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𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ BOY, DON'T MAKE ME CHOOSE

synopsis: poly!f1 drivers and their kinks | part one

warnings: smut (18+ mdni), bdsm, dom/sub dynamics, kinks/interests listed underneath each ship!

drivers: landoscar (lando + oscar), lestappen (charles + max), bearnelli (ollie + kimi), choscar (charles + oscar)

notes: sorry for dropping off the face of the earth...! life has been relentless. i hope you enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing it!! ;) i'll be going through the asks after this post, and i'll get around to fulfilling them!!!

LANDOSCAR

charles x reader x alex.

but mostly reader x alex. what is it like for them to be girlfriends of a driver? do they have any rituals on race weekend? maybe do them in the boxes watching Charles

mon cœur

pairing: poly!charles leclerc x reader x alexandra saint mleux

summary: race weekends with alex and charles

warnings: none!

1. getting ready together

you don’t rush on race mornings anymore. not when they start like this.

soft light spilling in under the curtains. alexandra’s perfume in the air—familiar, warm. the low sound of her humming as she moves around the room, bare feet on cold tile.

you’re still in bed, curled up in one of charles’ old shirts, knees to your chest, watching her get ready. she hasn’t said much, just little looks. the kind that say everything without needing words.

she stands in front of the mirror, dabbing perfume behind her ears. then she glances over at you.

“come here,” she says quietly.

you slide off the bed, padding across the room barefoot, hair still a mess.

she holds something out to you—a dress. red, soft-looking. the kind that clings a little too perfectly.

“alex…” you blink at it. “i don’t know if i can pull this off.”

she doesn’t even hesitate. “you can. you will. i want to see you in it.”

you don’t ask why. you just nod and let her help you step into it. the silk is cool against your skin.

she zips you up slowly, her hands gentle. then she rests her chin lightly on your shoulder, looking at you both in the mirror.

“tu es ravissante,” she murmurs. “mon cœur.”

your breath catches.

you look down, suddenly shy. it doesn’t matter how many times she says it—every time still lands like it’s the first.

“you say that and expect me to function like a normal person?” you mumble, cheeks warm.

she smiles against your shoulder. “you blush every time.”

“yeah. maybe stop being so nice to me, then.”

“never,” she says, and turns you around to face her. “i like how you look when you’re flustered.”

you roll your eyes but can’t stop the smile pulling at your lips. she fixes one of your straps, her fingers slow and careful.

then, quieter: “you’re so beautiful like this, mon amour”

you don’t say anything. you just let her kiss your cheek and hold you there for a second longer than needed.

outside, the city is already buzzing, the world spinning up to full speed. but in here it’s just her. just you.

you press your forehead to hers.

“thank you,” you whisper.

she squeezes your waist. “for what?”

“for seeing me like this.”

she leans in, lips brushing yours, light as anything.

“mon cœur,” she says again, like it’s just a truth. like it’s always been true.

and somehow, it feels like it has.

2. arriving at the paddock

you arrive hand-in-hand.

the paddock is already alive—press, camera shutters, radio chatter, shoes clicking fast against pavement. ferrari red everywhere. it should be overwhelming. sometimes it is.

but today it feels distant, like you’re walking through it inside a little bubble. like the softness from the hotel room hasn’t left either of you.

alexandra gives a small wave to someone on the team, but she doesn’t let go of your hand. she rarely does.

she leans in as you pass through the garage entrance, her lips brushing just beneath your ear. “still okay?” she asks, quietly. gently.

you nod, squeezing her fingers. “yeah. better than okay.”

she smiles, and it’s a real one—the kind you only get to see in moments like this, when no one else is watching.

inside, it smells like tire rubber and heat and engine oil. charles is somewhere already in briefings. it’s just you two for now. tucked just off to the side of the chaos.

you sit together on the little bench along the back wall, headset cords hanging nearby. she rests her hand lightly on your knee. not in a performative way. not even a conscious one, probably. just… there. grounded. close.

“you wore the dress for me,” she says softly, eyes drifting over you like she’s still memorizing it.

you glance down, a little shy again. “well. you asked nicely.”

she grins, leaning her shoulder into yours. “i love you like this. all soft and blushing and mine.”

your breath catches just a little. not because it’s unexpected, but because it never feels casual when she says things like that. not when her voice goes low like that. not when her eyes look like that.

“alex,” you say, barely above a whisper.

“mm?”

you lean your head on her shoulder. “you’re impossible.”

she kisses your hair. “but you adore me.”

you hum. “unfortunately.”

and she laughs—quiet, happy. the sound of it almost drowns out the high-pitched rev of the engine starting up in the bay next to you. almost.

for a moment, no one needs you to move. no cameras are on you. just the world’s fastest sport happening all around you, and her fingers tracing soft little patterns against the inside of your wrist.

and when charles walks past, suited up, helmet under his arm, he gives the both of you a warm, knowing look.

“you two good?” he asks, not needing to stop to know the answer.

“we’re perfect,” alexandra replies, her eyes still on you.

and yeah. you are.

even here, in the loudest place on earth, she makes you feel quiet.

3. watching the race

engines screaming down the straight, pit crews moving like clockwork, and everything outside the garage buzzing with adrenaline. but inside? it’s different.

quieter. still tense, still alive—but quieter in the way only love can make it feel.

you’re standing just behind the barrier, headset slipping a little loose over one ear, eyes flicking between the track footage and the telemetry screen. alexandra is beside you—always beside you—her arm brushing yours, her hand occasionally finding your pinky and hooking it.

it’s her way of grounding herself. and you.

“his tires look good,” you murmur, not really sure if you’re saying it to her or to yourself.

she hums in agreement. “he sounds calm.”

you nod, but there’s still a knot in your chest. you know how fast everything can change. you’ve felt it.

her voice comes soft next to your ear. “he’s got this.”

you glance at her, and she’s already looking at you. calm, steady. her lips curve up just slightly. you don’t say anything—you just rest your hand on her lower back and pull her a little closer.

she leans her head on your shoulder. “you always get this tense,” she whispers.

“i know,” you breathe. “i just—i want him to be okay.”

she lifts her head just enough to press a kiss to your shoulder. “he will be. and when he’s not, we’re here. always.”

you nod. because it’s true. she’s never once lied to you.

the track feed flickers as charles dives into a corner—late braking, sharp and fast. both your breaths catch. your hands find each other instantly, grip tightening for the seconds that feel like forever.

and then… he clears it. gains position.

the garage erupts in restrained cheers. engineers fist-bump. someone lets out a quiet “let’s go!”

you and alexandra look at each other, wide-eyed, hearts racing.

“did he just—” you start.

“yes,” she whispers, grinning. “god, that was beautiful.”

you let out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding, and she pulls you into a hug—right there in the garage, headset cords tangled between you, her arms warm and steady around your waist.

you rest your chin on her shoulder. “you know… you saying he’s got this might actually be the good luck charm.”

she laughs softly. “don’t tell charles that. he thinks it’s your outfit.”

you kiss her cheek without thinking. “maybe it’s both of us.”

she kisses you back. quick. soft. like a promise.

and then the headset crackles with charles’ voice, breathless and focused: “where are they? they watching?”

you both freeze, then burst into quiet laughter.

“we’re always watching,” alexandra says, barely loud enough for the comms.

your fingers lace tighter. your heart beats louder.

and when he takes another corner like he was born to do it, alexandra whispers again, like a spell:

“mon cœur.”

4. after the race

he crosses the finish line and you swear your whole body lets go at once.

the sound of the crowd, the high-pitched whine of the engine dropping off, the pit crew shouting—it all blends into this warm, rushing blur. but none of it really lands until alexandra grips your hand tight, breath caught in her throat, and says, “he did it.”

you nod, dizzy with it. “he did.”

and then it all moves fast—radio crackles, cheers all around, people clapping him on the back through the headset. your heartbeat’s still trying to catch up.

you and alexandra push through the crowd just a little, still wrapped up in each other, toward the side of the garage where he always finds you.

and then he’s there.

charles.

helmet off, hair damp and messy, face flushed, suit half-unzipped, the ferrari red clinging to him like it belongs there. he looks wrecked in the best way—eyes wild, mouth open like he’s still catching his breath.

but he sees you. and everything else falls away.

he doesn’t wait.

he walks straight to you—past the engineers, past the cameras, past the celebration—and pulls you into his arms like it’s instinct. like it’s all he knows how to do.

his hands are firm on your back, grounding you. your face buries in his neck, skin hot, the smell of sweat and fuel and something so him it almost makes you tear up.

he kisses your cheek, your jaw, your lips—messy and too fast and so good. and you can’t stop smiling into it, even as your hands tangle in the collar of his suit.

then he turns to alexandra and does the same—pulls her close, kisses her like she’s his whole reason. and she laughs, all breathless and flushed, and cups his face in her hands.

“you scared me on turn eleven,” she says, voice low.

“i know,” he pants, leaning into her. “i had to.”

“of course you did,” she says, brushing his hair back, and kisses him again.

the three of you end up in a tangle of arms, forehead to forehead, his hand on your waist, hers in his hair, and you pressed between them, steady and full.

“you were watching?” he murmurs.

“the whole time,” you say.

“always,” alexandra adds.

charles exhales shakily, eyes falling closed. “i just needed to make it back to you.”

you kiss the corner of his mouth. “you did.”

and alexandra leans in, resting her head on his shoulder, her hand still holding yours.

“mon cœur,” she whispers, almost to herself.

and for a moment, the world is quiet again.

just three hearts, still racing.

but finally—finally—home.

5. back at home

the sun’s started dipping low by the time the race is done, casting everything in gold. the kind of light that makes the red in charles’ suit glow like fire, like something holy. you’re tucked into the corner of the motorhome’s lounge now, shoes kicked off, hair a little out of place. alexandra is half in your lap, half leaning into the cushions, her head against your chest, fingers playing with the edge of your sleeve.

she hasn’t said much. just soft, sleepy hums as she watches the sky through the open window. you know she gets quiet after races. not tired—just full. like there’s too much emotion to carry all at once, so she holds it gently instead of spilling it.

charles walks in freshly showered, damp hair pushed back, still flushed from heat and speed. he’s wearing a ferrari hoodie now, his suit long gone, and when he sees you both curled up on the couch, something in his face softens instantly.

he crosses the room without a word and drops down beside you, arm draping over the back of the sofa. he leans in to kiss alexandra first—her temple, then her cheek.

“you smell like sunshine,” he mumbles.

she smiles with her eyes closed. “you smell like fuel and podium champagne.”

“sexy,” you mutter, and charles grins, finally turning to you.

he kisses your lips like he’s been waiting all day. slow. warm. a little salty. you melt into it without thinking, your fingers brushing the back of his neck, the collar of his hoodie soft between your hands.

he pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours. “thank you for being here.”

you laugh under your breath. “where else would we be?”

his thumb strokes along your jaw like he can’t stop touching you. “you’re my good luck charm. both of you.”

“so you are admitting we’re the reason you overtook on lap 42,” alexandra murmurs, eyes still closed.

charles snorts. “obviously. my entire strategy was based on the thought of kissing you both afterward.”

you lean in and press a kiss to his cheek, then another to alexandra’s shoulder. she shifts just enough to curl into his side too, her leg draped over yours now, the three of you tangled in something that feels more like home than any hotel ever could.

no one says much after that.

just touches. quiet laughter. charles playing with alexandra’s hair. her reaching up to touch your face, tracing your bottom lip with her thumb like she’s still memorizing it.

the sun dips a little lower. the paddock starts to quiet outside.

but in here, it’s warm. calm. full.

and when charles kisses you again, slow and deep and so so sweet, you realize you don’t need fireworks. not when you’ve got this.

just soft love. and arms around you. and her voice, half-asleep and full of affection, whispering:

“mon cœur.”

taglist: @barcapix, @universefcb, @joaosnovia, @ilovebarcaaaa, @levidazai, @hollyf1,@mxryxmfooty, @halfwayhearted, @landoslutmeout , @linnygirl09, @spidybaby, @dessashippr, @freyathehuntress, @dakotapaigelove lmk if you want to be added or removed!

#f1 #f1 x reader #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x alexandra saint mleux x reader #alexandra saint mleux x reader #alexandra saint mleux #charles leclerc fluff #poly f1 #poly f1 x reader

hi loves 🩷🩷 i will have my requests open until tonight because i plan to finish all my requests this week, after all my requests are published i will open it again! but if you want yours published this week, please request it before tonight you can request football player x reader, f1 driver x reader, wag x reader and poly f1 driver/footballer x reader, wag x driver x reader

charles x reader x alex.

but mostly reader x alex. what is it like for them to be girlfriends of a driver? do they have any rituals on race weekend? maybe do them in the boxes watching Charles

mon cœur

pairing: poly!charles leclerc x reader x alexandra saint mleux

summary: race weekends with alex and charles

warnings: none!

1. getting ready together

you don’t rush on race mornings anymore. not when they start like this.

soft light spilling in under the curtains. alexandra’s perfume in the air—familiar, warm. the low sound of her humming as she moves around the room, bare feet on cold tile.

she stands in front of the mirror, dabbing perfume behind her ears. then she glances over at you.

“come here,” she says quietly.

you slide off the bed, padding across the room barefoot, hair still a mess.

she holds something out to you—a dress. red, soft-looking. the kind that clings a little too perfectly.

“alex…” you blink at it. “i don’t know if i can pull this off.”

she doesn’t even hesitate. “you can. you will. i want to see you in it.”

you don’t ask why. you just nod and let her help you step into it. the silk is cool against your skin.

she zips you up slowly, her hands gentle. then she rests her chin lightly on your shoulder, looking at you both in the mirror.

“tu es ravissante,” she murmurs. “mon cœur.”

your breath catches.

you look down, suddenly shy. it doesn’t matter how many times she says it—every time still lands like it’s the first.

“you say that and expect me to function like a normal person?” you mumble, cheeks warm.

she smiles against your shoulder. “you blush every time.”

“yeah. maybe stop being so nice to me, then.”

“never,” she says, and turns you around to face her. “i like how you look when you’re flustered.”

you roll your eyes but can’t stop the smile pulling at your lips. she fixes one of your straps, her fingers slow and careful.

then, quieter: “you’re so beautiful like this, mon amour”

you don’t say anything. you just let her kiss your cheek and hold you there for a second longer than needed.

outside, the city is already buzzing, the world spinning up to full speed. but in here it’s just her. just you.

you press your forehead to hers.

“thank you,” you whisper.

she squeezes your waist. “for what?”

“for seeing me like this.”

she leans in, lips brushing yours, light as anything.

“mon cœur,” she says again, like it’s just a truth. like it’s always been true.

and somehow, it feels like it has.

2. arriving at the paddock

you arrive hand-in-hand.

the paddock is already alive—press, camera shutters, radio chatter, shoes clicking fast against pavement. ferrari red everywhere. it should be overwhelming. sometimes it is.

but today it feels distant, like you’re walking through it inside a little bubble. like the softness from the hotel room hasn’t left either of you.

alexandra gives a small wave to someone on the team, but she doesn’t let go of your hand. she rarely does.

she leans in as you pass through the garage entrance, her lips brushing just beneath your ear. “still okay?” she asks, quietly. gently.

you nod, squeezing her fingers. “yeah. better than okay.”

she smiles, and it’s a real one—the kind you only get to see in moments like this, when no one else is watching.

inside, it smells like tire rubber and heat and engine oil. charles is somewhere already in briefings. it’s just you two for now. tucked just off to the side of the chaos.

“you wore the dress for me,” she says softly, eyes drifting over you like she’s still memorizing it.

you glance down, a little shy again. “well. you asked nicely.”

she grins, leaning her shoulder into yours. “i love you like this. all soft and blushing and mine.”

“alex,” you say, barely above a whisper.

“mm?”

you lean your head on her shoulder. “you’re impossible.”

she kisses your hair. “but you adore me.”

you hum. “unfortunately.”

and she laughs—quiet, happy. the sound of it almost drowns out the high-pitched rev of the engine starting up in the bay next to you. almost.

and when charles walks past, suited up, helmet under his arm, he gives the both of you a warm, knowing look.

“you two good?” he asks, not needing to stop to know the answer.

“we’re perfect,” alexandra replies, her eyes still on you.

and yeah. you are.

even here, in the loudest place on earth, she makes you feel quiet.

3. watching the race

engines screaming down the straight, pit crews moving like clockwork, and everything outside the garage buzzing with adrenaline. but inside? it’s different.

quieter. still tense, still alive—but quieter in the way only love can make it feel.

it’s her way of grounding herself. and you.

“his tires look good,” you murmur, not really sure if you’re saying it to her or to yourself.

she hums in agreement. “he sounds calm.”

you nod, but there’s still a knot in your chest. you know how fast everything can change. you’ve felt it.

her voice comes soft next to your ear. “he’s got this.”

she leans her head on your shoulder. “you always get this tense,” she whispers.

“i know,” you breathe. “i just—i want him to be okay.”

she lifts her head just enough to press a kiss to your shoulder. “he will be. and when he’s not, we’re here. always.”

you nod. because it’s true. she’s never once lied to you.

and then… he clears it. gains position.

the garage erupts in restrained cheers. engineers fist-bump. someone lets out a quiet “let’s go!”

you and alexandra look at each other, wide-eyed, hearts racing.

“did he just—” you start.

“yes,” she whispers, grinning. “god, that was beautiful.”

you let out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding, and she pulls you into a hug—right there in the garage, headset cords tangled between you, her arms warm and steady around your waist.

you rest your chin on her shoulder. “you know… you saying he’s got this might actually be the good luck charm.”

she laughs softly. “don’t tell charles that. he thinks it’s your outfit.”

you kiss her cheek without thinking. “maybe it’s both of us.”

she kisses you back. quick. soft. like a promise.

and then the headset crackles with charles’ voice, breathless and focused: “where are they? they watching?”

you both freeze, then burst into quiet laughter.

“we’re always watching,” alexandra says, barely loud enough for the comms.

your fingers lace tighter. your heart beats louder.

and when he takes another corner like he was born to do it, alexandra whispers again, like a spell:

“mon cœur.”

4. after the race

he crosses the finish line and you swear your whole body lets go at once.

you nod, dizzy with it. “he did.”

and then it all moves fast—radio crackles, cheers all around, people clapping him on the back through the headset. your heartbeat’s still trying to catch up.

you and alexandra push through the crowd just a little, still wrapped up in each other, toward the side of the garage where he always finds you.

and then he’s there.

charles.

but he sees you. and everything else falls away.

he doesn’t wait.

he walks straight to you—past the engineers, past the cameras, past the celebration—and pulls you into his arms like it’s instinct. like it’s all he knows how to do.

his hands are firm on your back, grounding you. your face buries in his neck, skin hot, the smell of sweat and fuel and something so him it almost makes you tear up.

he kisses your cheek, your jaw, your lips—messy and too fast and so good. and you can’t stop smiling into it, even as your hands tangle in the collar of his suit.

then he turns to alexandra and does the same—pulls her close, kisses her like she’s his whole reason. and she laughs, all breathless and flushed, and cups his face in her hands.

“you scared me on turn eleven,” she says, voice low.

“i know,” he pants, leaning into her. “i had to.”

“of course you did,” she says, brushing his hair back, and kisses him again.

the three of you end up in a tangle of arms, forehead to forehead, his hand on your waist, hers in his hair, and you pressed between them, steady and full.

“you were watching?” he murmurs.

“the whole time,” you say.

“always,” alexandra adds.

charles exhales shakily, eyes falling closed. “i just needed to make it back to you.”

you kiss the corner of his mouth. “you did.”

and alexandra leans in, resting her head on his shoulder, her hand still holding yours.

“mon cœur,” she whispers, almost to herself.

and for a moment, the world is quiet again.

just three hearts, still racing.

but finally—finally—home.

5. back at home

he crosses the room without a word and drops down beside you, arm draping over the back of the sofa. he leans in to kiss alexandra first—her temple, then her cheek.

“you smell like sunshine,” he mumbles.

she smiles with her eyes closed. “you smell like fuel and podium champagne.”

“sexy,” you mutter, and charles grins, finally turning to you.

he pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours. “thank you for being here.”

you laugh under your breath. “where else would we be?”

his thumb strokes along your jaw like he can’t stop touching you. “you’re my good luck charm. both of you.”

“so you are admitting we’re the reason you overtook on lap 42,” alexandra murmurs, eyes still closed.

charles snorts. “obviously. my entire strategy was based on the thought of kissing you both afterward.”

no one says much after that.

just touches. quiet laughter. charles playing with alexandra’s hair. her reaching up to touch your face, tracing your bottom lip with her thumb like she’s still memorizing it.

the sun dips a little lower. the paddock starts to quiet outside.

but in here, it’s warm. calm. full.

and when charles kisses you again, slow and deep and so so sweet, you realize you don’t need fireworks. not when you’ve got this.

just soft love. and arms around you. and her voice, half-asleep and full of affection, whispering:

“mon cœur.”

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