potatobreads

for funs and giggles

[potatobreads]

kimi antonelli : sharing the same bed

⟢ title : sharing the same bed

⟢ features : kimi antonelli (formula one mercedes driver)

⟢ fandom : formula 1

⟢ genre : fluff

⟢ word count : 1019 words

⟢ writers note : there's some begging involved, also im finally back from my hiatus ! sorry if i haven't posted in like MONTHS ;-;

── .✦

the hotel room was freezing, the air conditioning humming a low, relentless tune that made the single, pristine king-sized bed in the center of the room feel less like a luxury and awkward.

"absolutely not, kimi. you’re racing tomorrow," you said, crossing your arms tightly across your chest and firmly planting your feet on the hardwood floor. "you have a heavy practice session and then qualifying. you need a perfect night's sleep. i'm taking the couch."

kimi stopped unpacking his duffel bag, a half-folded team shirt hovering in his hands. he looked at you like you had just suggested he drive his formula one car backward down the pit lane. "are you crazy? the couch is the size of a shoebox, y/n. look at it. it's leather and it looks like it belongs in an office waiting room. i am not letting you sleep there!"

"and i am not letting a future world champion ruin his back before a grand prix weekend because he was too polite," you countered, pointing a strict finger at the mattress. "get in the bed. it’s non-negotiable."

he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck where his dark curls were still a messy, tangled halo from spending the entire afternoon inside a racing helmet. he looked incredibly cute in his oversized mercedes jacket, but his stubborn streak was massive—a trait that made him brilliant on the track but incredibly frustrating in a hotel room. "y/n, please. it's a huge bed. it's literally an american king. possiamo semplicemente condividere (we can just share). there's plenty of space between us."

"no," you insisted, already walking over to the closet to grab one of the spare blankets. "drivers need peak recovery. your trainer would have a heart attack if he knew you were compromising your sleep environment. i'll be completely fine, don't worry too much about it."

you turned toward the couch, intent on setting up your makeshift 'bed' before you could lose your nerve. but before you could even take a step, you felt a pair of warm, strong arms wrap firmly around your waist from behind. kimi buried his face into the crook of your neck, his weight heavy and solid against your back.

"please don't go over there," he mumbled, his voice dropping into a low, desperate whine that completely bypassed his usual cool racer image.

"kimi, let go," you giggled, trying to wiggle out of his grip, but he only held on tighter, anchoring you in place with surprising strength.

"no. i won't," he muttered against your skin.

when you didn't give in immediately, he shifted his tactics. he stepped in front of you, breaking the embrace only to grab both of your hands in his, squeezing them tightly. he looked down at you with wide, pleading eyes.

"y/n," he pleaded, his voice soft but intense. "i cannot sleep if i know you're uncomfortable on that awful couch. i will spend the whole night tossing and turning, looking across the room, worrying if you're cold. that will ruin my race way more than sharing a mattress with you."

"you're exaggerating to get your way," you said, though your resolve was starting to seriously chip away under the sheer pressure of his intense gaze.

"i'm not! i'm really not," he insisted, taking a half-step closer until the toes of his sneakers were touching yours. "i'm begging you. seriously. just stay. i'll stay exactly on my side. i won't steal the blankets, i won't move, i'll do whatever you want. please. just don't make me sleep in this big bed alone while you're freezing over there. it makes me feel terrible."

he actually looked frantic, his brow furrowed as he searched your face for any sign of softening. he dropped his forehead against your shoulder with a dramatic, heavy thud, letting out a soft, defeated huff that puffed against your collarbone. "please, y/n? just stay with me. i need you here. it feels more like home when you're close."

hearing the genuine vulnerability in his voice completely melted the last of your resistance. you couldn't stay mad or stubborn when he was being this sweet, practically vibrating with anxiety at the thought of you being uncomfortable.

you let out a long, dramatic sigh, letting your tension drain away as you dropped the spare blanket onto the floor. "fine. you win."

kimi instantly bolted upright, a massive, radiant smile breaking across his face, his eyes lighting up so brightly it made your heart skip. "really? you promise?"

"yes, i promise," you whispered, unable to hold back your own smile. "but if your back hurts tomorrow during practice, i'm telling your team principal it was entirely your fault."

"it won't hurt, i promise! i feel amazing now," he said happily. before you could change your mind or think about the logistics, he practically dragged you toward the bed by your hands, pulling the heavy duvet back and waiting eagerly like a golden retriever for you to climb in first.

once you settled under the thick, warm covers, he shut off the main lights, leaving only the soft ambient glow of the city streets filtering through the sheer curtains. he slid into the bed beside you, the mattress shifting under his weight.

true to his word, he stayed strictly on his side for about two minutes, staring up at the ceiling. then, slowly, deliberately, you felt a warm hand slide across the empty space between you. his fingers brushed your arm before his hand found its familiar spot at your waist. kimi pulled himself closer, sliding across the sheets until his chest was pressed firmly against your back, his chin resting gently on top of your head.

"see?" he whispered into your hair, his voice already thick with sleep and utter contentment. "much better than the couch."

you smiled in the dark, shifting slightly to nestle backward into his warmth, your hands resting over his. "shut up and go to sleep, kimi."

"buona notte, y/n," he murmured, his grip tightening just a fraction as he finally relaxed, completely at peace now that you were right where you belonged.

── .✦

[potatobreads]

charles leclerc : accidental soft launch

⟢ title : accidental soft launch

⟢ features : Charles leclerc

⟢ fandom : formula 1

⟢ genre : fluff / social media chaos (?)

⟢ word count : 1.2k (?)

── .✦

꒰ Charles wanted to show off his sunglasses. He didn't mean to show off you. ꒱

── .✦

The plan was simple: stay invisible.

You weren’t hiding your relationship with Charles exactly, but you weren’t revealing it either. A quiet agreement — no PR statements, no hard launch Instagram posts, just… you and him.

It worked.

For almost a year, it worked.

Until sunglasses.

Charles was never careful with Instagram. He’d post blurry pictures of the ocean, half-finished coffees, his shoes. This time, it was a Ferrari-issued pair of mirrored shades, shiny enough to reflect everything around him.

And in that reflection: you.

Sitting next to him on the paddock bench, sipping your iced coffee, looking completely unaware.

You didn’t even realize until later, when you checked your phone.

Your group chat with your best friends was blowing up:

friend #1: IS THAT YOU IN CHARLES’ STORY???

friend #2: girl you’ve been EXPOSED

friend #3: …should i start making couple edits or is that too soon

You nearly choked on your drink.

Meanwhile, Charles didn’t notice anything until Lando showed him Twitter in the drivers’ room.

“Mate.” Lando’s grin was feral. “You’ve been soft launched.”

Charles frowned. “Soft what?”

Lando zoomed in on a fan screenshot. WHO IS SHE??? circled in bright yellow around your reflection. A thread below it listed potential identities with scary accuracy:

“her nails match a girl who was spotted in Monaco 👀”

“her hair looks like the girl from the marina picture”

“new wag confirmed???”

Charles swore under his breath.

Back in the paddock hospitality, you were fending off sly questions from people who definitely knew better.

“New PA?” one of the Ferrari engineers teased.

“Ferrari scouting talent from the girlfriends’ section now?” joked another.

You texted Charles furiously.

You: CHARLES.

Charles: bonjour mon amour 😘

You: DO NOT bonjour me

You: i’m all over f1 twitter because of your sunglasses.

Charles: accidental soft launch… romantic, no?

You: NO. fix it.

Charles: hm. or i could just post another picture with you properly 👀

Your face flamed. You could practically see his smug little smile through the screen.

Later that night, Charles doubled down. Instead of clearing the rumors, he posted a carousel of race weekend pictures — and the very last slide was the two of you, blurry but unmistakable, your hand in his, your face tucked into his shoulder.

Caption: ❤️

The comments exploded.

The WAG edits multiplied.

Ferrari PR probably combusted.

And Charles?

He just turned off his phone, curled up next to you in the hotel bed, and said softly, “See? I like this launch better.”

── .✦

hellooo, this is for funsies :P

[potatobreads]

DRIVER BOYFRIEND DUTIES

⟢ title : driver boyfriend duties

⟢ featuring : Oscar Piastri

⟢ genre : fluff

⟢ fandom : formula 1

⟢ word count : 710 I think?

── .✦

꒰ "You don't need to drive me everywhere."

"Yeah, but I want to." ꒱

── .✦

Oscar insists on driving you everywhere.

Everywhere.

It doesn’t matter if it’s the ten-minute walk to the coffee shop on the corner, the ten-hour trip to Monaco, or the two-hour trek from one paddock to the next. If you’re going anywhere, Oscar Piastri is holding out the passenger door with that quiet look that says don’t even argue.

It started small, almost laughable.

You were heading out to grab snacks, hoodie pulled over your head, already halfway out the door.

“Wait,” he called from the couch, keys dangling in his hand.

“Oscar. It’s literally five minutes away.”

He just shrugged. “All the more reason for me to drive.”

You’d thought it was a joke. A phase. Something he’d let go of after a few weeks.

But months later, Oscar was still there — leaning against his car after practice, waiting in hotel lobbies, pulling up to your apartment like it was second nature. And when you asked why, he only gave you that soft smile.

“Because I like having you next to me,” he said once, eyes on the road instead of you. Like it was the simplest truth in the world.

And maybe that’s what made your chest ache the most.

Not the way he tapped the steering wheel in rhythm to whatever song you’d put on. Not the way he kept one hand steady on the wheel and the other resting lightly on your thigh like it belonged there. Not even the way he slowed down before every turn, like you were something fragile.

It was the fact that he didn’t see it as an obligation. Not a duty. Just something he wanted to do.

Even now, when you’re sitting in the McLaren motorhome after quali, Oscar appears at your side, holding his car keys like an unspoken promise.

“You ready?” he asks.

You glance at the distance — the hotel’s a ten-minute walk, twenty at most if you stop for late-night street food like you’d planned. “We could walk. It’s warm out.”

But he’s already opening the door for you, looking at you like the thought never even crossed his mind.

“Mon amour,” he says — the words are quiet, almost teasing, but the affection in his voice makes your stomach twist — “I’m literally an F1 driver. Driving you is the least I can do.”

And maybe you should argue. Maybe you should roll your eyes, call him dramatic, tell him he doesn’t have to keep doing this.

But when you slide into the passenger seat, when his fingers brush over yours as he buckles your seatbelt (like you don’t know how to do it yourself), when he catches your gaze and smiles that soft little smile…

You realize you don’t actually want him to stop.

── .✦