#I mean she knows her aunt and uncles

[op-dumpstertruck]

Can we just get to the reunion art please? Hurts my heart so much

~~I love it but also whyyyyy~~

Sure :)

Zoro has an out-of-body experience, Kuina was the one who got out and is now finally home again and the stawhats 100% made quite the ruckus, so little eggplant was quite scared. This will eventually end well, but I never said the reunion would be fluffy :o)

[chloesimaginationthings]

The FNAF Mikes talk about their extended family..

[luna-the-cretar]

Why are baby movements so endearing. Like, last time I saw my cousins baby, her mom was holding her as she was talking to someone else, and the baby was staring at me, and I do as one does and talk and wave to her.

And she makes a noise, smiles, and shakes her head no while struggling to keep her head up (since she’s only 3 months old). Idk, there’s something so endearing about a baby learning how to do basic human things.

[florida3exclamationpoints]

Its so cool how a million people pile into my house for a holiday i don't celebrate and then i don't even get presents out of it

[slashingdisneypasta]

Imagine your siblings child referring your F/O as their Uncle/Aunt because you two have been together so long !!

You've been together practically their whole lives, whether your F/O is good with/likes kids, they were always around when you babysat (Because you live together. Maybe they were helping you with your niece/nephew! Maybe they were just watching TV in the same room and got dinner ready so you could continue keeping an eye on the baby. Maybe they hid away in your shared bedroom the whole time but the child always knew they were there), they maybe even went to family gatherings with you!- they have just been a constant in your niece/nephews life. Just like you.

In this kids mind, you and your F/O are a package deal.

[altruistic-meme]

OUGH. SQUARES. ALL DONE NOW.

these are gonna be sent to someone else in my family, who is gonna take them along with squares from like 9 other people in my family, and make them all into blankets using squares that my grandma had laying around as well. so we'll all get blankets made with everyone's squares, including our grandma!

the colors--neon orange and navy blue--are what I consider to be kind of my "signature colors" because my grandma always knew orange was my favorite, so everything she sent me for christmas was this bright shade of orange with either the navy blue as an accent color or a veregated rainbow lmao. which is why i chose to make my squares that color combo!

anyway, yeah, that's the context behind these squares :')

[aveline-shepard]

ALSO I need you all to know that my aunt heard me affectionately talking about someone and later when my cousin drove her home, was like "I didn't know she was gay!" And, like, kudos to my aunt who was 100% cool with that (though surprised) and did not make a big deal about it in the moment, but I later had to inform her that my bestie and I are unfortunately not a couple because she is tragically heterosexual. I mean, with that said though, she is right and I AM gay.

[thelittlestspider]

aunt may can be old and still be a fox. she pulled lady doc ock.

[friendshapedhorrors]

No one talks about shit all in this family

[ketchuppee]

During the 2008 recession, my aunt lost her job. Her, her partner, and my three cousins moved across the country to stay with us while they got back on their feet. My house turned from a family of four to a family of nine overnight, complete with three dogs and five cats between us.

It took a few years for them to get a place of their own, but after a few rentals and apartments, they now own a split level ranch in a town nearby. I’ve lost track of how many coworkers and friends have stayed with them when they were in a tight spot. A mother and son getting out of an abusive relationship, a divorcee trying to stay local for his kids while they work out a custody agreement, you name it. My aunt and uncle knew first hand what that kindness meant, and always find space for someone who needed it, the way my parents had for them.

That same aunt and uncle visited me in [redacted] city last year. They are prolific drinkers, so we spent most of the day bar hopping. As we wandered the city, any time we passed a homeless person, my uncle would pull out a fresh cigarette and ask them if they had a light. Regardless of if they had a lighter on hand or not, he offered them a few bucks in exchange, which he explained to me after was because he felt it would be easier for them to accept in exchange for a service, no matter how small.

I work for a company that produces a lot of fabric waste. Every few weeks, I bring two big black trash bags full of discarded material over to a woman who works down the hall. She distributes them to local churches, quilting clubs, and teachers who can use them for crafts. She’s currently in the process of working with our building to set up a recycling program for the smaller pieces of fabric that are harder to find use for.

One of my best friends gives monthly donations to four or five local organizations. She’s fortunate enough to have a tech job that gives her a good salary, and she knows that a recurring donation is more valuable to a non-profit because they can rely on that money month after month, and can plan ways to stretch that dollar for maximum impact. One of those organizations is a native plant trust, and once she’s out of her apartment complex and in a home with a yard, she has plans to convert it into a haven of local flora.

My partner works for a company that is working to help regulate crypto and hold the current bad actors in the space accountable for their actions. We unfortunately live in a time where technology develops far too fast for bureaucracy to keep up with, but just because people use a technology for ill gain doesn’t mean the technology itself is bad. The blockchain is something that she finds fascinating and powerful, and she is using her degree and her expertise to turn it into a tool for good.

I knew someone who always had a bag of treats in their purse, on the odd chance they came across a stray cat or dog, they had something to offer them.

I follow artists who post about every local election they know of, because they know their platform gives them more reach than the average person, and that they can leverage that platform to encourage people to vote in elections that get less attention, but in many ways have more impact on the direction our country is going to go.

All of this to say, there’s more than one way to do good in the world. Social media leads us to believe that the loudest, the most vocal, the most prolific poster is the most virtuous, but they are only a piece of the puzzle. (And if virtue for virtues sake is your end goal, you’ve already lost, but that’s a different post). Community is built of people leveraging their privileges to help those without them. We need people doing all of those things and more, because no individual can or should do all of it. You would be stretched too thin, your efforts valiant, but less effective in your ambition.

None of this is to encourage inaction. Identify your unique strengths, skills, and privileges, and put them to use. Determine what causes are important to you, and commit to doing what you can to help them. Collective action is how change is made, but don’t forget that we need diversity in actions taken.

[apiptosis]

The Fentons might have settled in the middle of bumfuck nowhere but they did have quite the reputation from their crazy antics. It is well known that:

1. Atleast one of the partner pair is always built like a brick shit house.

2. They all have a time period where they pick up a ton of random skills and useless knowledge before settling down on their particular niche.

3. A person of Fenton descent will always fall for the most dangerous person around them.

4. A Fenton will always bounce back from anything. They can die but they cannot be killed by mortal means.

5. They have the bad habit of unconsciously putting themselves in harms way.

The traits mentioned wouldn't have been a problem if the heros found out about them however due to facts 2, 3, 4 and, 5 the Fentons were well known to the villains.

This leads to the situation Danny now found himself in after he tripped off of a rooftop and got hit by a car into a warehouse building.

Picking himself up from the rubble with groan and a crack of his back Danny took stock of his situation. The closest was a pretty lady that vaguely looked familiar along with a few goons and a dude in a bat furry costume with a bunch of people. The youngest was cosplaying a traffic light. A girl with a purple cloak. A girl in black was dressed similarly enough to the bat furry. Etc.

It looked like he interrupted some kind of fight and now they all just stood there uncertain of what to do.

The lady suddenly grabbed him by the collar and yanked his head down to her level as she examined him. "Oh fuck me sideways your a Fenton... If your here then..." She quickly let go of him.

It took Danny half a second before he could place her. "Oh yeah! You are that lady uncle Robby was pinning after, Shiv something."

The cosplayers all looked uncertain and he could feel the concern radiating from them.

"I am Lady Shiva and yes Robert certainly is something. First time I found a man I couldn't kill." The lady, Shiva, a fond look on her face.

"You got any allergies? Mom and dad's 30th anniversary is coming up this November. Just about the whole family is coming." Danny said giving her a piece of paper with the date and location.

"is Alicia going to be there?" Lady Shiva said as she gripped her blades tighter, a predatory smile on her face.

"I did say the *whole* family. Even Gruncle Ra is coming." Danny explained with a shrug.

"Yes!" Shiva exclaimed. "Between you and me I still don't know how Cheetah manages to pull your aunt."

"I try to forget. I just remember that they are banned from 40 countries." Danny said as he shuddered. After a quick glance at his watch he bolted for the hole in the wall. "Oh shit I have to go pick up my sister from Arkham!"

As he ran he distantly heard Lady Shiva yell "I'll be there and call me aunt Shiva!"

[sierrale8ne]

ego / wnba!paige bueckers x fem!reader

summary you and paige have known each other since you were in diapers. but instead of becoming best friends like your parents had wished, you’ve disliked each your whole lives— for no real reason other than paige’s huge ego and your brattiness. until one annual family vacation reveals the true nature behind your quarrels. warnings 5.3k wc, sexual content, degradation, oral, fingering, choking, they’re both assholes. from lena i’m sorry this literally took forever, i have no excuses, but its here now. 😊

🔖 @thaatdigitaldiary @rosemariiaa @xxloveralways14 @pboogerswbb @tndaqlwifwy @wbbgetsmewetter @juspeaks @d3arapril @lovegalor333 @lupinqs @ykylalex @cherryswisherz @bueckersbitch @paigesbabygirl @ohmybueckers

It’s warm in Minnesota this time of year, blazing heat and a certain humidity in the air that makes the air stick to your skin. The wood of your chair pressing into the skin, but you don’t really mind.

Being at the Bueckers Cabin was a tradition. Every year since your father and Bob Bueckers met in college years ago. Your album of photos contained pictures from your first birthday, celebrated here, all the way through now. You could count on one week with all your family, friends, and other loved ones all piled up at this cabin.

You could also always count on some sort of issue between you and Paige.

It wasn’t ever something specific, but all it took was a secluded cabin, nagging aunts and uncles, and an almost uncomfortable summer heat to bring the arguments to surface.

Paige was arrogant. Always thinking she was better than somebody. It was cocky. The certain gleam in her eye when your mother complemented her manners, or when she overheard someone tell you ‘you should be more like Paige’. It triggered you to heights unknown. And you swore up and down that she knew— hence why she kept acting that way.

But she? She thought you were spoiled rotten. That, as an only child, your parents enabled you to be a brat. Paige hated it. The way you spoke to her like you were hot shit and just got away with it. Though, if you really looked deeper into it, you only got away with it because she herself let you.

It was a hatred that started young. Probably a stolen toy or a mean comment when you were in elementary school. But either way, it never ever went away.

Her UConn teammates tread outside to join you. Azzi, Caroline, and Ice walk out one by one, bottles of dripping water in their hands to quench any lingering thirst.

“Hey, Babe!” Azzi greets you. Her body drapes over the back of your seat and wraps you in a loose hug. You smile, obviously. It’s Azzi, her smile is addictive and scent is so warming that you can’t not smile back. 

You greet the other just the same and they each take seats alongside you getting comfortable on the other deck chairs. Music can be faintly heard, some 90’s music that makes all your aunts and uncles reminisce on their college days.

“Is Paige around?” The question from Ice nearly makes you roll your eyes. Her name triggers something within you. And even though you’ve gone since April without seeing her, your blood begins to boil as if she’d been annoying you all day.

You shrug passively and your eyes dart off to the side, the smell of barbecue suddenly much more interesting 

“You guys are still on that?” Caroline asks.

“On what?”

“You know what!” Azzi laughs. “I think you guys should just bury the hatchet. Give her a chance, I could see you two getting along pretty well actually.”

Before you get the chance to explain that there is nothing that could possibly be done to get you to like the girl, that she could get on her knees and apologize for everything and you still wouldn’t move on— the sliding glass door opened up. You turn your head to see your father calling you in with his hand.

“Come over here and help your mama!” 

You have to fight the urge to roll your eyes and instead you stand up.

You slide your sandals on your feet before you walk inside, the clacking of them against the hardwood clashes with the voices of your family. Upon entering the kitchen, you’re greeted with laughs which normally would make you smile if it wasn’t for the fact that it was your mom laughing with Paige.

The blonde had her hands occupied with grabbing the plastic utensils from the cupboard. She’s told some joke, one you know isn’t really all that funny, but your mom loves her and as a result laughs hard. 

It’s infuriating, how it seems like she’s gotten everyone from your parents to your brothers wrapped around her damn finger. She charmed them so easily, doing favors with that smile and occasional compliment. Enough to get on their good side but not enough to be deemed a kiss ass.

You fucking hated it. Hated her.

“Look who finally got off their ass.” Your mom teases, walking over and pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Come mix this salad up for me, honey.”

“Yes ma’am.” You murmur, more upset that the instruction forces you to stand in front of Paige rather than literally anywhere else.

Taking the salad tongs in your hands, you do as asked. And Paige does her own thing as well, keeping quiet which you find somewhat surprising. It doesn’t take long, thanks to you mom already doing most of the work. You set the bowl of salad off to the side, and the second you do, you meet her eyes.

The blue briefly catches you off guard, like you weren’t expecting them. She doesn’t break eye contact with you for a single second, and you don’t either. It’s one of the few things Paige likes about you, (other than the way your ass looks in your shorts) how you never back down from her.

Ever.

It’s why arguments last so long and why your eye contact does the same.

Her smirk only spreads further, her lip just barely tucked between her teeth. A part of you swears she gets off on seeing you like this, visibly irritated by her presence alone.

She nods her head toward you as a greeting, one that you reciprocate out of kindness.

“You two are like kids.” Ms. Fuller interjects. She stands off to the side with your mother, a wine cooler in her hand. 

“We didn’t do anything.” Paige says, her face scrunching up on instinct.

“But you can’t even speak to each other?” It’s your mom’s turn to speak now, which makes you get more defensive than you probably should.

You kiss your teeth, planting your palms on the island. “We can talk to each other?”

“Then do it.”

You cross your arms over your chest, “hi.” You mumble, looking at the woman in her disgustingly blue eyes that just so happened to be raking over you. A part of you thinks you’re thinking things, but no, she really is eying you up and down. 

“Hey.” Paige can’t help but smile, copying your previous movements of pressing your hands to the counter. “See, we did it.” She says.

“We talk a lot anyways.”

“You argue a lot, that’s not the same.” Your dad’s voice comes from nowhere, as last time you saw him he was heading to the grill. 

Paige laughs. Audible and amused and annoying as ever. Like she agrees, which really doesn’t matter, but the thought of her thinking of you like that adds unnecessary flame to the growing fire inside you.

“Aren’t you supposed to be out grilling?” You ask. 

“Food’s all done, everyone’s coming inside.” Your dad explains. Then he looks to Paige, clapping both palms on her shoulders. “I let your girls know you were in here, they were asking about you.”

Paige nods, an appreciative smile spreading on her face. “I ‘preciate that. Yo, princess, where the plates at?”

The pet name makes you freeze in your tracks. Paige has probably been calling you that since middle school, it’s nowhere near new. But there’s something different about it now, it sends a chill down your spine.

“One: don’t call me that. Two: check the cabinet.” You shrug, turning away from the island as people piled into the house. The sudden noise that came with all your relatives piling in, luckily shut out what Paige was saying to you.

“Yeah, I already did that, which is exactly why I’m asking you.” She calls out. There’s a certain bitterness in her voice that pisses you off.

You spin back around, slightly taken aback by how close she had come to you in a matter of seconds. Paige towers over you, all six feet of her working to intimidate you. “This is your dad’s cabin but you can’t figure out where the damn plates are?”

“I’m just askin’ a question, princess.”

“A stupid question. And I said quit fuckin’ calling me that—”

“See that’s that shit—”

“Enough!” Your mom is quick to cut you both off before the yelling even gets a chance to escalate. She steps between the both of you, trying her hardest to deescalate the situation. “You, run to the store and grab some paper plates. Paige go with her.”

If she wasn’t your mom you would’ve rolled your eyes until they got stuck in the back of your head. 

“She doesn’t need to come with me.”

“Ion need to go with her.” 

It’s like suddenly both of your parents' eyes lock on you and Paige, enough to get the both of you to shut up and let out matching groans as you head for the exit.

—

The cool air that comes from the sliding glass doors is almost considered a blessing in the July heat. You take the initiative to walk in front of the blonde in search of the paper plates, any opportunity to get some space from her since your argument.

You thought it would end the second you got in the car, which she insisted on driving. But no, you both had to argue about who’s playing music, who’s paying, who’s to blame for not getting plates in the first place (which in your heart and soul, you know is Paige).

So yeah, heated would be the right word to describe the both of you. But even as you were able to cool down, Paige couldn’t.

Not when you looked like that.

She hated you, that wasn’t something that she thought would change. But that didn’t mean she didn’t have eyes.

You were attractive, like beyond words. Add on the jeans shorts you wore and the expanse of your back that was left exposed by your tank top— she was riled up all over again.

It was like you did it on purpose. You chose to walk in front of her, chose to sway your hips like that, chose to piss her off on any given day even when she wasn’t in Minnesota. And there’s nothing more that Paige would like to do, than put you in your place. 

Talking is fun, but the grin that would come to her face after seeing you crumble under her would be even more fun. More exciting. Something that she’d always be able to bring up. How she won.

It didn’t take long for you to find the plates, the second you grabbed them you were quick to turn on your heels, nudging her shoulder a bit too harshly for her liking. A part of Paige wanted to grab you back by your belt loop, but she refrained.

She scoffs, licking her lips as she follows behind you. “Keep fuckin’ playin’ with me, bro. I don’t wanna be here any more than you do.”

“And if I do?” You respond with an over confidence that Paige has become quite familiar with in the over 20 years you’ve been around.

I’ll fuck the attitude out of you, is what Paige so dearly wanted to respond with. But instead she chooses to keep it as cordial as she can. “You wanna find out?”

And it’s something about how her voice lowers that makes your eyes soften and your guard lower, even in the midst of your eye contact. 

It’s small, so small that you barely even notice it yourself. But Paige isn’t dumb, she knows the effect that she has on women. Knows how that tone of voice makes girls want to squeeze their legs together. 

It’s just that this time, it’s you. The girl who she’s known her entire life, since you were the short nerdy girl at Hopkins with the braces. You’re grown up now, and Paige loves every bit of it, except she didn’t picture you like that. 

—

When you get back to the house, you’re quick to dissect yourself from Paige. She’d already been too close today, and her little stunt in the grocery store had you desperately racking your lungs for some air.

You sat on the deck alongside Caroline, who had seemingly grown tired of her teammates. 

You both are quiet, looking off into the sky and how the sun decorates it in an orange hue. Carol nurses and diet coke, and you switch out your empty plate of ribs for your twisted tea.

The sky looks pretty, but you can’t help but think Paige looks prettier. You hate how you can’t keep your eyes off of her. She’s glowing, and her skin is extra tan. Since the natty game in April, she looks stronger. Everywhere. Her arms, sure, but it’s her quads and calves too. And then when she leans back, stretching her arms over her head, you think her abs are even more defined too.

You can’t help but stare, it’s like she’s tempting you.

“You wanna know something?” Caroline starts, darting her head down to look at you.

“Hmm?”

“I think you have feelings for Paige.”

You nearly fold in half with how hard you start laughing. The blonde was hot, sure, but feelings for her was just plain… no. Not for you. “You’re kidding, right?”

“I’m not! You like her, but you don’t like that because you’ve been beefing for years.” She starts, sounding like she’s putting together all the pieces. “So you fight and try to push her away.”

“If I liked someone, why would I push them away?”

“I dunno. I haven’t figured you out yet.” Carol shrugs. “But I do know that you like to argue. And Paige likes arguing with you even though she won’t admit it.”

“Whatever.” You sigh, if you kept your words to a minimum you’d avoid proving her right. You decide to get up from your seat, collecting yours and her trash to take inside. 

“Look, there goes your girl.” She jokes. Paige has decided to follow suit, dragging herself through the screen door and into the nearly empty cabin. 

“Goodbye, Caroline.” You sing on your way inside. 

Paige leans on the same kitchen island you both were arguing around hours ago. Her hands are attempting to open a beer bottle and struggling.

“You need help with that?” You ask.

She scoffs, looking over her shoulder at you before shaking her head. “Nah. I’m good, princess.” She dismissed you. 

When the bottle cap finally came off, she tossed it in the nearby trash, as you did the same with yours. You trail around the island, ignoring the feeling of her eyes on you as Paige moves closer. They’re like lasers, burning holes into your skin as you stop in your place near her.

“Can we talk?”

You immediately start getting concerned, probably more than you’d like to admit. Her tone shifted awfully fast, and you’re even quicker to put your guard up.

“What do you want, Paige?”

“Imma ask you something, and it’s just a yes or no question, so relax.” Paige dodges your question. She pushed herself off the counter, turning so she stands right in front of you. The spout of her beer bottle sits against her lips— her full, pink, lips. “Are you attracted to me?”

You dart your head away from her, deciding that looking Paige in the eye while she asks you that question is a recipe for disaster. 

“Bro, move.” You scoff, pressing your hand to her abdomen.

But she’s fast, grabbing your wrist before you get the chance to fully push her off of you. The sudden shift between you two was shocking. The balcony door was only some feet away, and if anyone outside looked hard enough they’d see you. But even then, the house was silent— other than your heavy breathing. 

It’s just you and Paige.

The ridges of her abs are evident even through her shirt, hard and warm from summer heat. For a second you think about how they’d feel under you. Each muscle on your clit, flexing, glistening from how wet you’d be. 

She takes another step, effectively pushing you further into the countertop. “Yes or no?”

Your head darts to the side, looking away in an attempt to hide the growing heat in your core. She was winning. Paige was winning and you fucking hated it almost as much as you claimed to hate her.

The blonde grips your chin, steadying her other, beer clad hand at your waist. The feeling is so foreign, but almost… normal? Her hand is cool, which is a nice contrast to the burning feeling of your own skin.

“Y’want me to ask again? Or you got it?” Paige makes a show of licking her bottom lip.

“I hate you, so no.”

“Do you?” She asks. The half empty beer bottle sits on the counter. Paige grips your hips to turn you around, and you can’t even fight it, she’s stronger than you, and even more determined to break you down.

“Paige…” You groan. The island digs into your hips as she presses into you from behind.

“‘Cause I thought I did too. But you wear these damn clothes and Ion think I do anymore.” Paige explains, her breath fanning your ear. 

She teases you with her hand at the hem of your shorts, playing with the frayed fabric near the curve of your ass. Paige does it like it’s a sixth sense, like she’s had you like this forever rather than it at all.

It makes your heart race, breathing quicken, panties dampen. Never in your life did you think that Paige fucking Bueckers would be the one to make you feel like that but here you are. Fucking soaked off of her. But you’d never let her know about how much she was affecting you. It was always a competition with her. You’d rather win than give her even the slightest upper hand.

“You’re a bitch.” You murmur. On any other day it would sound confident, like you believed it, but not today. Just with Paige standing behind you, you feel quiet and little.

Her hand travels to your hair, a part of her wants to tug it back as hard as she can but she chooses against it. Paige tucks a strand behind your ear and leans in closer. “Really? This bitch got you dripping down your legs right now.”

“I’m not doing this with you.” You grit through your teeth. With what little strength you have you turn around, hands pressed to Paige’s chest. “I’m goin’ back outside.”

“But we ain’t don’t talking, ma. Tell me why you hate me so bad.” 

Her voice lowers the same way it did in the store earlier. Gravely and a little tainted by alcohol.

You think about calling her a bitch again. The way you saw her face get all riled up was something you’d like to see again. Or tell her how much her big ego made you want to punch her. There’s a lot of reasons you thought you hated the girl, but all of them seemed minor in comparison to how fucking bad you wanted her.

Her mouth and those pretty pink lips. Her fingers curling inside you. Her moaning in your ear. It was like you needed Paige to survive.

“You think the fuckin’ world revolves around you.”

“Me? Says the princess who thinks everything should go her way.” 

You shove past her, finally seeing your exit opportunity. “Whatever, Paige—”

“Y’know, Ion like this attitude you got.” She starts, following you as you walk. You don’t know where, but you’re damn sure it wasn’t outside. “Because as soon as we get outta here, you’re back on that same shit.”

You stop in your tracks. “So fucking what! What are you gonna do about it.”

Paige nods her head, curt and amused. Her plump bottom lip just barely juts out towards you before she leans in. Her scent travels through your nose— Dior Sauvage, typical.

“Come wimme.” She brushes past you without a look back as she heads toward the basement. Paige can only hope you follow her, only hope that you want it as bad.

And you do. So you follow.

—

If it was anything you learned throughout your entire ordeal with Paige, it’s that she’s a damn good kisser.

Maybe she liked being yelled at. Or maybe she just thought you were fucking hot. Either way, the basement door shut, she was on you like white on rice. You both nearly fell down the stairs, hands grabbing whatever you could reach.

It was messy, teeth and spit and tongue, but it was otherworldly.

Paige tasted like honey, outrageously sweet despite the fact that she’d never been sweet to you. Her tongue roams your mouth, hands on your ass as she backs you into the wall.

“You can’t handle me.” You breathe, tangling your hands in her hair. “I should show you some’.”

Paige laughs, shaking her head into the kiss. "You've shown me enough. It's my turn, right? I been too nice.”

Her hand darts to your shorts, unbuttoning them and forcing them down your legs. Paige is fucking rough, like there’s nothing but rage rushing through her blood. And you want nothing more than for her to take it out on you. You’re the reason for it all anyways.

“Shit probably weak as hell anyways.” 

Paige kisses her teeth. “Take all this shit off.”

You make a show of bringing your hands to the hem of the cropped shirt as you bring it over your head. It joined your shorts on the carpeted floor, leaving you in front of Paige in nothing but your purple panties. It’s almost coincidental that the woman she fought with whenever she was around now stood here in her favorite color. 

She tucks her lip between her teeth, bringing her hand to your waist. 

“No bra like a damn slut, huh?” Her tongue clicks on the roof of her mouth, almost like she’s shaming you. But you don’t mind, you almost like it too much.

She decides to reach for your tits, squeezing them in her palms in a rough manner that makes you gasp and arch into her. Paige plays with your nipples, fingers rolling over them, feeling them get hard as she drips into her boxers.

“You wanna fuck me or keep talking shit?”

“I can’t do both?” Paige asks as she kisses you. It’s anything but soft. Her hands grip your boobs harder, tongue licking at your own. It’s like she’s trying to become one with you, take over your whole body. “Gotta make you my fuckin’ whore.”

She pulls away again, only for a second, before she kisses the corner of your mouth, your jaw, your neck. Her tongue was hot and wet as she sucked against a spot under your jaw that made your fucking knees weak.

It was like Paige knew you already. She was good at making you sweat from anger, but she was damn good at making you sweat like this. Making your thighs press together to relieve that pressure.

Her lips trail lower and lower, down to the center of your chest which she makes a show of licking. 

Paige kissed patterns down your thighs, starting sweet until her teeth dig into them. She does it over and fucking over, marking you in the most painful way she can think off all while staring up at you through her lashes.

It was a sight you wanted burned in your brain forever. Paige, on her knees, lips on your body like she was worshiping you. Maybe there was a reason why her ego was so big, because she was already going to make you come and your panties hadn’t even come off yet.

“Paige… just, fuck.” You press your head back against the wall, cupping her head with your hand. “Fuckin’ eat me.”

Her blues dart down to your cunt, the cotton material suddenly darker than the rest of your panties. “You’re wet as hell, ma. Been wanting my tongue on you for how long?”

Your pussy throbs in your panties as a result. You could never tell her the real answer, that somewhere along the line of you knowing Paige you’d trail your hand down in your pants and think about her. Or that you would wish all those girls that she’d be with were secretly you.

So instead you say, “why the hell would I— fuck— want you?” The stutter comes from her thumb on your clothed clit, applying pressure that makes your eyes water. Paige pulled your panties down slowly, they pool on the floor alongside the rest of your clothes, leaving you completely fucking naked.

A string of your slick sticks follows down with your underwear. “Whatchu dripping for then, princess?” Her hand grips your bruised thigh, guiding it over her shoulder. “Don’t tell me it’s Azzi that got this pussy like this?”

You tug her hair, watching her groan at the pressure. She thinks about leaving you like this, wet and horny and nude, stopping you from even having a chance at getting off. But your scent alone makes her change her mind. She’s a bitch to you but not that fucking bitchy, not enough to taint her reputation by not letting you come.

So she licks her lips, leaning into and wrapping her lips around your clit. That eye contact you always seem to have with her doesn’t stop even for a second. 

“God, P. J-just like that.” You moan, hips bucking into her mouth. 

Paige’s tongue licks through your folds. She’s so fucking into it, like your taste alone could make her full for centuries. It’s damn near the best head you’ve had in your life, her tongue knows exactly where to touch and flick, her lips know the perfect pressure to suck. She was fucking good.

“You got no clue how fuckin’ good you taste.” She murmurs, tongue stretched flat over your cunt. The sounds of her sucking and your slick bounce off the walls. “This pretty fuckin’ pussy.”

Your legs shake, inching closer and closer to your precious orgasm. Your other hand travels to her hair, fucking your hips into her fast. It pisses the blonde off, her obvious need for control over you more important.

“Paige gimme mmph more. I need it, baby.” You grunt. 

Her hands tug your own off of her. She pins them to your sides, dragging her tongue inside your cunt then out over your clit. Your moans get louder, you’re lucky that all your relatives are outside or you would’ve gotten caught forever ago. 

Paige’s nose brushes against your clit, aiding to the sensitivity. And the second you think about announcing your climax, she pulls back from you. A shit-eating grin covering her soaked face.

“Are you fucking serious?”

Paige wipes your near orgasm from her mouth. “What’d I do, mama?”

“You know what you did, you asshole!” Your hand presses against her chest, an attempt to shove her back but Paige is obviously stronger than you had imagined.

Her demeanor shifts in a matter of seconds. She trails her hands to the back of her collar, tucking her shirt off and behind her. Her black sports bra accentuates the tan of her skin, revealing just enough of her abs to make you want to get on your knees and fucking lick them. 

Paige grips your chin. Your jaw falls slack as a result. You don’t know what to really expect, but when you watch her saliva fall from the tip of your tongue, you almost pass out. It lands in your mouth a hot glob that tastes just like you did. She wipes the dribble from your lips and you swallow without a second thought.

“See, always talkin’ to me crazy. That’s why I do that shit.” She presses. Deciding to spin you around, she does, pushing up against the wall so close that you can smell the paint. Paige hand curls around your neck, applying enough pressure to knock your head back onto her shoulder. “I fuckin’ hate your ass, y’know that?”

You bite your lip, enjoying the feeling of her free hand brushing over your cunt. “Really? ‘Cause I always catch you staring at it, babe.”

Your hands press to the wall as Paige forces her knee between your thighs, spreading you apart until a pain shoots up your thighs. “Tell me how bad you hate me.”

“Why, does it turn you on?” You question, pushing back against her for any type of friction.

She breathes into your ear, following that with a bite. The blonde tugs on your earlobe, grinning to herself at the groan you give her as a result. “So bad, ma. You turn me on.”

Her fingers follow immediately after. You’d think that she’d be nice enough to give you a minute but she didn’t, forcing two fingers inside you like she couldn’t care less about anything but stretching you out.

“I, fuckkkkk! I hate—hate how sexy you are. Hate how wet I get around you.” You moan. Paige curls her fingers, seemingly pleased with your words.

Her grip on your neck tightens as she speeds up, pushing and curling and twisting her fingers so deep inside you can’t be quiet. Not when it feels that good. “Yeah?”

“Yes. Yes!” You cry. The noise of your cunt fills your ears, the trickle of your wetness travels down your leg as you struggle to keep up. Paige slips in a third finger and your knees buckle. “Daddy…it’s too much.” You whimper.

“Yeah, it’s like that?” Her fingers are breaking you apart, moans falling from your mouth so loud you’re surprised you haven’t gotten caught yet. “Watchu want, princess?”

“M’ gonna come. Please, please I’m so close.” You moan, arching your back further at the pleasure of it all. 

Your hands try to steady yourself on the wall, trembling at the pressure of her fingers against your g-spot. Your pussy clenches around her fingers, dripping down them as you cry out her name over and fucking over.

“There’s those manners, ma. I ain’t even know you’d had ‘em with how you cuss at me.” She grumbles in your ear. “Fucking hot.” 

“I’m cumming, I’m cumming. Oh, Paige!” Your orgasm hits like you’ve never fucking imagined, dripping all the way down your legs to the carpet. Your breath is heavy, tits pressed against the cold wall as she works you through it.

Paige trails her fingers out, wiping them against the back of her shorts. “Did we really just—”

“Yeah.” You pant.

There’s a beat of silence in the room, the occasional sounds of fireworks going off down by the lake as they do every year. But instead you’re here, sweat coating your body and your cum down her fingers. Paige’s fingers.

Then her phone starts ringing, and you’re reminded that there’s a life outside of the basement in which you hate Paige and she hates you right back.

You turn to face her, how swollen her lips are, how missed her hair is. “We’ll talk later?”

You nod, thinking that’s the end of it until she cups your face and kisses you. There’s a certain passion behind this one, less tongue and more sweetness. It's the sweetest Paige has been to you, well ever.

“Yeah, later.”

And then she’s grabbing her shirt and darting up the stairs. 

But not before pointing out that you should cover the hickeys on your thighs.

[caffeinewitchcraft]

AITA for being proud of my job as a regional Nightmare?

My sister told me she’s making her own post and that if I was so sure I wasn’t TA then I should make my own so here I am.

I’m a regional Nightmare. I’m very proud of how hard I worked to get here. Not many terrors in their 20s get this high up and it’s because I do the work. I get up at 8pm and I’m out in the woods grinding out those quotas until dawn. Sometimes I sleep out there in my uniform just so I can be the first on scene for the multi-part jobs. I’m efficient, I’m punctual, and I’m committed. My goal is to be a Cyptid by the time I’m 30 and, to do that, I have to stay on at all times.

As a result, I work a lot. I’m often not home for days at a time. I have a very strict training regimen and my time for friends and family is virtually nonexistent. That’s why when I do get the time to hang out, I prefer to spend my time intentionally. What I mean by that is that I don’t want to sit on a couch when I could be lifting weights. I don’t want to chill in the pool when I could be volunteering for new scares. I especially don’t want to gossip over tea when I could be getting overtime.

Last Saturday, my sister invited a bunch of family over to her house. My job in the Virginia woods fell through, so I decided to go. Silly (her childhood nickname) said she had something important to tell the family so I thought it wouldn’t be a waste of my time.

Key word: thought.

When I got to Silly’s house, I was surprised to see so many cars out front. Our parents were there and our older brother. The house was packed. There were cousins, aunts, uncles and a ton of people I didn’t know.

At first the event was fine. Silly’s always been a good cook (see, I know you’re reading this, Silly, and see? I do compliment you when do something actually good) and everyone was really enjoying the flank steak (though I did have to save it before she cooked it medium well). But as the day wore on, I could tell people were getting bored. Silly and Mom were focused on cleaning up and said that dessert would have to wait until her fiance got home. Which was kind of rude to be late and I felt really bad for Silly. It seems like my soon to be brother-in-law (BIL for short) is never around when she needs him.

In an effort to help, I engaged some of the people I didn’t know in conversation because the party was getting a little dead and I didn’t want one of my sister’s parties to fail. I was trying hard not to think about the time I was wasting waiting for my future BIL so it also served as a distraction.

It turns out one of the guys was a fellow terror. He worked a corporate job and we talked for a while about the pros of being freelance like me. He asked me a lot of questions and I was happy to mentor another terror.  Corporate can suck the art out of what we do. My clients only care if the quota for their mission is met and don’t enforce such strict timelines. They come to me for quality. Poor guy barely had time to mend his uniform between scares (his cloak was tattered and his hook hand was rusty) so I recommended my tailor and blacksmith.

The guy and I exchanged information. I gave him my business card and he looked for one of his. While he looked, I felt nature calling so I headed upstairs to use my sister’s bathroom (like hell I was going to use the same one as my Uncle Joe). From up there, I saw my future BIL pull into the driveway.

 Being a regional Nightmare is a tough job. Like I said, I have to train a lot to keep my certification. So I thought it’d be a good idea to get a scare on my BIL both to punish him for being late and to make up for all the time I’d already wasted at the party.

So I waited for him to come upstairs to change and, when he did, I pulled out the works. I darkened the room and fell back into the shadows. Then, while he groped for the light switch, I stretched out my leg (I have an extra joint in them) and tried to nudge him. I honestly didn’t expect for him to trip and I DEFINITELY didn’t expect for him to fall backwards. I’ve been practicing this skill on my family since I was sixteen and got the leg extension mod and none of them ever fell like that.

My future BIL fell down the stairs. I panicked and raced over to look over the banister. He was fine! He wasn’t bleeding or anything and, when I saw that, I started to laugh.

Everyone freaked out though. They all said I was being immature and bullying my BIL. I told them it wasn’t bullying, it was my actual job. I said that I was just joking and didn’t know my BIL, a former “Cryptid”, would take it so hard.

My mom jumped in and backed me up, but my sister has always been the Queen of the castle. Silly and Dad kicked me out ( I mean, I let them, I’ve got enhanced strength and I didn’t want to hurt them). Dad called me a disgrace and to not come back home.

I asked him if he was really kicking me out just because I wanted to show off my skills a little? And he said yes. And Silly said I had it coming to me for a long time.

I don’t even know what went wrong.

 So AITA for taking pride in my work?

---.

SillyCreeper says: Oh my god, you actually made this post? You’re an actual idiot. For anyone who believes this story, read mine before you vote. My brother left out a few details like how the party was my GENDER REVEAL PARTY and that he’s not a regional Nightmare, he’s a  Slasher for hire.

OP replies: I am TRAINED to operate as a regional Nightmare. That makes me an independent regional Nightmare.

SillyCreeper replies: Regional Nightmares don’t steal failed missions from corporate Slashers

OP replies: Get your own post, Silly

SillyCreeper: Oh, I already did. Have fun being torn apart on yours, dumbass.

-----

Thanks for reading! If you'd like to read Silly's AITA post a week early, please consider becoming a patron (X)!

Aita for going no contact with my brother after he pulled a Scare on my husband?

I'm working on this anthology during November and I'm having a blast with this story in particular! The family drama keeps going on and on

[pucksandpower]

Princess Protection Program

Logan Sargeant x Princess of England!Reader

Summary: when your safety is compromised due to escalating threats, the decision is made to send you overseas for your own protection, with one caveat: no one can know about your true identity (aka the fix-it fic we desperately need right now)

The sun streams through the ornate windows of Buckingham Palace as you pace anxiously in your private chambers. Your fingers fidget with the hem of your designer blouse, a habit you’ve developed when stress creeps in. The weight of the situation hangs heavy in the air, thicker than the plush carpet beneath your feet.

A sharp knock at the door makes you jump. “Come in,” you call, trying to keep your voice steady.

Your father, King Edward, enters with a grim expression etched on his face. Behind him, your mother, Queen Charlotte, follows closely, her usual poise wavering slightly.

“Darling,” your mother begins, her voice soft but strained. “We need to talk.”

You sink into a nearby armchair, bracing yourself. “Is this about the threats?”

Your father nods, his jaw tightening. “I’m afraid so. The situation has ... escalated.”

“How bad is it?” You ask, dreading the answer.

The King exchanges a look with your mother before responding. “Bad enough that we can no longer ignore it. The security team believes your life is in genuine danger.”

Your heart races, but you force yourself to remain composed. “What does that mean for me?”

Your mother moves closer, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “We think it’s best if you leave London for a while, sweetheart. Just until we can neutralize the threat.”

You stand abruptly, shaking your head. “Leave? But I can’t! I have responsibilities here, engagements planned for the entire summer!”

“Your safety is our top priority,” your father interjects firmly. “Everything else can wait.”

“Where would I even go?” You ask, exasperation creeping into your voice.

Your mother hesitates before answering. “We’ve been discussing options with the security team. We think it’s best if you go somewhere ... unexpected.”

You raise an eyebrow, curiosity momentarily overriding your anxiety. “Unexpected how?”

“Florida.”

You blink, certain you’ve misheard. “I’m sorry, did you say Florida?”

Your mother nods, a small smile tugging at her lips despite the gravity of the situation. “Your Aunt Maggie and Uncle George have that lovely beach house in Fort Lauderdale, remember? We visited when you were younger.”

“But ... Florida?” You repeat, still struggling to process the idea. “It’s so ... American.”

Your father chuckles softly. “Exactly. No one would think to look for you there. It’s the perfect cover.”

You begin pacing again, your mind racing. “For how long?”

“We’re not sure yet,” your mother admits. “But we promise to bring you home as soon as it’s safe.”

You pause, turning to face your parents. The concern in their eyes is palpable, and it hits you just how serious this situation must be for them to suggest such a drastic measure.

“Can’t I just stay here? Increase security or something?” you plead, making one last attempt.

Your father shakes his head firmly. “The palace is too exposed. There are too many variables, too many potential weak points. We need you somewhere more ... inconspicuous.”

You sigh heavily, knowing deep down that they’re right. “When do I leave?”

“Tonight,” your mother says softly. “We’ve already begun making arrangements.”

Your eyes widen. “Tonight? But I haven’t packed, I haven’t said goodbye to anyone-”

“I know it’s sudden,” your father interrupts gently, “but the quicker we move, the safer you’ll be.”

You nod slowly, reality sinking in. “I understand.”

Your mother pulls you into a tight embrace. “Oh, darling. I know this is difficult, but please try to think of it as an adventure. A chance to experience a different kind of life for a while.”

You lean into her hug, drawing comfort from her familiar perfume. “I’ll try, Mum.”

As she pulls away, your father clears his throat. “There’s one more thing. While you’re there, you’ll need to ... blend in.”

You furrow your brow. “What do you mean?”

“We think it’s best if you adopt a different identity,” he explains. “Just temporarily, of course. To throw off anyone who might be looking for you.”

“A different identity?” You repeat, the concept both thrilling and terrifying. “Like ... a commoner?”

Your mother nods encouragingly. “Exactly. You’ll be staying with Maggie and George, of course, but to the rest of the world, you’ll just be their niece visiting for the summer.”

You take a deep breath, trying to wrap your head around it all. “I suppose I could use a break from royal duties,” you admit with a small smile.

Your father’s face softens with relief. “That’s my girl. Always looking on the bright side.”

A knock at the door interrupts the moment. “Your Majesties,” a voice calls from outside. “The security team is ready for the briefing.”

Your father sighs. “We’d better go. Darling, start packing what you can. Someone will be up shortly to help you with the rest.”

As your parents move towards the door, you call out, “Wait!”

They turn back, concern etched on their faces.

“I just ... I love you both,” you say, your voice thick with emotion. “And I know you’re just trying to protect me.”

Your mother’s eyes glisten with unshed tears as she rushes back to embrace you once more. “We love you too, sweetheart. More than anything in this world.”

Your father joins the hug, his strong arms encircling both of you. For a moment, you’re not a princess facing a crisis, but simply a daughter cherishing her parents’ love.

As they reluctantly pull away, your father says, “Remember, this is only temporary. Before you know it, you’ll be back home, safe and sound.”

You nod, forcing a brave smile. “I know. I’ll make the best of it, I promise.”

With one last loving look, your parents exit the room, leaving you alone with your swirling thoughts and a suitcase to pack.

You move to your closet, running your hands along the rows of designer gowns and tailored suits. How do normal people dress in Florida? You wonder, realizing just how much you’ll need to adapt.

As you begin selecting clothes, a bittersweet excitement begins to bubble up alongside your anxiety. It’s terrifying, leaving everything you know behind, but there’s a tiny part of you that can’t help but wonder what adventures await in this unexpected journey.

You’re lost in thought when another knock sounds at the door. “Come in,” you call, expecting to see one of the staff sent to help you pack.

Instead, your best friend and lady-in-waiting, Olivia, bursts into the room. “Is it true?” She demands without preamble. “Are they really shipping you off to America?”

You sigh, nodding reluctantly. “Florida, to be exact.”

Olivia’s eyes widen. “Florida? Land of alligators and questionable fashion choices? Oh, darling, no.”

Despite everything, you can’t help but laugh. “It’s not that bad. I hope.”

Olivia moves to your side, helping you fold a blouse. “How long will you be gone?”

“I don’t know,” you admit. “Until they catch whoever’s behind the threats, I suppose.”

Olivia’s face softens with concern. “Are you scared?”

You pause, considering the question. “A little,” you confess. “But also ... I don’t know. Maybe a tiny bit excited? Is that weird?”

Olivia shakes her head, a small smile playing on her lips. “Not at all. It’s like your own personal Princess Protection Program, but with better weather and beach access.”

You snort, grateful for her ability to find humor even in the darkest situations. “I’m going to miss you so much, Liv.”

“Oh, please,” she scoffs, though her eyes are suspiciously shiny. “You’ll be having so much fun living your secret Florida life, you’ll forget all about little old me.”

“Never,” you promise, pulling her into a fierce hug.

As you embrace, Olivia whispers, “Just promise me one thing?”

“Anything,” you reply without hesitation.

“If you meet some devastatingly handsome American and fall madly in love, you have to tell me every single detail.”

You pull back, laughing. “Liv, I’m going there to hide, not find romance!”

Olivia winks mischievously. “The best love stories always happen when you least expect them, darling. Trust me on this.”

As you continue packing, chatting and joking with Olivia, the weight on your shoulders begins to lift slightly. Yes, you’re leaving behind everything you know. Yes, there’s danger lurking in the shadows. But with the love of your family and friends behind you, you feel a flicker of hope.

Whatever awaits you in Fort Lauderdale, you’ll face it head-on. After all, you’re not just any ordinary girl — you’re a princess. And princesses, as you’ve always been taught, are made of stronger stuff.

As the sun begins to set, casting long shadows across your room, you zip up the last of your suitcases. Olivia helps you change into a simple outfit — jeans and a t-shirt, clothes that won’t draw attention during your journey.

A soft knock at the door signals the arrival of your security detail. “Your Highness,” a voice calls. “It’s time.”

You take a deep breath, looking around your room one last time. “Well,” you say to Olivia, your voice barely above a whisper, “I guess this is it.”

Olivia pulls you into one last fierce hug. “Go show those Floridians what British royalty is made of,” she says, her voice thick with emotion. “And don’t you dare come back with an American accent.”

You laugh, wiping away a stray tear. “I’ll do my best. Take care of everything while I’m gone, okay?”

“Of course,” Olivia promises. “Now go, before I change my mind and hide you in my closet instead.”

With one last smile, you open the door. Your security team waits outside, their faces a mask of professional calm. As you follow them through the winding corridors of the palace, each step feels both like an ending and a beginning.

At the private exit, your parents wait. Your mother pulls you into a tight embrace, whispering words of love and encouragement. Your father, ever the king, maintains his composure, but you can see the emotion swimming in his eyes as he kisses your forehead.

“Remember,” he says softly, “no matter where you are, you carry the strength of your ancestors with you. You are a princess of the realm, even if you’re pretending not to be for a while.”

You nod, standing a little straighter. “I won’t let you down.”

“You never could,” your mother assures you.

With one last look at your family, at the only home you’ve ever known, you step into the waiting car. As it pulls away from the palace, you don’t look back. Instead, you fix your gaze forward, towards the unknown adventure that awaits.

Florida, you think with a mix of trepidation and excitement, I hope you’re ready for me.

***

The Florida sun beats down mercilessly as you step out of the air-conditioned car, squinting against the bright light. The humid air immediately wraps around you like a warm, damp blanket, a stark contrast to London’s typically cool climate.

“Welcome to Fort Lauderdale, sweetheart!” Your Aunt Maggie’s voice rings out, full of warmth and excitement.

You turn to see her hurrying down the driveway of an impressive Mediterranean-style villa, arms outstretched. Behind her, your Uncle George follows at a more leisurely pace, a wide grin on his face.

“Aunt Maggie, Uncle George,” you greet them, trying to infuse your voice with enthusiasm despite your jet lag and lingering anxiety. “Thank you so much for having me.”

Aunt Maggie pulls you into a tight hug, her floral perfume momentarily overwhelming your senses. “Oh, darling, we’re thrilled to have you. Aren’t we, George?”

Uncle George nods, giving you a gentle pat on the shoulder. “Absolutely. Our home is your home, princess. Er, I mean-”

“Just Y/N,” you remind him quietly, glancing around to ensure no one overheard. “Remember, I’m just your normal, everyday niece visiting for the summer.”

“Right, right,” Uncle George says, lowering his voice. “Sorry about that. Old habits, you know.”

Aunt Maggie loops her arm through yours, leading you towards the house. “Don’t you worry, dear. We’ve briefed all the neighbors. As far as they know, you’re our lovely niece from England, taking some time to experience life across the pond.”

You nod, grateful for their thoughtfulness. As you enter the house, the cool air conditioning washes over you, providing instant relief from the oppressive heat outside.

“Now,” Aunt Maggie continues, “I know this must all be very overwhelming for you. Why don’t you freshen up, and then we’ll give you the grand tour?”

“That sounds lovely,” you agree, realizing just how grimy you feel after the long journey.

Uncle George appears with your suitcases. “I’ll show you to your room. It’s got a great view of the pool.”

As you follow him up the stairs, you can’t help but marvel at the casual opulence of the house. It’s certainly luxurious, but in a relaxed, lived-in way that feels worlds apart from the formal grandeur of the palace.

Your room, as promised, is beautiful. Large windows overlook a sparkling pool surrounded by swaying palm trees. For a moment, you feel like you’ve stepped into a holiday brochure.

“I’ll let you get settled,” Uncle George says, setting down your bags. “Take your time, we’re on Florida time now. No rush.”

As the door closes behind him, you sink onto the plush bed, finally allowing yourself a moment to process everything. You’re here, in Florida, thousands of miles from home and everything familiar. The reality of your situation hits you anew, and you feel a lump forming in your throat.

A soft knock at the door interrupts your thoughts. “Y/N, dear?” Aunt Maggie calls. “I’ve brought you some iced tea. May I come in?”

“Of course,” you reply, quickly composing yourself.

Aunt Maggie enters, carrying a tall glass of tea so cold that condensation is already forming on the outside. She hands it to you with a warm smile. “I thought you might need this. The Florida heat can be quite a shock to the system.”

You take a sip, the sweet, refreshing liquid instantly soothing your parched throat. “Thank you, Aunt Maggie. This is delicious.”

She sits beside you on the bed, her face softening with concern. “How are you really doing, sweetheart? I can only imagine how difficult this must be for you.”

For a moment, you consider maintaining your composed facade. But something about Aunt Maggie’s gentle demeanor breaks through your defenses. “I’m ... scared,” you admit quietly. “And I miss home already. But I’m trying to be brave.”

Aunt Maggie wraps an arm around your shoulders. “Oh, my dear. It’s okay to be scared. What you’re going through, it’s not easy. But you are brave, just by being here.”

You lean into her embrace, allowing yourself this moment of vulnerability. “I just feel so ... out of place. I don’t know how to be a normal person.”

Aunt Maggie chuckles softly. “Well, I’ve got news for you. None of us really know how to be normal. We’re all just figuring it out as we go along.”

Her words bring a small smile to your face. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Tell you what,” she says, giving your shoulders a squeeze. “Why don’t you get changed into something cool and comfortable, and then we’ll show you around the neighborhood? It might help you feel more settled.”

You nod, feeling a flicker of curiosity despite your apprehension. “I’d like that.”

After Aunt Maggie leaves, you dig through your suitcase, realizing with a start that you have no idea what constitutes “cool and comfortable” in Florida. You eventually settle on a light sundress and sandals, hoping it’s appropriate.

Downstairs, Aunt Maggie and Uncle George are waiting. “Oh, don’t you look lovely,” Aunt Maggie coos. “Very Floridian chic.”

Uncle George grabs a set of keys from a hook by the door. “Shall we take the golf cart? It’s the preferred mode of transportation around here.”

You blink in surprise. “We’re allowed to drive golf carts on the streets?”

“Welcome to Florida, kiddo,” Uncle George laughs. “Different rules apply here.”

The next hour is a whirlwind tour of the neighborhood. You zip along palm-lined streets in the golf cart, waving at neighbors who call out cheerful greetings. Aunt Maggie provides a running commentary.

“That’s the Johnsons’ place — lovely people, but their dog is a menace to squirrels everywhere. Oh, and over there is the community pool, although everyone just uses their own pools, really. And that’s where we have our neighborhood barbecues ...”

As if on cue, a man watering his impeccably manicured lawn calls out, “Hey, Maggie! George! Don’t forget the barbecue tonight!”

Aunt Maggie turns to you with a bright smile. “Oh, that’s perfect timing! What do you say, Y/N? Feel up to a little neighborhood gathering?”

You hesitate, anxiety bubbling up at the thought of meeting so many new people. But you remind yourself that this is part of your cover, part of being normal. “Sure,” you say, trying to sound enthusiastic. “Why not?”

The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur of unpacking and preparation. Before you know it, you’re walking down the street with your aunt and uncle, a dish of something called “ambrosia salad” in your hands.

The barbecue is in full swing when you arrive. The air is filled with the smell of grilling meat and the sound of laughter and cheerful conversation. Children splash in a nearby pool while adults mingle, cold drinks in hand.

“George! Maggie!” A jovial man with a impressive mustache approaches, clapping Uncle George on the back. “Glad you could make it. And this must be your niece!”

You smile politely, remembering your cover story. “Yes, hello. I’m Y/N. It’s lovely to meet you.”

“Welcome to the neighborhood, Y/N,” the man says warmly. “I’m Bill, by the way. Now, let me introduce you to some folks. Can’t have you standing around like a wallflower, can we?”

Before you can protest, Bill is leading you through the crowd, making introductions left and right. You smile and nod, trying desperately to remember names and keep your story straight.

“And this here is Logan,” Bill says, stopping in front of a young man about your age. “Logan’s our local celebrity, drives race cars for a living.”

You look up, meeting a pair of startlingly green eyes. The young man — Logan — smiles, and you feel your heart skip a beat.

“Hi there,” Logan says, his voice a pleasant drawl. “Logan Sargeant. Nice to meet you, Y/N.”

“Hello,” you manage, suddenly very aware of your accent. “You’re a race car driver?”

Logan nods, a hint of pride in his smile. “Formula 1, yeah. I drive for Williams Racing.”

Your eyes widen in recognition. You’ve attended a few F1 events in your official capacity, though you’ve never paid much attention to the drivers themselves. “That’s impressive,” you say genuinely.

“Ah, it’s just a job,” Logan says with a self-deprecating shrug, though his eyes sparkle with obvious passion. “What brings you to our little slice of paradise?”

You launch into your prepared story about traveling abroad, surprised at how easily the words flow. Logan listens attentively, asking questions that show genuine interest.

Just as you’re starting to relax into the conversation, Aunt Maggie appears at your elbow. “Y/N, dear, come meet the Hendersons. They’ve got a daughter about your age.”

You turn back to Logan with an apologetic smile. “It was nice meeting you, Logan.”

“Likewise,” he replies, that charming grin still in place. “Hope to see you around, Y/N.”

As Aunt Maggie leads you away, you can’t help but glance back over your shoulder. Logan is still watching you, and when your eyes meet, he gives a little wave.

For the rest of the evening, you find yourself scanning the crowd, hoping for another glimpse of those green eyes. But between meeting what feels like the entire neighborhood and helping Aunt Maggie with hostess duties, you don’t get another chance to talk to Logan.

As the sun begins to set, casting a golden glow over the gathering, you feel a mix of emotions washing over you. There’s still a lingering sadness, a homesickness that sits heavy in your chest. But there’s also a tiny spark of excitement, a feeling that maybe, just maybe, this unexpected adventure might not be so bad after all.

Uncle George finds you as the party begins to wind down. “How you holding up, kiddo?” He asks gently.

You consider the question for a moment. “I’m okay,” you say, surprising yourself with how true it feels. “It’s all very different, but ... I think I might be able to get used to it.”

Uncle George smiles, giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze. “That’s my girl. Now, what do you say we head home? I don’t know about you, but all this socializing has worn me out.”

You nod gratefully, suddenly aware of how tired you are. As you walk home with your aunt and uncle, the warm night air filled with the sound of cicadas, you feel a sense of calm settling over you.

This isn’t home, not really. But maybe, for now, it can be enough. And as you climb into bed that night, your mind drifts to a pair of green eyes and a charming smile, wondering what other surprises Florida might have in store for you.

***

The Florida sun has barely crested the horizon when you step out of your aunt and uncle’s house, running shoes laced tight. You’ve taken to early morning jogs as a way to clear your head and adjust to the new time zone. The neighborhood is quiet, save for the occasional chirp of exotic birds and the distant hum of sprinklers.

As you round the corner, lost in thought, you nearly collide with another runner coming from the opposite direction.

“Whoa there!” A familiar voice calls out, hands reaching out to steady you.

You look up, startled, into the green eyes of Logan Sargeant. He’s dressed in running gear, a light sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead.

“Oh! Logan, I’m so sorry,” you stammer, feeling heat rise to your cheeks that has nothing to do with the morning warmth.

Logan grins, his hand lingering on your arm for a moment before dropping away. “No harm done. I didn’t know you were a runner.”

You shrug, suddenly self-conscious. “I’m not really. Just trying to ... acclimate, I suppose.”

“To the heat or to Florida in general?” Logan asks, falling into step beside you as you both slow to a walk.

“Both, I think,” you admit with a small laugh. “It’s quite different from home.”

Logan nods understandingly. “I bet. I’ve been to England quite a bit since Williams is based there. Beautiful country, but yeah, not exactly known for its tropical climate.”

You’re about to respond when your stomach lets out an embarrassingly loud growl. Logan’s eyebrows shoot up in amusement.

“Sounds like someone worked up an appetite,” he chuckles. “Have you tried the coffee shop down on Atlantic Boulevard yet? They make a mean breakfast burrito.”

You shake your head, realizing you haven’t ventured much beyond the immediate neighborhood.

Logan’s face lights up. “Well, we can’t have that. What do you say we grab some breakfast? My treat, to make up for almost running you over.”

You hesitate for a moment, your ingrained caution warring with the genuine warmth in Logan’s smile. “I wouldn’t want to impose ...”

“Not at all,” Logan insists. “Besides, I could use a coffee after this run. What do you say?”

Against your better judgment, you find yourself nodding. “Alright, that sounds lovely. Thank you.”

The walk to the coffee shop is filled with easy conversation. Logan asks about your impressions of Florida so far, and you find yourself relaxing as you share some of your culture shock moments.

“Wait, you’ve never had a key lime pie before?” Logan asks incredulously as you approach the quaint storefront of the coffee shop.

You shake your head, laughing. “I had never even heard of it! Aunt Maggie was scandalized.”

Logan holds the door open for you, the aroma of fresh coffee and baked goods washing over you as you enter. “Well, we’ll have to remedy that. They make a pretty decent one here, actually.”

As you settle into a cozy booth by the window, you can’t help but marvel at how ... normal this feels. Sitting in a cafe with a handsome boy, discussing pastries and local cuisine. It’s a far cry from formal state dinners and carefully orchestrated public appearances.

“So,” Logan says after you’ve placed your orders, “what brings you to Fort Lauderdale? Your aunt mentioned something about you taking some time off?”

You nod, reciting the cover story you’ve practiced. “Yes, I wanted to experience life outside of England for a bit before graduate school. My aunt and uncle were kind enough to let me stay with them.”

Logan leans forward, genuinely interested. “That’s cool. Any specific plans while you’re here?”

You shrug, trying to appear nonchalant. “Not really. Just ... experiencing life, I suppose. What about you? Shouldn’t you be off racing cars somewhere exotic?”

Logan grins, a spark of excitement lighting up his eyes. “Usually, yeah. But it’s the summer shutdown right now. All the teams take a break for a few weeks. I always try to come home when I can.”

“That must be nice,” you say softly, a pang of homesickness hitting you unexpectedly.

Logan’s expression softens. “You miss home?”

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak for a moment. Logan reaches across the table, giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

“Hey, it’s okay. Homesickness is rough. But you know what helps?”

You look up, meeting his eyes. “What’s that?”

“Making some good memories in your new place,” Logan says with a warm smile. “And I happen to be an expert in South Florida fun.”

You can’t help but smile back. “Is that so?”

Logan nods solemnly. “Oh yeah. In fact, I’d be happy to be your official tour guide. If you’re interested, that is.”

Before you can respond, your food arrives. The conversation flows easily as you eat, Logan regaling you with tales of his racing adventures and you sharing carefully edited stories of life in England.

As you finish your meal, Logan glances at his watch. “I hate to eat and run, but I’ve got a training session in an hour. But hey, if you’re free later, maybe we could meet up at the beach? I could show you some of the best spots.”

You hesitate, knowing you should probably decline. But the thought of spending more time with Logan, of experiencing a slice of normal life, is too tempting to resist.

“That sounds wonderful,” you find yourself saying. “What time were you thinking?”

Logan’s face lights up. “How about three? I can meet you at the public access point near your aunt and uncle’s place.”

You nod, already looking forward to it. “Three it is.”

As you part ways outside the cafe, Logan gives you another heart-melting smile. “See you later, Y/N. And welcome to Fort Lauderdale.”

The rest of the morning passes in a blur. You help Aunt Maggie with some gardening, your mind constantly drifting to thoughts of green eyes and easy smiles. By the time 3 o’clock rolls around, you’re a bundle of nervous energy.

You spot Logan waiting by the beach access, a backpack slung over one shoulder. He waves as you approach, that now-familiar grin spreading across his face.

“Ready for Beach Life 101?” He asks as you fall into step beside him.

You nod, breathing in the salty air. “Lead the way, Professor Sargeant.”

Logan laughs, the sound warm and genuine. “Oh, I like that. Maybe I’ve found my post-racing career.”

As you walk along the shoreline, Logan points out various landmarks and shares local trivia. You find yourself captivated, not just by the information, but by the passion with which he speaks about his hometown.

“And over there,” Logan says, pointing to a stretch of beach dotted with volleyball nets, “is where I learned that I am absolutely terrible at beach volleyball.”

You giggle, the sound surprising even yourself. “Oh? Do tell.”

Logan dramatically recounts a particularly disastrous game from his teenage days, complete with exaggerated gestures. You’re laughing so hard you barely notice when you stumble over a piece of driftwood.

Logan’s arm shoots out, steadying you. “Whoa there. You okay?”

You nod, suddenly very aware of how close you’re standing. “Yes, thank you. I’m not usually this clumsy.”

“Must be my sparkling wit distracting you,” Logan teases, his hand lingering on your arm for a moment before dropping away.

As the afternoon wears on, you find yourself relaxing more and more in Logan’s company. He’s easy to talk to, genuinely interested in your thoughts and experiences. For a few blissful hours, you almost forget about the circumstances that brought you here.

As the sun begins to dip towards the horizon, painting the sky in brilliant oranges and pinks, Logan leads you to a quiet spot away from the main beach.

“This,” he says with a flourish, “is the best place to watch the sunset in all of Fort Lauderdale.”

You settle onto the sand, marveling at the view. “It’s beautiful,” you breathe.

Logan sits beside you, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from his sun-kissed skin. “Yeah, it really is.”

For a moment, you sit in comfortable silence, watching as the sun slowly sinks into the ocean. Then Logan turns to you, his expression suddenly serious.

“Can I ask you something?”

You nod, a flicker of nervousness igniting in your chest. “Of course.”

“Why do I get the feeling there’s more to your story than you’re letting on?”

Your heart races, panic threatening to overwhelm you. “What do you mean?”

Logan shrugs, his eyes searching your face. “I don’t know. There’s just something about you. The way you carry yourself, the things you say ... or don’t say. It’s like you’re holding part of yourself back.”

You look away, focusing on the horizon. “I’m just ... adjusting. To being here, I mean.”

Logan nods slowly. “I get that. And hey, if there are things you don’t want to share, that’s cool. I just want you to know that you can trust me. If you want to, that is.”

You turn back to him, struck by the sincerity in his eyes. For a wild moment, you consider telling him everything — who you really are, why you’re here. But the weight of your family’s expectations, the very real danger that drove you here, holds you back.

Instead, you offer him a small smile. “Thank you, Logan. That means a lot.”

He returns your smile, reaching out to squeeze your hand gently. “Anytime. Whatever brought you here, I’m glad it did. It’s been really nice getting to know you.”

As the last rays of sunlight disappear beneath the waves, you find yourself wishing you could freeze this moment. Here, with the sound of the ocean in your ears and Logan’s hand warm in yours, you feel more like yourself than you have in years.

But as the sky darkens and the first stars begin to appear, reality starts to creep back in. You know you can’t stay in this bubble forever.

“We should probably head back,” you say reluctantly, breaking the comfortable silence that has settled between you.

Logan nods, standing and offering you a hand up. “Yeah, I guess so. But this doesn’t have to be a one-time thing. Maybe we could do this again sometime?”

You smile, surprising yourself with how much you want that. “I’d like that very much.”

As you walk back along the beach, Logan’s hand brushes against yours. After a moment’s hesitation, you let your fingers intertwine with his. It’s a small gesture, but it feels monumental.

At the edge of your aunt and uncle’s property, you pause. “Thank you for today, Logan. It was ... wonderful.”

Logan’s smile is soft in the dim light. “I’m glad. And if you ever need a break from acclimating, you know where to find me.”

Before you can overthink it, you lean in and press a quick kiss to his cheek. “Goodnight, Logan.”

As you hurry inside, your heart pounding, you catch a glimpse of Logan touching his cheek, a dazed smile on his face.

In your room, you sink onto the bed, a whirlwind of emotions swirling through you. You know you’re treading dangerous waters. Logan is everything you shouldn’t want — a distraction, a complication, a risk to your cover.

But as you drift off to sleep, your dreams are filled with green eyes and the sound of waves crashing on the shore. And for the first time since arriving in Florida, you find yourself looking forward to what tomorrow might bring.

***

The gentle lapping of waves against the hull of the boat fills the comfortable silence between you and Logan. You’re sprawled on the deck, basking in the warm afternoon sun, while Logan sits nearby, his fingers absently tracing patterns on your arm.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Logan’s voice breaks through your reverie.

You turn your head to look at him, a soft smile playing on your lips. “Just thinking about how surreal this all feels. A few weeks ago, I never could have imagined ... this.”

Logan’s eyebrows quirk up in amusement. “What, lying on a boat in the middle of the Atlantic? Or spending time with an incredibly charming race car driver?”

You laugh, playfully swatting his arm. “Both, I suppose. Though I’m not sure about the ‘incredibly charming’ part.”

“Ouch,” Logan clutches his chest in mock hurt. “You wound me.”

Sitting up, you lean against the boat’s railing, taking in the endless expanse of blue around you. “It’s just ... I’ve never felt this free before. This ... unburdened.”

Logan’s expression softens as he moves to sit beside you. “What do you mean?”

You bite your lip, choosing your words carefully. “Back home, there’s always ... expectations. Responsibilities. Here, with you, I feel like I can just be myself.”

Logan nods thoughtfully. “I get that. It’s kind of like how I feel when I’m racing. When I’m in the car, nothing else matters. It’s just me, the track, and the speed.”

“That sounds exhilarating,” you say, genuinely curious. “Is that why you love it so much?”

Logan’s eyes light up with passion. “Partly, yeah. But it’s more than that. It’s the challenge, you know? Pushing yourself to the absolute limit, always striving to be better, faster.”

You listen intently as Logan delves into the intricacies of Formula 1 racing, marveling at the depth of his knowledge and the intensity of his enthusiasm.

“Sorry,” he says suddenly, looking a bit sheepish. “I tend to ramble when it comes to racing. I’m probably boring you.”

You shake your head emphatically. “Not at all! I love hearing you talk about it. Your passion is ... inspiring.”

Logan’s smile is warm as he takes your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. “Thanks. You know, it’s nice to be able to talk about this stuff with someone who actually listens. Most people just hear ‘Formula 1 driver’ and make assumptions.”

“What kind of assumptions?” you ask, curious.

Logan shrugs. “Oh, you know. That I’m some adrenaline junkie who doesn’t take anything seriously. Or that I’m living some glamorous, carefree life.”

You squeeze his hand gently. “But it’s not like that at all, is it?”

“Not even close,” Logan admits. “Don’t get me wrong, I love what I do. But the pressure ... it can be overwhelming sometimes.”

“How so?” You prompt, recognizing the weight in his voice.

Logan leans back, his gaze distant. “It’s not just about driving fast, you know? There’s the physical training, the technical knowledge, the media obligations. And then there’s the constant pressure to perform. Everyone always questioning whether you deserve your seat.”

You nod, understanding all too well the burden of constant scrutiny. “That sounds incredibly stressful.”

“It can be,” Logan agrees. “But then I remember how lucky I am to be living my dream, and it puts things in perspective.”

You smile, admiring his positive outlook. “That’s a wonderful way of looking at it.”

Logan turns to you, his green eyes intense. “What about you? What’s your dream?”

The question catches you off guard. For so long, your life has been dictated by duty and expectation. The concept of a personal dream feels almost foreign.

“I ... I’m not sure,” you admit quietly. “I’ve never really thought about it in those terms.”

Logan’s brow furrows in concern. “Really? There must be something you’re passionate about, something you’d love to do if you could do anything in the world.”

You ponder the question, thinking back to the interests and passions you’ve had to set aside for your royal duties. “I’ve always loved art,” you say finally. “Painting, specifically. But it’s always been more of a hobby than a serious pursuit.”

Logan’s face lights up. “That’s awesome! Have you painted anything since you’ve been here?”

You shake your head, a twinge of regret in your chest. “No, I ... I didn’t bring any supplies with me.”

“Well, we’ll have to fix that,” Logan says decisively. “I’m sure there’s an art supply store in town. We could go tomorrow if you want?”

The thought of picking up a paintbrush again sends a thrill of excitement through you. “Really? You wouldn’t mind?”

Logan laughs, the sound warm and genuine. “Mind? Y/N, I’d love to see this side of you. Maybe you could even paint me sometime,” he adds with a wink.

You feel a blush creeping up your cheeks. “I’m not sure you’d want that. I’m terribly out of practice.”

“I’m sure you’re amazing,” Logan says with such conviction that you can’t help but believe him a little.

A comfortable silence falls between you, broken only by the sound of the waves and the occasional cry of a seagull. You find yourself studying Logan’s profile, admiring the way the sunlight catches in his hair and highlights the strong line of his jaw.

As if sensing your gaze, Logan turns to you, a soft smile playing on his lips. “What?”

“Nothing,” you say, returning his smile. “I’m just ... happy.”

Logan’s expression becomes tender as he reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Yeah? Me too.”

The moment stretches between you, charged with unspoken emotion. Logan leans in slowly, giving you plenty of time to pull away if you want to. But you don’t want to. Instead, you meet him halfway, your lips brushing together in a soft, sweet kiss.

When you part, Logan rests his forehead against yours. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while now,” he admits.

You laugh softly, your heart feeling lighter than it has in years. “Me too.”

The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur of conversation, laughter, and stolen kisses. As the sun begins to set, painting the sky in brilliant hues of orange and pink, Logan steers the boat back towards the docks.

“So,” he says as you dock, “what do you say we go on a proper date tomorrow? Dinner, maybe? After our art supply shopping trip, of course.”

You nod, unable to keep the smile off your face. “That sounds wonderful.”

As Logan walks you back to your aunt and uncle’s house, his hand warm in yours, you can’t help but marvel at how much your life has changed in just a few short weeks. The weight of your royal responsibilities, the constant fear from the threats that drove you here — it all feels distant, like a half-remembered dream.

At your doorstep, Logan pulls you close, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Goodnight, Y/N. Sweet dreams.”

“Goodnight, Logan,” you reply, reluctant to let go of his hand.

Inside, you lean against the closed door, your heart racing with a mixture of excitement and an emotion you’re not quite ready to name. For the first time in your life, you’re experiencing something that’s wholly yours — not dictated by duty or protocol, but born from genuine connection and shared moments.

The next few weeks pass in a whirlwind of stolen moments and shared adventures. True to his word, Logan takes you to the art supply store, insisting on buying you the best paints and brushes despite your protests.

You find yourself rediscovering your passion for art, spending hours capturing the vibrant colors and energy of Fort Lauderdale on canvas. Logan is always eager to see your latest creations, his genuine enthusiasm bolstering your confidence.

One evening, as you sit on the beach watching the sunset, Logan turns to you with a mischievous glint in his eye. “What do you say we go for a swim?”

You laugh, gesturing at your sundress. “Now? We’re not exactly dressed for it.”

Logan shrugs, his grin widening. “So? Live a little, Y/N. When was the last time you went swimming in your clothes?”

You think back, realizing with a start that you’ve never done anything so spontaneous. “I ... never, actually.”

“Well then,” Logan says, standing and offering you his hand, “there’s no time like the present.”

Before you can overthink it, you take his hand, allowing him to pull you to your feet. Together, you run towards the water, laughing as the cool waves crash around your ankles.

Logan pulls you deeper, until you’re both waist-deep in the ocean. The water is refreshing against your sun-warmed skin, and you can’t help but giggle at the absurdity of it all.

“See?” Logan says, pulling you close. “Isn’t this fun?”

You nod, wrapping your arms around his neck. “It’s perfect.”

As you float together in the gentle waves, the last rays of sunlight painting the sky in brilliant hues, you’re struck by a sudden, overwhelming realization. You’re falling in love with Logan Sargeant.

The thought should terrify you. After all, you know this can’t last forever. Your real life, your responsibilities, they’re all waiting for you back in England. But in this moment, with Logan’s arms around you and the vast ocean stretching out before you, you can’t bring yourself to care about the future.

“What are you thinking about?” Logan asks softly, his fingers tracing patterns on your back.

You look up at him, taking in the warmth in his green eyes, the gentle curve of his smile. “Just ... how happy I am right now. How I wish this moment could last forever.”

Logan’s expression softens as he leans in to kiss you. It’s a kiss full of unspoken emotion, of shared dreams and secret hopes. When you part, Logan rests his forehead against yours.

“Me too, Y/N,” he whispers. “Me too.”

As you float in the warm Florida waters, the stars beginning to twinkle overhead, you allow yourself to fully embrace the moment. You know that reality will intrude eventually, that the carefree days of this Florida summer can’t last forever. But for now, in Logan’s arms, you feel truly, completely free.

And for the first time in your life, you dare to dream of a future shaped by your own desires rather than the expectations of others. It’s a dangerous thought, a seed of hope that you know might lead to heartbreak. But as Logan pulls you in for another kiss, you can’t bring yourself to regret it.

For now, you’re just a girl falling in love under the Florida stars. And for now, that’s enough.

***

The sun is setting over Fort Lauderdale as you and Logan stroll hand in hand along Las Olas Boulevard. The street is alive with the buzz of restaurants and boutiques, but you’re barely aware of your surroundings, lost in thought about the conversation you know you need to have.

Logan’s voice breaks through your reverie. “Earth to Y/N,” he says, gently nudging your shoulder. “You okay? You’ve been pretty quiet tonight.”

You force a smile, trying to quell the anxiety bubbling in your chest. “I’m fine. Just ... thinking.”

Logan’s brow furrows with concern. “Anything you want to talk about?”

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself. “Actually, yes. Logan, there’s something I need to tell you-”

But before you can continue, a flash goes off nearby, startling you both. You turn to see a man with a camera, his lens pointed directly at you.

“Princess Y/N?” The photographer calls out, his voice a mix of disbelief and excitement. “Is that you?”

Your blood runs cold as more flashes go off. Suddenly, it seems like cameras are appearing from every direction, voices calling out your name and title.

Logan’s hand tightens around yours. “Princess?” He repeats, confusion evident in his voice. “Y/N, what’s going on?”

You feel panic rising in your throat. This isn’t how you wanted him to find out. “Logan, I can explain-”

But Logan’s already pulling you away from the growing crowd, his jaw set in a hard line. He leads you down a side street, away from the main thoroughfare, until you reach a quiet park.

As soon as you’re alone, Logan drops your hand, turning to face you with a mixture of hurt and bewilderment in his eyes. “Princess Y/N? That’s who you are?”

You nod, your heart racing. “Yes. Logan, I’m so sorry. I was going to tell you-”

“When?” Logan interrupts, his voice sharp. “When were you planning on telling me that everything about you has been a lie?”

“Not everything,” you protest, reaching for his hand, but he pulls away. “My feelings for you are real, Logan. That’s not a lie.”

Logan runs a hand through his hair, pacing back and forth. “I don’t understand. Why didn’t you tell me? Did you think this was funny? Playing at being a normal girl, slumming it with the commoner?”

His words sting, and you feel tears pricking at your eyes. “No! Of course not. It wasn’t like that at all.”

“Then what was it like?” Logan demands. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’ve been playing me for a fool this entire time.”

You take a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart. “I came here because my life was in danger. There were threats, serious ones. My family thought it would be safer if I disappeared for a while, if I lived like a normal person.”

Logan’s expression softens slightly, but the hurt is still evident in his eyes. “Okay, I can understand that. But why didn’t you trust me enough to tell me the truth?”

“I wanted to,” you say softly. “So many times. But I was scared. Scared of how you’d react, scared of ruining what we had.”

“What we had,” Logan repeats, his voice bitter. “And what exactly was that, Y/N? Or should I call you ‘Your Highness’ now?”

You flinch at his tone. “Logan, please. What we have is real. My feelings for you are real.”

“Are they?” Logan challenges. “Because the Y/N I thought I knew wouldn’t have lied to me for weeks. The Y/N I was falling in love with wouldn’t have let me make a fool of myself, talking about my problems like they were anything compared to being actual royalty.”

His words hit you like a physical blow. “Falling in love with?” You repeat, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan’s expression crumples for a moment before he schools it back into anger. “Yeah, well. I guess that just shows how stupid I’ve been.”

“You’re not stupid,” you insist, taking a step towards him. “Logan, I love you too. That’s why I was so scared to tell you the truth. I didn’t want to lose you.”

Logan laughs humorlessly. “Well, great job there. Because finding out like this? With paparazzi swarming us? That’s so much better.”

You feel tears starting to fall, but you make no move to wipe them away. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I never meant for any of this to happen.”

“What did you think was going to happen?” Logan asks, his voice softer now but still laced with hurt. “Did you think we could just keep playing pretend forever? That your real life wouldn’t come crashing back in eventually?”

You shake your head, feeling the weight of your reality pressing down on you. “No, I ... I don’t know what I thought. I just knew that when I was with you, I felt free. I felt like myself for the first time in my life.”

Logan’s expression wavers between anger and sympathy. “And who is that, Y/N? Because I’m not sure I know anymore.”

“I’m still me,” you insist. “The girl who loves art and quiet moments on the beach. The girl who laughs at your terrible jokes and feels safest when she’s in your arms. That’s all real, Logan. The only thing that’s different is my title.”

Logan scoffs. “Only your title? Y/N, you’re a princess. Do you have any idea what this means? The media frenzy, the scrutiny, the expectations ... it’s not just your title that’s different. It’s your entire world.”

You feel a flicker of frustration ignite in your chest. “You think I don’t know that? You think I haven’t lived with that pressure every day of my life? That’s why being here, being with you, has meant so much to me. For once, I got to just be myself.”

“But it wasn’t really yourself, was it?” Logan counters. “It was a version of you. A version without the weight of a crown.”

His words hit too close to home, and you feel your own anger rising. “And what about you? You talk about pressure and expectations like I couldn’t possibly understand. But I do understand, Logan. More than you know.”

Logan shakes his head, his voice rising. “It’s not the same thing, Y/N! I chose this life. I worked for it. You ... you were born into it. And you lied about it. To me, to everyone here.”

“I didn’t have a choice!” You shout, surprising yourself with the intensity of your emotion. “Do you think I wanted to lie? Do you think I enjoyed keeping this secret? I was trying to stay alive, Logan. I was trying to protect myself and the people I care about. Including you!”

Logan takes a step back, his eyes wide. For a moment, silence hangs heavy between you.

“Protect me?” He finally says, his voice low. “How does lying to me protect me?”

You take a shaky breath, trying to calm yourself. “The less you knew, the safer you were. And ... the more I fell for you, the more I wanted to keep you separate from that part of my life. To keep this — us — untainted by all of that.”

Logan’s expression softens slightly, but the hurt is still evident in his eyes. “Y/N ... I get that you were in a difficult position. I do. But relationships are built on trust. How can I trust you now?”

His words cut deep, and you feel fresh tears welling up. “I don’t know,” you admit quietly. “But I want to try. Logan, please. What we have ... it’s worth fighting for, isn’t it?”

Logan runs a hand over his face, looking suddenly tired. “I don’t know, Y/N. This is ... it’s a lot to process. I need time to think.”

You nod, your heart sinking. “I understand. I just ... I hope you can forgive me. Eventually.”

Logan looks at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “I hope so too. But right now I think we both need some space.”

As he turns to walk away, you feel a piece of your heart go with him. “Logan,” you call out, your voice breaking.

He pauses but doesn’t turn back. “Yeah?”

“I really do love you,” you say softly. “That was never a lie.”

Logan’s shoulders slump slightly. “I know,” he says, so quietly you almost don’t hear it. And then he’s gone, disappearing into the growing darkness of the park.

You stand there for a long moment, tears streaming down your face, feeling more alone than you ever have before. The sound of distant camera shutters reminds you that your private world has well and truly shattered.

With a heavy heart, you pull out your phone to call your aunt and uncle. It’s time to face the music, to deal with the fallout of your exposed identity. But as you dial, all you can think about is the look of betrayal in Logan’s eyes, wondering if you’ve lost him for good.

As you wait for your aunt to pick up, you gaze out at the Florida skyline, the twinkling lights now seeming cold and distant. For a fleeting moment, you allow yourself to imagine a different life — one where you’re just Y/N, an ordinary girl in love with a boy who races cars. But reality crashes back in as your aunt’s worried voice comes through the phone.

“It’s time to come home,” she says, and you know she doesn’t just mean back to the house.

Your summer of freedom, of love and normalcy, is coming to an end. As you give your aunt your location for pickup, you can’t help but wonder … was it worth it? The joy, the love, the heartbreak — would you do it all again, knowing how it would end?

As you spot your uncle’s car approaching, you realize with a start that yes, you would. Because for a brief, shining moment, you knew what it was like to be truly, completely yourself. And no crown, no duty, no threat could ever take that away from you.

***

The Florida sun beats down mercilessly as you sit on the porch swing of your aunt and uncle’s house, listlessly flipping through a magazine. It’s been a week since the paparazzi incident, a week since your world turned upside down. The threats back home have been neutralized, your security team assures you, but it feels like a hollow victory.

Your aunt’s voice drifts from inside the house. “Y/N, darling, are you sure you don’t want to come to the beach with us?”

“I’m sure, Aunt Maggie,” you call back, forcing a cheerfulness you don’t feel into your voice. “You and Uncle George go ahead. I’m fine here.”

As the sound of their car fades away, you let out a heavy sigh. Fine is the last thing you are. With only a week left before your scheduled return to England, you feel like you’re in limbo, caught between two worlds and belonging to neither.

The sudden roar of an engine pulls you from your melancholy thoughts. A sleek sports car you recognize all too well pulls up in front of the house. Your heart leaps into your throat as Logan steps out, looking as devastatingly handsome as ever in jeans and a simple t-shirt.

For a moment, you both freeze, eyes locked on each other. Then Logan takes a hesitant step forward. “Hi,” he says, his voice carrying a mix of nervousness and determination.

“Hi,” you reply, barely above a whisper. “What are you doing here?”

Logan runs a hand through his hair, a gesture you’ve come to recognize as a sign of his anxiety. “I ... I needed to see you. To talk to you. Can we ...” He gestures vaguely towards the porch.

You nod, moving over on the swing to make room for him. Logan sits, careful to leave space between you, and for a moment, neither of you speaks.

Finally, Logan breaks the silence. “I owe you an apology,” he says, his voice low and sincere. “The way I reacted when I found out ... it wasn’t fair to you.”

You shake your head, feeling a lump form in your throat. “No, Logan. I’m the one who should be apologizing. I lied to you, kept this huge part of my life secret. You had every right to be angry.”

Logan turns to face you, his green eyes intense. “Maybe. But I’ve had time to think. To really process everything. And I realized something important.”

“What’s that?” You ask, hardly daring to breathe.

“That it doesn’t matter,” Logan says simply. “Princess, commoner, whatever — it doesn’t change how I feel about you. Because the girl I fell in love with? She’s real. Royal title or not.”

You feel tears welling up in your eyes. “Logan ...”

He reaches out, taking your hand in his. “Let me finish, please. I talked to my family, tried to sort out my feelings. And I kept coming back to one thing — how I feel when I’m with you. How you make me laugh, how you challenge me, how you see me for who I am, not just what I do.”

“I feel the same way,” you whisper, squeezing his hand. “Being with you ... it’s the freest I’ve ever felt.”

Logan’s thumb traces circles on your palm, sending shivers up your arm. “I know we have a lot to figure out. The distance, the media attention, our careers ... it won’t be easy. But Y/N, I think what we have is worth fighting for. If you’ll have me, that is.”

You can’t hold back your tears any longer. They fall freely as you launch yourself into Logan’s arms, burying your face in his neck. “Of course I’ll have you, you idiot,” you mumble against his skin.

Logan’s arms tighten around you, and you feel him press a kiss to the top of your head. “Thank God,” he murmurs. “Because I don’t think I could bear losing you again.”

You pull back slightly, meeting his gaze. “I’m so sorry. For lying, for putting you in this position. I never meant to hurt you.”

Logan cups your face gently, wiping away your tears with his thumbs. “I know, sweetheart. And I’m sorry too, for not giving you a chance to explain. For letting my hurt and pride get in the way of what really matters.”

“And what’s that?” You ask, though you think you already know the answer.

“Us,” Logan says simply. “You and me. Everything else ... we’ll figure it out together.”

You lean in, pressing your forehead against his. “Together,” you repeat, loving the sound of it. “I like that.”

Logan’s lips curve into a smile. “Me too. Now, can I please kiss you? Because I’ve been dying to do that since the moment I saw you on this porch.”

You laugh, a sound of pure joy and relief. “I thought you’d never ask.”

As Logan’s lips meet yours, you feel like you’re coming home. The kiss is tender and passionate all at once, an apology and a promise wrapped into one. When you finally part, you’re both breathless.

“So,” Logan says, his arms still wrapped around you. “What now, Princess? Because I have to say, I’m a little out of my depth here. Is there some royal protocol for dating I should know about?”

You can’t help but giggle at the mix of humor and genuine concern in his voice. “Well, traditionally, you’d have to ask my father for permission to court me. Preferably while wearing a powdered wig and breeches.”

Logan’s eyes widen in mock horror. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

You pat his cheek affectionately. “About the wig and breeches, yes. About talking to my father ... that might actually have to happen at some point.”

Logan gulps audibly. “Right. Talking to the King of England. No pressure or anything.”

You snuggle closer to him on the swing. “He’ll love you. How could he not?”

“I hope you’re right,” Logan says, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Because I’m not giving you up without a fight, royal decree or not.”

You sit in comfortable silence for a moment, enjoying the simple pleasure of being in each other’s arms again. But reality begins to creep in, and you feel Logan tense slightly.

“Y/N,” he says softly. “What about ... I mean, you’re leaving in a week, right?”

You nod, feeling a pang in your chest. “Yes. The jet is being sent to pick me up next Saturday.”

Logan takes a deep breath. “And then what? I mean, for us?”

You sit up, turning to face him fully. “I don’t know,” you admit. “I want to make this work, Logan. More than anything. But I won’t lie to you — it won’t be easy.”

Logan nods, his expression serious. “I know. The distance, our schedules ... not to mention the media circus that’s bound to happen when word gets out.”

“Are you sure you want to deal with all that?” You ask, voicing the fear that’s been nagging at you. “It’s not too late to back out, to go back to your normal life.”

Logan’s hand comes up to cup your cheek. “Y/N, look at me.” When you meet his gaze, he continues, “My life stopped being normal the moment I met you. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. Whatever challenges we face, we’ll face them together. Okay?”

You lean into his touch, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. “Okay,” you agree softly.

“Besides,” Logan adds with a mischievous grin, “dating a princess might actually be good for my image. Think of all the sponsorship deals I could get.”

You gasp in mock outrage, swatting his arm. “Logan Sargeant! Is that all I am to you? A ticket to better endorsements?”

Logan laughs, pulling you back into his arms. “Busted. It was all an elaborate scheme to get my face on a tea towel.”

You can’t help but join in his laughter, marveling at how easily he can lift your spirits. As your giggles subside, a thought occurs to you.

“You know,” you say slowly, “there might be a way to make the distance a little more manageable, at least for a while.”

Logan raises an eyebrow. “I’m all ears, Princess.”

You take a deep breath, hoping you’re not overstepping. “Well, the F1 season isn’t over yet, right? There are still races in Europe ...”

Logan’s eyes light up as he catches on. “Races where a certain princess might be able to make an appearance?”

You nod, feeling a flutter of excitement. “It would be a good opportunity to show support for British motorsport. Purely diplomatic reasons, of course.”

Logan’s grin widens. “Of course. Very diplomatic. I’m sure the press won’t read anything into the Princess of Wales suddenly becoming a racing enthusiast.”

You lean in, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “Let them talk. As long as I get to see you, I don’t care what they say.”

Logan’s expression softens. “You really mean that, don’t you? You’re willing to face all the scrutiny, the gossip, just to be with me?”

You nod, your voice firm. “You’re worth it. We’re worth it.”

Logan pulls you close, burying his face in your hair. “I love you,” he murmurs. “God, I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” you reply, your voice thick with emotion. “More than I ever thought possible.”

As you sit there on the porch swing, wrapped in each other’s arms, you know that the road ahead won’t be easy. There will be challenges, obstacles, moments of doubt. But looking into Logan’s eyes, seeing the love and determination there, you know you can face anything as long as you’re together.

The sound of a car approaching breaks the moment. You recognize your aunt and uncle’s vehicle coming up the driveway.

Logan tenses slightly. “Should I ... do you want me to leave?”

You shake your head firmly. “No. Stay. It’s time they met the real you, not just the boy next door.”

As your aunt and uncle pull up, looking surprised to see Logan there, you stand up, hand-in-hand with the man you love. You’re ready to face whatever comes next, be it nosy relatives, prying media, or the complexities of a long-distance relationship between a princess and an F1 driver.

Because now you know — home isn’t a place. It’s not a palace in England or a beach house in Florida. Home is wherever you and Logan are together. And that’s a feeling worth fighting for.

***

The Florida sun is just beginning to peek over the horizon as Logan’s car pulls up to the private airstrip. The sleek private jet waiting on the tarmac is a reminder of the reality you’re about to step back into. Logan cuts the engine, but neither of you move to get out, both reluctant to face the inevitable goodbye.

“So,” Logan says, his voice barely above a whisper, “I guess this is it, huh?”

You turn to him, taking in every detail of his face as if trying to memorize it. “Not it,” you insist. “Just ... see you later.”

Logan manages a small smile, reaching out to take your hand. “Right. See you later. In England. Where you’ll be a princess again.”

You squeeze his hand. “I’ll always be me, Logan. Title or no title.”

“I know,” he says softly. “It’s just ... it’s going to be different, isn’t it? You’ll have responsibilities, obligations. And I’ll be ...”

“The man I love,” you interrupt firmly. “No matter what.”

Logan’s eyes soften at your words. “I love you too. I’m going to miss you so much.”

You lean across the center console, pressing your forehead against his. “I’m going to miss you too. But we’ve got a plan, remember?”

Logan nods, his breath warm against your skin. “Right. The plan. Want to run through it one more time? You know, just to make sure we’ve got it down.”

You can’t help but smile at his attempt to prolong the moment. “Okay, let’s see. You’ve got ten more races this season, right?”

“Yep,” Logan confirms. “Zandvoort, Monza, Baku, Singapore, COTA, Mexico, Brazil, Vegas, Qatar, and Abu Dhabi.”

“And I,” you say, sitting back slightly to meet his gaze, “will be making surprise appearances to as many as I can. To support British motorsport, of course.”

Logan grins. “Of course. Very diplomatic of you.”

“Then,” you continue, “once the season’s over, you’ll be spending more time at the Williams headquarters in Grove.”

“Which, coincidentally, is just a short drive from London,” Logan adds with a wink.

You nod, feeling a flutter of excitement despite the impending separation. “And I’ll make sure to have plenty of reasons to visit Grove. Lots of ... local businesses to support.”

Logan laughs, the sound warming your heart. “I’m sure the people of Grove will greatly appreciate the royal attention.”

“Then there’s Christmas,” you say softly. “I talked to my parents, and ... they want to meet you. Properly.”

Logan’s eyes widen slightly. “Christmas with the royal family. No pressure or anything.”

You cup his cheek gently. “They’ll love you, Logan. How could they not?”

He leans into your touch. “I hope you’re right. Because I plan on sticking around for a long time, Princess.”

“Good,” you say firmly. “Because I’m not letting you go that easily.”

Logan’s smile fades slightly as his gaze drifts to the waiting plane. “We should probably ...”

You nod, feeling a lump form in your throat. “Yeah. We should.”

With a deep breath, you both step out of the car. Logan moves to the trunk to retrieve your luggage while you take a moment to compose yourself. As he joins you, bags in hand, you’re struck by how domestic this feels — and how much you wish this was just a normal trip, not a return to a life an ocean away.

“Your chariot awaits, Your Highness,” Logan says with an exaggerated bow, trying to lighten the mood.

You roll your eyes fondly, but play along. “Why thank you, kind sir. Your service to the Crown is most appreciated.”

As you walk towards the plane, Logan’s free hand finds yours, intertwining your fingers. “You know,” he says casually, “I’ve been thinking about taking some flying lessons. Might come in handy for, oh, I don’t know ... surprise visits to England?”

You laugh, squeezing his hand. “Logan Sargeant, are you planning on becoming my personal pilot?”

He grins, that mischievous sparkle you love so much dancing in his eyes. “Well, I figure if I can handle an F1 car at 200 miles per hour, a plane can’t be that much harder, right?”

“I’m not sure that’s how it works,” you say, unable to keep the amusement out of your voice.

“Details, details,” Logan waves his free hand dismissively. “The point is, I’m going to find ways to see you. Even if I have to learn to fly, sail, or ... I don’t know, teleport.”

You stop walking, tugging on his hand to make him face you. “You know you don’t have to do all that, right? I mean, I love that you want to, but I don’t want you to feel like you have to change your whole life for me.”

Logan sets down your bags, taking both your hands in his. “Y/N, listen to me. You are worth changing my whole life for. But that’s not what this is about. It’s about finding ways to make our lives fit together. Because that’s what I want — a life with you in it.”

You feel tears pricking at your eyes. “I want that too. So much.”

Logan reaches up to brush away a tear that’s escaped. “Then we’ll make it work. Whatever it takes.”

You nod, leaning into his touch. “Whatever it takes,” you repeat softly.

The sound of someone clearing their throat breaks the moment. You turn to see the pilot standing a respectful distance away.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, Your Highness,” he says, “but we need to begin boarding if we’re to make our departure time.”

You nod, straightening your shoulders. “Of course. Thank you, Captain. I’ll be right there.”

As the pilot retreats, you turn back to Logan. “I guess this is really goodbye.”

Logan pulls you close, wrapping his arms tightly around you. “Not goodbye. Never goodbye. Just ... until next time.”

You bury your face in his neck, breathing in his familiar scent. “Next time,” you murmur. “The Netherlands, right?”

“The Netherlands,” Logan confirms, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ll be the one in the Williams car, trying not to crash while looking for you in the stands.”

You can’t help but laugh, even as tears threaten to fall again. “Please don’t crash. I quite like you in one piece.”

Logan pulls back slightly, cupping your face in his hands. “No promises. You’re pretty distracting, Princess.”

Before you can retort, he leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss that takes your breath away. It’s tender and passionate, a promise and a farewell all at once. When you finally part, you’re both breathless.

“I love you,” you whisper, your foreheads still pressed together.

“I love you too,” Logan replies. “Now go, before I decide to jump in the cockpit of that plane and fly us both to some remote island where we can just be us.”

You laugh, reluctantly stepping out of his embrace. “Don’t tempt me. That sounds pretty perfect right now.”

Logan picks up your bags again, walking with you the last few steps to the plane’s stairs. “Your royal carriage, m’lady,” he says with another exaggerated bow.

You shake your head fondly. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You love it,” he counters with a grin.

“I do,” you admit softly. “I really do.”

With one last lingering look, you start up the stairs. At the top, you turn back. Logan is still there, watching you with a mix of love and longing that makes your heart ache.

“Hey, Logan?” You call down.

“Yeah?”

You smile, feeling a sudden surge of certainty despite the impending separation. “We’re going to be okay, aren’t we?”

Logan’s answering smile is like the sun coming out from behind a cloud. “Yeah, Princess. We’re going to be more than okay. We’re going to be amazing.”

With those words echoing in your heart, you finally step into the plane. As you settle into your seat, you watch through the window as Logan returns to his car. He stands there, hand raised in farewell, until the plane begins to taxi.

As the ground falls away beneath you, you close your eyes, already counting the days until the Dutch Grand Prix. The path ahead won’t be easy — you know there will be challenges, misunderstandings, moments of doubt. But you also know that what you and Logan have is worth fighting for.

You’re leaving behind the carefree summer days of Florida, returning to the responsibilities and expectations of your royal life. But you’re taking with you something precious — the knowledge that you are loved for who you are, not what you are. And that, you realize, is the greatest gift of all.

As the plane soars over the Atlantic, you allow yourself to dream of the future — of stolen moments at race tracks, of quiet evenings in London, of a love that bridges oceans and transcends titles. It won’t be easy, but then again, the best things in life rarely are.

You’re a princess and he’s a race car driver. On paper, it shouldn’t work. But as you drift off to sleep, Logan’s last words replay in your mind.

“We’re going to be amazing.”

And you believe him. Because with Logan by your side, how could you be anything else?

***

The Texas sun beats down mercilessly on the Circuit of the Americas as Logan adjusts his fireproofs, preparing for another round of interviews. It’s his home race and the pressure is palpable. He’s been struggling all season, the weight of expectations and the constant comparisons to his teammate wearing him down.

As he walks towards the waiting journalists, Logan can’t help but feel a pang of disappointment. You had told him you couldn’t make it to this race, citing royal obligations back in England. He understands, of course, but the thought of racing on home soil without you in the stands feels hollow somehow.

“Logan! Over here!” A reporter waves him over, microphone at the ready. “How are you feeling about today’s race?”

Logan pastes on his media-ready smile, falling into the familiar rhythm of pre-race interviews. “I’m feeling good, you know? It’s always special racing at home, and the energy here at COTA is incredible.”

“There’s been a lot of talk about your future with Williams,” another journalist chimes in. “Any comments on the rumors that your seat might be in jeopardy for next season?”

Logan’s smile falters slightly, but he recovers quickly. “I’m focused on doing my best in every race, including today’s. The future will take care of itself.”

As he continues answering questions, Logan’s gaze drifts over the bustling pit lane. Mechanics scurry about, making last-minute adjustments to the cars. Team personnel hurry back and forth, clipboards and tablets in hand. It’s a familiar scene, one he’s witnessed countless times before.

But then, something catches his eye. A flash of familiar hair, a silhouette he’d recognize anywhere. Logan blinks, sure he must be seeing things. But no — there you are, walking down the pit lane as if you belong there (which, he supposes, you do in a way).

“Logan?” The interviewer’s voice seems distant. “Logan, can you tell us about your strategy for today’s-”

But Logan isn’t listening anymore. His jaw goes slack, eyes wide with disbelief as he watches you approach. You’re dressed casually in a flowing maxi dress, your hair pulled back in a simple ponytail. To Logan, you’ve never looked more beautiful.

“I ... uh ...” Logan stammers, completely losing his train of thought. The interviewer follows his gaze, her own eyes widening as she recognizes you.

A hush falls over the pit lane as heads turn to watch your progress. You seem oblivious to the attention, your eyes locked on Logan. A brilliant smile lights up your face as you break into a run.

Logan barely has time to brace himself before you’re launching yourself into his arms. He catches you instinctively, spinning you around as laughter bubbles up from his chest.

“Surprise!” You exclaim, pulling back just enough to see his face. “Did you really think I’d miss your home race?”

Logan shakes his head in amazement, still not quite believing you’re here. “But you said ... how did you ...”

You grin mischievously. “I may have told a tiny white lie. Royal prerogative and all that.”

Logan laughs, setting you down but keeping his arms wrapped firmly around your waist. “You’re incredible, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told,” you reply with a wink.

It’s only then that Logan becomes aware of your surroundings again. The entire pit lane has gone silent, all eyes on the two of you. Cameras flash incessantly, capturing what must be the most undignified public display the Princess of England has ever made.

Logan feels a moment of panic. “Y/N,” he whispers, “everyone’s watching.”

You shrug, seemingly unconcerned. “Let them watch. I’m just a girl supporting her boyfriend at his home race.”

The casual use of the word ‘boyfriend’ sends a thrill through Logan. Despite the months you’ve been together, sometimes he still can’t quite believe this is real.

A throat clearing nearby breaks the moment. Logan turns to see James Vowles approaching with a bemused expression.

“Your Highness,” James says with a slight bow. “This is ... an unexpected honor.”

You turn to face him, your arm still wrapped around Logan’s waist. “Mr. Vowles,” you greet him with a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “I hope you don’t mind me dropping in unannounced. I was just so eager to see how our British team is faring.”

James nods, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. “Of course, we’re always delighted to host you. Perhaps you’d like a tour of the garage?”

“That would be lovely,” you reply, your voice sweet but with an undercurrent of steel that makes Logan’s eyebrows raise. “I’m particularly interested in discussing team strategy. And driver management.”

Logan feels you tense slightly beside him, and he suddenly realizes what you’re doing. His heart swells with a mixture of love and awe.

James seems to pick up on the shift in atmosphere as well. “I see,” he says carefully. “Well, I’m sure we can arrange a meeting after the race-”

“Oh, I think now would be perfect,” you interrupt, your smile never wavering. “After all, I’m quite invested in the success of this team. Particularly when it comes to nurturing young talent.”

Logan watches in fascination as James visibly squirms under your gaze. He’s never seen his usually unflappable team principal so wrong-footed.

“Of course, Your Highness,” James finally manages. “Shall we step into the hospitality area for some privacy?”

You nod graciously, but before following James, you turn back to Logan. “For luck,” you murmur, pulling him down for a quick kiss that leaves him breathless and the watching crowd buzzing with excitement.

As you walk away with James, Logan overhears snippets of your conversation.

“I do hope, Mr. Vowles,” you’re saying, your voice light but with a clear edge, “that Williams is committed to giving all its drivers equal opportunities to succeed. It would be such a shame if rumors of ... unequal treatment were to reach certain ears.”

Logan watches in awe as James nods frantically, clearly understanding the implied threat behind your words.

“And these whispers about potentially dropping Logan,” you continue, your smile never faltering. “I’m sure they’re just baseless rumors. After all, it would be terribly short-sighted to let go of such promising talent, don’t you think?”

As your voice fades into the distance, Logan stands rooted to the spot, a goofy grin spreading across his face. He’s vaguely aware of the chaos around him — journalists clamoring for comments, team members and rivals alike shooting him curious glances — but all he can think about is you.

You, who flew across an ocean to surprise him. You, who jumped into his arms without a care for protocol or propriety. You, who’s currently backing his team principal into a corner with a smile and a veiled royal threat.

In that moment, Logan Sargeant knows without a doubt that he has never been more in love.

A hand on his shoulder startles him out of his reverie. He turns to see Alex grinning at him.

“Mate,” Alex says, shaking his head in disbelief, “when you said you were dating a princess, I thought you were having us on. But that? That was ...”

“Yeah,” Logan agrees, still a bit dazed. “She’s something else.”

Alex laughs. “Understatement of the century. You better hold onto that one, Sargeant. And maybe put in a good word for the rest of us with her royal highness? I wouldn’t mind having that kind of backing in contract negotiations.”

Logan chuckles, finally snapping out of his stupor. “Sorry, Albon. This princess is spoken for.”

As Alex walks away, still shaking his head and laughing, Logan takes a deep breath. The pre-race nerves that had been plaguing him all morning have vanished, replaced by a surge of confidence and determination.

He may not know what the future holds — for his career or for his relationship with you — but in this moment, he feels invincible. Because no matter what challenges lie ahead, he knows he has you in his corner.

With renewed purpose, Logan heads towards the garage. He has a race to prepare for, after all. And now, more than ever, he’s determined to prove himself worthy of the faith you’ve placed in him.

As he reaches the garage entrance, he catches sight of you emerging from the hospitality area, James trailing behind you looking slightly shell-shocked. You spot Logan and wink, giving him a thumbs up.

Logan grins, blowing you a kiss before disappearing into the garage. He has a feeling this is going to be his best race yet. And win or lose, he knows he’ll have you waiting for him at the finish line.

And really, what more could a guy ask for?

[effiestrinkets]

THIS POST CONTAINS THG SOTR SPOILERS

finished sunrise on the reaping !! losing my mind. i cried so much.

here are some long rambling thoughts about my beloved effie trinket and also her friendship/relationship to haymitch abernathy. (yes, i’m back here after all these years lmao)

CW for themes present in the hunger games novels — murder, war, torture, cannibalism

this really is kinda wild to get new canon lore about haymitch and effie’s backstory so many years later. and that it contradicts all of our old fanon headcanons is funny, but honestly i love this canon backstory.

effie wasn’t a child watching haymitch’s games, but she’s actually a lil bit older than him! probably 5-10 years older, right? and imo she’s such a sweetheart even though she’s flawed and capitol-brainwashed. she came in and showed so much kindness to the D12 districts in the 50th hunger games, she met haymitch before he went into the arena and saw his true self. before alcoholism, before the capitol twisted him into something he wasn’t. the moment when he picked up the dropped makeup box for her was sweet.

i just love all of the new details we learn about effie. in the og trilogy katniss is so oblivious and dismissive of effie (no shade ily katniss) so i really enjoyed getting haymitch’s pov and finding out that he feels comforted by her and trusts her

• she had lavender hair when we first meet her!! this to me feels related to maysilee having a lavender dress at the reaping. something something both women are women haymitch grows to love. also love that we see effie wearing lavender in the hunger games movies a lot. lavender is associated with many meanings — calmness, grace, love, devotion, femininity, queerness, royalty, take your pick.

• loved to know effie loved her younger sister proserpina so fiercely and would go out of her way to help her :’)

• she dressed D12 nicely for their interviews and really showed them some small moments of kindness — it was especially lovely to see her and maysilee having moments of girlhood together in what were maysilee’s last hours of normality — and that she was kind to lou lou

• also i enjoyed the hints about the trinket family and effie’s great-aunt messalina and great-uncle silius disgracing the family during the war. knowing it’s ‘hard (enough) to be a trinket’ in the context of the capitol really informs us of so much of effie’s motivations and mannerisms. she’s obsessed with being perfect because their family has clearly been critiqued and shunned at times. her sister’s at the university, not the academy, which means they aren’t part of the capitol elite.

and thinking about what they might have done to be disgraced… silius trinket owned clothes with concealed weapon slots? bloodstains?? plutarch describing silius as ‘depraved’??? it probably wasn’t rebel sympathy because effie says “you win” when vitus says that’s what his grandfather was, so i’m leaning towards cannibalism, becausec also…

in TBOSAS we learn from snow that nero price (a titan of the railroad industry) was a cannibal during the war and served his maid’s leg to his family. his daughter persephone price was a mentor along with snow in the 10th hunger games. it’s implied persephone price, as a child, ate the human meat food that her father provided. much like the myth of persephone eating the pomegranates from the underworld.

can someone with more ancient history knowledge pls expand upon this — i feel like it’s something. now, in ancient rome, valeria messalina was the cousin of emperor nero. she was the third wife of the roman emperor claudius, but had an affair and married her lover silius and as a result, messalina and silius were both executed.

and proserpina (effie’s sister) is the roman name for persephone (confirmed daughter of a cannibal in tbosas)! i personally believe that’s gotta be a sign that effie’s relatives also engaged in cannibalism during the war.

• effie told haymitch he was being brave and said he deserved to look beautiful 🥹

• she’s a fake leather hater, lol, this fact goes so well with film!effie loving mahogany

• she was so nervous before haymitch went into the arena that her hands were shaking, and she reminded him not to step off the plate for 60 seconds so he wouldn’t die

• she promised to get his token to his love (leonore dove) if he died in the arena

• she believed in a positive attitude to get through anything :’)

• post-games, she stood strong in the face of peacekeeper bullets and she was already faking positivity and she was determined as ever, ‘you can’t keep effie down’

• while everyone else saw haymitch as a vicious animal and had him chained up, she trusted he would never hurt her and stood by him

• she watched over haymitch at the victory party in the capitol when he was in a cage

• when they needed a new escort and plutarch suggested effie, she came even though it wouldn’t be easy for her. being an escort is a way for her to climb the social ranks, but it’s also so challenging and puts effie in line of president snow’s gaze

• after his family and leonore were killed, she tried to motivate haymitch to keep living when he was suicidal and she helped him to bathe and get cleaned up and doted on him and she took the knife out of his hands when he started sleeping with it

• she tried to keep haymitch sober on the victory tour despite all the booze around them

i love her so much u guys. she’s such a misunderstood character with a lot of love in her heart <33333

she’s brainwashed by the capitol from birth and she’s certainly got all of their superficiality, like she worries about trivial things like ageing and cares too much about how she looks, but in her heart she’s good and kind. she’s clearly just trying to survive and not get herself or her family killed by the regime.

plus, i’m now thinking of all of this in context of the other novels.

how in the hunger games haymitch tries to hug effie when she’s drunk (but she pushes him away bc she’s worried about looking perfect for the reaping), and how they bicker (more so in the films) but trust and actually get along with each other, because now we know they’ve known each other 25 years at this point and in this time, and that means they were mentor and escort to 46 children who died before katniss and peeta came along.

effie tries to help katniss and peeta, as best as she can, and she grows to love them. she just wants them to be safe and hates to see them hurt. and she wishes she could make sponsor deals… and she and haymitch are “of one mind” and really do work well together as a team. and effie hides her smiles when the other 3 are being kinda traitorous. she’s got a rebellious streak herself.

then in catching fire she’s even more of a mother hen to peeta and katniss, she stops drinking in solidarity with haymitch while he’s trying to be sober, she gets them all the gold bangles to be a team, when effie stresses about being behind schedule and everything not being perfect because of delays haymitch sides with effie when katniss is rude to her, effie fusses over the kids all the time, she freaks out when peeta and katniss do the seneca crane / rue moments to the gamemakers and haymitch sides with her warning them not to be rebellious. effie is so deeply aware of how rebellion gets u killed and she keeps her mouth shut to stay alive. just like haymitch does. GAHHHH.

and, the detail in sotr that effie hates needles, but then in mockingjay (the book) she ends up a prisoner of the capitol and gets tortured and starved and probably gets drugged to all hell. and haymitch and plutarch have a hard time keeping her alive. bloody hell.

now, onto the hayffie of it all.

book!haymitch loves leonore more than anything, and he still sees visions of her throughout his life including into the epilogue, post-war. i always wondered what suzanne collins would do after the films leaned in harder into the hayffie romance angle (thank u woody and liz lmao) and i do like that she kept it aligned to the original books — it’s very mature and realistic. they do care deeply for each other, but it’s not some glossed over romance given the deep trauma haymitch has been through.

book!haymitch by the end of his games, after everyone he loves is murdered, believes that he cannot love anyone or they’ll die. he closes himself off completely. of course he’s not going to allow himself to become romantically linked to effie and have a relationship with her. he’s broken and an alcoholic and trying to win a rebellion. katniss, in catching fire, thinks he could’ve had any woman in the district, but he doesn’t. he can’t.

but in the epilogue, now that the war’s over? yeah he worries that his liver is gonna fail him, but he’s still only in his early 40s and they do have great medicine so who’s to say what happens between him and effie in the next 40-50 years of their lives? maybe they stay just friends, maybe they become romantic. i think that’s all open to interpretation. SOTR really doesn’t rule out romantic!hayffie to me. in fact i think it gives us some delicious angst potential (hello fanfic) wherein he loves effie but will always love and mourn leonore.

anyway, i am just so glad to know more about effie trinket and glad we got to see her again. she is so special to me. i need an effie book please and thank you. ❤️

[gghostwriter]

Time is a Fickle Thing

Girl Dad!Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: Spencer realizes how important it is to occupy the present and be active in the little things Trope: Fluff & Comfort w.c: 1.48k a/n: this was inspired by an essay I read over the week titled ‘Learning to Measure time in Love & Loss’ by Chris Huntington. It’s very profound so I would suggest you go read it—Andrew Garfield also read it on the podcast called ‘Modern Love’ so go listen to that too. Not proofread. Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! 💗 masterlist

There was still an array of paperwork to be done in his desk at Quantico. Case files that needed to be written down and reviewed by his unit chief, Emily.

The past Dr. Spencer Reid—the one who was still wet behind the ears and green in the eyes of his team members, would have found the droll of filling out forms therapeutic. But now at his age of 40, everything else—typing out information and grading essays, were chores that demanded his every waking attention. He had found himself agitated with the looming workload that seemed never ending.

“Daddy,” a sweet voice murmured beside him. The source—a small body nestling closer to his side.

He hummed in reply, absentmindedly as his brain was preoccupied with estimating how many hours he needed to finish checking submissions in lieu of sleep.

Tiny hands patted his cheeks. “Daddy,” the sweet voice now coated with a hint of urgency.

Spencer’s hazel eyes locked with a pair of replicas. “Yes, Aurora?”

“What happens next?”

Shaking his head, he glanced down at her choice for a bedtime story, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, and realized it was the end of a chapter. Reading together was a sacred ritual he formed ever since he had found out you were pregnant.

It made you giggle when you pointed out that she, still a fetus cocooned safely in your body, would not understand the works of The Giving Tree or The Rainbow Fish. He rattled of statistics that although she couldn’t understand the meaning, she could still hear quite well.

In truth, he wanted her to know him—his voice, his presence. Her father who was quite scared to bring in an innocent into the world.

Still, scared even.

Her pink bottom lip jutting out into a frown, reminiscent of the ‘look’ his wife gives to him that renders him speechless and pliable to demands.

It was fascinating how you and him created such a perfect combination—a seven year old daughter who was into reading, as he was, and confident, as you were.

“Daddy, what happens next?”

The corners of his mouth lifted into a smile. The look of exasperation on her tiny face was adorable.

Everything about her was captivating.

“Well, sweet pea,” he began to close the book. “That would be a story for another night.”

“But—”

“Remember what we promised?”

She sighed, gripping her white bunny—a gift from Aunt Penelope, closer. “One chapter only.”

“That’s right,” tucking the stray tendrils away from her angelic face.

As he started to stand up from his precarious lying position on her gingham patterned bed, Aurora’s tiny warm hands gave his sleeves a double tug.

“You’re forgetting something, Daddy.”

He leaned in to give her forehead a kiss.

“Is that it?” He teased.

She giggled, her feet kicking under the covers. “No!”

Brushing his fingers behind her neck—her tickle spot that matched yours. “What about this one?”

Aurora squealed, her infectious happy energy warming his heart. She was a treasure and he felt blessed to be considered her father.

“Stop Daddy, stop!” She sat up, hands crossing over her chest to state she meant business.

Spencer conceded, showing his hands in front of him—a sign of surrender. If she was standing, he could just imagine her little foot stomping on the ground and taking in a wide stance she learned from observing Uncle Morgan.

“Mommy always said you never forget anything,” she argued. “She said you have an ei-eid—perfect memory.”

“Eidetic memory, Aurora, and yes, mommy is right.”

She tilted her head then, her wavy hazel hair swaying behind her. “Then how come you don’t remember?”

“How about giving me a clue then?”

She huffed. “Best part, worst part, Daddy! You forgot to ask me!”

Oh.

That was another ritual he added when Aurora started to learn how to string words along. Although there were nights away from a case that he could not read to her, he always made it a point to ask her via call the best and worst part of her day. It made him feel connected with her even though he was miles away.

“Oh how could I forget, sweet pea,” Spencer sat back on the bed, tucking her back as he went. “Now, can I know what your worst part is?”

She went silent for a moment. Deep in thought, brows scrunching together.

“When Mommy didn’t allow me to wear my new rain boots to school. She said it’s because it wasn’t raining but I really wanted to wear them.”

He laughed, having heard of the small disagreement you had which made you late for work. “We only wear rain boots when the weather is sad, remember?”

Aurora nodded.

“And what about the best part?”

She smiled, the answer quickly spilling out of her. “This is, Daddy.”

Spencer could feel the effect her simple words had to his system. It warmed his heart that expanded for two when she came into the world. It put a halt to any train of thought in his brain.

“Want to know a secret?” He whispered. “This is mine too.”

Tiny hands rubbed her drooping eyes before further nestling in her bed. “Good night, Daddy. I love you.”

He slowly crept out of the room.

“I love you too,” he flicked the light off and closed the door behind him.

Spencer found himself repeating those words and slowly lamenting over missed milestones in her burgeoning life.

Her first steps.

Her first tooth falling out.

Her latest family presentation in school in which you recorded her explaining where he was and what he does for a living—catching bad guys.

In his focused dedication in trying to make the country a better place for her future, Spencer had forgotten to appreciate the present, her growth, and the very notion that time could not be reversed to live the mundane things that make everyday worth living.

Aristotle once said ‘time crumbles things; everything grows old under the power of time and is forgotten through the lapse of time.’

It was a concept he was familiar with by the ripe age of nine, having spent his early youth in isolation and soaking up every thinking thought from the great minds that had roamed this planet before him.

He never forgot the words—not that his memory would allow him to.

And yet, as he found himself sitting on his desk, a cup of fresh tea in front of him, the phrase came to surface like a forgotten pair of lucky socks hidden within the depths of a cabinet.

Perhaps it was his heart that kept it hidden or better yet forgotten, a feat on its own. Perhaps during his tender age, he had yet sculpted the capacity to digest what it meant to his very soul.

Or perhaps, it was a sign from the unknown to focus and live in the present.

She was growing and becoming her very own person right before his unfocused eyes.

Spencer sighed, feeling a pair of arms glide to wrap around his shoulders.

“What’s got you so down, handsome?” You left a kiss on his cheek.

He intertwined your hands together. “It’s just—I missed out on so many milestones. Does that make me an absentee father?”

You walked around him before propping yourself on his lap. “I don’t think so, Spence. Why? What brought this on?”

“I found myself thinking about work when I should be focused on spending time—reading to Aurora. It made me feel sad that she was looking forward to our nightly routine and there I was, thinking about paperwork.”

There was a flash of sadness in your eyes as you caressed his cheek. “That’s alright. We all have our moments, Spence. You just got caught up with life and the responsibilities it has given you,” a lithe finger twisted a loose tendril blocking hos vision. “I know—we know, Aurora and I, that you being busy doesn’t mean you love us any less.”

“I just wish I wouldn’t miss anymore, love.”

You trailed kisses all over his cheeks, the corners of his mouth, before landing perfectly on his awaiting lips. “And I know you’d try your best moving forward.”

“Have I told you I love you?” He teased, arms securely on your waist. “Because I do and I feel lucky to have an understanding partner as you.”

“I love you too, Spence, and Aurora loves you too,” you giggled. “And between you and me, I think you’re still her favorite parent.”

Head thrown back, he laughed, thighs shaking from your admission. “It’s because I cave more to her whims more than you do.”

“Well, there’s that too.”

You gave him another kiss.

“We can try to be more present next time—together. I won’t let you doubt yourself. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!