new cities. In hotel rooms. On race days. When I had a second to breathe—it was always you. Always.”

You stare at him, lips parting just slightly, heart stammering beneath your ribs.

“I—” you start. But then you stop. Because you don’t know what to say. Because you’ve imagined this moment so many times and none of them prepared you for this.

“I didn’t say anything before because I didn’t want to fuck it up,” he continues, his voice quieter now. “I didn’t want to ruin what we had. But the thing is… it’s already ruined, isn’t it? Not saying anything didn’t make it better. It just made the silence louder.”

Your hand reaches toward him before you can stop it. Just a fraction. A small gesture.

He meets you halfway.

His fingers brush yours, slow. Ridden with emotions that have been kept under breach. Almost afraid to break the moment.

“I think,” he says, treading his words carefully as if he's unsure of them “I’ve been in love with you since we were fifteen. Since you made me that stupid CD.”

You laugh—wet, barely held back. “You’re such a sap.”

He smiles. “Only for you.”

A beat passes. Then another. And in the hush between them, you whisper:

“I love you, too.”

He doesn’t do anything right away. Just lets the words sit there between you, letting the warmth of them simmer in his chest.

Then he leans in. Slowly. Softly.

And when he kisses you, it’s not rushed, or frantic. It’s familiar. Like you’ve done it a thousand times in another life. Like you were always supposed to. His hand finds its way to your cheek, thumb brushing against the flesh of it. Not forceful, not harsh, just a gentle caress akin to the morning breeze.

“So,” you mumble after a moment, “does this mean I’m your boyfriend?”

When you part, your jaw slackens. Your eyes are wide, your chest full of that quiet, giddy rush. His hand is still resting on your cheek, yours finding the meat of his thigh.

“Only if it means I’m yours.”

©lilliezzzzz-fics: please don't copy or distribute my work on any platform

credits: @/cafekitsune for the dividers <3

author's note: i don't have a laptop atm so for a while (p much the entire summer) my writing's gonna slow down!!! sorry!!!

taglist: @toodeepintofandoms @milessunflowers

A baby Fabio with the Marquez bros🫶

Dead. This man has me dead.

Its so sad that he didnt win the championship.

Im sure that he would have won if the bike was better.

But Pecco definetly deserves it.

ok, what's up with our riders?! like…Aron Canet and Jorge Navarro act like boyfriends, Aron Canet and Fabio Quartararo basically post their foreplay on Instagram Story and now Aleix Espargaro and Jorge Martin are kissing in a club…

I don't know why, I don't know how but I think i like it.

I like it very much.

MB72 — take your shirt off

If I was able to I'd make an accurate The Picture of Dorian Gray movie or show and obviously I'd make basil and dorian canon

And god i would die to cast young jared padalecki as dorian

Any suggestions for Basil?