clara-a7

[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: learning their language, f1 grid

requests are open!

© clara-a7 - all rights reserved.

[clara-a7]

──✧₊∘F1 Masterlist

fluff ♡ | angst ☁︎ | 18+ ☾ |

requests are open!

f1 grid

Learning Their Language ♡

Their Love Language (part.1/part.2) ♡

You comfort him after a dnf ♡

oscar piastri

FaceTime ♡

Boyfriend Headcanon ♡

Melbourne Summer ☾

more coming soon…

© clara-a7 - all rights reserved.

[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]

Boyfriend Headcanons || Oscar Piastri

彡PAIRING ; Oscar Piastri x fem!reader

彡WARNINGS ; fluff

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

彡WORDS ; 394

彡DISCLAIMER ; Everything written here is FICTITIOUS.

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

boyfriend!Oscar who… kisses your temple every time before a flight. Doesn’t matter how early it is, how tired he is, he always does it. It’s his little routine to make sure you know you’re loved before he leaves.

boyfriend!Oscar who… holds your hand under the table or plays with your fingers while you’re talking. Doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, he just needs to be touching you, always.

boyfriend!Oscar who… gets way too happy when you wear his hoodie to bed. He sees you in it, grins like an idiot, and goes, “Yep… you look better in it than me. It’s yours now.”

boyfriend!Oscar who… always gives you the last bite of whatever he’s eating, even if it’s his absolute favorite. Acts like it’s no big deal, but deep down? Yeah, that was love.

boyfriend!Oscar who… notices the tiniest things. New shampoo? “You smell different. It’s nice.” New dress? “Wait, that’s new, right? Looks really good.” Always paying attention to the little details about you.

boyfriend!Oscar who… listens to everything you say like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. Even if it’s just about something random like a drama. “Wait, wait, what did she say after that??” Fully invested in the conversation.

boyfriend!Oscar who… sends you dumb TikToks of him doing random filters. Zero context, just pops up on your phone.

boyfriend!Oscar who… sends voice notes when he’s busy. Sometimes it’s just “I miss you” or “Talk soon,” other times it’s him whisper-yelling from the paddock while Lando makes weird noises in the background.

boyfriend!Oscar who… insists on doing groceries together. Pushes the cart, lets you pick the snacks, then sneaks in something random like “Should we try this cereal? Looks good.”

boyfriend!Oscar who… gives you his jacket without hesitation. Says he’s not cold, even when he’s obviously freezing, still holding your hand like it’s fine. He’ll survive.

boyfriend!Oscar who… gets you paddock passes even if you said you might not come. Tells the team, “Just save her a spot anyway,” like it’s no big deal (but it really is).

boyfriend!Oscar who… lights up the second you show up at the track. He doesn’t have to say anything, but you can see it, in his face, in his mood, in the way the team starts teasing him the moment they realize why he’s smiling like that.

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

© clara-a7 - all rights reserved.

[clara-a7]

F1 𝙂𝙍𝙄𝘿 | 𝙏𝙝𝙚𝙞𝙧 𝙇𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙇𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙪𝙖𝙜𝙚 (2/2)

(Part.1 here~)

彡CONTAINS ; Charles Leclerc, Lewis Hamilton, Kimi Antonelli, Carlos Sainz, Yuki Tsunoda

彡WARNINGS ; fluff

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

彡WORDS ; 475

彡DISCLAIMER ; Everything written here is FICTITIOUS.

彡AUTHOR'S NOTE ; If you want to get tagged, tell me by writing it down in the comments, sorry if here are any mistakes, english isn't my first language

⤷Charles Leclerc

Charles is all about touch and sweet words.

His fingers find yours under the table, brushing your knuckles before intertwining them. He’ll rest his hand on your back as you move through a crowd, press a kiss to your temple when you least expect it.

Mon amour. Ma chérie. Mon cœur. The words come easily, like second nature. Sometimes whispered into your hair, other times murmured against your neck.

With Charles, love is gentle touches, soft words, and the feeling that every phrase is meant just for you.

⤷Lewis Hamilton

Lewis is all about devotion.

He makes you feel adored in the quietest ways. He opens doors, pulls out chairs, texts just to check in. “You good, love?” becomes a kind of rhythm, soft and constant.

He notices the smallest things, how you like your coffee, the way your face changes when you’re tired. He treats you with care, with thought, with reverence.

With Lewis, love feels like being seen, understood, and cherished every single day.

⤷Kimi Antonelli

Kimi is all about affection and closeness.

He’s loud about how he feels never shy, never subtle. He’ll wrap his arms around you from behind and stay there, chin on your shoulder, like you’re his whole world. Constant touches: a hand on your waist, fingers brushing your jaw, a kiss to your cheek just because.

He wants you close, always tugging you toward him, pulling you into his side, insisting “stay here” even if you were only getting up for a second.

With Kimi, love is bold, physical, and absolutely impossible to miss. He doesn't just show it, he makes sure you feel it, every second you're with him.

⤷Carlos Sainz

Carlos is all about protection.

He walks on the outside of the sidewalk. He pulls you close in busy places. His hand finds your waist instinctively, like it’s where it belongs. He’s always looking out for you, not because he doesn’t think you can handle things, but because he wants to.

There’s pride in the way he takes care of you, like it’s something sacred. When you’re upset, he doesn’t just comfort you, he creates space for you to breathe.

With Carlos, love is strong and safe.

⤷Yuki Tsunoda

Yuki is all about care.

He doesn’t wait for you to ask, he just shows up with your favorite food or a drink he knows you love. He notices when you're tired and gently urges you to rest. Throws a blanket over your shoulders before you even realize you’re cold. “You okay?” is always on his lips, not out of worry, but because he loves you. He’ll go out of his way just to make your day a little easier.

With Yuki, love is thoughtful, warm, and wrapped in the kind of attention that always makes you feel held.

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

© clara-a7 - all rights reserved.

[clara-a7]

F1 𝙂𝙍𝙄𝘿 | 𝙏𝙝𝙚𝙞𝙧 𝙇𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙇𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙪𝙖𝙜𝙚 (1/2)

(part.2 here~)

彡CONTAINS ; oscar piastri, franco colapinto, lando norris, ollie bearman, isack hadjar, george russell

彡WARNINGS ; fluff

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

彡WORDS ; 650

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 shows his love through actions, not words.

He doesn’t make big speeches, but his affection is in the little things.

He notices when your hands are full and takes your bag. When you get cold, he quietly gives you his hoodie or a snack appears in your lap when you didn’t even realize you were hungry

When you’re tired, he either keeps the conversation going or just lets you rest. He never says “I love you,” but you feel it in everything he does.

With Oscar, love isn’t loud, it’s thoughtful, quiet, and constant. And in the way he looks after you, it says everything.

⤷Franco Colapinto

Franco is all about words.

He never says "I love you" directly.

Instead, it's mi cariño when you're feeling tired, princesa when you're all dressed up, mi vida when he's missing you. He speaks in these sweet Spanish nicknames that sound almost like poetry, even when he's joking around.

One day, you ask him why he uses so many. He smiles and gently brushes your cheek with his thumb. "Because one word isn’t enough," he says. "You deserve all of them." Each new nickname feels like a little gift, another way for him to show his love.

And in his words, you become everything sweet he can think of.

⤷Lando Norris

Lando is all about touch.

He doesn’t need words to show how he feels.

When he drives, one hand stays on the wheel while the other rests gently on your thigh. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t look at you but the pressure of his hand speaks for him. A quick squeeze at a stoplight, his thumb slowly tracing circles on your skin.

It’s a silent way of reassuring you, just being there, showing he cares. His fingers tap to the rhythm of the song playing, matching the steady beat of your heart.

It’s not loud or grand, just comforting. When Lando is with you, the simple touch is enough to make you feel loved.

⤷Ollie Bearman

Ollie is all about quality time.

He doesn’t do big gestures, but his affection is clear.

In a crowded room, his pinky will brush yours until he’s brave enough to hold your hand. His grip is soft, a little unsure, like he still can’t believe you’re his.

You look over and catch that smile, the one that’s only for you. It’s shy, a bit crooked, with eyes crinkling at the corners. No one else sees it. It’s a smile that says more than words ever could. With Ollie, love is quiet, bashful, and sweet.

It’s in the little things: fingertips brushing, shared looks, and smiles meant just for you.

⤷Isack Hadjar

Isack is all about humor.

His favorite sound in the world is your laugh, and he’ll do anything to hear it.

Bad puns, goofy impressions, exaggerating his French accent—whatever it takes to make you smile. When you laugh, really laugh, he looks at you with that soft, admiring gaze, like you’re the best thing he’s ever seen.

Sometimes, you catch him just watching you, a small, awed smile on his face, as if you’ve hung the stars yourself.

He doesn’t need to say “I love you”, he shows it with every joke and every laugh you share. With Isack, love is joy, and it’s all over his face.

⤷George Russell

George is all about gift-giving.

He doesn’t wait for special occasions.

One day, you’ll find a neatly wrapped box on your pillow, and inside, a dress in your favorite color. Another time, it’s a ring that matches the necklace he gave you last month. “Saw it and thought of you,” he’ll say, brushing it off casually.

But it’s always perfect. Always something you mentioned in passing. He listens, remembers everything. It’s not about money—it’s about the thought, the meaning.

His love is shown in gifts that say, I know you. I cherish you. With George, every surprise is a quiet, elegant declaration of love.

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

© clara-a7 - all rights reserved.

[clara-a7]

Melbourne Summer

彡PAIRING ; Oscar Piastri x fem!reader

彡GENRE ; smut! 18+, romance, fluff

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

彡WORD COUNT ; 1,1k

彡DISCLAIMER ; Everything written here is FICTITIOUS. This story is written in second-person point of view and the reader is a female

A/N ; Sorry if here are any mistakes, english isn't my first language, not my best writing

~❤︎~

When Oscar invited you to spend the summer holidays at his family’s house in Melbourne, accepting seemed unthinkable. Your relationship was still in its early stages; even though you had seen his family a few times in the paddock, never in their private space. But when he asked you with that eager expression, his puppy-like eyes shining with excitement, a smile etched on his lips and his fingers gently playing with yours, you felt that refusing was impossible.

"I promise, you're going to love it," he had insisted.

You had nodded, still unconvinced. "Besides, my mom and sisters aren’t really giving you a choice to refuse," he had added with a smirk, squeezing your fingers lightly.

And of course, you had accepted. How could you say no to a "Piastri".

From the moment you arrived, the Australian heat wrapped around you, but it was nothing compared to the warmth of his family. His mother was the first to pull you into a hug, delighted to see you again and welcome you into her home. Then his sisters rushed toward you, pushing Oscar aside without hesitation. They seemed even happier to see you than their own brother.

The way they so effortlessly included you in their conversations warmed your heart, making it impossible to feel like an outsider.

Oscar eventually managed to squeeze between them to pull you toward him, his hand finding yours.

"I think you have the whole week to overwhelm her with questions," he said in a mock-authoritative tone.

The girls burst into laughter but reluctantly agreed to give you some breathing space. Taking advantage of the moment, Oscar gently led you aside, his fingers interlaced with yours, his thumb tracing absent-minded circles on your skin.

❤︎

The afternoon stretched into a golden haze by the pool. The sun hung high in the sky, casting shimmering reflections on the water, while the air was filled with laughter and splashes of his sisters. Oscar hadn’t left your side, lying next to you on a lounge chair.

"You realize you're officially adopted by my family, right?" he murmured, letting his fingers lazily trace patterns on your sun-warmed thigh.

You chuckled, half-opening your eyes to glance at his sisters. "I don’t think I have much of a choice."

"I could almost be jealous, they’re stealing all your attention from me."

You turned your head toward him, meeting his gaze. His hair was still damp from swimming, droplets of water clinging to his skin, making his tanned shoulders glisten under the sun. Seeing him like this stirred a pleasant warmth within you.

"I don’t think you have to worry about losing your spot as my favorite one" you replied, letting your hand slide down his arm until it found his, still resting on your thigh. You squeezed it gently.

His smile widened, a tender gleam in his eyes. Slowly, he leaned in to press a light kiss to your shoulder, letting his lips linger on your skin for a moment longer before pulling back slightly, his gaze never leaving yours.

"And I fully intend to keep that title forever," he murmured, lifting a hand to caress your cheek with gentle affection.

You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you. He was right.

❤︎

Around you, the sun began to set, casting a golden glow over the water’s surface. Evening approached, and his family had planned to go out for dinner. But the exhaustion from your long flight had caught up with you. You chose to stay home, and Oscar immediately decided to stay with you.

Just the two of you.

Dinner was filled with fleeting touches and stolen glances, and by the time you finished, the exhaustion of the journey settled over you. You stretched with a sigh, and Oscar, ever attentive, took your hand to lead you to his bedroom.

The bed was cool and welcoming as you slipped under the sheets, the familiar scent of Oscar wrapping around you, soothing. Your muscles instantly relaxed as he settled beside you, moving closer until his warmth surrounded you, his arm draping loosely around your waist.

His fingers, light and teasing, traced slow circles on your hip, his lips grazing your shoulder in a barely-there kiss.

A soft, shivering heat spread through you as his touch grew more intense, his hand slipping under the fabric of your top, brushing against your bare skin.

"Aren’t you tired?" you murmured, your voice barely audible.

"I am," he admitted, his warm breath caressing the curve of your ear. "But I want you."

The way he said it soft, carrying something deeper than desire sent a shiver through you.

His hands moved slowly, tracing the curve of your breast, his thumb grazing over the hardened peak. His touch was unhurried, as if he wanted to savor every inch of you.

You arched into his fingers, a soft sigh slipping from your lips. Encouraged, he pressed a kiss to your neck, then another, trailing down to your collarbone, his lips warm and tender against your skin.

When his hand slipped lower, slipping beneath the elastic of your shorts, you let out a small whimper. He paused, waiting for you to meet his gaze, his eyes reflecting a mix of tenderness and intensity.

"Are you okay?" he whispered, his voice rough with restraint.

You nodded, already breathless. "Yes."

That was all he needed.

His fingers found you easily, already drenched and eager. A quiet groan rumbled in his chest as he pressed against you, drawing slow, deliberate circles that made your toes curl.

"You're always so perfect for me," he murmured, his lips brushing against yours as he explored you with calculated patience.

Pleasure built slowly, his movements teasing but steady, never rushed. He wanted to savor this, to watch you surrender under his touch. His slow torment kept you on the edge, preventing you from reaching that peak, and you let out a frustrated whimper, shifting your hips slightly against him, silently begging for more. In doing so, you brushed against the growing bulge in his shorts.

"Be patient, my love," he teased, his fingers continuing their slow, torturous rhythm, leaving you breathless.

He didn’t stop until he had unraveled you completely, your body arching, your fingers gripping the sheets as waves of pleasure crashed over you. When he increased the pace, each deliberate movement grounding you to him, he whispered against your ear:

"You’re so beautiful… so perfect for me."

The night stretched on, his touches syncing with the distant sound of waves. And when it was over, when you both lay tangled in each other, his warm skin pressed against yours, he never let go.

He pulled you closer, pressing a final kiss to your temple, his fingers drawing idle patterns on your back.

"I love you," he whispered, his voice filled with tenderness and sleep.

You smiled, nestling closer to him. "I love you too."

In that cozy bedroom, with moonlight filtering through the window, you knew this trip to Melbourne would be unforgettable.

~❤︎~

!Pictures is not mine. Found on Pinterest. Full credit to the owner!

[clara-a7]

respond to my poll post:

[clara-a7]

Ｆ１ ＲＯＯＫＩＥＳ ＧＲＩＤ | 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙩 𝙝𝙞𝙢 𝙖𝙛𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙖 dnf

彡CONTAINS ; jack doohan, isack hadjar, gabriel bortoleto, ollie bearman, kimi antonelli

彡WARNINGS ; crying, crash

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

彡DISCLAIMER ; Everything written here is FICTITIOUS.

A/N ; Sorry if here are any mistakes, english isn't my first language, not my best writing

⤷Jack Doohan

It was a big day, Jack’s home race in Australia. You stood in his garage, watching anxiously as the race began. But not even a lap in, everything fell apart.

Jack lost control. His car spun out and slammed into the wall. The collective gasp of the crowd echoed through the air, but all you could hear was your own heartbeat hammering in your chest. A DNF. His first home race, and it ended before it even truly began.

When he finally stepped into the garage, his eyes found yours instantly. His heart was already heavy, weighed down by disappointment and frustration, but seeing the tears streaking your cheeks made it even worse. He hadn’t just let down his team, he had let down the people who loved him.

Ignoring the pit crew, the engineers, and even the team director’s piercing gaze, Jack walked straight to you. His only concern was you.

Wordlessly, he cupped your face, resting his forehead against yours. His touch was warm, grounding despite the storm raging inside him.

“Babe…” he murmured, his voice laced with sorrow. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, his sad eyes searching yours.

You tried to blink away the tears, tried to stay strong for him. “Please don’t be sad, babe. What matters most is that you’re okay.”

Your hands found his, squeezing them gently, trying to pour every ounce of comfort you could into your touch. “Please don’t be too hard on yourself. I’m still so proud of you.”

A faint, bittersweet smile tugged at his lips. “Babe… I’m so glad to have you.”

He gave you one last lingering kiss on your cheek before he was pulled away by his team, their expressions serious, their words already forming reprimands. But for just a moment, none of that mattered because in his lowest moment, he had you.

⤷Isack Hadjar

Today was supposed to be everything he had dreamed of his first Formula 1 race. After a strong qualifying session, he had placed as the best rookie on the grid. He was ready. A little nervous about the rain, but still eager to prove himself to the team.

But before he even had the chance, it all went wrong.

During the formation lap, he lost control. The car spun, slamming into the wall. Just like that, his debut ended before it even began.

Isaac entered his driver’s room, shoulders tense, avoiding the worried glances from you and his parents. Silently, he pulled off his helmet and gloves, placing them on the table beside you.

“I don’t want to talk about it…” he murmured, more to himself than to anyone else.

You exchanged worried looks with his parents, but his mother was the first to respond.

“That’s okay, mon cœur. Take your time,” she said softly, wrapping him in a gentle hug as his father stood beside them, offering quiet support.

After a few moments, they gave him space, leaving the room so the two of you could be alone.

You hesitated before stepping closer, trying to meet his gaze, but he wouldn’t look at you. Your heart clenched at the sight his eyes red, tears drying on his cheeks. You knew Isaac well. He wasn’t one to talk when he was hurting, and no words of reassurance would reach him right now.

So, without warning, you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace.

At first, he didn’t react. He just stood there, tense and unresponsive. But then, as the familiar scent of your perfume surrounded him, something in him eased. His arms came around you, holding you even tighter, his chin resting on your shoulder as he exhaled shakily.

“I just want to go back to the hotel…” he whispered against your ear.

You nodded, pressing a soft kiss to his neck.

“Okay, love. Let’s go.”

For now, you didn’t need words just each other.

⤷Gabriel Bortoleto

His first F1 race. The atmosphere was electric, but tension weighed heavily in the air. After multiple crashes throughout the race, your hands were clammy, gripping onto the fabric of your jacket as you watched anxiously. Ten laps to go. Gabriel was holding onto P14 not where he wanted to be, but still pushing, still fighting.

Then, disaster struck.

Lap 47. He lost control in the Mouillier turn. The car snapped out from under him, skidding across the track before slamming into the wall and coming to a halt in the gravel trap. Your breath hitched. The seconds dragged as you waited for a sign any sign that he was okay. Then, finally, his voice crackled over the radio.

“I’m okay.”

Relief flooded through you, but it didn’t erase the sinking feeling in your chest. You knew how much this meant to him. His first race, and it ended like this.

By the time he finished the post-race interviews and debrief with his team, you were already waiting for him in the paddock, arms crossed tightly, trying to keep your emotions in check. A gentle pressure on your shoulder made you turn around.

Gabriel stood there, his face calm, a small reassuring smile tugging at his lips. But you could see the sadness beneath it the way his eyes lacked their usual spark, the way his shoulders sagged just slightly.

“I’m okay, don’t worry, babe,” he said softly.

You didn’t reply right away. Instead, you reached for his hand, intertwining your fingers. His grip tightened just a little, like he needed something to ground him.

“I know you are,” you murmured, stepping closer. “But you don’t have to pretend with me.”

His breath wavered for a moment, his façade cracking. You lifted a hand to his face, your fingers grazing over his jaw before settling on his cheek. He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes for a second, as if letting himself rest—just for a moment.

“It wasn’t supposed to end like this…” he whispered, frustration laced in his voice.

You shook your head, your thumb brushing over his skin. “One race doesn’t define you, Gabriel. You belong here. And you’ll prove it—not just to them, but to yourself.”

He exhaled deeply, pressing his forehead against yours. “How do you always know what to say?”

You smiled softly. “Because I know you.”

A silence settled between you, but it wasn’t heavy it was comforting. Gabriel gave your hand one last squeeze before whispering, “I love you”

⤷Ollie Bearman

This was supposed to be his moment.

His first full season as an F1 driver something he had fought so hard for. After replacing a driver for two races last year, he had proved himself, shown the world that he belonged here. And now, with a seat of his own, he was determined to show them why he deserved it.

But then came the crashes.

FP1: A mistake. A miscalculation. He braked just slightly too late, his tires clipped the damp grass, and in an instant, the car slid out of his control. He hit the wall hard.

FP3: The same mistake. The same grass. The same outcome. Except this time, after hitting the first barrier, the car spun and slammed into the opposite wall.

Two crashes in one weekend.

By the time he made it back to the hospitality suite, the weight of it all came crashing down on him. He barely acknowledged the team’s reassurances, their forced smiles and murmured, “It happens, don’t worry.” He knew they were trying to ease the sting, but it didn’t matter.

When he saw you, the last bit of composure he had shattered.

Tears welled up in his eyes as he stepped toward you, his breathing uneven, his body tense with frustration and disappointment. He didn’t say anything he didn’t need to. He just reached for you, wrapping his arms around you as if holding on for dear life.

You immediately embraced him, your hands running soothingly up and down his back. “It’s okay,” you whispered. “I’ve got you.”

He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his shoulders shaking slightly as the adrenaline, the fear, the frustration all of it poured out of him.

“I messed up,” he choked out. “Twice. I—I don’t even know if I deserve to be here.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him, your hands cupping his face. His eyes were glassy, his lips trembling slightly as he tried to keep it together.

“Hey,” you murmured softly. “You do deserve to be here. One bad day doesn’t change that.”

His fingers gripped the fabric of your shirt as if afraid to let go. “I just… I don’t want to disappoint everyone.”

“You’re not a disappointment,” you assured him, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. “You’re human. And you’re learning. No one expects perfection.”

He let out a shaky breath, nodding slightly, though you could tell he wasn’t fully convinced yet. That was okay. You would remind him as many times as he needed.

For now, you just held him, letting him take the comfort he needed. Because tomorrow was a new day, and no matter what, you would always be right there with him.

⤷Kimi Antonelli

It was his first F1 race. His dream finally realized. The youngest driver on the grid praised for his talent, adored like a younger brother by the other drivers, carrying the weight of a thousand expectations on his shoulders.

But then, the rain came.

The track was treacherous, the visibility near impossible, and in the chaos, Kimi lost control. His car spun out violently before slamming into the barriers, ending his race in heartbreak.

As soon as you heard his voice over the radio shaky but confirming he was okay you exhaled a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. But relief quickly turned into urgency as you searched for him across the paddock.

You moved through the crowd, your heart pounding, until your eyes landed on a small circle of drivers gathered tightly in one spot. Their race suits, soaked from the rain, formed a protective barrier around someone. And then you saw him light brown curls damp against his forehead, his head slightly lowered as the others murmured words of reassurance.

Max was the first to notice you. With a small nod in your direction, he spoke gently, “Your girlfriend is here.”

At those words, Kimi’s head snapped up. His eyes, still clouded with disappointment and frustration, softened the moment he saw you. A small, almost hesitant smile flickered across his face before he pushed past the drivers without a second thought, heading straight for you.

Before you could even ask if he was okay, his arms were already around you tight, desperate, as if grounding himself in your presence. You felt his body tremble slightly against yours, whether from the cold or the emotions threatening to overwhelm him, you weren’t sure.

You held him just as tightly, your hands gently running over his back in slow, soothing motions. “I’m here,” you whispered against his damp race suit, pressing your cheek against his shoulder. “I’ve got you.”

For a moment, he just breathed.

The paddock was still noisy, the rain still falling, but in that embrace, the world seemed to slow.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to cup his face, your thumbs brushing lightly over his cold skin. “You will,” you reassured him. “This is just the beginning, Kimi. One race doesn’t define you.”

He searched your eyes, as if trying to find the belief in them for himself. And then, with a deep breath, he nodded.

Max and the others stood back, watching quietly, knowing he was in good hands.

“Come on,” you whispered. “Let’s get you warmed up.”

And with his fingers still laced tightly with yours, you led him away because no matter how tough the race, he would never have to face it alone.

[clara-a7]

2025 rookies how much I love you already🫶