clara-a7

[clara-a7]

[clara-a7]

𝙃𝙞𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 || Pau Cubarsí²

彡PAIRING ; pau cubarsí x fem!reader

彡WARNINGS ; fluff

彡SUMMARY ; summer break with pau and his friends hiking through the spanish countryside.

彡WORDS ; 500

彡DISCLAIMER ; Everything written here is FICTITIOUS.

彡AUTHOR'S NOTE ; here’s some Pau fluff, a bit short but i hope you enjoy it~!♡

You honestly don’t know how you got talked into this.

Maybe it was how Pau asked his eyes wide and hopeful, throwing out promises like candy. “Good weather, easy trail, great views, bebé. You’ll love it.”

Right. Sure.

“This was a mistake,” you say, tired and out of breath, stopping halfway up the trail with your hands on your knees. “I’m sweating. I’m sunburned. I think my soul is peeling off.”

You push up your sunglasses and sigh, quietly saying, “Never again.”

The guys are way ahead now, laughing as they walk like this is some fun team trip, not a hard hike. You think about sitting down and not moving until someone notices. Until he notices.

Just as you’re about to do it, you hear rustling ahead. Footsteps. Then his voice.

“Bebé?”

You look up to see Pau walking back toward you. His forehead is creased, and his eyes search until he finds you with a teasing smile. “Why are you so far behind? Why are you so slow?”

You blink at him. “Because I’m dying?”

He laughs quietly, coming closer. His hand touches your waist softly, and even though you’re hot and tired, you feel yourself relax a bit. “You could have told me.”

You frown at him, but your body leans toward him without thinking. “I did. I complained a lot. You just didn’t hear me over your guy talk up front.”

Pau chuckles, his face warm and a little red from the sun. “Sorry, sorry.”

You roll your eyes, but your heart feels a little softer. It’s hard to stay mad when he looks at you like you’re the best thing around.

“We can take a break if you want,” he says, brushing a sweaty hair away from your face.

You shake your head. “No, it’s okay. Just slow down. I’m not an athlete, remember?”

He laughs, that easy, happy laugh that makes the sun feel less hot. He leans in and kisses your cheek quickly sweat and sunscreen don’t matter and says, “Okay, bebé.”

Then he shouts to the guys ahead, “Hey! Slow down!”

He bumps your shoulder gently. “Come on. Slow pace. We have all the time.”

You nod, push your sunglasses back up, but your hand finds his and holds on tight.

Maybe it’s still hot. Maybe the hill is hard. And you’re pretty sure your legs will hurt tomorrow.

But walking next to him, it doesn’t feel so bad.

Because his hand fits in yours perfectly, like they belong together. And every time he looks at you, it feels like you’re the most important thing.

Every little smile and soft squeeze makes the sun easier to handle. The heat might be strong, but he feels like a cool shadow on a hot day warm and calm.

When he brushes hair from your face, his touch makes your heart beat faster.

And suddenly, you think maybe just maybe this hike isn’t that bad after all, especially with him by your side.

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[clara-a7]

𝙏𝙞𝙢𝙚 𝙋𝙖𝙨𝙨𝙚𝙙 || Oscar Piastri⁸¹

✧f1 masterlist

彡PAIRING ; oscar piastri x fem!reader

彡WARNINGS ; fluff, childhood best friends

彡SUMMARY ; you return to a karting track to support your nephew and unexpectedly run into oscar, your childhood friend.

彡REQUESTED? ; yes! (requests are open!)

彡WORDS ; 670

彡AUTHOR'S NOTE ; i’m not at home right now so I wrote this super quickly... sorry if there are a few little mistakes! But I really hope you enjoy it ♡

You didn’t plan to come back. Not on a track. Not to the sound of karts racing on the track. And definitely not to your past.

But when your nephew asked you to come with him said he wanted “someone who used to race” to watch you smiled and said yes. Just one weekend, you thought. What could go wrong?

Now you were here, standing by the fence, watching him take the corners too wide. He reminded you of yourself at his age fast, brave, a little wild.

“He’s good,” someone said beside you. “He reminds me of someone I used to race with.”

You turned and your heart stopped for a second.

Oscar.

He looked a little older. His face was sharper, and he seemed more serious now. But his smile? Still soft. Still the same.

“Hey,” you said, blinking. “Didn’t think I’d see you here.”

“Same,” he replied, standing with his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. “I had a sponsor thing nearby. Thought I’d stop in. It’s been a long time since I’ve been here.”

He nodded toward the kart speeding by.

“That your nephew, right?”

“Yeah,” you said. “His first regional race.”

Oscar watched in silence for a moment, then smiled. “He’s quick. A little wild, but he knows what he’s doing. Just like you were.”

You laughed quietly. “Some habits run in the family.”

There was a pause between you. The kind that feels heavy, like you both knew how long it had been since you last spoke.

“I’m really glad to see you again,” Oscar said. His voice was softer now, more honest. “It’s been a while.”

You nodded. “Yeah… it has.”

Wanting to break the awkwardness, you said, “I saw you got your seat in F1. That’s amazing.”

“Thanks,” he said. “It’s been… a mess, but I got it.”

You smiled. “I always knew you’d get there.”

He raised his eyebrows with a little smile. “You did?”

“Of course,” you said. “You always had that perfect mix calm and fire. You never lost your head. You just kept pushing.”

Oscar gave a small laugh. “Except when it came to you.”

You looked at him, surprised. “Me?”

He gave a small shrug, still smiling. “Back then… you were always one step ahead. You drove me crazy. In a good way.”

You laughed, a little shy. “That’s not how I remember it.”

Another quiet moment passed. This time it was full of old memories, things neither of you had said back then.

“I thought about you,” Oscar said quietly. “After you stopped racing. After we lost contact.”

Your fingers tightened around your cup. “I thought about you too.”

He looked at you with a soft smile one that held a little sadness. “It’s strange being here again. Talking to you like no time has passed. I missed this.”

Your cheeks warmed. You looked away, trying not to smile too much.

Oscar seemed like he wanted to say something more. But then, before either of you could speak, a loud voice broke through the sound of engines.

“Auntie!”

Your nephew came running up, cheeks red from racing, helmet in his arms. His eyes went wide when he saw who you were standing with.

“Wait?! That’s Oscar Piastri!” he said excitedly.

Oscar bent down a bit to his level and smiled. “You were really fast out there.”

“Thanks!” your nephew grinned proudly. Then he looked between you both and frowned. “Wait… do you know each other?”

Oscar glanced at you, a knowing smile on his lips. “We go way back.”

“Really? That’s so cool!” Your nephew turned to you, eyes big. “So can he come to dinner with us? Please?”

You looked at Oscar. He gave a small smile, looking a bit unsure.

“Only if your aunt says it’s okay,” he told your nephew kindly.

Your cheeks felt warm again. You looked at him for a moment, thinking about everything between you then smiled.

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “I think it’s okay.”

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© clara-a7 - all rights reserved.

[clara-a7]

𝙁𝙞𝙧𝙨𝙩 𝘿𝙖𝙮 || F1 GRID

彡CONTAINS ; oscar piastri, charles leclerc, lando norris, franco colapinto, ollie bearman, kimi antonelli

彡WARNINGS ; fluff

彡SUMMARY ; you're the new journalist in the paddock, and every driver is discreetly surprised by your confident charm.

彡WORDS ; 1,2k

彡DISCLAIMER ; Everything written here is FICTITIOUS.

彡AUTHOR'S NOTE ; sorry if here are any mistakes, english isn't my first language!

⤷Oscar Piastri

You’re sitting across from Oscar during a media day interview, your notepad balanced on your knee, recorder blinking red between you. He’s composed, as always answering every question with that cool, methodical charm that’s almost become his trademark.

“How do you feel heading into the next race weekend?” you ask, tone professional but warm.

Oscar nods, fingers laced in his lap. “I think we’ve done the prep, and the sim work’s been really productive. It’s just about executing now.”

You hum thoughtfully, scribbling a quick note, then ask him another question. As you smile, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear, you wait for his response.

His answer falters.

“Uh yeah, sorry, what was the question again?” he blinks just once, then clears his throat with an awkward little chuckle. “My bad. Lost my train of thought.”

You tilt your head, amused. “No worries.”

The moment passes, but there’s a slight flush to his ears now.

Later, back in the team’s motorhome, his PR manager nudges him playfully. “Bit distracted in that last interview, weren’t you?”

Oscar just shrugs, sipping from his water bottle. “Yeah,” he murmurs softly, almost like he’s still thinking about you. “I wasn’t ready for that kind of beauty.”

His manager blinks. “Excuse me?”

He just smiles a rare, quiet thing. “Nothing.”

But it’s not nothing. Not to him, anyway.

⤷Charles Leclerc

You approach Charles during press day, notebook in hand, heart quietly buzzing. He greets the press with his usual effortless charm composed and professional, every answer precise and polished.

When you introduce yourself, there’s a brief pause just a flicker of surprise, like he wasn’t quite expecting someone like you today.

He answers your questions thoughtfully, his tone steady and respectful. Yet, his eyes keep drifting back to you, lingering just a beat longer than necessary.

“It’s your first weekend, right?” he asks, offering a soft, genuine smile.

You nod at his question.

“Great, I hope to see you around more,” he adds with a warm smile, his voice low but sincere.

You return a gentle smile, feeling your cheeks warm as he nods subtly and keeps his professionalism intact.

The interview wraps, and Charles excuses himself smoothly. Later that night, as you settle back in your hotel room and check your phone, you notice a new notification.

Charles Leclerc has started following you on Instagram.

Your smile widens, heart fluttering slightly. Maybe this weekend isn’t going to be so ordinary after all.

⤷Lando Norris

You’re wandering the paddock, a little lost, trying to find the media room when you accidentally bump into Lando near the McLaren motorhome. He stops mid-step, eyes widening just a fraction as he takes you in not rude, but clearly caught off guard.

“Hey! Uh… what are you looking for?” he asks, a playful smile already tugging at his lips.

You laugh softly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “I’m new here. Trying to find the media room, but I’m a bit lost.”

Lando’s smile grows warmer. “I got you. Follow me. It’s not far, and I know the place.”

As you walk together, the ease in his voice and the way he casually chats makes the paddock feel a little less intimidating. You realize he’s just as approachable off-camera as he is charismatic on it.

Later, during interviews, Lando tries to keep his usual confident, cheeky vibe. But you notice him glancing your way when he thinks you’re not watching just a flicker in his eyes that speaks louder than words.

There’s an unspoken connection growing quietly between you, soft and unexpected, making every encounter a little more electric.

⤷Franco Colapinto

You catch Franco just after qualifying, mic in hand and sun dipping low over the paddock. He’s still in his race suit, hair damp from the helmet, cheeks flushed with the lingering adrenaline of the session.

It’s your first interview with him, and you’re expecting the usual post-session rundown split times, track conditions, technical chatter. But from the moment you introduce yourself, Franco’s energy shifts warmer, softer, a little more playful.

“Nice to meet you,” he says, voice smooth as his eyes meet yours without hesitation. “You have a great smile, by the way.”

You blink, just slightly thrown, but can’t help smiling back. “Thank you. Uh great quali session. Talk us through the lap?”

He launches into his answer with ease, but there’s a rhythm to his words less like a driver rattling off data and more like someone painting a picture. He gestures with his hands, his eyes never really leaving yours.

Mid-answer, he leans in just a bit. “You new here?”

You only nod, caught in the way his attention feels entirely undivided.

Franco grins, gaze soft. “Thought so.”

By the end, you’re not quite sure who was interviewing who. He thanks you with a nod, that smile still lingering.

And as he walks off toward the garage, he glances over his shoulder already hoping you’ll be the one holding the mic next time, too.

⤷Ollie Bearman

Ollie’s usually confident during media sharp answers, relaxed posture, just enough charm to keep things light. But when you step up for your interview, something shifts.

You introduce yourself, smiling as you set up your recorder, and he freezes for half a second too long. Just long enough to notice.

“Right, yeah hi,” he says, clearing his throat, eyes flicking to your badge and then back to your face. “Let’s do it.”

You ask your first question, and he answers smoothly on the surface. But underneath, he’s completely thrown. Mentally kicking himself for being so obvious, for the way his gaze keeps drifting back to your eyes, or how his voice drops slightly whenever you smile.

He’s still answering everything right, still holding it together, but there’s a subtle shift in his tone like he’s trying just a bit harder to sound cool, even as his thoughts are a little scrambled.

You wrap up, thank him for his time, and offer a parting smile.

“Yeah,” he says, almost too quickly, “Hope I see you around more.”

Ollie walks away eventually, pretending like it was nothing. But in his head, he’s absolutely kicking himself for being so obvious.

Still… he finds himself looking around the paddock later, just in case you pass by again. Lowkey hoping you do.

⤷Kimi Antonelli

You approach Kimi after a solid qualifying run mic in hand, press pass swinging gently at your side. He’s already in front of the camera, arms crossed lightly, waiting for the usual questions.

You introduce yourself, voice calm and professional. He nods in return, polite but quiet, his gaze flickering down to your media badge, then off to the side.

The interview starts. His answers are sharp and to the point nothing out of place, nothing awkward. But there’s something in the way he fidgets with the strap of his gloves, shifts his weight from foot to foot, fingers tapping against his arm like he’s trying to stay grounded.

You ask your third question, and this time, mid-answer, he glances up and finally meets your eyes.

He freezes just for half a second. His jaw tenses, and there’s the faintest breath of hesitation before he continues speaking like nothing happened.

You wrap up, thank him, and he offers a quick “thanks” in return, already turning away.

Later, back in the garage, one of his PR manager nudges him with a grin. “She got you nervous, huh?”

Kimi mutters under his breath, gaze dropping, cheeks a little pink. “Didn’t expect her to be… cute.”

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[clara-a7]

BARCA BOYS || 𝙆𝙞𝙨𝙨 𝙋𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙠

彡CONTAINS ; pedri, pablo gavi, hector fort, pau cubarsi, ferran torres

彡WARNINGS ; fluff, prank

彡SUMMARY ; you decide to prank him by not kissing him back.

彡WORDS ; 920

彡DISCLAIMER ; Everything written here is FICTITIOUS.

彡AUTHOR'S NOTE ; Sorry if here are any mistakes, english isn't my first language

⤷Pedri

He’s in the middle of a tense FIFA match, eyes locked on the screen, thumb smashing buttons like his life depends on it. You’re curled up beside him on the couch, legs tangled with his, half scrolling, half watching. Without glancing away, he leans in for a quick kiss something effortless, done a hundred times a day. But this time, you don’t move.

He presses his lips to yours or tries to. You stay still.

At first, he doesn’t notice. Just hums, locked in focus. But after a beat, he pauses the game and slowly turns toward you.

“Wait… did you just ice me?” he asks, squinting. “You didn’t kiss me back.”

You blink up at him, all innocence. “Did I?”

Now he looks betrayed. He tosses the controller onto the coffee table like he’s been gravely wronged. “Are you mad? Is this about the cake? I thought you were full...”

Your laughter spills out and realization dawns on his face. “No, no,” he groans, dropping his head against your shoulder. “You actually scared me for a second.”

You kiss him, slow and warm. Once. Then again. “Better?” He just hums, lips brushing yours. “Still recovering. Keep going.”

To make it up to him, you let him kiss you again five times. Okay, maybe ten.

⤷Pablo Gavi

He’s heading out the door, gym bag slung over his shoulder, cap pulled low over his curls. You’re leaning against the kitchen counter, sipping coffee, still in his hoodie from the night before. As usual, he walks over for a quick kiss something automatic, built into his routine. But when he leans in, you subtly turn your head.

He pulls back, blinking. “Wait.”

You raise your eyebrows calmly. “What?”

He narrows his eyes, trying to process. “Did you really just avoid my kiss?”

You shrug, turning to rinse your mug like nothing happened. “Didn’t notice.”

He stands there for a beat, completely thrown, the smallest frown forming between his brows. He’s quiet but not cold. Just watching you carefully, trying to figure out what he missed.

You bite the inside of your cheek, holding in your laugh. You’re not used to seeing him this unsure.

When you finally turn, his expression is caught somewhere between confusion and worry. You step closer, fingers curling into the front of his hoodie, and pull him down into a kiss slow and reassuring.

He exhales softly against your lips. “I thought I forgot something important.”

You grin. “Not this time. Just messing with you.”

⤷Hector Fort

He’s just finished telling you about his day, animated and smiling, when he leans in for a kiss soft, sure, like it’s the natural punctuation to the moment. But you pull back just enough that his lips brush your cheek instead.

His eyes flick open, confused. “Hey! What was that?” His voice is teasing, a smirk playing on his lips.

You raise an eyebrow, grin tugging at your mouth. “What? What’s wrong?”

He chuckles, but his gaze stays steady on you, eyes drifting from your eyes to your lips. “You’re messing with me, aren’t you?”

“Maybe,” you say, voice low. “Just a little.”

He shakes his head, mock exasperated, but leans in again, this time catching your lips fully. “Okay, payback time,” he murmurs against your mouth.

You smile into the kiss, feeling the warmth deepen despite the prank. He pulls you close, fingers threading through your hair. “Don’t make me work so hard next time.”

You laugh softly. “No promises.”

⤷Pau Cubarsi

You’re sitting close on the couch, the quiet hum of the evening settling around you. Pau’s tired but smiling—the kind of peaceful that comes after a long day. He leans in for a kiss, soft and familiar—but you don’t meet him. Instead, you let his lips graze your cheek.

He pulls back, startled, eyebrows raised. “Seriously? You’re doing me like that?”

You smirk, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Maybe. Thought you needed a little challenge.”

He shakes his head, a laugh escaping him. “You’re impossible.” Then his gaze drops to your lips, and suddenly he’s closer, capturing them in a kiss that’s slow, deliberate, and warm.

You lean in to kiss him back but it’s your turn to pull away.

“I don’t feel like it anymore,” he says, that signature smile teasing at the corner of his mouth.

You laugh softly, heart fluttering. “Oh, is that so?”

He shrugs, eyes sparkling. “Guess you’re the one holding all the power now.”

⤷Ferran Torres

He’s feeling himself tonight fresh out of the shower, shirt off, muscles still glistening with droplets of water. There’s a confident smirk playing on his lips as he leans in for a kiss, like he knows exactly how irresistible he looks. You’re sitting on the edge of the bed, watching him, amused.

But this time, you don’t move. No kiss back. No reaction. Just silence.

He pulls back, hand theatrically pressed to his chest. “¿Qué? You don’t want this?” His eyes widen like you just denied him the sun itself.

He gasps, dramatically shaking his head. “I should call my agent. Clearly, my prime is over.” His voice is half-joking but full of playful mock despair.

Laughter bubbles up from you, shaking your shoulders as you nearly topple over. “Wait, what? You’re abusing me a bit.”

He catches you easily in his arms, grinning like he’s won a secret game. “Don’t play with me like that,” he murmurs, kissing your cheeks, forehead, and finally your lips slow and tender. “You almost hurt my ego.”

You smile against his mouth, the warmth between you comforting a perfect mix of love and mischief.

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© clara-a7 - all rights reserved.

[clara-a7]

No Exit || Franco Colapinto⁴³

彡PAIRING ; franco colapinto x fem!reader

彡WARNINGS ; angst, past relationship, romantic tension, emotional confrontation

彡SUMMARY ; you run into your ex franco at the paddock in monaco

彡WORDS ; 850

彡DISCLAIMER ; Everything written here is FICTITIOUS.

彡AUTHOR'S NOTE ; sorry if here are any mistakes, english isn't my first language!

You hadn’t expected to see him. But.

Sure, you knew he’d be there. Franco Colapinto was back in Formula 1, having stepped into Jack Doohan’s seat earlier in the season.

Monaco was one of the biggest weekends on the calendar everyone showed up. It was wishful thinking to believe the paddock was big enough to hide from someone who once made your heart feel like it was caving in on itself, as if your ribs were too small to contain everything he made you feel.

You adjusted your sunglasses, a flimsy shield between you and reality, reminding yourself why you were here for the weekend, for the view, for the roar of engines. Not for him.

And yet, the moment still blindsided you.

“Y/N?”

You froze. That voice. You’d know it anywhere. His accent still wrapped around your name, soft and Spanish and painfully familiar. You turned slowly.

“Franco.”

He looked exactly like Monaco wanted him to: tanned, sunlit, just a little too charming in his Alpine team polo. He hadn’t changed much maybe his jawline was sharper, and his eyes a little more tired but he was still him.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, walking toward you like nothing had ever happened. Like you weren’t carrying the weight of everything he left behind.

You cleared your throat, caught off guard by how easily he slipped back into your space. His closeness, his casual tone it rattled you more than you wanted to admit.

“A friend got me a paddock pass,” you said, fidgeting with the strap around your neck as if it could tether you to the ground.

“A friend…?” he repeated, one eyebrow arching slightly. Then, softer, “Of course.”

There was something in his voice. Not jealousy, exactly. But something bitter, tinged with something that felt like regret.

You looked away, hiding behind your sunglasses, unsure if you were more annoyed at him or yourself for still caring what he thought.

You didn’t respond. Not because there was nothing to say, but because saying anything might unravel everything.

“How long are you in Monaco?” he asked, breaking the silence again like the first breach hadn’t already cracked something inside you.

You turned to him, your voice cold beneath the summer sun. “Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Talk to me like I’m just some old friend you happened to bump into. Like we didn’t have a whole story behind us.”

He blinked, thrown off by the shift. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Didn’t you?” you asked, tilting your head. “Because that’s exactly what it felt like. Like we didn’t have history. Like you didn’t leave without a word without answers.”

Franco’s jaw tensed, the charm slipping. “You think I forgot?”

“No,” you said quietly. “I think you buried it. That’s not the same thing.”

He frowned. “What does that even mean? How can you be so sure?”

“I see your story,” you said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Pretty girls sticking to you like you’re some kind of prize.”

He stiffened. “You think that means I didn’t care about you?”

“I think it means you moved on,” you replied, voice flat. “Fast. Like we never happened.”

His mouth opened to reply, but you didn’t give him the chance.

“And maybe that’s all it was,” you added, your voice softer now, barely above a whisper. “Maybe I was stupid to think it meant more. But don’t look at me like you’re surprised I’m not smiling.”

A muscle jumped in his jaw. He looked like he wanted to say something, to fight back, to explain. But the words didn’t come. Or maybe he just knew they wouldn’t be enough.

“I didn’t post those story to hurt you,” he said eventually.

“No,” you said, and your voice cracked just a little. “You posted them because you didn’t even think of me. And that’s worse.”

Silence settled between you again, thick and suffocating. The world moved on around you cameras flashing, voices chattering but you were both locked in a moment that refused to move forward or backward.

Franco let out a long breath. “I was a jerk.”

You didn’t argue. He wasn’t wrong.

“But when I saw you just now,” he continued, “everything I tried to forget hit me all at once. I knew I couldn’t just walk past you.”

The honesty in his voice landed like a blow, raw and unexpected.

“I hate that I still care,” you murmured.

“I hate that I gave you a reason not to,” he replied.

Your lips parted, but nothing came out. There was too much, and not enough space for it all.

You didn’t know what this was. A second chance? A scar opening all over again?

But Franco looked at you differently now like he didn’t want to get it wrong this time. Like maybe he’d finally learned what it meant to lose something real.

“I’m here until Monday,” he said, steady now. “But I’ll stay longer if you want. We can talk. Or not. Dinner, a walk.... whatever you want.”

You didn’t answer right away.

But your heart did.

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© clara-a7 - all rights reserved.

[clara-a7]

𝙆𝙞𝙨𝙨 𝙋𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙠 || F1 GRID

彡CONTAINS ; oscar piastri, lando norris, charles leclerc, franco colapinto, george russell

彡WARNINGS ; fluff, prank

彡SUMMARY ; you decide to prank him by not kissing him back.

彡WORDS ; 750

彡DISCLAIMER ; Everything written here is FICTITIOUS.

彡AUTHOR'S NOTE ; sorry if here are any mistakes, english isn't my first language!

⤷Oscar Piastri

Oscar doesn’t say much at first, he just looks at you. His brow creases, and he blinks like he’s trying to make sure he didn’t imagine it. You leaned in, he kissed you, but you didn’t kiss him back. Not even a little.

He pulls back slightly, quiet. Confused, not hurt. His eyes linger on you, like he’s waiting for something, but he doesn’t want to push. “Did I do something?” he asks eventually, voice barely above a murmur. There’s no panic in it, just genuine curiosity and patient, the way he always is with you.

When you finally laugh and tell him it’s just a prank, the tension leaves his shoulders all at once. He rolls his eyes, but the smile tugs at the corner of his mouth anyway. “Really?” he mumbles, shaking his head as he reaches for you again.

This time when he kisses you, it’s slower. No teasing. Just steady, soft affection like he’s grounding you both again.

⤷Lando Norris

With Lando, it only takes a second. The moment your lips don’t move against his, he pulls back slightly, blinking like he’s trying to make sense of it.

He’s not mad not even close. Just surprised. “Wait…” he says, brow quirking. “You didn’t kiss me back.”

It’s not accusatory. It’s just Lando being honest, as always. He tilts his head, his voice lighter now, like he’s already halfway to figuring it out. “Is this one of your little things again?” His lips curve into a smile that’s impossible not to mirror.

When you nod and say yes just a prank he groans dramatically, but he’s already laughing. “Really?! Why you did that to me,” he says under his breath, but he’s tugging you into him again.

This time, he waits. Doesn’t rush. Just brushes his nose against yours, lips hovering like he’s giving you the chance to come to him. When you do, when you finally kiss him back, he hums into it like he’d been holding his breath.

⤷Charles Leclerc

Charles laughs first. It’s instinctive soft, the kind of laugh he only gives when he’s truly caught off guard.

“You didn’t kiss me,” he says, like he’s just discovered something he can’t quite believe. He pulls back slightly, looking at you with that curious tilt of his head. “Did I do something?” There’s no insecurity in it. Just gentle wondering.

You tell him it’s just a prank nothing more and he laughs again, this time with his whole chest. “Ah, so you’re being annoying today.” hes say with a smirk.

He doesn’t press. Just steps forward, closer, resting his forehead against yours. He stays like that for a moment, quiet, breathing you in. “I missed that kiss, though,” he murmurs.

And when you finally kiss him, he smiles through the kiss.

⤷Franco Colapinto

Franco notices right away. He doesn’t pull back, doesn’t ask anything. He just stays close, giving you that soft, slow-burning look that always makes your chest flutter.

“You’re being difficult,” he says quietly, but there’s no heat to it. His fingers skim your waist, warm and patient.

Then he leans in again. Kisses your cheek. Then your temple. Then your shoulder. One by one, like it’s nothing urgent. “You’re really gonna resist me?” he mumbles, lips brushing over your skin. It doesn’t even sound like a real question. He already knows the answer.

And yeah, you fold pretty quickly. You kiss him back finally and he grins into it, pulling back right after with that smug little smile. “Knew it,” he says, looking way too proud.

⤷George Russell

George gasps the second you don’t kiss him back. “No way,” he says, blinking like you just dropped a plot twist. “Did you actually just reject me?”

He stumbles back a step, hand over his heart, full drama. “I’m wounded,” he says, shaking his head. “Betrayed, even.”

But even through all the theatrics, there’s softness in his eyes. He’s not mad. He never is with you. That’s just how George is full of humor, full of heart. Makes everything feel a little easier.

When you laugh and tell him it was just a prank, he exhales like he’s been rescued. “Thank god,” he mumbles, already pulling you into a hug.

This time he takes his time no jokes, no performance. Just you, in his arms, and a kiss that feels like him trying to make sure you’re both still okay. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” he mutters, low against your ear.

And when you finally kiss him for real, you feel just how much he missed it even if it was only for a second.

✿彡did you enjoy this? comments, likes, and reblogs are immensely appreciatedミ✿

© clara-a7 - all rights reserved.

[clara-a7]

𝙁𝙖𝙢𝙞𝙡𝙮 𝘿𝙞𝙣𝙣𝙚𝙧 || Kimi Antonelli¹²

彡PAIRING ; kimi antonelli x fem!reader

彡WARNINGS ; fluff

彡SUMMARY ; At kimi’s first f1 home race, you join his family for dinner.

彡REQUESTED? ; yes! (requests are open!)

彡WORDS ; 510

彡DISCLAIMER ; Everything written here is FICTITIOUS.

彡AUTHOR'S NOTE ; sorry if here are any mistakes, english isn't my first language!

The sun was beginning to dip low, casting a warm golden glow over the rolling hills just outside Emilia-Romagna, where Kimi’s family home stood quietly among vineyards and olive trees. It wasn’t in the heart of the region, but close enough for Kimi to finally feel at home during race week a rare luxury for someone who usually lived out of a suitcase.

This was Kimi’s first home race in Formula 1, and the excitement was written all over his face. But even more than the thrill of racing in Italy, he was looking forward to something simpler: spending time with his family.

And you.

That afternoon, you had been invited to join a family meal with Kimi’s parents, his sister, and his grandmother. Nervous but excited, you had brushed your hair carefully, practiced polite conversation in your mind, and kissed Kimi goodbye as he prepared for a quick afternoon track walk.

“Don’t worry,” he’d told you, smiling softly. “You already have Nonna wrapped around your finger. She talks about you all the time.”

Now, sitting around the large wooden table on the terrace, you felt the warmth of the family’s love just as much as the sun on your skin. The table was filled with homemade pasta, fresh bread, and bowls of salad the smells reminding you why Italian cooking was the best in the world.

Nonna held your hand gently as she told stories in a soft mix of Italian and English, her eyes sparkling with joy. Kimi’s sister teased him endlessly, leaning in to whisper, “He’s never this relaxed. Usually, he’s glued to his phone or buried in data sheets.”

Kimi caught the joke and rolled his eyes, but the smile on his face was real. He reached under the table, took your hand, and gave it a quiet squeeze.

After dinner, as the sun dipped behind the hills, the family slowly slipped off to their evening routines. Kimi tugged you gently away from the fading laughter, leading you toward a quiet spot by the garden’s edge.

The world felt still just the two of you beneath blooming wisteria vines, the soft hum of cicadas in the distance.

He wrapped his arms around you, his voice low and steady. “It’s rare to have this. To just be here. No distractions.”

You rested your head on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear. “I’m glad you brought me here,” you whispered. “With your family. It means everything.”

Kimi smiled into your hair, fingers tracing slow circles along your back. “I want you to know that this you, it’s where I’m from now.”

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, eyes shining with something deep and quiet. “You’re stuck with me now.”

He chuckled softly and leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Good,” he whispered. “Because I’m not giving you the choice.”

You laughed quietly, your heart swelling in your chest.

And for the first time, you felt it not just love, but the warmth of truly belonging.

✿彡did you enjoy this? comments, likes, and reblogs are immensely appreciatedミ✿

© clara-a7 - all rights reserved.

[clara-a7]

𝙁𝙖𝙫𝙤𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙚 𝙃𝙤𝙤𝙙𝙞𝙚 || Pedri⁸

彡PAIRING ; pedri x fem!reader

彡WARNINGS ; fluff

彡SUMMARY ; you stole his favorite hoodie

彡WORDS ; 540

彡DISCLAIMER ; Everything written here is FICTITIOUS.

彡AUTHOR'S NOTE ; sorry if here are any mistakes, english isn't my first language!

It started innocently enough. You’d had a long day and, while Pedri was away at training, you decided to raid his closet for something comfortable to wear. That’s when you found it his favorite hoodie.

An old Barça one from when he was a teenager.

The one he always wore after matches, the one that smelled like him, the one he swore he’d never let anyone else wear.

But today, you were feeling bold. Slipping it over your head, you curled up on the couch and put something on the TV. The fabric was soft, warm, and the perfect escape from the stress of your day. You could practically feel Pedri’s presence around you, and it made you smile.

Pedri had a habit of misplacing things always forgetting where he left his keys, his shoes, or, more often than not, that beloved hoodie. So when he walked in, exhausted from training, looking a bit disheveled and clearly on the hunt, you already knew what he was after.

“Have you seen my hoodie?” he asked, running a hand through his messy curls. You could tell from the way he was scanning the apartment that he was starting to panic just a little.

You tried to keep a straight face, but the corners of your mouth gave you away. “What hoodie?” you asked, pretending not to know.

“Y/N…” he sighed, dropping into that adorable whiny tone that always melted you. “You know the one I’m talking about.”

You bit your lip to hide your grin. “Haven’t seen it. Did you check the laundry?”

He narrowed his eyes at you, clearly suspicious. But a small smile was already tugging at his lips. “I swear, if you’ve taken it again!”

Before he could finish, he dropped down next to you on the couch, his eyes locking onto the sleeves that gave you away. He tugged at them with a smirk.

“Pedri!” you laughed, trying to tug the hoodie back. “I’m comfy!”

“Mhm,” he said, already pulling you into his lap like that was the end of the discussion. His chin rested on your shoulder, arms wrapping tightly around you as he nuzzled into the hoodie. “Knew something was off. You looked too cozy.”

“It’s not my fault,” you mumbled, still giggling. “This hoodie’s stupidly comfortable.”

“I know,” he said, playfully. “That’s why I wear it. Or used to, anyway.”

He didn’t sound mad far from it. His arms tightened a little more around you, his hands smoothing down the back of the hoodie like he couldn’t help it.

“Guess I’ll let it slide,” he murmured. “This time.”

You leaned your head against his chest, letting the quiet settle in.

“You’re very generous.”

He pressed a kiss to your hair, smiling against you. “I like it on you anyway.”

You didn’t say anything else for a while. Just stayed there, wrapped up in him in the hoodie, in the quiet, in the warmth that always came with him.

“Next time you go away,” you whispered, your fingers playing with the cuff, “I’m sleeping in this.”

“Good,” he said with a soft chuckle. “That’s what it’s there for. To keep you warm when I can’t.”

Funny how something so simple could feel so much like love.

✿彡did you enjoy this? comments, likes, and reblogs are immensely appreciatedミ✿

© clara-a7 - all rights reserved.

[clara-a7]

BARCA BOYS || 𝘾𝙤𝙢𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙩 𝙏𝙝𝙚𝙢

彡CONTAINS ; pedri, pablo gavi, hector fort, pau cubarsi

彡SUMMARY ; you comfort them after their Champions League semi-final defeat

彡WARNINGS ; hurt, comfort, fluff

彡WORDS ; 950

彡DISCLAIMER ; Everything written here is FICTITIOUS.

彡AUTHOR'S NOTE ; yeah... this defeat hit way too hard, so I coped the only way I know how, with some comfort fic.

⤷Pedri

The stadium lights still burned overhead when the final whistle blew, but to Pedri, everything felt dim.

Barça were out. One match away from the Champions League final, and it had slipped through their fingers.

He stayed on the pitch long after the others had disappeared down the tunnel hands on his hips, jaw clenched, eyes locked on the ground like it might offer him answers he couldn’t find in himself.

Almost an hour passed before you found him outside the locker room, still in his kit. His curls were damp with sweat, his shoulders tense, his expression unreadable. He didn’t say a word when he saw you.

Just walked forward slowly, and took his hand lightly in yours.

He didn’t say anything, just pulled you into his arms and held on like he needed you to breathe.

You rested your head against his chest, feeling the rapid beat of a heart that had given everything.

“I’m still proud of you,” you whispered.

He didn’t reply, but the way he buried his face in your hair told you he’d heard you and that it mattered more than he could say.

⤷Pablo Gavi

You found him outside, near the empty media zone, where the floodlights had begun to dim. The crowd was long gone, but the echo of the match still lingered in the air. He stood there alone, arms crossed, gaze fixed on a patch of concrete like it held the answers he didn’t have.

He heard your footsteps before you even said anything, but he didn’t turn around.

“I’m fine,” he said quickly. Too quickly.

You stopped beside him, not touching, just close enough that he could feel your presence if he wanted it. “I know that’s not true,” you said gently.

He stayed quiet, jaw clenched, eyes still on the ground. “I hate this,” he muttered. “Getting this far, and then... nothing.”

You could see the tension in his posture the way his shoulders were drawn tight, the way he kept shifting like he was trying to walk off frustration he couldn’t shake.

“You gave it everything,” you said quietly. “You always do.”

He finally glanced over at you, his expression unreadable but softer now. “Doesn’t feel like it was enough.”

“Maybe not tonight,” you replied. “But that doesn’t change who you are. Or how proud I am of you.”

He didn’t reach for you, but when you gently slid your hand into his, he didn’t pull away. His fingers curled around yours, a quiet acceptance of comfort.

“Can we just go?” he asked, voice low.

You nodded, giving his hand a light squeeze. “Of course,” you murmured.

⤷Hector Fort

You found him outside the stadium, tucked away in a quiet corner of the staff parking lot far from the noise, the interviews, the heavy silence of the locker room. His jacket was half-zipped, his hair damp from the shower, and his phone hung loosely in his hand, unread messages lighting up the screen.

He didn’t notice you at first, too deep in his own thoughts. Only when you called his name softly did he turn around.

His eyes met yours, and for a second, he looked like he might say something. But the words didn’t come.

So you stepped closer, your hand brushing lightly against his sleeve.

“Hector,” you said softly.

“I know,” he muttered. “I messed up. I should’ve done better.”

You shook your head and stepped closer, your shoulder brushing his. “You don’t have to start with that.”

He stayed quiet for a second, the noise of the city far in the background. Then he sighed. “It just sucks. We were so close.”

You reached out and let your hand rest gently on his arm. “It’s okay to feel like that. Shows how much you care.”

He looked at you then, really looked, like he wanted to believe you but wasn’t sure he could. “Didn’t really want you to see me like this.”

You gave him a small smile. “Yeah? Well, I’m still proud of you.”

He didn’t say much after that, but he let you take his hand. Held on a little tighter than he usually would, like maybe it helped just having you there.

⤷Pau Cubarsi

The replay wouldn’t stop playing in his head.

He saw it coming the Inter player cutting inside, surging toward the box. Pau sprinted to intercept, heart pounding. He lunged, desperate to stop what felt inevitable. His studs clipped the attacker’s boot. Just enough.

The whistle pierced the air.

Penalty.

The guilt hit before the ball even struck the net.

Long after the final whistle, Pau stood in the tunnel, back pressed to the cold concrete, arms crossed tight over his chest. His head was tipped up, like he was trying to blink away the tears before they fell.

You approached quietly. He didn’t look at you, but he didn’t move away either.

“I cost us the game,” he said, voice low, flat. “One second too late. One stupid decision.”

You didn’t deny it. You just reached for his hand, your thumb brushing slow circles over his knuckles.

“No, Pau. You did what any defender would’ve done.”

“It wasn’t enough,” he whispered. This time, his voice cracked.

You stepped closer, guiding his gaze to yours. “One mistake doesn’t erase everything you’ve done. One moment doesn’t define you.”

His jaw tensed. He wanted to believe you but couldn’t quite yet.

“You didn’t lose this alone,” you added gently. “And you don’t have to carry it alone either.”

His fingers curled tighter around yours. He didn’t speak just leaned into your touch, his body sagging under the weight he finally let someone else hold.

“Can you just… stay?”

You pulled him into your arms. “Of course.”

✿彡did you enjoy this? comments, likes, and reblogs are immensely appreciatedミ✿

© clara-a7 - all rights reserved.

[clara-a7]

thank u so much for 200+ followers, love yall sm~~!!i’m gonna try to finish all the requests this weekend, i promise (not really….. but i will try!)

[clara-a7]

Facetime || OP81

彡PAIRING ; Oscar Piastri x fem!reader

彡WARNINGS ; fluff

彡REQUESTED? ; No~ (requests are open!)

彡WORDS ; 934

彡DISCLAIMER ; Everything written here is FICTITIOUS.

彡AUTHOR'S NOTE ; I just wanted to write something fluffy after Oscar's win. It's not my best writing, but I hope you will like it!

Your phone buzzes the second you settle into bed, still grinning from the race you just finished watching. Oscar’s car crossing the line in P1, the crowd roaring in the background, his voice crackling through team radio, joy and disbelief tangled together.

FaceTime Incoming: Oscar🧡

You swipe to answer, anticipation rushing through you as the screen lights up.

His face fills the frame immediately. He’s still in his race suit, sweaty hair sticking out under a McLaren cap that’s tilted slightly to one side. A towel is draped around his neck from the post-race interviews. He’s exhausted, but there’s an unmistakable glow about him, the one you know so well, the one that only comes after a win.

And when he sees you, his eyes light up, brighter than anything else in the world.

“Hey, Champ” you tease, raising an eyebrow playfully.

He laughs, the sound wrapping around you like a warm hug. It makes your chest ache in the best possible way. “Not Champion yet”

“P1 today. Top of the standings. Sounds like a pretty solid start to me” you grin.

Oscar leans back against a wall in the garage, his eyes flicking over the screen, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he seems to double-check that you’re actually there, that you’re not just a figment of his imagination. “It feels insane” he says, his voice tinged with wonder. “I still can’t believe it”

“I can” you reply easily, letting your smile slip into something warmer. “I’ve believed in you since your Formula 3 days”

He chuckles, his eyes lighting up again. “You’ve been saying that for ages, haven’t you?”

“I knew you were capable of it” you say, giving him a teasing wink.

“You watched the whole race?”

“Obviously” you say, feigning offense. “I screamed when you took the lead. I’m pretty sure I woke up half the street”

He laughs, that deep, boyish laugh that always makes you feel like everything is going to be okay. “That explains the noise I heard from the car”

There’s a moment of silence, but it’s comfortable. The kind of silence you two share, where words aren’t necessary, and yet everything feels a little more profound because you’re both there connected, even through a screen.

He shifts the phone slightly, as if trying to get a better look at you, like you’re the calm after the storm, the one person he can lean on after everything.

“You know” he says, more quietly now, “every time I win, I think it’s gonna start to feel... normal. But it never does”

You nod slowly, your heart squeezing a little at the vulnerability in his voice. “That’s because you’re not just racing anymore. You’re fighting for the whole thing now”

Oscar exhales softly, and you can almost feel the weight of everything he’s been carrying. “Yeah. I guess I am” His gaze never leaves yours.

You can hear the pride in his voice, but there’s something softer underneath it, too. Not doubt, but the quiet realization of how far he’s come and the responsibility that comes with it.

“And I’m not gonna lie” he adds, his voice lowering slightly, “being up here, top of the board, after everything... I kinda wish you were the first person I saw when I got out of the car”

Your chest tightens, the words hitting you harder than you expected. It’s not just about a race win. It’s about everything they’ve been through together, every moment where he’s pushed forward, every time he’s crossed a finish line with her in his thoughts. It’s about his journey and the way it always circles back to you.

“I wish that too” you whisper, your voice soft but full of meaning.

“I heard the cheers, saw all the orange in the stands, the fireworks... but it still didn’t feel real until I saw you” he says, his voice full of emotion, the weight of the moment obvious.

Your heart swells, and you can’t help but smile, even though the lump in your throat threatens to choke you up. “Oscar—”

“I know,” he interrupts, smiling sheepishly. “I’m getting sappy.”

“You’ve earned it” you say, your voice light but full of affection. “Go ahead. You’ve got every right to be”

“I will” he says, a playful glint returning to his eyes, but it doesn’t quite mask the warmth that still lingers there. “But next time, I really need you trackside, okay? No more excuses”

“I’ll buy my own ticket” you joke. “Just tell me when and where.”

He laughs, that deep, genuine laugh that always makes you feel like he’s just here with you, no matter how far away he actually is. “Deal. We’ll make it official”

Another voice calls out in the background, muffled and distant, but Oscar doesn’t look away from the screen. He lets the moment stretch for just a few seconds longer, as if savoring it. Then, with a reluctant glance toward the chaos behind him, he sighs.

“I’ll call you later tonight” he promises.

“I’ll be waiting” you say, your heart light and full. There’s something about the way he says it like he’s already thinking of how he’ll make up for the distance, how he’ll carve out time just for you.

“Love you”

“Love you more”

He doesn’t say goodbye. Instead, he gives you one last look the kind that says more than any podium interview ever could, more than words could ever capture. And then the screen goes dark.

The call ends, but the warmth stays, like he never really put the phone down.

✿彡did you enjoy this? comments, likes, and reblogs are immensely appreciatedミ✿

© clara-a7 - all rights reserved.

[clara-a7]

F1 GRID || 𝙇𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙏𝙝𝙚𝙞𝙧 𝙇𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙪𝙖𝙜𝙚

彡CONTAINS ; kimi antonelli, charles leclerc, franco colapinto, isack hadjar, gabriel bortoleto

彡WARNINGS ; fluff

彡REQUESTED? ; No~ (requests are open!)

彡WORDS ; 1,1k

彡DISCLAIMER ; Everything written here is FICTITIOUS.

彡AUTHOR'S NOTE ; sorry if here are any mistakes, english isn't my first language!

⤷Kimi Antonelli

Kimi tries to help you with your Italian.

One night, you’re making pasta together when you try to say something you think sounds right. “Posso aiutarti a… spaghettiare?”

Kimi looks up, trying not to laugh. “That’s not a real word,” he says, shaking his head. “But it's a good start”

He’s actually patient when you ask questions or want help. He doesn’t get frustrated if you mess up. He just explains it quietly or repeats it until you get it. But if you mess up something super simple like "ciao" he won’t let you live it down. You’ll hear him say it back to you ten times a day, always with a small grin.

He really likes it when you try to say sweet things in Italian. When you tell him “sei bellissimo,” he doesn’t say much just smiles and looks at you a little longer than usual. That’s how you know it matters to him.

Sometimes he teaches you with music. He’ll play old Italian love songs while you’re in the kitchen, and he’ll explain the lyrics one line at a time calm. It’s how he shares things with you.

With Kimi, learning Italian isn’t perfect, and it’s not fast. But it’s real. It’s about small moments, shared laughs, and learning by just being together.

⤷Charles Leclerc

Charles tries to help you with your French.

He doesn’t correct you right away when you say something wrong. He lets you finish, then gently repeats it the right way. Never to make fun just to help you hear it.

One morning, you try to ask him if he wants coffee in French. “Tu vouloir… cafer-rr?” He laughs under his breath, walks over, and kisses your forehead. “Nice try. But no, it’s tu veux du café?”

He’s patient. He doesn’t rush you. If you forget a word, he’ll wait until you find it, or quietly give you a hint. And when you get something right, even something small, he gives you this soft, proud smile like he really means it.

He loves hearing you try. Especially when you use words like 'mon cœur' or 'tu me manques'. Even if your accent’s a little off, he never makes fun of it. He just watches you, quietly happy, like it means more than he says.

Sometimes he teaches you while you're doing regular things grocery shopping, walking through the city, cooking dinner. He’ll point to something and say the word in French, then wait for you to repeat it. No pressure. Just small moments, here and there.

With Charles, learning French feels natural. Not like homework more like being let into his world.

⤷Franco Colapinto

Franco helps you with your Spanish.

Sometimes when you’re out, he’ll stop and point to something: “That says ‘helado’ It means ice cream.” Then he nudges you and asks, “How do you say it?” When you say it a little wrong, he gasps. “No ice cream for you until you get it right.” (You get it right fast.)

He teaches you words at random times, when you’re brushing your teeth, walking home, or making dinner. Some words are useful. Some are just slang. “Che, boludo” he says, shaking his head. “It means like… dude. But don’t say it in front of my grandma.” (You do. Once. He still laughs about it.)

When you try full sentences, he never interrupts. He lets you finish, even if you make a lot of mistakes. Then he’ll fix one thing just one and say, “You’re getting better. Really.” And you believe him, because he only says it when it’s true.

In the mornings, he sends you voice notes sometimes with new words, sometimes just him saying, “Buenos días, mi amorrr” dragging the “r” to make you smile.

With Franco, learning Spanish feels fun. It’s full of little jokes, small wins, and real moments. You don’t even notice how much you’ve learned until one day he says something fast in Spanish, and you understand all of it.

⤷Isack Hadjar

Isack tries to help you with your French.

One afternoon, you call him 'frère' just for fun, and he smiles softly. “Frère?” he teases, his eyes lighting up. “Bro? Who taught you that?” You laugh, shrugging. “From you,” you say, making him smile.

It’s the small moments like this that make him happy knowing you’re paying attention, even when you don’t fully understand him.

He’s patient when you mess up, never rushing you or making you feel bad. He’ll softly repeat words, letting you take your time. But when it comes to bad words, he can’t help himself. He teaches you a few, like 'merde' or 'putain' and the two of you share quiet laughs when you get them wrong. “Just don’t say it around my mom,” he says, giving you a playful wink.

There’s something about the way he teaches that makes it feel less like a lesson and more like something you’re sharing together. He gently corrects you, his smile growing softer when you try, and that proud look in his eyes when you finally get it right.

With Isack, learning French is full of warmth, laughter, and easy moments of connection. It’s not about being perfect; it’s about being close, sharing something special, and enjoying each step of the journey together.

⤷Gabriel Bortoleto

Gabriel tries to help you with your Portuguese.

One night, during a late FaceTime, he’s clearly half-asleep but still insists on giving you a word of the day. “Hoje… the word is saudade.” You pause, trying to figure it out. “That’s a hard one.” He smiles, his voice soft. “It means ‘I miss you.’ A lot.” You repeat the word, and it feels like something deeper, something just for the two of you.

He enjoys teaching you words that carry weight, like 'cafuné' (the act of running fingers through someone’s hair). When you trip over the pronunciation, he gently corrects you, never rushing you. “Try again, meu bem.” And when you finally say it right, he grins, looking proud.

Sometimes, he sends you playlists filled with Brazilian songs and quizzes you on the lyrics. When you get one right, he rewards you with a sweet kiss on the forehead. “You're getting better,” he says with a smile that makes your heart skip a beat.

He calls you 'meu bem' so often, and before long, you start saying it back to him. Every time, it melts his heart just a little more. “You said it just right,” he whispers, his voice full of warmth and affection.

With Gabriel, learning Portuguese isn’t about perfection, it’s about sharing little moments, laughing together, and making memories that go beyond the words themselves.

✿彡did you enjoy this? comments, likes, and reblogs are immensely appreciatedミ✿

© clara-a7 - all rights reserved.

[clara-a7]

──✧₊∘𝙒𝙚𝙡𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙚 𝙏𝙤 𝙈𝙮 𝘽𝙡𝙤𝙜

౨ৎ clara. twenty. she/her. french. infp.

navi - f1 masterlist. football masterlist (comin’ soon)

most recent: first day, f1 grid

requests are open!

© clara-a7 - all rights reserved.

[clara-a7]

──✧₊∘F1 Masterlist

fluff ♡ | angst ☁︎ | 18+ ☾ |

requests are open!

f1 grid

First Day ♡

Kiss Prank ♡

Learning Their Language ♡

Their Love Language (part.1/part.2) ♡

You comfort him after a dnf ♡

oscar piastri

Time Passed ♡

FaceTime ♡

Boyfriend Headcanon ♡

Melbourne Summer ☾

kimi antonelli

Family Dinner ♡

franco colapinto

No Exit ☁︎

more coming soon…

© clara-a7 - all rights reserved.