lvrspiastri

[lvrspiastri]

"𝒅𝒊𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒈𝒊𝒓𝒍 𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒍𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒅𝒆𝒍𝒖𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏?"

who's sunny anyway? ew.

;🎧.°˖✧ 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒓𝒐! hi i'm sunny, she/her. i write shit. mainly f1 but i can delve into other fandoms i am a part of and are requestable. i rep: 81, 33, 63, 12, 23 but i can write for all drivers! most my fics are likely to be logan sargeant-centric because i fear that man has altered my brain chemistry. feel free to send requests! i've also started dabbling into fanart so expect some works soon and occasional shitposts from my twt account. you can filter fics via lvrspiastriwrites, art via lvrspiastridraws and asks via lvrspiastriasks :)

;🎧.°˖✧ 𝒈𝒖𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒔! obvs decent shit, no incest, rape, pedophilia, beastiality, etc. i'm not entirely comfortable writing male!reader fics but most of my fics will be gender-neutral!reader unless stated otherwise. i do not use Y/N. other than these, everything is good!

;🎧.°˖✧ 𝒇𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒐𝒎𝒔! formula 1, ted lasso, six of crows/shadow and bone/grishaverse, one direction, taylor swift, lockwood and co, julie and the phantoms, stranger things, spiderman, MCU, percy jackson, the wizarding world (incl hogwarts legacy), the hunger games and all spin offs.

disclaimer: i will post nsfw content including nsfw writing/fanart but they will always contain tags and disclaimers.

𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕:

(♡ = request; ✩ = sexual content)

Formula 1

Logan Sargeant

How to deal with a bad result. A comprehensive guide. ✩

Pillowtalk.✩ (OP81)

So It Goes... ✩

Oscar Piastri

Pillowtalk. ✩ (LS2)

Arthur Leclerc

Parenthesis ♡

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

[lvrspiastri]

single dad aus always live rent free in my mind, so... single dad!arthur being so immature but still dedicated to his kid. maybe reader is friends with charles or works with kids, so thats how they meet. arthur hasnt dated since his kid was born, so he's really awkward and clumsy- but all goes well!

Parenthesis ᴬᴸ

i. love. this. i'm also so happy to get an arthur prompt because i've been obsessed with that man lately. hope this is along the lines of what you were looking for :)

masterlist

✧. ┊    PAIRING: single dad!arthur leclerc x gender-neutral!reader

✧. ┊    SUMMARY: the prompt except reader is arthur's son's kindergarten teacher

✧. ┊    WORDS: 2k

✧. ┊    TAGS/WARNINGS: nothing at all, this is absolute fluff, maybe a curse word here and there. kids.

Having dinner with one of my kindergarten students' fathers was out of the question. Not for any official reason—it just felt fucking wrong. Still, every time Frederic's father, Arthur, walked into my classroom for a parent-teacher meeting, I found myself at a loss. Something about his soft Monegasque accent—it all made it hard to remember why the rules mattered in the first place.

He never lingered on purpose. Always polite, always a little too formal, like he’d rehearsed what to say on the drive over. He asked about Frederic’s reading, worried over handwriting, nodded earnestly when I reassured him. And maybe it should’ve been easy to brush of. Just another parent doing his best. But then he’d smile, quick and shy, and run a hand through his hair like he was apologising for taking up space.

Once, he brought a thermos of coffee and offered me some before realising how strange that might seem. “Sorry, I thought—never mind,” he said, practically shoving it back into his coat. It was ridiculous. And stupidly charming.

That was the problem.

He wasn’t trying to be anything. Not flirtatious, not magnetic. He just was. Earnest, a little awkward, with those kind eyes and the sort of accent that made even “maths homework” sound romantic. He made me laugh without meaning to. He made me nervous without trying.

And worst of all, I don’t think he had a clue.

Watching him ask me out was more embarrassing for him than it was for me. He stuttered constantly, spent too long trying to find the right words in English but finally got out what he wanted to. Dinner. 7 pm. At Ciao Cucina. And I prayed that he would cover the bill because I certainly couldn't. I put effort into the way I looked. Did my hair nicer than I usually do. Fancy shoes. Ironed my top for once. If he was taking me out to a place costlier than my weekly rent, I had to look the part. He picked me up in his motherfucking Ferrari, holding flowers and wearing an Armani suit.

The car smelled like leather and aftershave and something warm I couldn’t quite place—maybe nerves. He held the passenger door open for me (green flag), then rushed to the driver’s side so quickly he almost tripped over the curb. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling too much.

Once we were inside, there was a pause. He fiddled with the air conditioning. Adjusted the volume on the radio. Turned it off again.

“You look…” he started, eyes flicking over to me before darting back to the windshield. “Nice. Very nice.”

I could’ve laughed, but didn’t. “Thank you,” I said, smoothing the hem of my top even though it didn’t need it.

He nodded, the movement terse. “I didn’t know if you would say yes.”

“You asked me to dinner, of course I would've.”

“Yes, but still.” He cleared his throat, gripping the steering wheel with both hands. “You are a teacher. Very professional. I'm a racer.”

“You're a parent,” I said lightly, “who just picked me up in a Ferrari.”

He went bright red. “Ah. Yes. It was… not the best choice. I had another car but it’s with the mechanic. I think it is very pretentious, no?”

“It’s completely ridiculous,” I said, deadpan. “But the flowers helped.”

Ciao Cucina was the kind of place with white tablecloths and waiters who spoke in soft, reverent tones. The lighting was low enough to feel intimate, and the menu didn’t list prices, which was always a bad sign. Arthur looked like he belonged—confident in that quiet, fidgety way of his. I, on the other hand, felt like I was walking into someone else’s life.

The hostess smiled too widely when she saw him. “Signore Leclerc...,” she said, leading us to a corner table with views of the water and the rest of the restaurant. It was private, but not hidden. Like the kind of table people who mattered were supposed to sit at.

Arthur pulled out my chair with the same clumsy formality he’d had all evening. I thanked him. He sat down, adjusted his napkin, and immediately knocked over his water glass.

It wasn’t dramatic. Barely noticeable. Just a soft clink, a quick spill, a muttered curse in French as he reached for a napkin. I bit back a laugh and handed him mine.

“I am very sorry, I haven't been doing this since...since Freddy's mother...” he muttered, eyes fixed on the tablecloth.

“It's fine,” I said, smiling. “It's already going well.”

He looked up at that. Really looked. “You are very kind to me,” he said, softly, almost like it was a fact he didn’t quite understand.

A waiter appeared and poured more water like nothing had happened. Arthur ordered in fluent Italian, and I let him—partly because I didn’t trust myself to pronounce conchigle without making a fool of myself, and partly because it was kind of hot, watching him speak a language that fit his mouth better than English ever could.

When it was my turn, I pointed at the menu and said, “That one, please.”

Arthur smiled like it was the best thing I could have done.

“So,” I said, once we were alone again. “Is this the part where you pretend to be charming, or is the nervous thing your whole brand?”

His ears turned pink. “I was hoping it go away...”

“It’s growing on me.”

He smiled at that. Subtly. Small. Crooked. “It is not intentional,” he said. “The nervous thing. I was not like this before.”

“Before what?”

He hesitated. “Before I became… single father. Before I had to talk to teachers which look like you.”

I raised an eyebrow. “That was almost smooth.”

He laughed, short and embarrassed, reaching for his water like it might save him. “I do not know how to do this. Dating. I do not think I have the—how do you say—game?”

“You’re doing fine,” I said, even though everything about him was uneven and offbeat. The people I'd gone out with before came in all sorts. Cocky. Dominant. Vain. Red flags. But whatever he had worked. Because it was honest.

Our food arrived then, perfectly arranged plates that looked like art, not dinner. Arthur picked up his fork, then put it back down.

“I was very bad in school,” he said, out of nowhere. “I think the teachers did not like me. I wanted to do racing like Charles.”

“Is that why you’re overcompensating with your son’s education?”

He blinked, then laughed. “Yes. Maybe. He is clever. I don’t want to ruin that.”

“You’re not ruining anything. He’s bright, curious. A little talkative.”

He grinned. “That is genetic.”

I took a bite of my pasta. It was incredible—rich, warm, ridiculous. “God, this is good.”

He relaxed slightly at that, like the food had granted him permission to enjoy himself. “You eat too fast,” he said, not unkindly.

“I don’t get a lot of slow meals.”

“You deserve them.”

That hung in the air for a second too long.

I took another sip of water. “So do you.”

He didn’t answer, just smiled in that soft, uneven way of his. I could feel myself leaning in without meaning to. This shouldn’t have felt like anything. And yet it did.

We kept eating. Talking. Laughing. The kind of dinner that unfolds slowly, without trying to be perfect. Just enough awkwardness to feel real.

And still, in the back of my mind, a quiet, impossible thought: What am I doing?

He insisted on driving me home, but somehow the route veered—subtly, unintentionally, toward his apartment instead. “Just for a minute,” he said, almost apologetically. “Freddy’s with Alex. And she has to go back home. So I just need to check in.”

I should’ve said no. I should’ve drawn a line somewhere back between the pasta and the moment he said I deserved slow meals. But I didn’t. I nodded, and we drove the rest of the way in a silence that didn’t feel tense. Just full.

His apartment was warm, lived-in. Not what I expected from a man who drove a Ferrari and wore Armani. There were stray socks in the hallway, drawings on the fridge, a stack of unread mail on the entryway table. The kind of place held together by love and a bit of chaos.

Freddy—little Freddy—was on the couch, fast asleep in Lightning McQueen pajamas curled up under a worn fleece blanket. A book lay open beside him. His chest rose and fell in the slow, steady rhythm only children seem to master.

I didn’t mean to stare, but I did.

“He wanted to wait,” Arthur whispered, voice low. “He likes you.”

I smiled, and something in my chest softened, dangerously. “He’s a good kid.”

“I think so too.” He walked over and gently adjusted the blanket, brushing a curl from his son’s forehead with a tenderness so instinctive it knocked the air out of me.

And then it clicked.

Not in a romantic sense. Not exactly. But something about the shape of the room, the stillness of the night, the way Arthur existed here not just as a man but as a father. It made everything slot into place. It wasn’t just attraction anymore. It was the feeling of this. Of shoes by the door, colour pencils on the floor and someone making sure the blanket was still tucked in.

He turned to look at me, a little unsure. “You want tea? Or water? I have very bad beer also.”

I laughed quietly. “Tea’s good.”

He nodded, disappearing into the kitchen with all the grace of someone trying not to wake a sleeping child. And I stood there, in the soft light of a living room that wasn’t mine, staring at a sleeping boy who wasn't mine, somehow making this complicated, impossible situation feel—just for a second—safe.

He handed me the tea with both hands, like it might spill if he didn’t concentrate. He didn't bother with a saucer. Then he cleared a space on the couch beside his sleeping son, nudging aside a plastic dinosaur and a crumpled piece of paper that looked like an unfinished drawing of a treehouse.

“Sorry for the mess,” he said with a sheepish laugh, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve been wanting to look for, uh… a nanny. But I do not have much of time.”

I took the tea and sat beside him. “You don’t need to apologise. This is… homey. It’s nice.”

He smiled at that, almost relieved. “Thank you. I try. But there is days when I forget to do laundry or Freddy eats cereal for dinner three nights.”

I looked down at the little boy curled under the blanket. “He looks pretty happy to me.”

He followed my eyes, and something in his face softened again, that same quiet vulnerability I’d seen at school when he worried about spelling tests and playground friendships.

“I just don’t want to get it wrong,” he said. “There is so much I already missed.”

“You’re not getting it wrong.” I hesitated, then added, “You care. A lot. That’s more than a lot of kids ever get.”

He didn’t say anything at first. Just sipped his tea, eyes still on his son. Then, quietly, “I used to be someone else. Before. I had a different life. And now, it’s just... this. Him."

The weight of it landed between us—not heavy, not uncomfortable, just real. I found myself setting my tea down, turning slightly toward him. “And is that so bad? This life?”

His gaze flickered up at me then. And for once, he didn’t flinch or look away. “No,” he said. “Not bad. It’s just… hard to share with someone. Or to imagine somebody wanting it.”

“I’m here,” I blurted, before I could think better of it.

And for a long moment, neither of us moved. Freddy shifted slightly in his sleep, murmured something incomprehensible, then settled again. The quiet hummed around us.

He blinked. “Are you?”

I nodded. “Yeah. I think I am.”

He didn’t touch me. Didn’t lean in. Just smiled. A little lopsided. A little stunned. And whispered, “Okay.”

[lvrspiastri]

i need fanfic ideas please send me some 🙏

[lvrspiastri]

i used to sob to marjorie by taylor swift but ever since logan got dropped, he's the one i think about when i listen to that song and i didn't know i could feel such agonising pain

[lvrspiastri]

he is wishing you a very happy pride month! "my pronouns are U! S! A!"

[lvrspiastri]

So It Goes...ˡˢ²

masterlist

✧. ┊    PAIRING: Logan Sargeant x fem!reader

✧. ┊    SUMMARY: Your school takes a trip to a camp where you get to spend a night with your closest mates, including your best friend, Logan. (No use of Y/N)

✧. ┊    WORDS: 4.8k

✧. ┊    TAGS/WARNINGS: 18+, smut, sex, camp, high schoolers (18+ obvs), fingering, vaginal sex (unprotected), oral sex, thigh riding, masturbation, idiots in love, orgasm, first time, best friends, friends to lovers, panic attacks, swearing, explicit sexual content. AS ALWAYS, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!

If there was anything that could be classified as simultaneously the best and worst experience ever, it would be school camp. Your heart thumped at the notion of honing your archery skills and drifting on the sea on a paddle board, the salt air rejuvenating. And not to mention the inside jokes, light banter and mocking insults that would be shared amongst you and your friends. Yet, the bland camp food and abundance of flies and mosquitoes did not entice the prospect of being outside. 

The seats on the bus were in two’s. Nobody had an assigned bus partner in your group, pairs forming themselves randomly. But your friends knew better than to take a seat next to you. Everybody knew that with you, came Logan. And anyone who had anything to say about it would be shunned. Logan was the last student to board the bus, panting as he ran in. It was not like Logan to be late as he was the most punctual man you ever came across. His eyes landed on the sole empty chair next to you, exhaling in relief. At every table, you’d save him a seat. He flopped down next to you, the smell of sweat strong in the air. 

“You’re late,” you huffed, stating the obvious. You almost thought he ditched you, deciding his bed was better than you or your friends. 

“Sorry,” he groaned, catching his breath and placing his bag under the seat in front of him. “Overslept.” 

“You never oversleep. You’re always on time,” you scoffed, watching him fiddle around with the seatbelt, looking for the buckle. 

Logan flashed a grin as he settled into his seat. "I was too excited to sleep last night," he admitted, clicking his seatbelt into place. He playfully ruffled the hair of the friend sitting in front of him, who chuckled in response. You rolled your eyes good-naturedly and handed Logan a lollipop, which he accepted with a smile. As he began to suck on it, he gazed straight ahead, allowing you to look out the window. 

Logan knew the drill on buses - silence was key. Your motion sickness made it difficult for you to ride without getting queasy, especially if someone tried to talk to you. So, he placed a gentle hand on your thigh and began to rub it with his thumb, offering a comforting presence. He invited you to rest your head on his shoulder, and you gratefully accepted.

As he quietly chatted with your shared friends, Logan's actions spoke volumes. He knew you inside and out - what made you tick, what to avoid, and how to care for you. You were his treasure, his top priority. He would go to great lengths to protect and cherish you, and he made sure you knew it in that moment. He’d go mental if you got in harm’s way, that was for sure, having proven so when you were little. 

The gentle rocking of the bus, accompanied with hushed whispers of your best friend’s soothing voice, attracted sleep, and you fell in its clutches for the entire bus ride. 

You were shaken awake when you arrived at your destination, Logan proacting and having both his your suitcases ready in his hand. You thanked him, dragging your suitcase and your ass out of the bus as he and your friends followed closely behind. 

The camp was a rustic haven, nestled among tall trees and surrounded by the soothing sounds of nature. The scent of pine and earth filled the air, and a gentle breeze rustled the leaves. Lodges made of weathered wood and canvas tents dotted the landscape, their chimneys puffing out wisps of smoke. A central fire pit, ringed by logs and benches, served as the gathering place. The camp's dining hall, a cosy lodge with wooden beams and a crackling fireplace was located just next to the fire pit, where students were already gathering to grab a snack. Winding trails, lined with ferns and wildflowers, led to hidden clearings, a tranquil lake, and a babbling brook. 

You felt arms wrapping around your shoulders, pulling you in closer. “Not bad,” shrugged Logan. “But I’ve seen better.”

“Have you, now?” You teased, getting drawn into his side. 

“Mm,” he nodded as you followed your year group up to the lodges. “When I was 9, my family and I went to a ski camp up in the Alps. You had the flu that week.” His voice turned into a low whisper, his shades reflecting sunlight. “It was incredible. The snow was...wow. It was like nothing I'd ever seen before. We'd ski through these trees, and the snow would fall off the branches."

“Yeah? That sounds nice.”

"It was. And the mountains...they were so still and quiet, except for the sound of the snow crunching under our skis. And at night, the stars would come out, and the snow would glow in the moonlight. It was like the whole world was frozen in time. I never wanted to leave." His eyes refocused on you, and he leaned in, whispering. “But it would’ve been better if you were there.”

“Apologies for having the flu and suffering while you were having the time of your life.” 

He chuckled, squeezing your shoulder. “Well let’s make the best of this trip then, hm?” 

You reach your assigned lodge, the room big enough to fit 16 people, all the sleeping arrangements in the form of bunk beds. You and Logan had the privilege of claiming your bunk first and decided to take the quiet one in the corner of the room, far away from all the others. It was right by the window, the sunlight casting a faint yet ethereal glow on the hardwood floor. 

“Bags top bunk!” You called out to Logan, stationing your suitcase under the window next to the bunk and clubbing the ladder to the top bunk, effectively claiming your spot. He simply rolled his eyes, chuckling and shaking his head. He pulled out his bedsheet and tucked it under the mattress, arranging his pillow and blanket neatly. You just watched the boy work below you, admiring how his hair glinted in the sunlight. It made him look more blonde than he normally did and made his eyes shine a lighter blue. You don’t recall ever having seen a more beautiful sight. You had always felt something for Logan. It never needed a name, that feeling. You felt it in the hushed whispers that were only for your ears, the soft grazes of fingers that provided comfort, the steady beats of his heart as you settled on his chest; it encapsulated you. It never needed a term. 

After a quick lunch, you headed to the archery range with your assigned camp group, consisting of your friendship circle and a few others, spending the morning learning to hit your mark. Your friends cheered you on as you took turns shooting arrows, and Logan offered words of encouragement, helping you improve your aim.

A few hours of archery left your fingers sore and you headed to the dining hall where they were serving snacks, devouring apples and popcorn whilst the lot of you argued over who won the rounds. Then, it was off to the lake for paddleboarding. You and Logan grabbed boards and pushed off from the shore, gliding across the calm water. The sun beat down on your skin as you paddled, taking in the breathtaking scenery surrounding you. As you reached the middle of the lake, you and Logan challenged each other to a paddleboard race, laughing and shouting as you went. You didn't care who won – the joy was in the experience, sharing it with your best friend. Afterward, you floated on your boards, chatting and enjoying the serenity of the lake.

Dinner was a quick affair—the food as revolting as you’d expected it to be. You would’ve shoved half the slop down your throat before you were positive you were going to throw up. But the taste of a rainbow paddle pop soothed your tortured tongue. 

To end day 1 on a fun note, the teachers decide to host trivia night, where the entire cohort would get into groups and answer questions on any topic. Naturally, you were with your friend group, devising a group name before the game began. 

As the trivia game heated up, the dining hall transformed into a cacophony of cheers, shouts, and clanging utensils. The air grew thick with excitement, and the noise level escalated, making your heart race. You felt a familiar, creeping sense of dread as the sounds blended together, disorienting you. Your breath caught in your throat, and your chest tightened. The room began to spin, and the lights seemed to flicker. You felt like you were drowning in the chaos. Your mind racing. You couldn't focus on the questions or the answers. The voices around you became a jumbled, terrifying mess.

Logan, sitting beside you, noticed your distress and put a reassuring hand on your arm. But even his calming presence couldn't stem the rising panic. You felt trapped, desperate to escape the overwhelming sensory assault. Your heart pounded in your ears, and your vision blurred. You pushed back your chair, trying to stand, but your legs felt like lead. The room was closing in, and you couldn't breathe. You needed to get out – now.

With a surge of adrenaline, you forced yourself to your feet, Logan's concerned voice fading into the background as you stumbled toward the exit, desperate for fresh air, silence, and a sense of safety. As you ran out of the dining hall, Logan rushed behind you, his footsteps echoing off the walls. He caught up to you on the porch, his hand gently grasping your arm.

“Hey, hey, it's okay,” he said softly, his voice a calming balm to your frazzled nerves. "You're with me. You're safe." His touch sent a shiver down your spine, but it was a comforting sensation, like a warm embrace on a cold day. You felt your racing heart slow slightly, your breathing ease a fraction.

Logan's eyes, filled with concern, locked onto yours. "You're okay. I've got you," he repeated, his voice low and soothing.

As Logan's hand made contact with yours, a subtle shift occurred within you. The tremors of fear began to dissipate, replaced by a quiet hum of awareness. His presence was a gentle disruption, a soft recalibration of your senses. In that fleeting moment, the world's din and chaos receded, leaving only the quiet intensity of Logan's focus. Your heart rate slowed, then quickened, as if relearning its rhythm in tandem with his. A connection kindled, one that defied easy categorisation. It was an unspoken understanding, a shared resonance that bypassed words and rational thought. In this wordless space, fear and uncertainty gave way to a sense of synchrony, a feeling of being attuned to a hidden frequency.

“Can we stay out here? It’s too loud in there,” your sniffles made his heart ache and he nodded rapidly, voice soft.

“‘Course, love. We don’t have to go back in.” He kissed the top of your head, rubbing your arms. You stayed like that for an unfathomable amount of time, the cool night air engulfing the two of you, isolating you from the chaos erupting inside the dining hall. Once trivia night ended and the students dispersed, you calmed down fully, the noise no longer overwhelming. “How are we feeling? Good?” You nodded, eyes meeting his. His thumb reached out to wipe your dried tears. “We should probably head to the lodge before the deputy loses her shit. That sound okay?” You nod again, feeling much better, having recovered from your panic attack. The only thing that was on your mind at that moment was how close the two of you were. The scent of his aftershave seduced your nostrils, the heat from his hands teasing you through the fabric of your clothes. It was wrong to think of him that way but your mind wouldn’t let down. 

He grabbed a hold of your hand gently, leading you through darkness at camp to get to your lodge, students from your year group also returning to their beds for the night and hoping to get some rest before tomorrow. Logan knew you like it was innate knowledge. He knew how to deal with your mood swings, your hard days and your panic attacks, having been there for most of them. He knew it all. He knew you. 

You find your comfort and fun back when you enter your cabin, running to the pack of Cheetos you stashed in your suitcase. Your stomach already demanded more, not having been satisfied from dinner’s pig slop. Hell, maybe pigs ate better. Food was prohibited in the lodges, but you couldn’t give less of a shit, munching away on the Cheetos, sitting in Logan’s bed. 

“You’re getting Cheeto dust all over my damn sheets,” he scoffed, shifting your ass on the bed to make room for himself. He snuck a couple Cheetos from the packet, sucking on his fingers. The sight had you throbbing and you would’ve lost your ability to speak if your friends hadn’t formed a circle on the floor in the middle of the room, pulling out Cards Against Humanity. 

You must’ve been very engrossed in the game, for you didn’t realise how late it had gotten in the night. Your watch read one am and you looked over at Logan with your tired eyes and he nodded, reading your body. “Let’s get you to bed, sweetheart,” he grinned, excusing you and himself from the group and returning to your bunk. You couldn’t see or hear the group very clearly from the secluded corner, faint whispers the only reminder of their presence. You looked up at the top bunk and groaned, not wanting to make the journey up and down a dozen times. As Logan stripped off his shirt, getting ready for bed, you crawled into his tiny bottom bunk, face darkened by the top’s shadow. You looked like a hibernating bear, curling up in a ball under his blanket. He sighed, exasperated. “Love-” he began, getting cut off by your whine. 

���Please? I need someone with me. After what happened tonight,” you pleaded, your voice incredibly soft to lure him in. He huffed in annoyance but eventually gave in, nodding. 

“Fine, fine. You better not kick,” he slid in next to you, crawling under the blanket. Your breath hitched and your brain went fuzzy at the feel of him pressed up against you. It was not a new sensation, having shared beds like little kids your entire lives. But something about this moment felt different. There was an air of tension, the simple sensation feeling more adult . The lights in the room shortly went off, the voices dying. “Today was fun,” he casually commented, running a hand through your hair. “I liked today.”

“Me too,” you contributed to his confession, letting yourself fall apart underneath his comforting touch. “Except dinner, of course.” 

“Mm.” He buried his nose into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent deeply. “You’re so warm.” The hand combing through your hair landed around your waist, pulling you in slowly. His hot breath on the gentle skin of your neck made your hairs stand on end and your body grow hot. His eyes were shut. You’d never seen him so peaceful. But you had to ruin it for your own comfort, sitting up on the bed, your hands dipping under your shirt. His head cocked to the side, eyes trailing over your form. “What’s wrong?”

“Have to take off my bra.” 

“You sleep without a bra?” 

“Yeah, I find it comfier.”

“Oh.” He eyed the newly exposed skin of your back as you tossed your bra into your bag and lay beside him again. Content with your return of warmth, he resumed his hold on you, one arm under his own head and over the fabric on your stomach. He let his fingers rub your skin through your shirt lazily, as if coaxing you to sleep. You didn’t even realise when your shirt was pushed up and his fingers splayed out over your soft skin. He was absentmindedly stroking, fingertips dancing across your skin to make the two of you find comfort in touch, despite the tough events of the day. You tilted your head up to look at, what way likely, his peaceful resting face, only to find his eyes —bright in the dark—staring back at you. He let his fingertips drag up your sides, stopping right where your breasts begin. He resumed his stroking motion, fingers massaging the bare flesh he gained access to. “I’m really tempted to just…” he whispered, not having to finish his sentence for you to catch his meaning. 

“I don’t really mind,” you shrugged, the softly spoken words granting him consent. The boy didn’t waste another moment before dragging his fingers up the peak of your breasts, fingers pinching the nipple that was hard for him. You let out a soft gasp, to which Logan responded with a smirk and a tighter squeeze. Deciding your other boob wasn’t getting as much love, he squeezed the flesh hard, staring at every reaction and microexpression you fed him with. It was only when you let out a dangerously loud groan to cause him to stop his movements, shushing you. 

“You’re being too loud,” he pulled his hand out from under your shirt, resuming his chaste touch on your stomach. “It’s best if we stop. Don’t wanna wake anyone up.” Despite the frustration at the loss of touch and pleasure, you simply nodded, knowing that he was right and it was for the better. You were immediately soothed by the tingling sensation of the back of his hand dragging across the side of your face, like a painter spreading colours onto a blank canvas. He knew you. In and out. 

Which is exactly why he must’ve unknowingly wedged his knee in between your two legs, the fabric of the shorts right around his thigh pressed up against your underwear. He only noticed it when you shifted your position to suit your body’s current needs, the feeling of your warm and surprisingly wet core making his breathing patterns erratic. So he pushed his thigh further up, revelling in the delicious, yet quiet moan you elicited. 

“I’m starting to think you’re doing this on purpose,” You breathlessly commented, the nerves in your core pulsating hard, adding fuel to the fire. 

“And if I am?” He pushed his knee up again, chuckling when you let out a shuddering moan. “Hush, love. Quiet, remember?” You nodded, hips moving on his thigh, the rocking movement coming to you naturally. You tried your best to hold back any sounds of pleasure that were so desperately begging to be set free. Logan helped you with your grinding, but you couldn’t help the little whimpers and gasps of air that threatened to wake the room, resulting in Logan’s hand to clasp around your mouth. “Shhh, shh, baby. I know it feels good, baby. But you have to stay silent.” 

You gave him a trembling nod in return, his eyes fixated on the way your tits shook. He would worship you for days on end. “Lo, can’t take it anymore…” you whined, pressing down on his thigh harder to gain much needed relief. “Need to-” your voice was cut off by a strangled moan against Logan’s hand, muffling the erotic sound that threatened to spill over. 

His grip on your mouth was almost bruising, his free hand sliding in between your shaking thighs and dipping right below the waistband of your pyjamas. He slowly ran his finger along the front of your dripping core, tentatively brushing you through the fabric of your panties. “Say the word and I’ll do it. Promise me you’ll be quiet and I’ll let you ride my fingers.” 

His fingers squeezed your lips, blocking your ability to speak. So you simply nodded, fighting a squeal when his fingers dipped inside you. Your hands latched into his skin like it was your last lifeline, burying your face into his chest. He gently stroked your hair with the hand that was previously trapping the mouth, his voice offering soothing shushes that juxtaposed his rough assault inside your core. His fingers scissored and thrusted inside you, working skilfully to take you to another world. Your heart thundered when you realised his movements elicited the softest of sounds—wet squelching and the slapping of flesh against flesh. You wished you’d given a fuck. For when he curled his fingers, you saw a blinding white. And that made you scream in his chest, the walls of your centre clenching against his fingers almost painfully so, coating his fingers with an ivory white. He shut you up by shoving his orgasm-covered fingers inside your mouth, effectively gagging you. Tears stuck to the corner of your eyes, saliva pooling around his fingers. The sight itself had his dick twitching. 

“You did so well for me,” he whispered, emphasising the exclusivity of the shared secret between you two. “So well for me, precious. I’m gonna bury my cock in you, is that okay?” His fingers pushed further into your mouth, the pads flirting with the back of your throat and making you gag. But you bobbed your head around his fingers in a nod, fighting back the sounds. “There we are. Good job, baby.” His fingers withdrew from your mouth, completely slick with the mixture of your cum and saliva. 

He used his free hand to shimmy down his shorts and boxers, freeing his throbbing cock. The tip was leaking pre-cum already, signalling just how turned on he was at the situation. He wrapped his wet hand around the dick, stroking it slowly, smearing your juices onto him. “Fuck,” he cursed silently, eyes shut tight, voice thick with desperation. “Might hurt at first but it’ll get better after, okay?” You simply nodded, barely registering his words as your attention was diverted to the cock he was jerking off. “Hey, baby. Look here.” He pointed to his eyes, your gaze directly following. “Love, I know it’s your first. It’s mine too and I know I wouldn’t do it with anyone but you. But this will hurt, okay? You have to be quiet. Can you do that for me, baby?” You nodded almost immediately, just wanting the feeling of his thick cock pounding into you. 

“Yeah, yeah,” you whispered with a hint of a whimper in your voice. “‘Til I can’t think, Lo, please…”

He chuckled low, using the hand that was pumping himself to grab your face and hold it tight. “Yeah? Want me to make you forget your own name?” He smirked, not hesitating to show just how smug he was at your willing submission. He had spent a lifetime loving you and now that he finally had you, he’d make sure he would never ever let go. 

His hand found a new position at the back of your neck, pulling you in close to his chest to muffle all and any sounds that you might emanate. He wanted to hear them so desperately; he wanted to hear his name roll off your tongue, moans leaking from your mouth. But he’d have you again one day. He was addicted. He’d go mad without you. So with a soft ‘shhh’ in your ear, he buried himself within you, taking it slow; inch by inch. He could feel the vibrations of your whines against his chest, making his cock twitch inside you. He set a slow pace, hand wrapping under your thigh and lifting your leg in the air to give him space to work with. He was right—it hurt at first, the width of his dick stretching your untainted walls out. As he thrusted, you could feel his tip hit that lovely spot inside you, and his veins drag up and down your flesh. It was a weird experience but oddly filling and satisfying. In fact, it felt so good, you dragged your nails down his back, earning a low yet hushed groan from him. It made you wetter, if possible, the sinful sounds of sex beginning to manifest and left your heart hammering in fear of getting caught. But as your heart pounded, so did he, burying himself in you completely and losing all sense of composure. 

The small twin bed rocked with the force of his assault, accompanying his quiet thrusts with small squeaks of its own. It’s a wonder no one had awoken. You were isolated in a corner, yes, but the sounds were loud enough to not go unnoticed. Your minute concerns were interrupted by Logan’s lips crashing onto yours, their gentle caress along with Logan’s cock now finding your sweet spot bringing on the inevitable release you were so desperately craving. 

“Logan,” you whispered, but the sound turned into a whimper. “Lo, need to come…” you managed to choke out, still digging your nails into him to secure your grip. He felt the delicious clench of your walls around his hard length, bringing him close to the edge too. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know. You can let go, baby. You’ve been doing so good for me.” You nodded, keeping your wails to a minimum as you felt bliss for the second time that night, riding out your orgasm on his sensitive cock. Before he could come inside you and make a mess of things, he pulled out, using his hand to jerk himself off. You were quick, however, sitting up immediately and wrapping your lips around his tip, feeling his warm release coat the insides of your mouth. His face looked unholy, eyes rolled to the back of his head, bottom lip contained in between his teeth. You hollowed your cheeks, milking out the last of his cum into your mouth and eagerly swallowing, the honey-like liquid trickling down your throat while you made intense eye contact with him. He let his head fall back against the headboard at the sight, pulling you into his chest. 

He felt warm. He felt safe. 

As the pleasure subsided, you relaxed into Logan's embrace, your fingers unclenching from his arms. He held you close, his chest heaving with exertion, his heartbeat syncing with yours. You nestled your face into the crook of his neck, your lips grazing his skin as you whispered, "It's too much...too good..."

Logan's hands traced gentle patterns on your back, his touch calming your still-shuddering body. "You're incredible," he murmured, his voice laced with awe. "I've got you, I'm here..."

You just lay in his arms, coming to terms with the implications of what you just did. Logan and you were intertwined in every way—he was your childhood buddy, your classmate, your best friend. He was everything but a lover. But now? Now, he was something more. The lines had blurred, and the familiarity of his touch had ignited a spark within you. But you knew that nothing would ever be the same again. The innocence of your friendship had been replaced by a newfound intimacy, and you couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions: excitement, fear, and uncertainty.

When Logan’s arms held you closer, his hands softly skimming down the sides of your arms, the world around you melted away. The uncertainty, the fear, the doubts—all gone. All that remained was the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the soft whisper of his breath, and the warmth of his skin against yours.

In that moment, you knew that nothing else mattered. Not the past, not the future, not the what-ifs or the maybes. All that mattered was the present, and the love that pulsed between you like a heartbeat.

Logan's eyes met yours, and you saw the truth there, shining bright and clear. He was yours. Forever. Your love.

[lvrspiastri]

RUSSTAPPEN BEEF IS SO BACK

[lvrspiastri]

PILLOWTALK. ˡˢ² ᵒᵖ⁸¹

masterlist

✧. ┊    PAIRING: Oscar Piastri x Logan Sargeant x fem!reader

✧. ┊    SUMMARY: You celebrate a good race result with your boyfriend and his best friend. (NO USE OF Y/N)

✧. ┊    WORDS: 4k

✧. ┊    TAGS/WARNINGS: 18+, sex, smut, oral sex, vaginal fingering, semi-public sex, exhibitionism, threesome-f/m/m, lovebites, orgasm denial, blow jobs, hand jobs. FILTH. PURE FILTH. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

Logan wraps Oscar in a hug, patting his back. “A win, mate,” he beams, pulling away and ruffling his hair. “What an amazing result.” 

Oscar returns his smile with a calm one. “Great, indeed. I mean, you did out-qualify a Red Bull several times…” 

Logan shrugs. “Overall a pretty successful weekend.” He wraps his arm around your waist almost involuntarily, which causes Oscar’s eyes to flicker over to you. 

You embrace Oscar, moving to your tiptoes to fit in his arms. “You two were so busy gazing at each other, I was starting to think you didn’t notice me.” 

He crosses his arms after you pull away, his tone teasing. “You really think my eyes would scan the room and not linger on the prettiest girl to exist?” Your cheeks turn a red hue, partly from the compliment, partly from Oscar’s biceps stretching through his sleeves. Logan pulls you into his side tightly at the observation.

You started dating Logan before he went into F1, having supported him through his Prema days when the two of you were in your late teens, with your friendship starting out in your childhood. Naturally, with Logan, comes Oscar since the two have been inseparable after karting together, practically joined at the hip. 

Having been with him for over 5 years, you loved Logan more than life itself. He was the sweetest, kindest and most down-to-earth boy you’ve had the pleasure of meeting. You loved his American accent, messy hair, killer jawline, cute dimples and the crinkles by his eyes when he smiles. You loved him. 

But you found your gaze wandering to Oscar more than you’d ever admit. After a race, when he’d peel off his shirt and reveal his sweaty body, or when he’d hop out of the ice bath, dripping and soaked. There was no denying Oscar Piastri was an attractive man. But this’d be a secret not even a spirited game of truth or dare could pull out of you. 

You loosen Logan’s bruising hold and chirp. “Let’s celebrate!” Logan sighs, biting his lip. 

“Love, I’m not a party kind of guy. You know that.” 

You sigh, rolling your eyes. “That’s not what I meant. Why don’t the three of us go out for drinks? A beer and fries.” 

Running a hand through his sweaty hair, Oscar grins. “Sounds good.” Logan nods along, smiling at the idea of spending a quiet night with his two favourite people. “Although, we call ‘em chips.”

“That’s stupid.” Logan snorts. “Chips are chips. How can fries be chips?” 

“I dunno. That’s just how it is. Hot chips.” 

“Then what do you call actual chips?” 

“Chips.” There’s a brief silence before Logan mutters.

“Australians have no idea what they’re doing, do they?” 

Oscar scoffs. “We’re not the ones spelling ‘colour’ wrong.” 

“Well-” you drag Logan away before the two can wage a war between Australia and America. 

Come pub time, Logan cannot take his hands off you. He trails kisses all over your exposed shoulder and neck, biting occasionally as you get ready. You’re wearing a plain black top and skirt—an outfit you’ve worn many times before in front of the two but you’re not wasting good outfits on these buffoons. 

“Baby,” he whispers hotly against your skin, drawing circles with his tongue. “Let’s ditch Oscar. Come on, let me have you.” He’s making your mascara application increasingly hard, one hand wrapped around your hip, the other squeezing your ass. 

“No, you can’t ditch your friend after a maiden win.” He groans, mumbling incoherent curses. He settles for feasting on your shoulder, leaving hickeys every now and then. Nothing Oscar hasn’t seen before, though. Sometimes you wonder if he even notices. 

“You’re my favourite thing to taste,” he bites your neck gently. “So pretty. So gorgeous.” 

You snort. “That is such a lie. You once cried over a turkey.” 

“Fine, second favourite.” He chuckles low, spinning you around to face him. He leans in for a kiss on the lips, blocked by your hand. 

“Lipstick.” He shrugs and moves to your nose, blocked by a hand again. “Highlighter.” He sighs, ghosting your cheek. “Blush.”

With an overdramatised groan, he rests his head against your collarbone. “You’re killing me, baby.” He finds solace in running his lips over your neck. You swat off his pouty face, earning some freedom to reach the door before he slams your back against the wall. Smirking at your gasp, he gets on his knees, pushing up the hem of your skirt and kissing your thighs. “You think he can get rid of me that easily?”

You chuckle, resting your head against the wall. “And people say Oscar’s a koala.”

He stops his momentary assault, frowning. “Are you insinuating I’m clingy?”

“No.” You say simply.

“Good.”

“I’m downright saying it.” With a growl, he bites your inner thigh hard enough to leave a red mark, soothing with his tongue after. You stare at the new addition to bruises and marks on your skin. You sigh, tugging the blonde’s hair. “Alright, Lo, we’re gonna be late.”

He mutters a ‘stupid Oscar’ before standing up and offering you a hand, going from whore to gentleman really quick. “Shall we, m’lady?” You smile, slipping your hand in his. 

Oscar waits with a beer in his hand, seated at a table in the corner of the bar, aimlessly scrolling through his phone. “What took you so long?” The Aussie questions, putting his phone away. 

With a click of your tongue, you sit opposite him, with Logan taking his place next to you. “Someone here got distracted.” You shoot a glare at the Williams driver giving you a sheepish smile.  

“Ah.” Oscar remarks, his eyes flicking over your bare shoulders, assessing the hickeys that decorate the skin. “I can see that.” He licks his lips quickly enough to be mistaken for a trick of the light before initiating conversation with his best friend. An hour or two in, you feel Logan’s hand settle on your knee, gently drawing circles. You dismiss the action as affectionate until he trails it up slowly, reaching your inner thigh. The smallest hint of a smirk crosses his lips as his eyes are locked on Oscar yapping. 

You shift his fingers away, pushing them back down to your knee. He listens and manages to keep it there for a solid 10 seconds before he inches up again. He doesn’t have to even look at you to see your reaction. When Oscar gets distracted by his mum’s text message, you lean over to him and whisper. “Logan. No.”

He whines, giving you his brightest smile. “Pleeeaaaasseee? I’ll be gentle.” 

“No. Not in public.” 

“We did it in the driver's room on Friday and you didn’t seem to mind.”

“Well people are actively watching here.” 

“Relax,” he chuckles softly. “No one’s looking.” Your gesture to the McLaren driver seated before you two. “Then be quiet,” Logan dismisses, rolling his eyes. He moves his fingers a little too close to your centre, eyes fixed on you. “If you don’t want it, just say the word.” 

You swallow thickly. Sure, it was risky. You were more concerned about Oscar than any of the other patrons, not wanting to embarrass yourself in front of him. But the heat of Logan’s hand had you clenching and aching. You nod, granting him consent. The boy beams, turning back to Oscar as he finishes responding to his supportive mum’s texts. 

Oscar’s eyes fly to you again, and his throat bobs for a split second before he registers Logan’s question and proceeds to answer. You’d known Oscar as long as you had Logan. Not to mention, you had the biggest crush on him growing up before realising Logan was the one. He took care of you and treated you with the utmost respect, even punched a boy in the stomach due to a distasteful nickname. Oscar wasn’t proud of acting violently but doesn’t regret standing up for you. You were his best friend too, after all. 

Too busy eyeing Oscar, you’re not prepared as Logan shoves his fingers inside your underwear and teases your clit with his middle and ring finger. You gasp a little, your body shivering, which catches Oscar’s attention. “You good? You can take my jumper if  you’re cold.” You clear your throat and shake your head to decline his sweet offer. You look at your boyfriend’s stupid face, seeing a full smirk adorning it.

His fingers slip lower, pushing his fingertips just inside your entrance. Your hips squirm beneath him but you bring your beer bottle to your mouth to silence your moan. With a fake cough, he fully rams his fingers inside you, making your eyes shut tight. You immediately compose yourself before Oscar has the chance to deduce what’s going on. 

Logan works with a steady pace, his fingers scissoring, his thumb brushing against your clit every now and then. A tear rolls down your eye from the toe-curling pleasure and the pressure of keeping it silent. You’re playing fairly well until Logan curls his fingers inside you and hits a spot that makes you see white. You let out a soft groan and Oscar’s smile disappears. 

“Quiet.” Logan’s whispered yet hostile voice addresses you. He curls them again, emanating an erotic moan. Oscar blushes violently, but his gaze doesn’t waver. He knows what’s going on and he wants more. 

“It’s getting pretty late. We should head to our rooms.” Logan states monotonously like everything was perfectly fine. 

Oscar nods, swallowing thickly and regaining his voice. “You’re right. It’s been a long day. I'll sort the bill out.” Logan winks at him in thanks before turning to you as Oscar leaves. He can tell you’re seconds away from falling apart and being the kind boyfriend that he is, he pulls out his fingers, denying you release. His tongue darts out to clean his fingers, groaning when he tastes your arousal. “Fuck. How sweet.” He sees your frown and pecks your lips. “You fail to be quiet…you don’t get to come” With that, he walks off, joining Oscar without even bothering to help you for your shaky knees. He glances back at you, smirking devilishly when you wobble over to the pair. 

Logan was the sweetest, kindest and most down-to-earth boy you’ve had the pleasure of meeting. But when he sexually frustrates you like this, you feel like throttling him. 

Oscar’s insistence to watch a movie before bed wears the two of you down and you reluctantly give in, following the boy to watch ‘Love Actually.’ To no one’s surprise, his hotel room is twice as messy as yours and Logan’s. Which is saying something. Clothes are scattered all over the floor and furniture, the sheets are ruffled, and cups make an alarming appearance on the tables. Oscar offers you two a seat on the bed but you opt for the couch instead. 

You catch a glimpse of a look shared between Oscar and Logan before you find yourself pinned to the couch by your boyfriend. “Logan!” You exclaim, about to tell him off before he roughly kisses you, hands firmly holding your arms in place on the couch. He starts attacking your neck, biting and nipping the spots he knew would have you screaming the loudest. You breathe out, “Logan, what the hell?! Oscar’s right there!” Logan pulls away with wet lips and flushed cheeks. 

“Oscar doesn’t mind.” He turns to the Australian. “Do you, Osc?” Oscar simply shakes his head, his eyes locked on your body as he gets comfy on the bed. He shamelessly takes in the scene before him like it’s some form of entertainment. “Come on, baby.” Logan whispers in your mouth. He peels off his shirt and strips off his pants until he’s left in boxers. You’ve seen him in all his glory countless times before but it’s always like the first. No one could compare to him.

His hands frantically tug on your top, nearly ripping it off your body and throwing it to the side before giving the same treatment to your skirt. His torso is hot against yours as he seals your lips in for another kiss- passionate, hot, and heavy. Although, you cannot give your best to the kiss, painfully aware of Oscar’s gaze. Meanwhile, his hand moves up to your inner thigh, then gradually ascends. He smirks when he hears your gasp. “You like that pretty girl?” He breathes in your neck, his thumb brushing over the waistline of your panties. The cool metal of his silver chain against your hot body makes you shudder. You nod simply and he runs his thumb back and forth across the hem. “Say it.” He knows he’s torturing you with all this teasing and he feels himself grow harder in response. 

“I want you.” He lets out a soft groan of arousal and slowly drags his finger up the front of your underwear, feeling the damp cloth. Oscar shifts a little closer on the bed. The ruffle of the sheets catches Logan’s attention. He lifts you up and throws you on the bed, right by Oscar. Logan slides his hand under the fabric of your panties and circles your clit before dipping his fingers in, moving them with purpose. “Oh, Lo!” you cry out, your hips squirming beneath him. 

Oscar’s breathing is stolen from him, his eyes laser-trained on your reactions as Logan thrusts his fingers into you. “Go, Logan,” Oscar’s voice comes out airy. “Show her how it’s done.” Knowing he's got a viewer, Logan moves his fingers even faster, making sure you feel it more now. You feel his ring nipping at your entrance as he shoves his fingers deeper, the coolness of the metal adding another layer of pleasure.

The pair hear your whimpers and moans as Logan curls up his fingers every now and then, fingering you just the way you like it. When your back arches and you announce you’re close, Logan moves the fastest he can go. “You like that?” His voice is throaty, full of need.

Oscar watches from the corner, looking turned on as well. You give him a curt nod. His voice gets rougher. “Beg.” He presses a thumb to your clit. “I’m close!” You almost scream.  That's enough for Logan to pull his hand away in an instant. He grins, hovering his fingers just above your center as he watches your reaction.

 “You didn't say the words I wanted to hear. Beg. Or the game stops here.” He smirks. Your eyebrows furrow, your heaving chest showing your obvious frustration. “You heard me. Beg, pretty girl.” 

You let out a quiet sigh. “Please, baby.”

“Louder. Say it louder. I want to hear it.” His hand rests right above you, his fingers just barely rubbing through the fabric of your underwear. He looks ready to tease, but not to stop. 

You speak louder, with a palpable desperation this time. “Please, baby. Please!”

“Please what?” His hand continues to move as he watches you. Oscar looks just as turned on as you are, leaning in closer to see you. Hearing your quiet whisper of ‘take me,’ Logan chuckles, sliding his hand away again. “How badly do you want it?” He begins to pull away. Oscar almost falls off the bed trying to get closer to you. 

“Really, really bad…” “Then you know what to do, my love.” Logan’s heart races faster as he sees your head spin to Oscar. “Please…” you whisper to Oscar, causing his eyes to widen as he turns and meets Logan’s gaze, unsure. “I need you.”

“You want him too?” Logan inquires as Oscar’s fingertips just graze up your side. You shudder and nod. “I don’t think that means anything, pretty girl. Ask him nicely.” Oscar slides a hand up to your chest, lightly squeezing but doesn’t say anything. 

You whisper to him, hand coming up to trail up his leg. “I want you, Osc. Please.” He registers your needy expression before nodding and sealing your lips in a kiss as Logan kisses from your clavicle to your hips, biting and sucking as he pleases. Oscar’s kiss is laced with care and precision, like you’re something to be savoured, something to be protected— a stark contrast to Logan’s passionate, sloppy ones. You gasp as Oscar pulls away and wraps his tongue around your nipple, sucking on the bud tenderly. Feeling left out, Logan decides to mirror his best friend’s actions, sucking on your other tit. You tangle each of your hands in the boys’ hair, tugging gently as you writhe beneath them. You feel like you could come right there and then at the feel of their warm, wet mouths on you. 

Oscar takes the initiative and begins to kiss down your stomach, his tongue flicking to tease you as he gets lower. “Like this, huh?” He whispers, his voice deeper than you’ve ever heard it. He slides further down when you nod, moving to your thigh, peppering chaste kisses on the flesh. He then shifts so he’s resting comfortably in between your thighs, his head hovering right above your stomach. He hooks his fingers in the waistband of your sticky panties and pulls them down, taking in the wonderful smell of sex. Oscar smirks up at you and presses a tender kiss to your centre. 

Examining the look of pleasure on your face, he dips his head, placing more kisses, using his mouth to engulf your clit. Logan watches on, enjoying how hot it is to see you two like that. He finally tugs his boxers off, moving to his knees right by your face. He grabs your hair, stroking it softly as you whimper. “You’re doing good, Osc,” he whispers. “She fucking loves it.” Oscar hums against your clit, smirking when you whine. “Take my cock, pretty girl.” You oblige your boyfriend’s command and open wide, letting him shove his hard length into your salivating mouth. 

Logan’s grip on your hair tightens as he begins to thrust his hips into your mouth. This gets Oscar harder and his mouth to work faster, flicking his tongue every now and then before moving in circles. You pull your mouth away, using your hands on Logan. 

“Oscar, I’m gonna-” you’re cut off by Logan ramming into your mouth, making sure you feel it.

“Didn’t quite hear you there,” chuckles Oscar slowly. His lips wrap around your bud and suck, causing your back to arch off the bed and you to orgasm for the first time that night. You shut your eyes tight, groaning into Logan. The vibrations send him over the edge too and he releases his seed into your mouth. He pulls out of your mouth, smiling wide as you swallow. Your gaze turns to the brunette raising his head from your thighs, his chin glistening. “Mm, you taste sweet. Can’t believe you’ve been hiding her from me this entire time, Lo.” 

“You never asked.” Logan chuckles, moving to Oscar. You feel a familiar heat pool up in your stomach when Logan’s head dips under Oscar’s jaw, licking your release off his chin. “Gets better every time.” He pulls his lips away with a smack, running his tongue over his lips. The boys turn to your twitching form on the bed. A shared glance is all they need to bend down to you and kiss you. At the same time. Your lips are never left alone as they both kiss hungrily, flicking their tongues out. Although, you can sense a little bit of competition between the two. After a free moment, Oscar pulls back, letting Logan have your mouth. He takes the chance to go to your neck, kissing and sucking the skin there. The minute Logan hears a moan from you, he moves to the bare side of your neck, trying to see who can get you to moan the loudest. Logan’s kisses are passionate and strong, starting to bite on your neck while Oscar’s are playful and loving, gently sucking on your skin. You groan, your hand flying to squeeze your breasts. But you don’t utter a name, frustrating the two boys. 

“You’ll tell us who’s better, right, baby?” Logan whispers in your ear, his hand replacing your own to massage your chest. 

“Yeah, you can’t stay neutral forever…” Oscar playfully bites your nipple, making you cry out his name. “Heard that, Logan?” He smirks. “She wants me.” 

Logan’s jaw clenches and he decides to run two of his fingers down your core teasingly, gathering the slick and rubbing it on one of your nipples. You whine, your hips squirming. 

“Not fair, man,” scoffs Oscar, leaning back and crossing his arms. 

Continuing his ministrations on your peak, Logan breathlessly teases the Australian. “I’m her boyfriend. She chose me. Of course she wants me more.”

“No, it doesn’t!” Oscar throws up his hands. “She only chose you because you asked her out first, even though you knew how I felt about her.” 

Logan stops, huffing. “You never had the balls to ask her out. I met her first, she was mine!” You look between the two boys, the tension in the air palpable. 

“Please…We all know she would’ve picked me if it were fair.” At his comment, Logan’s eyes widen and Oscar’s on his back on the bed in a flash. 

“Maybe,” Logan leans down, whispering huskily. “But it wasn’t. And she’s with me. And you…?” He runs his hands over Oscar’s shorts, sliding them down gently with the boxers. “Need to shut up.” To prove his point, Logan begins to work on Oscar with his hands, earning a sharp inhale from him. 

You just came but felt yourself growing slicker at the sight, Oscar’s delicious mounds teasing your ears in the right way. You crawl over to him on the bed, placing your knees on either side of his face, your behind facing Logan. Oscar takes in the sight of you above him, drawing in a deep breath as his hands hold your thighs firmly in place. You smile softly at him, stroking his hair gently. “You’re so pretty,” you whisper. 

Oscar grows bashful, groaning every now and then due to Logan as he leans in to your touch. He takes a deep breath of your skin, your scent filling his senses. “I always thought you were pretty…” Oscar breathes out, looking into your eyes with lust-hazed ones, like he’d never seen a sight more beautiful in his life. “But from underneath you like this…”

“Fantasised about your best friend’s girlfriend often, did you?” You chuckle lightly. 

“Hey, in my defence, I liked you before you were together.” He bites his lip to stifle a groan as Logan keeps working. His hands grip your thighs, pulling your core down to his mouth, hissing. “Oh….mmm…fuck.” He shuts his eyes as your taste fills his mouth again. His hands moving up and down your thighs, squeezing when Logan makes the boy feel good. He moans as he eagerly flicks his tongue against your core. You rock your hips into his mouth gently, careful not to hurt him. Meanwhile, Logan’s hand pumps Oscar in a languid movement, a technique he picked up from you during your adventures. Oscar’s licks eventually become inconsistent and light, his fingers digging hard into your thighs and judging by the boy’s breathing, he’s almost over the edge. You couldn’t miss the sight. You hop off Oscar, spreading yourself next to him, lazily tracing circles around your clit as Logan leans over Oscar, using both his hands to pleasure him. 

Oscar turns his head to see you touching yourself and his expression falters, his voice croaking out Logan’s name as he comes, his orgasm coating the blonde’s fingers. You don’t have to be asked twice when Logan brings his fingers to your mouth, eagerly licking Oscar’s release clean as he lies exhausted on the bed. 

Logan falls on the other side of Oscar, chuckling softly as he pulls you to be cradled in his arms. “That felt illegal.” 

“But good?” Oscar questions, his voice hoarse. 

“But good.” 

[lvrspiastri]

logan sargeant probably had this on repeat when williams dropped him

[lvrspiastri]

How to deal with a bad result. A comprehensive guide. ˡˢ²

masterlist

PAIRING: Logan Sargeant/Gender-Neutral!Reader

SUMMARY: He had a bad race. He finds his reprieve in you. Gender-Neutral reader-- no use of pronouns.

WORDS: 2k

TAGS/WARNINGS: 18+, smut, sex, unprotected sex, anal sex, ice play, rough sex, oral sex, grinding, boobs, orgasm denial, orgasm edging, kinks, daddy kink, dom/sub, dom logan, sub reader, dirty talk, blowjob, tie kink, belt, BDSM, spanking, filming, porn, tldr: THIS FIC IS FUCKING FILTHY READ AT YOUR OWN CAUTION

The hotel room wall shakes as Logan slams the door upon entering. He doesn’t even bother looking at you as his feet carry him to the mini-fridge. You can’t help but feel for the boy who’d managed a solid P10 in Qualifying only to crash out a couple laps before the chequered flag. His wins had always felt like your own, and his losses impacted you just as hard. You watch him pour the whiskey on the countertop into a glass after obtaining ice from the fridge. He makes his way to the armchair, sighing as he sips, the ice rattling against the glass. 

Logan has always been the type of person to overthink and be harsh on themselves. You don’t have to look at him to know the turmoil going in his head right now. You’d been his grounding force in times like these, bringing the boy back to earth and stopping the self-deprecation. 

“Baby, you were doing really well. You reached one of the top speeds today. Good job.” His hand just clenches his glass tighter, the clanks of the ice getting louder. “Bad luck today but we’ll get ‘em next time, won’t we?” He lets out a soft scoff in disbelief. When he downs the rest of the glass, the ice cube falls into his mouth. The glass is placed on the table and his hand makes its way to his thigh. He rubs the cloth-covered skin before patting it once. Twice. Thrice. He doesn’t need to voice it out. 

You oblige almost immediately, slowly settling on his thigh. His gaze is hard as he looks at you, the faint sounds of the ice cubes against his teeth and the buzz of the lights being the only sounds in the room. Goosebumps arise on your flesh as he lets his hand travel up your thigh and wrap around your waist. He lets his head tilt back and you have the perfect view of his Adam’s apple bobbing. Although, he doesn’t speak. His fingers wordlessly find their way to your shirt buttons, skilfully undoing them and parting the fabric so he has a view of your glorious bare chest. You don’t miss the light smirk that crosses his face. Many a times had he played with your tits for comfort, squeezing and sucking the flesh like his own personal toy. 

He spits out the ice cube in the palm of his hand, saliva closely following. It slides to his fingers and he smirks, bringing the solid to your nipples and swirling it around the peak. You hiss, the coolness of the object making it hurt and feel mind-boggling at the same time. 

“That’s it,” he mutters softly. “Easy does it.” His circles are slow and tantalising, his eyes trained on every micro expression that crosses your face. His twisted smile gets wider as you groan and squirm on his lap, your hardened peaks glistening. “So pretty. I almost wanna take a picture of it and frame it. Maybe we’ll film a porno and post it on the internet, hm? That way, everybody will know just how maddening you are. And that you get fucked by me like this. Only me.” His teeth grab the ice cube and he uses his mouth to stimulate your nipples, letting out throaty laughs every time you whine and twitch. He could already feel the ache between your legs, your arousal incredibly prominent. “Oh, you whore.” He pulls away, crunching the rest of the ice and swallowing it. “Bed. Naked.”

You nod immediately and strip as quickly as you can, nearly ripping your clothes off as your growing horniness makes you increasingly desperate for the wonderful sex this man can give you. As you settle on the bed, he grabs the ice tray from the fridge and places it on the night stand by the bed. He’s pleased with your efficiency, eyeing your naked form and stretched out legs, giving him a sinful view of your aching core. He lets out a curse under his breath and undoes his belt, pulling it out of the loops. But before you have the opportunity to register his actions, he’s grabbed your arms and uses the belt to bind your wrists together, securing a strong hold that’s likely to leave your skin red. 

Logan is typically very vanilla. He prefers to use his own assets to bring you to your peak rather than external objects. He’s open to try new positions and locations but the boy would have to be incredibly angry or upset to actually be adventurous, indicating his present mood. But you know how depressed he could get and you never hesitate to be a form of relief for him. He crawls onto the bed, hands pulling the shirt off his torso and granting you a view of his abs. Your eyes trail over his muscles and his tits, taking in the sculpted man right before you—a scene you would never get used to. He’d tease you about your unwavering stare on a normal occasion but today was anything but normal. His hands find the pocket of his jeans and he pulls out his phone, pointing the camera at your visibly tense centre. He chuckles, hitting the record button. 

“This is for when I’m away and you’re not there, okay?” He moves the camera in between your legs, capturing every angle of you. “So I can jerk myself off to the sight of you.” He uses his free hand to undo the button of his pants and unzip them, using the same hand to shimmy them down while exploring your naked body on the camera. His boxers peel off with the motion and he takes his hard length in between his hand, pumping slightly. “You’re a good baby for me, love, aren’t you?" You nod eagerly, eyes fixated on the pre-cum that leaks out of his tip. “Yeah? Come and suck Daddy off, then.” You waste no time moving to your knees and letting him ram his cock into your mouth, almost gagging at the force of his thrust. His free hand tangles in your hair, moving your head to the right pace while filming you. Your eyes look up at him as you deepthroat him, tears beginning to pool at the corners. “Good slut. O-Oh- fuck. What a good slut.” 

He moves his hips to help your head, essentially fucking your mouth. Your eyes never leave the camera, even when you begin to cry. The vision of him in a hotel room alone after a long day of training, stroking his dick to the footage of you whilst calling your name is a turn on. He gets rougher with his thrusts, the grip on your hair tightening enough for it to hurt as he pounds into your mouth, pouring his day’s frustrations into the movement. You feel his cock twitch and you eagerly wait for the oncoming orgasm on your tongue, craving the salty cream. But it doesn’t come. He pulls out, watching the saliva drip from your mouth as you let out a gagging noise. He uses his hair to pull you up and licks the spit off your chin, cleaning you up. The jolts sent to your stomach make you forget about the lack of cum on your tongue. 

His movements are rapid. He doesn’t spare a minute to think before your ass is up in the air for him and he delivers a few hard slaps to your cheek before rubbing it. “You look good like this.” Slap. “All bent over for me, my precious.” Slap. “I'm gonna fuck you until the hotel kicks us out, baby.” Slap. “Until I can’t come anymore and your muscles are moulded to the shape of my cock.” Slap. You see him place the phone on the headboard, the back camera filming every little interaction. He’s gonna have the time of his life with the footage. It would make a solid porn video. He lies on his back and slides his face under you, strong hands gripping your thighs as he lowers your hips to his mouth. Once the contact’s made between your core and his mouth, he gets to work. His tongue skilfully laps up every bit of arousal that stemmed from the blowjob you gave him, his warm and wet mouth sucking and licking to bring you toe-curling pleasure. “So sweet, baby. You taste so fucking good.” You fuck his face, moving your hips to assist him, the groans he lets out and the sinful sounds of his tongue leaving your mind in a haze.

“Fuck…Logan…” you whisper out, burying your face in a pillow to surpress sounds loud enough to wake up the entire hotel. His hands roam the vast expanse of your thighs, rubbing and squeezing the soft flesh as his cheeks hollow, sending you screaming into the pillow. But he decides he’s gonna be cruel tonight, pulling his mouth away before you can finish. He wants to make the final orgasm as good as possible, meaning you were in for a lot of edging tonight. “Logan!” You whine, pushing your hips down to his mouth again but his grip stops you as he slides out from underneath you and presses his front against you. 

“If you think I’m gonna be the least bit good to you tonight, you are so wrong,” he spits out. “You are my reprieve tonight, which means you do as I say. This isn’t about your pleasure.” He leans into your ear, biting the earlobe. “It’s about mine.” He lands another smack to your ass before gently kneading the flesh. He licks a stripe up your ass, tongue flicking out at the hole. Your guttural moan has him chuckling softly. He grabs an ice cube from the tray beside the bed and traces it around your hole—gently. Your body jerks and sputters at the cold, cold feeling as you gasp and bury your face deeper into the pillow. “That’s it. Good slut. What a good baby you are.” 

He presses the cube on the tight entrance, slowly shoving it in, making you shudder. The cube feels big to begin with, the coolness of the ice bringing a new wave of pleasure never experienced before. His finger pushes the ice further down your insides. He does so with three more cubes, taking his time with each one while you squirm without a complaint like a good thing for him. He’s very pleased to see how respectful you’re being and decides to make your day. He brings his hand to your mouth, tone demanding. “Spit.” You gather your saliva and eject it into his outstretched palm. He brings the slimy juice to his cock and hisses, spreading it all over the length like lube. He then lines himself up at your entrance and slowly inserts himself, taking it inch by inch to reduce the pain. Despite his sour mood, he would never hurt you in such a way. This was a new experience as it was and he didn’t wish to hurt his little baby. Yet. The ice cubes shimmy further down your tract to fit his cock, the coolness hitting parts of your body you didn’t know felt good. When his cock rests in you smugly, he begins to thrust roughly. No slow, gentle thrusts but harsh, quick thrusts right off the bat. The stretch you felt was delicious and you were sure you wouldn’t last very long. 

Soft curses and grunts escape the boy as he quite literally pounds into you. His hands maintain a death grip on your hips, the hotel bed beginning to creak. But fuck that. He’d pay for anything if it meant the two of you had explosive sex. “Fuck…baby…I’m gonna come…Gonna…spill into your tight little hole…” With a guttural groan, he finishes inside you and you feel the warm seed spread inside your ass, a contrast to the numbing ice cubes. You didn’t get to cum, though. But who’s he to care? He pulls out gently, bending down to catch his cum spilling out into his mouth before it spoils the sheets. He keeps it in his mouth before turning you over and looming over you, bringing his mouth to your own. He forces your mouth to open with his hand and lets the cum drip into your mouth. You invite the creamy liquid warmly, frothing at the mouth with it. He grabs the recording phone and films the filth. “So pathetic.” He turns off the recording and discards his phone off to the side before his lips attack you, moving against you slowly as you swallow the cum. 

He pulls away with a pop and gets off the bed, stretching. “I need me a shower,” he yawns, opening his suitcase. You sit up, flabbergasted. 

“Baby, I haven’t come yet.”

“I know,” he comments casually, pulling out night clothes and boxers. 

“…I need you.”

“Do you?” 

“Mhm.”

“Shame,” you don’t miss the smirk on his face. “Touch yourself, pretty baby.” You gesture to the belt wrapped around your hands, effectively binding them. “Ohh. Sad.” And with that, he walks off to the bathroom as you’re left needy and tied. 

He deserved the DNF.