#no one in that house is safe from anyone else

[novella-november]

Just a PSA, Hurricane Helene is going to be passing through my area starting some time tomorrow, so I wanted to take a moment to remind anyone who is in this storm's path to make sure you have:

1) flashlights or other light sources that are not just your cell phone -- cheap solar lights work great in a pinch; to charge them, arrange them around indoor lamps to get the most light exposure, or put them in your sunniest window:

2) you should have food and drink that is stable at room temperature and does not require anything to prep, plus a can opener, in case of prolonged power outages.

3) keep important documents such as birth certificates, passports, etc all in a safe location that is preferably waterproof; a ziplock bag, or a locking food container will work in a pinch.

4) find which area of your house is the sturdiest, without windows, and make sure your household knows to go there in an emergency, which includes Tornadoes; for some, this is a basement, for others it is a bathroom located away from an exterior wall, and for us, its a small hallway in the center of the house. Try to put extra blankets, pillows, and other cushioning in this area in advance both for comfort of everyone crammed into a small area, and also for additional protection, since you can wrap yourself up in pillows and thick blankets in an emergency; if you've got small kids, try to make sure everyone has their favorite stuffed animal to hug.

5) make sure everyone's pajamas are clothes that are comfortable and good for wearing in public, and that everyone has closed toed shoes on hand that can be thrown on at a moments notice and that everyone knows to put them on ASAP when an emergency alert comes through.

6) make sure all phones are fully charged, and preferably that you have backup power banks; if possible, have an emergency handheld radio on hand to listen to broadcasts. If you need to use a phone to watch local news livestreams, have one member of the house use their phone to stream while everyone else preserves their battery.

7) make sure you have any essential medications on hand in a form that is easy to transport, and if you have pets, make sure you have food, pet carriers, and leashes/harnesses, etc!

Stay safe, everyone!

[antifainternational]

every human being matters.

every single being.

Weird thing to randomly write to us, Anon, but we're guessing you're putting forth an "all lives matter" argument here against the Black Lives Matter movement. But tell us, if "every single human being matters," then why are Black people 3.23x more likely to be shot by police than white people? If "every single human being matters," then why are young Black men 21x more likely to be killed by police than young white men? If "every single human being matters," then why do Black men in the US have a 1 in 1000 chance of being killed by police, more than 2x the odds of white men being killed by police?

If "every single human being matters," then why do Black people in Boston, who make up 22% of the population, also make up 49% of the people arrested and 69% of the people killed by Boston police? If "every single human being matters," then why are Black Torontonians twice as likely to have an encounter with police and 1.6x more likely to have force used against them during that encounter? If "every single human being matters," then why are Black people in the UK 7x more likely to die following restraint by police than anyone else? If "every single human being matters," then explain this:

One might conclude that, as far as the police are concerned, Black lives don't matter and Black people can be accosted, physically abused, and killed without the concerns or courtesies that should be afforded to other people. Which is the same as saying that, while "every single human being matters," to the police, Black human beings matter less. It doesn't take away from the humanity of other people to point out that Black people disproportionately suffer from police violence. It doesn't take away from the humanity of other people to point out that Black people are killed by police at far higher numbers than any other group. It doesn't take away from the humanity of other people to point out that Black people are specifically subjected to the worst forms of state-sanctioned violence at rates far higher than any other group. When you respond to Black people pointing out that they are disproportionately targeted for police violence and murder by chastising them with "all lives matter" or "every single human being matters," you're telling them that they should ignore the disproportionate abuse and violence they are subjected to by police. Here's how absurd your reasoning sounds:

As we once explained to another "all lives matter" guy, if your house is on fire: do you want the firefighters to come and put the fire out, or would you rather they come, telling you "all houses matter," and apply an equal amount of water to all the houses on your block? Here are the core beliefs of the Black Lives Matter movement: -We affirm the lives of all Black people. Our network centers those who have been marginalized within Black liberation movements. -We are working for a world where Black lives are no longer systemically targeted for deliberate and indirect demise. -We affirm our humanity, our contributions to society, and our resilience in the face of deadly oppression. -We affirm the abolition of any system that perpetuates violence against Black people, including prisons and police. -We affirm collective safety and community based support. We keep us safe.

If your response to the Black community and these beliefs is to turn your head, saying "every human being matters," you need to give your head a good, long, hard shake.

[sageluvsjoel]

Lost and Found

part two to; a different kind of miracle

jackson!joel miller x reader x autistic! daughter

Requested HERE

masterlist

summary: A couple years after Joel had accepted and learned to adapt to his daughters autism, he loses his temper with her and she disappears

genre: hurt to comfort, post outbreak, fluff at the end

wc: 1.4k

likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!

i do not authorize plagiarism or copying of my work!

It had been an exhausting week, one of those stretches of days where everything seemed to go wrong. Winter was coming early to Jackson, the temperatures already biting through the air, and Joel was on edge. Supplies were running low, and the town was trying to organize runs to gather essentials before the weather turned too harsh. He’d been so focused on making sure everyone was prepared—on doing something—that he hadn’t noticed how much it was weighing on him.

And, of course, his little girl, now ten years old, had her own struggles. Lately, she’d been more withdrawn, more prone to sensory overloads. Jackson was a safe place, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t noisy, chaotic, and unpredictable—three things that sent her into a spiral. Joel knew this. He understood her in a way he hadn’t a few years ago, but that didn’t mean it was always easy.

She had a routine—one she relied on to get through the day. That routine kept her grounded, kept her focused. But life in Jackson didn’t always allow for perfect routines, and today had been a prime example of that. Joel had asked her to do something simple—help him clear a path outside their house so they could prepare for the coming snow. She’d been reluctant, focusing intently on the puzzle she was working on, her mind miles away from the task he wanted her to do.

At first, Joel had been patient. He always tried to be patient now. But with everything else gnawing at him, his frustration had bubbled over.

“I need you to listen, alright?” Joel had snapped, his voice harsher than intended. “I’ve asked you five times now, and you’re just sittin’ there like I’m talkin’ to a wall!”

She had flinched, her small body going rigid as her fingers hovered over the puzzle pieces. Joel immediately regretted his tone. But it was too late—the damage had been done. She closed herself off, retreating into her own world, her face expressionless, her eyes downcast. Before he could soften his words or try to reach her again, she was gone—out the door, moving fast.

“Hey!” Joel called after her, but she didn’t stop.

He’d thought she needed space, so he let her go, figuring she’d come back when she was ready, as she always did. The town wasn’t big, and she often found quiet places to be alone when she felt overwhelmed.

But hours passed, and she didn’t come back.

The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the snow-dusted streets of Jackson. By the time dinner came and went, you and Joel were growing increasingly worried.

"Have you seen her?" you asked, anxiety creeping into your voice as you looked out the window. The sky was bruised with dusk, and there was no sign of her.

Joel shook his head, trying to keep his own fear from showing. “She’ll turn up. She just needs some time. You know how she gets.”

But as the hours stretched on, and the cold deepened, doubt started to gnaw at him. He’d checked the usual spots—the quiet corners of town where she liked to hide when she needed to be alone—but there was no sign of her. And with each empty space he searched, the knot of fear in his chest tightened.

You grabbed his arm, your face pale. “Joel, what if she’s… what if something happened?”

It was the question he had been trying to avoid, but he couldn’t deny the possibility any longer. He had seen too much, lost too much, to take anything for granted in this world.

“I’m gonna get Tommy,” Joel said, his voice strained, the panic rising in his throat. “We’ll start searchin’ in pairs, see if anyone’s seen her.”

Tommy didn’t ask questions when Joel showed up at his door, his face drawn and tight with worry. Within minutes, half the town was mobilized, everyone searching every corner of Jackson, calling her name.

The minutes dragged on, turning into an hour, then two. The cold was biting now, the wind picking up as night settled fully in. Joel’s heart pounded in his chest, each passing minute heightening the terror that something had happened to her.

Had she wandered too far out of town? Had something—or someone—gotten to her?

The questions battered his mind, a relentless barrage of worst-case scenarios, each one more terrible than the last. He tried to keep it together, tried to stay focused on the search, but the weight of it—the thought of losing her—was suffocating. It was his fault. He’d yelled at her. He’d made her run.

You found him pacing near the stables, his breath coming in harsh, ragged bursts. “Joel,” you called softly, your voice trembling, “we’ll find her.”

But Joel barely heard you. His mind was already lost in a sea of guilt and fear. “What if… what if somethin’ happened to her? What if she’s out there, and it’s my fault because I couldn’t keep my temper in check? I should’ve never—”

Before he could spiral any further, a voice crackled over Tommy’s radio. “Hey, we think we found her.”

Joel froze, his heart leaping into his throat as he grabbed the radio. “Where?”

“She’s in the old storage shed behind the library. Looks like she’s just sittin’ there.”

Joel didn’t wait for a response. He was running before Tommy could finish speaking, his boots crunching through the snow as he sprinted toward the shed. You were right behind him, both of you breathless and frantic.

The door to the shed was slightly ajar, and inside, huddled in the corner, was your daughter. She was sitting cross-legged, her arms wrapped around her knees, staring down at the ground, completely still.

She wasn’t crying. She wasn’t panicking. She was just… sitting there, lost in her own world, oblivious to the chaos she had left behind.

Joel fell to his knees beside her, his heart hammering in his chest as he reached out to touch her shoulder. “Baby girl,” he rasped, his voice thick with relief. “Where have you been? We’ve been lookin’ everywhere for you.”

She blinked slowly, as if waking from a dream, and looked up at him with wide eyes. “I didn’t know you were looking for me,” she said quietly. “I just… needed to be alone.”

Joel’s heart ached at the simplicity of her words, at the quiet truth of them. She hadn’t run away because she was scared or in danger. She had run because she was overwhelmed, because the world had gotten too loud, and she needed space to breathe.

And he had panicked because he hadn’t understood that, because he had let his fear take over.

You knelt down beside her, brushing a hand through her hair. “You scared us, sweetheart,” you said gently, your voice shaking. “We were worried something had happened to you.”

Her brow furrowed, her expression soft with confusion. “I was just sitting here. I didn’t mean to scare anyone.”

Joel closed his eyes, the weight of his relief crashing over him like a wave. “It’s alright,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “You’re alright. That’s all that matters.”

You pulled her close, and Joel wrapped his arms around both of you, holding on like he was afraid to let go. For a long time, none of you spoke. The only sound was the soft rustling of the wind outside, the quiet hum of the world moving on.

When you finally stood up, Joel kept a hand on his daughter’s shoulder, his grip gentle but firm. “Next time, you tell me if you need space, alright? I’ll give it to you. Just… don’t disappear on us like that again.”

She nodded, her face still calm, but there was a flicker of understanding in her eyes.

As you led her out of the shed and back toward home, Joel couldn’t shake the lingering fear in his chest. The world was still dangerous, still unpredictable. But as long as they were together—as long as he understood her, truly understood her—he knew they’d be okay.

She was his miracle, and he would never lose her again.

dividers by @kodaswrld

to be added to my tag list click here and comment or comment below

[caplanbuckybarnes]

My Pieces Fit You (Jason Todd)

Summary: Jason learns that you're not leaving him… ever.

Warnings: fluff & angst

WC: 862

Read on Ao3!

--

The low hum of the safe house enveloped the two of you as you sat on the worn-out couch, the dim light flickering overhead. Gotham was unusually quiet for once, but even that peace felt fragile—like everything else in Jason Todd's life.

He sat across from you, shoulders tense, his gaze averted. The Red Hood helmet lay discarded on the table between you, a stark reminder of the life he led and the walls he had built.

You watched him, your heart twisting in your chest. There was something in the way he held himself tonight, the quiet way he stared at the floor, that told you he was carrying something heavier than usual. Jason was many things—brash, stubborn, reckless—but vulnerable was not one of them. Not often, at least.

The silence stretched until it became unbearable, and you broke it softly. “Jay… talk to me.”

His jaw tensed at the sound of your voice. He didn’t look up, but you saw his fists tighten, white-knuckled, as though he was battling a storm inside of himself. You knew he didn’t do this—didn’t talk about the things that tore him apart from the inside. But you couldn’t stand the distance, the way he was shutting you out again.

“I don’t need to talk,” he muttered, voice low, barely a grumble.

“Jason,” you said again, this time firmer. You reached out, hesitating for a brief moment before placing your hand gently on his. He flinched at the touch, as though he wasn’t used to it—to the warmth, the comfort. You were always the one person who could get close, but even then, he kept a piece of himself hidden, locked away.

His head snapped up suddenly, eyes burning with a frustration you didn’t understand at first. “I don’t need you to fix me,” he spat, the words coming out harsher than he meant them to. Immediately, guilt flashed across his face, but he couldn’t take the words back.

You didn’t flinch, though his words stung. You’d heard it before—how he didn’t need anyone, how he had survived alone. But the thing was, you weren’t trying to fix him. You just wanted him to see that he didn’t have to carry the weight of the world on his own.

“I know,” you whispered, your voice soft, a contrast to the fire in his. “I’m not trying to fix you. But you don’t have to keep everything locked up. Not with me.���

Jason stared at you, his eyes filled with something that scared him—something raw and real. His defenses were crumbling, and he hated it. He hated that you could see through him, hated that you cared enough to try.

“Why do you keep doing this?” he asked, his voice breaking, low and defeated. “Why do you keep coming back, even when I push you away?”

You smiled sadly, shaking your head. “Because I see you, Jason. The real you. Not just Red Hood, not just some guy trying to save Gotham. You.”

He sucked in a sharp breath, his chest heaving as though the weight of your words had knocked the wind out of him. For the first time, he didn’t look away. He just stared at you, something softening in his eyes.

“Every time I think I’ve got my life figured out,” he muttered, the words coming slowly, as though he was fighting each one, “you… you show up. And suddenly it’s like—” He paused, swallowing hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he searched for the right words. “You’re the missing piece I never knew I needed.”

The confession hung between you, heavy and fragile.

Your heart skipped a beat, the vulnerability in his voice unraveling something inside you. Jason wasn’t one to admit his feelings easily, and this—this was more than you ever expected.

A quiet laugh escaped you, though your eyes glistened with emotion. “You don’t have to be alone in this, Jay,” you whispered, your thumb brushing gently over his knuckles. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Jason let out a shaky breath, his walls finally crumbling. His eyes closed for a moment, and when they opened again, there was something softer, almost broken, in his expression. He reached out slowly, his hand covering yours, as if afraid that if he moved too quickly, you’d disappear.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “Not after everything.”

You shook your head, leaning closer. “That’s not for you to decide.”

For the first time in a long while, Jason allowed himself to believe it—to believe that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t have to do this alone. That maybe you were the one thing he hadn’t known he was missing, the one person who made him feel whole again.

He pulled you close, wrapping his arms around you, his forehead resting against yours. The world outside was still dark and dangerous, full of enemies and battles to be fought. But in this moment, it didn’t matter.

Because in this moment, Jason Todd wasn’t Red Hood, and you weren’t just another person who’d end up walking away.

You were the piece that made him feel like maybe, just maybe, he could find peace.

[sharkface]

Hi this feels weird to post but um. Please keep tabs on anyone you know from western north carolina, we had a catastrophic dam failure because of the hurricane and it is like. One of our worst floods on record Ever. And it happened so quickly there was not much time for people to evacuate. To my current knowledge my family is safe (our house is fucked, there's no internet anywhere near them so I can't contact them about much else) but shit is really really fucking bad. Floods are receding in northwestern NC now but places like Asheville are currently completely completely fucked. I don't even know what to do with myself here lol everything from where I grew up has just been destroyed.

[allykatsart]

Diamonds

Spades Clubs Hearts Diamonds(Here)

And we're finally here!!!! Today I should be at Fan X so I may not be super responsive, but I hope y'all enjoy it and thanks for sticking with me through the series! This was a fun project and it let me figure out the designs of my characters a lot more! These three aren't actually part of the main cast, but they're important supporting/secondary characters.

Take A Commission Slot!

Heather Winters ~ King of Diamonds

Heather is calls herself Daniel's Father. She makes dad jokes, keeps him out of trouble, and even pays for his housing, which he rents with Cat and April. She's also the head of a very successful company and is the current guardian of the Fountain of Youth.

Heather isn't the best person, though. She tends to hoard knowledge, money and resources that could be used to help others. It can be an obstacle at times but you have to understand where she's coming from.

Heather came from Ancient Greece, and before she was made immortal, she watched the library of Alexandria burn. It traumatized her. When she became immortal, she saw how quickly mortal memories fade. Heather sees herself as an archivist, saving and remembering what humanity cannot. She believes mortals are too hateful and cruel, that they would destroy her lifetimes upon lifetimes of work because it shakes the foundation of what they know.

Celine ~ Queen of Diamonds

Celine is a pagan seer who runs a bar for the supernatural in the city. This wasn't legal when she started, but she didn't care. Unlike Heather, she believes in celebrating and helping the 'Monsters' of the world. She's a part time performer, a part time fortune teller, and a full time owner of the establishment.

Because of this, she's able to provide shelter and safety to those in need. 'Monster Hunters' are not allowed anywhere near her bar. She will kick them out and give the bars nearby a heads up. Celine has done a lot for the 'Monsters' of the world and she's well respected in the supernatural community.

Celine also has OCD, which I've learned a lot more about. For her, it usually gets bad with her visions. A vision will get stuck in her head sometimes, and it will not leave for weeks. She performs rituals with no real purpose other than making her feel safe, and she used to get horrible anxiety when anyone else ran her bar. But, thankfully, she's got people around her, and now knows how to function through her symptoms.

Simon ~ Jack of Diamonds

Simon is Celine's right hand man and has been since she saved him from getting beat up by his old gang. They found he was wearing makeup to hide scars, and had an interest in drag shows. Suffice to say, they weren't kind and would have killed him if it weren't for Celine stepping in. Simon's worked for her ever since.

Simon takes care of his father, who has Alzheimer's, and lives in an apartment above the bar. He's not supernatural himself, but the supernatural community has adopted him as one of their own. He's incredibly loyal to Celine, and cannot be bribed, blackmailed, or threatened. He makes an incredible bouncer, to say the least.

(and yes, he now organizes the drag shows when the bar has them lol)

[golyadkin]

I think once Billy and Pete get together Pete would get a million cradle robber jokes 😂 especially from Rusty

I'm ready to believe Horace already makes those jokes (don't even point out the irony to him he Dos Not care), him and Rodney are so ready to gang up on Billy with Pete I have no doubt they would happily tear Pete apart for their own amusement too

[cab0110]

It seems like every few years the internet just decides on a new animal blorbo.

Of course there are cats (the original blorbo), but since then dogs, blob fish, axolotls, bees, etc, have all had resurgence in memes and reactions. Now don’t get me wrong, none of these ever fully fall out of the spotlight (except maybe blob fish), but it seems like the internet hive mind just suddenly remembers that certain animals exist every once in a while, and then never forgets again.

[aftermathing]

today i visited subway. the person behind the counter was a woman i went to high school with and used to work with at the subway in our hometowns four years ago. we both attend college within twenty miles of home. i don't know her last name but i still have her number in my phone. she said "small world" but i don't think the world is small. i think we're small.

[apollo-zero-one]

Listening to stories of people who survived situations like being trapped in collapsed buildings and it kinda sounds like the human response to being trapped in a bad situation is to just keep going back to sleep until death comes. Thinking about depressive avoidant sleeping. Brain doesn't know you aren't trapped under rubble it can't see out of his bone prison brain just knows everything is bad and everything hurts and we can't handle this stress we need to divert all power to life support, night night.

[kazumahashimoto]

it's pretty unfortunate kono oto tomare never really took off and like the anime stopped Right before shit gets really good. kono oto tomare is so beautiful really and truly.

[murdrdocs]

go about things the wrong way

description. LOGAN HOWLETT proves himself to be a bit of a hypocrite

includes. SMUT 18+, age gap (reader is implied to be mid20s, logan assumed to be mid30s), protected piv, denial is a river in egypt logan fucks them younger, logan calls reader "kid", insomnia trope, slightly brat reader, remnants of angst, set during early x-men

wc. 5k

a/n: photo creds unknown. title from how soon is now? by the smiths

You should be in your own bedroom. 

It’s a nice room, decorated better than your childhood room in your parent’s house, likely because you’ve grown since your mint green and chevron phase. It’s silent in your room, no other inhabitants except you and your pet fish that was somehow still hanging on. There’s no reason for you to leave your room, it has everything you need. But it’s not right. 

The loneliness is uncomfortable amidst your inability to sleep. It hovers over your bed, staring down at your shuffling frame as you try multiple positions, each one leaving you as restless as the last. You know that’s why you venture off to the kitchen, the search for companionship outweighing the desire for a treat. You just need to talk to someone, remind yourself that you aren’t all alone. There are other people like you, and you live with them. You’re safe. 

You ended up finding what you desired—a non-freezer burnt ice cream bar buried beneath frozen waffles, and a warm body to stand opposite of as you steadily made your way through it. 

You wouldn’t admit it to anyone else, maybe not even yourself, but you had hoped to run into Logan the entire time. Ever since his return you had been itching to get a glimpse of him, but between shadowing Storm, Scott, and Jean, and tending to whatever menial chore Professor Xavier tasked you with, you didn’t have any time for run-ins. Nothing but quick passing in the hallway where you were too shy to do much other than meet his eye for a second, wave, and then scurry along towards the end of the hallway. 

But you had gotten what you wanted when you heard the soft thud of feet followed by the sound of Logan speaking. 

“Is there another one of those?” 

You face him with your mouth stuffed with ice cream. It takes you a second to chew enough to speak around the food without making a complete fool of yourself in front of Logan. 

“This is the last one …” you swallow, ignoring the sting of the cold at the back of your throat. “Sorry.”

Logan shrugs like it’s no big deal and he steps to the fridge. You move out of the way, even though you weren’t really in the way at all, and try to be casual as you chew the remains of your bar, ignoring the sudden warmth in your body now that he’s here. 

Logan doesn’t say anything. You watch the top half of his body disappear as he reaches into the fridge for something, coming out after a minute and some soft shuffling later with a beer bottle in his hand. You don’t know when it got there, and you’re amazed that it was still there and not stolen by some eager teenager. You try not to stare as he takes his first sip, but you sneak a few glances. 

You finish your sandwich, throwing the wrapper out in the drawer trash can and trying your best to ignore Logan’s eyes on you the entire time. He gets halfway through his beer before he says something. 

Leaning against the counter, legs crossed at the ankle and one arm tucked across his chest, he asks, “Can’t sleep, right?”

You nod, not shocked at all that he has you pegged. It’s not unsurprising for a mutant in this place to be unable to sleep. 

Logan nods as if he understands and you know he does, you remember the incident with Rogue just a year or so ago, that and the stories you hear about him wandering the halls at night. It’s why you’d always been so eager to slip down here during restless nights, constantly hoping that this would happen to you. 

And now that it has happened, you don’t know what to do. There’s not much for you to discuss with Logan, the two of you don’t have all that much in common. He’s far older than you, for starters, at least a decade and a half on you from what you’ve gathered. He’s been gone for a while, but you think the others have caught him up on everything that he’s missed already. 

So you just build onto what you have. 

“I just can’t fall asleep. Every time I start, I shake myself awake.” 

Logan takes a swig from his beer and pulls his lips tight, a face of sympathy sliding over his features—eyebrows pinched, lips downturned, eyes a little narrowed. 

“Yeah?” You nod your head. “Sounds horrible, kid.”

Kid. You know you’re younger than him, it’s obvious, but you’re not a kid. You don’t see why he thinks of you that way. Rogue and Bobby are kids and you’re older than them. More mature, no longer a student but now practically a teacher. 

You don’t want Logan to see you as a kid. You know what you want him to see you as, but it seems to become more and more impossible by the day. 

You don’t say anything, lifting your foot enough to press the toe of your slippers into the cleaned grout between the tiles at your feet. 

“Tell you what,” he begins, promoting your head to lift, “next time that happens to you, you come find me, alright? I know how much it sucks to be alone like that so if you need me, come find me.”

That’s what you did. 

After you left the kitchen, finally letting your grin break free since no one was around to see it during the trek back to your room, you told yourself you would only go to Logan if you needed him. 

You tried to sleep, snuggling yourself in a cocoon of blankets and pillows around your head. You lit a candle, counted sheep, made up scenarios to doze off (ones that definitely didn’t involve Logan tenderly holding your hand and stroking your cheek and—), but nothing seemed to work. 

So you found yourself standing in the doorway of Logan’s bedroom, one hand still on the doorknob and the other toying with a loose thread at the bottom of your tee shirt. The bedroom is dark, save for the moonlight peeking through his opened curtains, but from the hallway light behind your back you can see Logan’s frame under the sheets. 

His back faces you until you harshly whisper his name, which at the call of he lifts his head, looking at you, and then rolls over completely to click the lamp on his nightstand on. 

“What’s wrong, kid?”

You feel so meek when you explain, like you are a kid, crawling to your parents after a nightmare. 

“You told me to come find you.”

His squint relaxes. His entire frame relaxes actually. He sits up, jerking his head in a beckon. You click the door shut behind you as softly as you can, approaching the bed timidly until you stand on the other side. 

And then you just hover. You stand there hesitantly, staring down at the slightly unmade side of the bed. Logan doesn’t say anything for a minute, but once the silence and hesitance stretches to an uncomfortable end, he speaks up, his voice groggier and raspier than it was before. 

“You gonna sleep from there? Is that some mutant power that I didn’t know about?” He says it like he’s teasing you, and when you look at him you can see the small smile on his lips. It’s similar to the one he sports when he’s messing with Scott but with more softness in his eyes. 

You scoff, trying to play it cool when Logan lifts the sheets for you and you climb under them. This side of the bed is cold and unused and you wonder if you’re the first person to use it. 

You get as comfortable as you possibly can. You fluff the pillow and create the perfect indent for your head, you pull the sheets up to your shoulders, you lay on your side and face the window, and then when Logan clicks the light off, you close your eyes and try to sleep. 

You don’t know how you thought this would be any better than struggling to sleep in your own bed, because it’s so much worse. 

In your own bed, you were left with the out-of-reach fantasies of Logan. You laid in bed, giggling to yourself as you imagined what it would be like to lay next to Logan. You filled your head with blurry images of Logan’s frame, what he would look like with his eyes closed and his face completely relaxed. You tried to imagine the heat of his body in the cold of your room, trying to change your body temperature just with a thought. 

But now it’s all right beside you, left there for you to catalogue so you could never forget this moment. 

The feeling of his body so close yet so far from yours. The sound of his breathing. The smell of his body wash and the way it lingered on his sheets. You’re finally in Logan’s bedroom, but you’re not getting what you want. You truly don’t think you ever will. 

It’s impossible for you to sleep now. You try to keep your tossing and turning to a minimum, only moving when absolutely necessary and doing so with tentativeness. You’re trying to be meticulous with your movements, all with a goal to disturb Logan as little as possible. You’re a guest here, after all. 

But even if he wasn’t an attentive mutant you knew he would’ve eventually gotten fed up. 

He calls your name, soft yet sounding like a warning, and you’re quick to apologize. 

He doesn’t say anything else for a second, then, “Whatever’s on your mind, squash it. Jus’ let it go.”

You don’t mean to sound as bitter as you do when you say, “Easier said than done.”

Logan shifts and turns around until he’s facing you. You stay facing the window. 

“What usually turns your mind off?” he asks. “A glass of warm milk?” 

When you laugh it’s halfhearted and maybe this is the final indicator that something about you is off. 

“Look at me.” You obey embarrassingly quickly. 

You can’t really see him in the dark, but the white light from outside illuminates the slope of his nose and the apples of his cheeks. You can sort of see his eyes too, the usually light green darker because of the environment, but the shadowy fan of his eyelashes is as distinct as usual. 

“Seriously, tell me what’s going on. Anything I can help you with?” He lets the question linger in the air for a second before adding on. “You need me to rough a few kids up? You being bullied?” He says it like a joke.

“No,” you say. 

Logan makes an ‘ah’ sound. “Yeah I’m sure you could handle yourself.” The sheets lift again. “Come ‘ere.”

Shit, shit, shit. 

You listen to him, scooting closer until you’re wrapped in Logan’s arms, enveloped in his warmth. It’s nice and comfortable, the sound of Logan’s heart right next to your ear, the security of his arms wrapped around your frame. 

“Does this help you?”

You hum affirmatively, already starting to feel more comfortable than you had before. Your heart beats painfully hard in your chest and you start to get self-conscious, knowing that Logan can definitely hear it.

Right on cue, he laughs a bit against your head. 

“Nervous?”

“No.” God, you’re so obvious. 

Logan’s laugh grows until he’s snickering, doing a terrible job of stifling his laughter. “‘s alright,” he eventually says. “Nothing wrong with that.”

You make yourself as comfortable as possible, pressing your back to Logan’s chest, trying to ignore the hard feeling of his body behind you. You can basically feel everything, the plane of his chest pushing through his tee, the ridge of his sweatpants against your lower back, his legs against yours—tempting you to intertwine them together, his feet hanging right under yours. You’re not exactly dressed for this and your shirt has ridden up, bunched at the top of your ass and exposing your panties. You wonder if he knows. You wonder if he cares. 

This is helping you a lot, but there’s still something on your mind. Something you need to solve before you can go off to sleep. 

You don’t know what it is that makes you confident, that makes you want to ruin a good moment. Maybe it’s the dark providing you comfort, but you lay it all out. 

“You treat me like a kid.”

Logan takes a second. You can just barely make out the hitch in his voice. “...Yeah?”

You’re glad he can’t see you when you pout. It wouldn’t have done much to help your case. “I’m not a kid, Logan. You don’t treat Rogue like a kid.”

“Rogue is different.”

“How? I’m older than her.”

“Just … can we not argue?”

“We’re not arguing.”

“Yeah? Then whaddya call this?”

“A conversation between two adults.”

He hums as if he’s unconvinced. 

You won’t let it go. “How is Rogue different?”

“Go to sleep,” he admonishes.

“Can’t. Not until you answer my question.”

Logan sighs. “‘cause I’m not attracted to her, alright?”

Oh. 

Oh. 

Wait … what?

You’re sure your silence is enough to express your confusion because Logan adds on. 

“I’m trying to set boundaries between us, kid—”

“Don’t call me that.”

He corrects himself with the use of your name instead, but it comes out the same way. “We need boundaries between the two of us. You think I don’t see how you look at me? ‘s not good.”

“If you’re setting boundaries why did you invite me in here.”

“Because I wanted to help you.”

Why is he making you feel crazy? He just told you he’s attracted to you, but he wants to set boundaries? There are barely any boundaries here. You’re alone with him, in his bedroom, tucked away at the end of the hall surrounded by mostly empty bedrooms instead of bedrooms of asleep mutants, curled up against his chest. This is the most opportune time, yet he didn’t want to make a move.

Maybe you were reading too much into it. 

You go to pull away from Logan’s embrace but he keeps you pulled tight to his chest. 

“Don’t do that,” he says it like a command and just to piss him off you consider pulling away. But you’re really comfortable and this is a comfort you aren’t sure you’re ever going to find again. 

“Just go to sleep, alright,” he says your name again, much softer this time. He says it like he’s coaxing you like your name is the final tune in a lullaby. 

Maybe Logan has other powers you aren’t aware of because just that one sentence is enough for you to let it go and submit to the sudden exhaustion that settles over your body like a weighted blanket. 

You don’t know if Logan’s been avoiding you. Mostly because you’ve been avoiding him.

It’s not often that the two of you would have to run into each other, but there were a few times when Professor Xavier extended the invitation to observe an upcoming class, and you declined upon learning that Logan would be subbing. 

You kept your distance as much as you could, even keeping yourself locked up in your bedroom throughout the night, no matter how restless you got. You were miserable, not only because you wanted to be near Logan, but because you were fucking exhausted. 

You could barely stay awake throughout the day, always sneaking off for power naps, taking whatever you could get even if it was only five minutes. 

But you finally have the rest of the afternoon to yourself and you intend to use it to sleep. Uncaring of how much it threw off your sleep schedule, you just needed a solid half hour curled up at the foot of your made bed like a dog, sleeping to your heart's content. 

Of course, it’s on your way up to your room that you run into Logan. You try to ignore him, continuing your path up the stairs, praying that Logan will continue on his path downstairs. 

You don’t know what it is about you that says come talk to me! but Logan stops in his journey, turning to face you. He calls your name, continuing even when you don’t respond. He follows your trek up the stairs and down the hallway, always right on your heels and within arm's reach. 

By the time your hand reaches for your bedroom door, Logan is practically breathing down your neck. 

You know there’s no avoiding him now, but you also don’t want to. 

You stand still, hand wrapped around the doorknob, waiting for Logan to say his piece. 

“Why’d you lead me to your bedroom?” The way he says it, with such arrogance and assurance woven into that same joking manner as if he wasn’t the one who turned you down just a few nights ago. 

“Fuck off, Logan. I just wanna get some sleep.”

You twist the knob and this is what wakes Logan up. “Okay, wait.” His hand reaches out and rests on your elbow. Just this one touch strikes you still. “Will you look at me?”

You turn around, trying to keep your gaze hard even as you take in his appearance for the first time in days. 

The bags under his eyes, the relaxed smile that’s constantly on his face when he’s around you, the thickness of his eyebrows, the points in his hair. You’re staring at his hair, wondering if it’s naturally like that or if he does it himself, and when you look at his eyes again there isn’t a connection. He’s staring at your lips instead. 

You lift your eyebrows impatiently, already imagining the sleep you’ll get after you ruminate until you can’t form a coherent thought. 

Logan opens his mouth. “Look, I’m sorry if you got a little hurt from the other night. Is just this age gap and your little crush is not gonna wor—”

You’re already turning around, deciding whatever else he’s going to say isn’t important at all, but Logan stops you. His movements are fluid, they flow naturally from his body and straight into yours, causing you to move with a coordination you didn’t expect. He spins you back around and pulls you straight to his chest, your hands flying to his shoulders to steady yourself, while his hands rest on your hips and your cheek. 

The movement is quick, it happens within a couple of seconds, and it makes the moment after feel so much longer. Nothing but shared blinks as Logan looks at your lips and you look at his. You’re so close to him, even closer than you were the other night, but neither of you makes a move. 

You’re considering making the first move, opening your mouth as if to ask him a question that was still unknown to you, but then Logan’s grip on your cheek tightens as if he’s holding you still and he moves in closer, and closer, and closer until his lips ghost over yours. 

In the end, it’s you who crosses the bridge. 

Your lips touch, sandwiched together, but neither of you do anything. Not until you take a tiny step closer, really nothing but an adjustment of your feet, is Logan pulling you into him. He digs his fingers into the waistband of your jeans, that one hand possessing all of the aggression that doesn’t exist in the hand holding your cheek. 

It’s like the touch of two different men—one who wants to devour you whole and the other who wants to treasure you. You hope that they’re able to coexist as you desperately want both. 

You let Logan kiss you feverishly, an intensity unlike anything you’ve ever seen him display settling in his lips. The Logan you knew was always relaxed, walking around the mansion with a carefree, practically laissez-faire, attitude. He didn’t meddle, he kept his hands to himself, always wrapped around a cigar or a beer. 

But now those hands were wrapped around you for the second time this week. 

You press your hands into the shoulder of his white tee shirt, starting to slide them up towards his hair before you resist. You want to get comfortable kissing him, but you’re still out in the hallway. 

Having the same thought, Logan pulls away from your lips with enough time to open the door, latch his hands onto your hips, and blindly steer you backward until you’re in the room. He stares down at you the entire time, that same smirk on his lips as he kicks the door closed behind him with a single boot. 

And then he has you pressed against the wood, sandwiched between a rock and a hard place. 

He looks at you for a second, his gaze lingering, and then he gets back to it. 

If even possible, Logan has more passion this time around. He sinks his hands to your thighs, pulling one up by his hip. He slots his legs into the opening until your center is hovering over his thigh. You don’t know what to expect, but when he flexes the muscle and presses his limb right up against you, you’re already trying to get more. 

Logan smiles as he kisses you, clearly entertained by your anguished need to get off. He doesn’t verbally reassure you, he doesn’t help you grind yourself down, he doesn’t do anything but continue kissing you. 

When you need to come up for air, knocking your head back into mahogany as you intake large gulps, Logan dips his head down and explores as much skin as he can. He creates a path of kisses from your jaw, down your neck, to the exposed parts of your chest. 

You tilt your head down, locking your hand into his hair and trying to redirect his lips back to yours, but he stops you with a hand pinching your cheeks. 

His eyes flick back and forth between yours, nothing but mischief and arrogance in the green. You wrap a hand around his wrist with the initial want to tug him away, but you like the hold he has you in. You like the look in his eyes. 

“Good?” His voice is softer than his grip. 

You nod, trying to grin as best as you can when your lips are forcibly puckered. 

Logan smiles right back at you. “You got a rubber?”

You nod again, scurrying to your nightstand once Logan lets you go. He tells you to get on the bed and you take the liberty of throwing your shirt off and bra as you go. You have enough sense to step out of your shoes, unclasp your jeans, and tug the zipper down in the path. 

By the time you’re sitting on your bed, you can feel the anxiety thrumming through your body. It’s a good kind, the kind you’ve been seeing less and less of lately. You’re still a little tired and still desiring a solid nap, but it can definitely wait. This is your main priority. 

Logan speaks to you as he undresses. 

“You still doing okay?” he asks as he’s pulling his tee over his head. When you nod, he moves to his belt, thick but deft fingers undoing it and leaving it hanging open and hooked into his belt loops. 

“You tell me if you wanna stop,” he says as he pulls his jeans down, stepping out of them right after he steps out of his boots. You give him a look and he clocks it immediately. 

“You think you can take it, bub?” He laughs. “Yeah? Don’t you think you’re talkin’ a big game?”

Petulantly, you roll your eyes. “Logan, I’m not a fucking kid, I’ll be fine.”

Wrong. So, so, so stupidly wrong. 

You are fine, but the sight of Logan’s dick sends nerves down your spine. You’ve talked yourself up, you can’t go back, so you do what you can. You let him peel your jeans and panties off, hoping you look as seductive as he does. You keep your eyes on his abdomen, tracing the vein that runs from the right of his navel down to his cock, breathing as well as you can while Logan lines himself up. The first push burns, just like you expect it to, but you adjust quicker than you thought. Eventually, all you can feel is pleasure. You’re so full when he’s only halfway in you. You feel stuffed as soon as he bottoms out, his heavy ball sack resting flush against you, a thick forest of pubes pressed against your cunt. 

Logan is so much, it’s everything you’ve ever wanted and more. Hovering and staring down at you as his hips rock into yours, slowly and experimentally at first. It’s not until you draw a leg up over his hips that he increases the strength of his rocks. 

He has one hand keeping himself steady and the other holding your waist. It’s so intimate, and not only because he’s fucking you, but because he’s staring down at you the entire time, his teeth bared as he watches you for every single reaction. His eyes rake down your body, watching the way your tits jiggle before dipping lower to watch the way he’s entering you. You can’t see his gaze, but you can feel it, the weight of it comparable to the weight of his cock in you. 

There’s an inhuman nature to it, hidden deep below the surface as if he’s trying to hold back, but it’s there. You’re made aware of it when you clench around him and he growls. It comes from the back of his throat but it’s a sound you’ve never heard before. It’s so Logan, you don’t think anyone other than him could make a sound like that as erotic as it is. You want to hear him more, you want your moans to blend together amongst the four walls of your bedroom, but he keeps his sounds to himself. It’s like there’s a disconnect between the both of you, like Logan’s still holding back even though he’s balls deep in you. 

“Logan,” you whine, getting his attention. He looks at you with concern in his eyes, his hips slowing down. You shake your head, pushing more towards him. “Please,” you beg, praying he knows exactly what you want. 

“What? What d’you want?”

“More.”

Logan gets rougher. He’s grinding up into you like his life depends on it, blunt nails delving into your skin as if he wants to break it. You wish he would. You aren’t regenerative like he is, but you still desire the broken skin, the beads of blood, the marks left behind. 

You’re thinking about it, eyes lidded and falling closed when Logan knocks his forehead into yours once. He moans, closed-mouthed as his head lolls to the side, a shiver shaking him from the bottom of the spine up. 

“Jesus, baby,” he says. It’s all he says, but it’s more than enough. He keeps going, digging his tip into you deeper and deeper until it feels like he’s swimming in your guts. 

He drags his head down until he can wrap his lips around one of your nipples, licking and sucking before moving on to give the other one the same treatment. You desperately want him to mark you up, you want a reminder that this—the thing you’ve been wanting since Storm and Scott came back with two new mutants in tow—actually happened. Bravely, you reach out and tangle your hand in his hair, surprisingly softer than you thought it would be. You don’t hold him down much, just enough to communicate what you want nonverbally. And then after a few tortuous seconds of hesitation, his lips wrap around the skin atop your left breast and he sucks. The strength in it stings, it reminds you just how strong Logan is, but it feels so good. 

Unexpectedly, you feel your muscles seize. It starts in your tummy, deep down near where Logan’s been massaging, and then it just doesn’t stop, likely because he doesn’t stop. 

It’s like he’s spurred on by the feeling of you cumming, motivated by the way your back arches and you reach for the heavens as you clench around his cock. 

He gets a burst of energy, fucking you like he has something to prove when really it’s you with something to prove. 

You’re overstimulated, struggling to keep up with Logan, but you don’t want to tap out. You talked a big game, you can’t back down now. So you remain silent while Logan pulls another orgasm out of you, hoping he won’t notice the way your eyes brew tears without your consent and the way your lips quirk with the impending request to slow down. 

Of course, he notices. 

He’s grinning with sympathy—you don’t know if it’s sincere or faux—when he takes a hand and strokes your cheekbone. 

“I see ya, kid. Feels good, yeah?”

For some reason, when he calls you kid like this, you don’t completely hate it. 

There’s no point in lying, so you nod. 

“So tight,” he winces, eyebrows pinched together as he flashes his teeth, a dimple in his right cheek appearing with it. 

Just as you didn’t warn him before, he doesn’t warn you when he cums. You feel it though, the way his thrusts get sloppier and faster just before he gives you one punctual one, and then you feel the confined warmth of his cum shooting into the condom. 

You wish you weren’t as exhausted as you were, because the next time you’re conscious, it’s dark out and the bedsheet is covering your body. You’re hot, hotter than you usually want to be when you’re sleeping, but you’re bare naked. That and you only have a thin sheet covering your body. 

It doesn’t take much investigation to figure out what’s making you so hot, not when it’s attached to your back with one meaty bicep slung around your neck and keeping you pulled against him. It takes you a bit to fall asleep, but once you do, you’re out for the rest of the night. 

[robo-writing]

How different Logan’s would eat you out <3

X1, X2, and X3

✦A mix between ravenous and romantic. He wants you to know just how much you’re loved, and he expresses that by how long he can eat your pussy without stopping. savoring each and every movement from you, he actually enjoys when you lose control and tighten your legs around his head, moaning something along the lines of you’ll be the death of me as he laps at your cunt.

Your thighs quake around his head, hands in his hair as you look down at him. He’s having the time of his life, licking at your pussy like it’s the last thing he’ll do in this life, pulling you down and forcing you to sit right on his face.

“Don’t need air, stay,” he mumbles, eyes looking up at you. “Just stay here for me sweetheart.”

You want to protest but goddamn does he make it hard for you, especially when his hands grip the fat of your ass and grind you onto his lips. Higher and higher, you feel your orgasm taking hold with each movement.

“Logan, gonna come,” you whine, and he pushes you as far down as you can go.

“Come on my face doll,” he groans, tonguing at your shaking entrance. “Get my face nice and wet, yeah?”

Origins Wolverine

✦Lovey dovey sickeningly sweet romantic sex; down for anything as long as you’re involved. Sit on his face? Gladly. Pull your legs over his shoulders? Just say when. The kind of lover whose heart skips a beat every time he sees you naked like it's the first time, despite the fact that you're married with a house. Speaks to your pussy as if it’s separate from you.

“How’s my girl doing? Doing alright?”

Your answer is a moan, your pussy clenching around nothing. Logan smiles at your response, thumb stroking up to press against your sensitive clit.

“Yeah, doing just fine ain’t you?” He breathes, kissing the hardened nub before returning to suck on it, your legs shaking in response. “And my other girl’s nice and ready ain’t she?”

“Baby,” you whine, desperate to cum. He’s edged you for as long as possible and you’re almost certain if you wait any longer you’ll actually die. Thankfully Logan grants you mercy, tightening his hold on your thighs as he focuses all his effort into making your pussy leak on his face.

“Come for me sweetheart,” he groans, and you do. Fingers digging into the sheets, you feel your orgasm take hold as Logan wrings every ounce of pleasure he can, kissing at your thighs when your overstimulated pussy can’t take any more.

You barely catch your breath before he speaks to your cunt, admiring how your come trails down your thighs.

“There she is,” he chuckles, index finger slowly collecting the remains of your juices, admiring how they glisten in the low light of your bedroom. “Nice and satisfied, ain’t she?”

DOFP Logan

✦Second biggest munch. Running from danger constantly doesn’t make a lot of time for sex so whenever he finds the rare opportunity to do so best believe he’s jumping at it. Likes to joke that he’s started to go grey because he can’t fuck you as often as he likes. Truly eats you out like he needs your pussy more than he needs air.

“Need to be quiet baby,” he growls, pinning your thrashing hips against the wall. “You’re going to get us caught.”

It’s one of the rare days when you’ve found a safe house, even rarer that it’s just you and Logan alone for once. One look at his face and you already knew what was running through that adamantium skull of his, dragging you away to the nearest closet where you’ve been for god knows how long—the concept of time always seems to leave you wherever Logan’s talented mouth is involved.

You’re biting at your hand to muffle your moans but it’s still not enough, free hand tangled in his graying strands as an anchor. You can see his eyes roll back at the feeling, sloppily kissing up your pussy.

“God I wanna hear you,” he moans. “I’d give anything to fuckin’ hear you baby, but you’ve gotta behave for me. Don’t want anyone else seein’ this.”

The scene is something straight out of a porno—your legs hooked over his shoulders as he eats your cunt feverishly, the filthy sounds he makes with each movement, your hips desperately chasing his mouth—you wish this could never end.

70s Logan

✦By far the most selfish, he eats you out for his pleasure alone. He doesn’t give a damn if you’re crawling away, he will pull you back and lock his lips around your clit until you’re damn near thrashing in his arms, grinding against the mattress because that's just how hard he is. He won’t apologize for making you pass out, nor will he stay the night, but if he likes you enough you might find a card on your nightstand with his number hastily scribbled onto it.

When you decided to bring tall, dark, and grumpy home you didn’t expect it to end with tears running down your face, practically begging for a reprieve that won’t come. His hands lock together, forcing you still as he eats you out, not giving a damn about how pathetic you sound.

“Quit fuckin’ squirming,” he grunts, nosing at your pussy. “Lemme enjoy this.”

The man is talented, that’s a fact. Knows just how to push your buttons in all the right ways, but the problem is that he’s pushed your buttons nearly three times already and you’re almost certain his beard is going to give you the worst rash you’ve ever had.

But damn it if he isn’t responsible for some of the best orgasms you’ve ever had.

“Logan, fuck—lemme take a break,” you’re begging at this point, slapping at his shoulders when he doesn’t let up. Your breath catches in your chest when he smacks your thigh roughly in response, smiling against your pussy when he feels you clench in response.

“Don’t tell me you’re not enjoying yourself,” he mocks, showing just how true his words ring when his fingers rub circles against your clit.

You swear you can feel any coherent thoughts leak out of your ears, focused solely on coming. It’s embarrassing how well he plays your body like a fine tuned instrument, but you can’t bring yourself to care when you’re squirting a mess onto your mattress.

“There we go, ain’t that a sight?” He laughs, pulling you closer towards his face. “Now, be a good little slut and behave while I enjoy my meal, okay?”

Old Man Logan

✦#1 munch and it’s not even close. When his job leaves him tired and his body is sore he finds comfort between your legs, it’s the only time he can turn his brain off and drown himself in you. He’s so fucking starved that he’ll genuinely get lost in his own headspace and ignore your thrashing and whining just to wring another orgasm from your tired body. Kisses your labia and mutters how she's such a pretty pussy as you're trying to catch your breath.

Logan didn't even bother to shed his clothes, making a beeline directly to you the moment he stepped inside your shared home. Dirt still settled on his skin, his head nestled into the crook of your neck as your bodies sway within the closed off kitchen. "Missed me, huh?" you ask, his sigh answer plenty. "Always miss you princess," he whispers, pulling you closer. He lifts you up with warning, sitting you down on the countertop, kneeling between your dangling legs. His beard tickles your bare skin, pulling you close enough to place a kiss onto your pussy, right over the fabric of your panties. "Fuck," you sigh. "You really missed me." His smile is infectious, nuzzling against your fabric-covered core. He kisses you through it for a while before peeling off the moistened garment, thumbs reaching to stroke your pussy. The sight makes your skin hot, hands tangled in his hair. "Been waiting all fuckin' day for this," he moans, spreading you apart and indulging in your juices. "Can tell you were waiting for me too." You feel your body melt with every touch, Logan's hands an anchor as he makes out with your heat, nose bumping against your clit with each movement.

Worst Logan

✦Still trying to wrap his head around you wanting to be with him, but goddamn if he isn’t grateful. Reverent, like a sinner at an alter. Your word is law, likes it when you pull him by the hair and show him where you need it, loves it when you tell him how good he’s doing, presses himself further into your pussy when you’re ready to come. It's all about you and he wouldn't have it any other way.

You lovingly stroke his hair, back arching when he kisses your clit oh so gently.

“Lemme take a look at you,” you ask, and the sight of him is enough to make you come.

Face red, blushing so hard it reaches his chest, eyes so glazed over with lust his pupils leave nothing but small rings of green in his eyes. You cradle his face and the weight of his head falls into them immediately, chasing your touch.

“Gonna make me feel good, aren’t you?” You ask, and he nods his head, kissing your palm.

“Lemme taste you baby,” he whispers. “Swear to god I’ll make you feel good.”

“Never doubted you for a second Logan,” you whisper back, tugging his head back to your soaked cunt. He breathes in your scent, fucking groans at the sight of your pussy before he descends on it, noisily showing you just how much he meant his words.

“Fuckin’ delicious baby, so fuckin’ wet,” he moans. “Can’t get enough of you.”

He only gets louder when you pull him forward by the hair, rough hands leaving a mark where his fingers grip your skin.

[glow-in-the-dark-death]

My Sweet Intruder (Sleepwalking Love)

I wanted crack but also fluff, this was the creation. Enjoy!

~

Tim had recently bought a new place to live near a college since he decided to continue his education, the apartment was on the nicer side of things and even though he had gotten it for his civilian life it still had some security on par with his night life safe homes.

All of this to say that it would be hard for someone to break in and even more so to not be noticed.

Which is pretty what he thinks is going on.

Someone is breaking into his house when he's not there which frankly is not that often to begin with since he's so busy with all kinds of things.

But the intruder doesn't seem to be causing harm?

There's nothing damaged or stolen just some food sometimes.

Honestly the complete opposite of what you would expect from an intruder, his apartment was cleaned things were moved around the kitchen was stocked with fresh food and ready meals.

Honestly it took him this long to know something was wrong because he had originally thought it was one of his brothers coming by and helping out or something.

But no after some investigating it wasn't anyone in the family it wasn't even his friends or someone else he knew someone who would make sense as to why this was happening.

Also there appeared to be living there considering all the things appearing around his apartment making a home for themselves that were very much not his.

But the Intruder since he had no name for them was ..considerate?

Almost sweet in a creepy way if you think about it.

His apartment was cleaned he had meals ready for him to eat and a bunch of other small things that combined were making his life easier.

He would like to know who this intruder was but his surveillance and all other tech always died out when it seemed they were there, so no video proof and they always were gone before he could catch a glimpse of even their shadow.

~

Danny was having such a good time, he was honestly a bit worried about moving to Gotham for college especially since apparently his application to live in the dorms had somehow not been processed or something and they only bothered to tell him while he was already there.

Thankfully luck was on his side because only a few hours after that incident while inside a coffee shop stressing about what to do and venting to his sister on the phone a man sitting next to him who looked like he needed a mini coma of sleep and looked kinda high overheard him and offered to be roommates with him since he was also going to the same college.

So yes things were going wonderfully, he had a place to live where he didn't even have to pay rent, and Tim was such a good roommate, he barely saw him but when he did he usually was more asleep then awake.

~

Tim after a while: "Why are there so many spaced themed objects in my apartment?"

~

Tim inviting Danny to live with him

Danny 'What's Stranger Danger?' Fenton: "Bet"

~

Tim: "How do they keep getting past all my security measures?!*pulling his hair out*

Danny using the key sleepwalking Tim gave him: "Home sweet home!"

~

Tim trying his best to catch Danny in person:

Tim sleeptalking:"One day I'll catch him"

Danny who is used to Tim sleep talking and sleep walking helping him get back to bed for the umpteenth time: "You sure will boo!"

~

Danny being grateful that Tim is letting him live there without having to pay rent and gave him a credit card to pay for things: "He's so sweet guys!"

Sam & Tucker: " Dude..is he your sugar daddy?! "

Danny: *shocked Pikachu face* "But there's no sugar involved?"

~

Danny thinking that maybe they are in a relationship just taking it very slowly because Tim's shy

~

Also Danny's love language being acts of service

Tim's love language is coincidentally also acts of service

~

Tim slowly falls in love with Danny still not knowing who he is: "I think I have issues"

Danny still thinking they're in a relationship and that Tim is just super shy: "Maybe we could hold hands soon!" *sappy smile*

~

Tim:

Danny:

~

What a story it will be when someone asks them how they got together! (◠‿・)—☆

Just an Idea

[sgt-tombstone]

Call signs weren’t supposed to be flattering. More often than not, they were the direct result of some embarrassing fuck-up that trailed a soldier for the rest of their life. They were voted on by the first platoon that a soldier joined, usually within the first few months, and they then spent the next few months cringing every time they heard it. Simon’s first platoon had seen a recruit land the call sign “Seagull” after a drunken dare to nick a fry from their captain’s tray in the mess hall, and he had personally bestowed the call sign “Dash” upon a soldier who had somehow managed to clip himself in the leg with his own bullet. Dumb Ass Shot Himself…

The embarrassment wore off, though. When one was stuck with a name for the rest of their lives, they learned to live with it sooner rather than later. The associated stories either got buried deep or drunkenly flaunted; the stupider the better. The funny ones became a point of pride and the truly humiliating ones eventually settled into something sort of like mundanity. Amusing tales became nothing more than yet another name, a stitched moniker, an email signature. The point was: by the time they made it to the special forces, and especially once they were assigned to a task force, no one gave a shit about their call signs anymore.

Whenever Soap heard his call sign, whenever anyone asked after its origins, he laughed it off, citing his ability to clean house or, more flirtatiously, his ability to clean up after himself, but he always internally cringed.

No one ever noticed. No one except for Ghost.

He never said anything, never asked about it, which Johnny was thankful for, but he was infinitely more thankful that Ghost took every opportunity to call him literally anything else. Sergeant, at first, then Johnny. MacTavish, if he was mad; any other combination of insults if he wasn't, because they both knew he never really meant them. Sunshine, sometimes, in the mornings when Soap stumbled out of bed in whatever safe house they were staying in, still rubbing sleep from his eyes. Scottish Bastard, or Our Johnny, or Pyromaniac, or Lad. Rarely Soap.

It was in his file, Johnny knew, the file that Ghost had read cover to cover, too paranoid to blindly trust Price's judgment with a new team member. Evidently, he hadn't made the connection between the incident report nestled in the sheaves of paper and Johnny's embarrassment. More likely, he just didn't care. Johnny wasn't sure which option he preferred.

Johnny had always had an issue with authority, and joining the military had done nothing to quell his rebellious streak; he was still a teenager, fresh out of basic, barely legal, the first time it happened. His sergeant had been giving him eyes for the entire two months since he'd joined, and Johnny'd be lying if he said he hadn't pushed himself just a little harder in response to the attention. The night of graduation found Johnny in the sergeant's bed, taking everything he was given and begging for more.

He hadn't seen that sergeant again after that, but it had more to do with Johnny's SAS training than anything else, and it started a bad habit. Nearly every unit he joined, he eventually ended up in his superior's bed. It was all consensual, and Johnny would be willing to attest to it if need be, but he never got caught, and he moved from unit to unit so often that it never really mattered.

Until it did.

Two years out of basic, about halfway through his SAS training, he got caught. Rather, they got caught. They were in the showers, his lieutenant pressing him against the tile wall, when their captain had walked in. The implications were clear, especially with Johnny on the receiving end, and the lieutenant had gotten discharged, despite Johnny's protestations. It had been his idea, but it still looked like an abuse of power. Word had flown around the base, and Johnny had gotten stuck with the call sign Soap as a terrible joke; "don't drop the soap" was uttered nearly every time he entered a room, and he ended up being the youngest to pass selection largely to get away from the teasing.

Once he joined the SAS, he never saw anyone involved in the incident ever again. The incident report went in his file, but it got buried among the accolades, the outstanding test results, the exceptional service record. No one except his superior officers had the clearance to read his file, which was for the best; their knowledge of his bad habit kept him from indulging, and he hadn't looked at another superior officer the same way since.

Until Ghost. Who called him Johnny, not Soap. Who tolerated and even encouraged his flirting. Who knew every detail of his file but never pushed for more.

Whenever Johnny got too close to a line, Ghost would switch back to Soap, just once, just enough to nudge him back a step, but he was never cruel. It was a slap on the wrist, not a sharp reprimand, and Johnny had learned enough about Ghost's tone and eyes to see the switch for what it was: a gentle warning, a clearly expressed boundary.

And then one of their missions went to shit, and Johnny ended up in the hospital for months, and Ghost stopped calling him Soap altogether. In the aftermath, Johnny danced closer and closer, always expecting his cautionary call sign to fall from Ghost's lips, but it never did. On and off the field, Ghost simply watched Johnny get closer, stopped holding him at arm's length. He started welcoming his flirting, started actively encouraging him, started reciprocating.

The first time they fell into bed together, something panicked fluttered in Johnny's chest. He'd been here before; he'd gotten a lieutenant wrongfully dishonorably discharged before, for nothing more than the very act that he and Ghost had been dancing around for years. The moment before their lips met, he backpedaled sharply, only to be caught by the rigid warmth of Ghost's arms.

Ghost knew. Ghost knew his past, knew his record, knew what he'd been walking into. Ghost didn't care.

Price knew. Price knew his past, knew his penchant for gravitating towards authority, and still had placed him within Ghost's grasp time and time again. Price didn't care.

And Gaz... well, Gaz was Johnny's biggest enabler. Gaz didn't care.

So he let himself take the final step, the leap of faith, and landed safely in Ghost's hold, in Ghost's bed, and in Ghost's life. Loved, satisfied, and most importantly, protected. Safe.

And if he started wearing his call sign like a badge of honor for the first time in his life... well, he was sleeping with a superior officer, and he wasn't ashamed of it anymore. Whenever Ghost looked at him, reverent, bordering on worshipful, Soap couldn't find it within himself to feel a single ounce of embarrassment over his name.

[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?