Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Logan’s walking the streets again—only this time, he’s not on the clock.

His heart is racing and he barely feels the chill of the evening air, despite wearing only a minidress and sneakers. His right hand is digging into the strap of his favorite purse, a pale blue shoulder bag he found at a vintage shop years ago and has carried ever since. It’s one of the few constants in Logan’s life and it’s the only thing grounding him right now—the only tangible object keeping him from collapsing on the sidewalk and letting the tears roll down his face. 

Pregnant. 

Five weeks along. The gynecologist at the omega clinic had been sympathetic when she broke the news. Everyone knew that you didn’t go to an omega clinic hoping for a baby—especially the one on the corner of Lover’s Ave, the nickname given to the street for the rows of bordellos that lined it. 

Her voice was soft but Logan, not for the first time, missed the familiarity of Florida and the causal American accent. 

God, he’d been so stupid. He shouldn’t have trusted the client—not with his leering smile and groping hands—but rent was coming due and Logan couldn’t pick up any more shifts at the bakery. He was desperate, and now he was paying for it. 

What good was a pregnant whore? 

He bit down hard on his lower lip, trying to keep the tears at bay. He could…he could go back to the clinic, he was only five weeks along, he could—

Tears rolled down his cheeks even as Logan angrily tried to wipe them away. He’d failed, hadn’t he? He’d failed in just about every area of his life and now, he was going to fail his little one too. Logan clutched at his stomach, arms wrapping around his middle. He knew it was stupid, knew it went against all common sense, but…this was his baby. His and no one else’s. Someone Logan could love unreservedly, unashamedly. Someone who wouldn’t want to hide Logan away as if he were a shameful secret. Logan would care for his baby and raise them with all the love in his heart. It’d be hard, Logan knows this, but—

Logan’s body collides with something—or someone—and he stumbles, falling over his feet. His arms, by instant, move to rest against his still-flat belly as he braces for impact, for the feel of cold cement to scrape against his skin. 

Instead, a large, warm hand steadies his upper arm while another hand comes to wrap carefully around Logan’s waist. A low, steady voice—accented, but not British—breaks through the still of the night. “Are you alright?” 

Logan’s eyes open (he hadn’t realized he’d closed them) and he looks up, still half-cradled stranger’s arms, to see…oh. The Omega’s mouth runs dry, his heartbeat picks up. Because standing in front of him now, with his angular features and warm amber eyes, is the most handsome Alpha Logan has ever seen. The warm hands around his arms and waist are large and so comforting, making Logan want to melt into him. The stranger has a strong, powerful build—all lean muscle and coiled strength—and a handsome, serious face that somehow expresses and veils every emotion. 

Fuck. 

He can feel himself blushing, the pink in his cheeks working its way down to his neck and chest—something Logan’s always hated—but loathes even more now, when the stupid sundress he’s wearing is low cut, exposing Logan’s pale skin for all to see. 

The stranger frowns slightly when Logan doesn’t respond, his hands gently tugging Logan forward. “Are you cold?” He asks, his thumb brushing against the cool skin of Logan’s arm, soothing and rhythmic. 

“I’m—I’m fine.” He stutters out and mentally kicks himself. He’s not stupid—he knows nothing will come of this, that this very meeting is pure happenstance—but Logan’s never felt so flushed, has never felt his heart beat so frantically in his chest. Some part of Logan—his inner Omega—is flushed and warm and happy. Logan wants to fall into the stranger’s arms, bury his face against the stranger’s neck and purr his heart out. “S-sorry,” he bites down on his lip, now slightly swollen and pink from how hard Logan’s teeth cut against it. (He misses how the stranger’s eyes flick down, the warm amber darkening to something deeper as he observes the fullness of Logan’s mouth.) “I’m just—it’s been a rough night.” He finishes awkwardly, half-praying for the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

He half-expects the stranger to let go, to walk away with a polite nod and a mental note to never help stumbling prostitutes ever again, but instead, a low, rich chuckle leaves his lips and—well, that’s just not fair. 

“Same here,” the stranger smiles, “Shitty week all around.” 

“And I’ve gone and made it worse, huh?” The words are out before Logan can help himself. His natural need to self-deprecate taking over on instinct. A slight frown appears on the handsome man’s face, and Logan wants to kick himself. Again. “I—I mean me running into you. Clumsy. I’m clumsy—not you, you’re not clumsy. Good reflexes though. Um, catching me. I, um, thank you. Did I say thank you? Or, I mean—I just did, but…uh, before. Yeah.” 

Oh god, please let me shut up—please let me shut up and give me the strength to walk away. 

“You’re welcome. And no, you didn’t make anything worse. Actually, you made my night better. Not every day I run into beautiful blonds who never read weather reports.” The frown is gone and his lips are upturned in a teasing smile, causing his eyes to crinkle and showing off pearly white teeth. 

Logan is fairly sure he’s going to go into cardiac arrest. The chill of the night doesn’t even register, not with his internal body temperature rapidly rising to unhealthy highs. 

Blue eyes continue to gaze at the stranger, Logan’s own lips unconsciously curling into a shy smile, oblivious to how the stranger’s own pulse is rising—quick and sharp. 

Reply. 

What? Oh! Fuck, Logan blinks. He hasn’t said anything. 

He’s just stood there, staring, not saying a goddamn word. 

“Um,” he scrambles to think of something to say, something that will keep this conversation going because Logan’s life is in shambles and this stranger with the warm smile and amber eyes is the one good thing he desperately wants to keep. “I—I read the weather report.” 

Oh god. 

“You sure about that?” The stranger teases. “It’s 12 degrees out here and you’re hardly dressed.” Logan blinks and the stranger quickly backtracks, a faint pink blush appearing on his cheeks. “I mean, hardly dressed for the weather. Shit, I’m sorry—I’m not usually this…creepy.” He glances down briefly before looking back up. His eyes move slightly to the left and that’s when Logan feels the warm hand on his arm grow rigid. The stranger pulls away suddenly, his hand leaving Logan’s bicep and the warm arm that’d been wrapped around his waist is suddenly gone too.

Logan feels like crying. 

No, don’t let go—please don’t let go. 

“Sorry.” This time, it’s the stranger who apologizes. He’s moved back slightly—not by much—but each centimeter has Logan’s heart aching. “I’m really sorry about holding you like that. I just…you have beautiful eyes.” 

Beautiful eyes? Logan? 

Sure, his eyes are nice but Logan’s been told he looks too shy and detached, lacking the bold approach most other working Omegas have. Objectively, Logan’s alright looking. But he’s nothing special. 

“I’m sorry—again.” The stranger speaks and Logan is confused. 

“Don’t apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

“No, I just made you incredibly uncomfortable and made myself look like a right idiot.” He gives a small laugh, but it’s not warm like before—it’s bitter and slightly embarrassed. 

Logan can’t stand that. 

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable.” He reiterates firmly. “I…I liked your compliments. And um, you’re warm. I liked it when you held me.” 

The stranger’s head snaps up, amber meeting clear blue, and slowly, the stranger smiles again—wide and pleased, his smile full and beautiful. “So you admit it.” He moves a little closer. 

Logan blinks. “Admit what?” 

“You don’t read the weather report.” He deadpans, right as another breeze blows by.

A sudden laugh escapes Logan right as the stranger moves to take off his own jacket—electric orange and trimmed in black—before draping it over Logan’s shoulders. “There.” He murmurs, hands moving to adjust the jacket that looked fitted on the stranger but practically dwarfs Logan’s thin frame. “That’s better.” He looks around then, eyes catching the neon yellow and blue of a late night diner. “I know this is forward but…did you maybe want to get a coffee with me? Might help you warm up. Totally cool if you don’t want to though, I wouldn’t blame you.” 

Late night coffee with a handsome stranger? Logan can’t get the words out fast enough. Instead, he nods, hoping he doesn’t come across as an eager puppy. “Yes, I’d—I’d like that.” He tries hard to suppress another blush. “And um, I’m Logan.” He doesn’t know why he’s giving the stranger his real name—doesn’t know why the thought of lying never even crossed Logan’s mind. “It’s nice to meet you.” 

“Logan.” The stranger repeats, and Logan shivers at the way he pronounces his name. His accent is all low tones and easy vowels, soothing and strangely familiar. “I’m Oscar.” He smiles. “Thanks for not thinking I’m insane.” 

Logan giggles as they begin to make their way to the diner, Oscar’s hand hovering above the small of Logan’s back. “Me think you’re insane? Did you not hear the word vomit I gave back there?” 

“Nah, that was cute.” 

The blush on Logan’s cheeks deepens from pink to red, visible even in the dark. “Shut up.” He tugs Oscar’s jacket closer, loving how protected he feels. He desperately wants to inhale the Alpha’s scent, wants to bury his nose in the thick fabric, but Oscar is standing right there and Logan doesn’t want to scare him away. 

His past boyfriends—as few as they were—had always complained about Logan’s clinginess, how he was too much and took everything too seriously. 

“So…” Oscar looks at him, hands in his pockets, dressed in a long sleeved top that’s orange and black and expensive looking. “Were you meeting someone tonight?” 

No. Logan shakes his head. He doesn’t want to talk about it, wants to distract himself with a few moments of warmth. “What about you?” His eyes drop to Oscar’s strong shoulders and broad chest, a chest Logan desperately wants to lay against. “Date night?” God, he really isn’t subtle is he? 

But Oscar doesn’t seem to mind. Turns to Logan with a faint smirk and shakes his head. “Yeah, nah. Just trying to distract myself from…a shitty day in the office.” Before Logan can ask what he does, they’re standing at the diner. He can smell coffee, grease, and comfort and Logan has never been more eager for pancakes oozing butter and maple syrup. Oscar pulls open the door and gives a nod. “After you.” 

Logan can’t remember the last time anyone opened a door for him. “Such a gentleman.” He tries to tease, hoping it’ll distract from his blush. 

Behind him, Oscar gives a low chuckle.

“Such a gentleman.” Logan’s soft American accent has Oscar on edge, barely able to hold back a possessive growl when all he wants to do is encase Logan in his arms and snarl mine, mine, mine. Oscar has never been a slave to his instincts—or even his emotions for that matter—but the second his body had collided with that of pretty, fragile Logan, his arm instantly finding its way around the blond’s too-slim waist, Oscar was a goner. 

Green apple and candy floss infused with citrus and fresh, serene basil had filled Oscar’s lungs before he even felt the softness of Logan’s bare skin. 

Fuck. 

This beautiful blond Omega had crashed into Oscar’s arms with his ocean blue eyes and soft pink cheeks that darkened into a rosy crimson at Oscar’s teasing. Just a few minutes in Logan’s presence had Oscar’s normally impenetrable facade melting like sugar floss under rain. 

He couldn’t stop himself from complimenting Logan, from holding onto him for far longer than appropriate, from inhaling lungfuls of green apple and candy sweetness whenever possible. From asking Logan on a date because he couldn’t bear the thought of the blond walking away from him. 

When the evening air had chilled even further Oscar greedily seized the opportunity to peel off his McLaren jacket—the exclusive, limited edition one that was only reserved for drivers and their team principle—and placed it on Logan’s thin shoulders. He’d taken advantage of Logan’s trusting nature, his gentleness and sweet smile. Oscar had allowed his fingertips to “accidentally” brush against the exposed skin of Logan’s collarbone and arms, his Alpha demanding Oscar collect Logan in his arms again and berating the Aussie for ever letting him go in the first place. 

Oscar had heard about instances where an Alpha and Omega just knew they were it for each other. Some kind of tether or string tying them together. It was the sort of instinct that people whispered about reverently—true mates—as rare as rare can be, so much so that many believed it to be a myth. A precious, golden myth for children’s bedtime stories. 

But Oscar knew differently. 

He’d met a true pair the day he walked onto the Formula One paddock and saw Max Verstappen cradling Charles Leclerc in his arms after the Ferrari driver’s crash into the barriers at Paul Ricard. Saw how the blond Alpha had snarled and growled at anyone who dared approach, how he’d skipped media duties entirely to carry Charles to his driver’s room and how the brunet had simply melted at the Alpha’s touch, purring so loudly even Oscar could hear when he walked past. 

He knows true pairs exist, knows how coveted they are.

And now, sitting in a quiet diner booth in London, Oscar is almost certain he’s found his own true mate sitting right in front him. He can’t be certain but Oscar has never felt this drawn to another person in his life—has never felt so at ease and at peace. 

He needs to know, needs to be certain, even though his every instinct is crying out for Logan, who’d crashed into Oscar’s arms with stuttered words and teary eyes. 

God, he’d been so beautiful clasped in his arms, his blond hair soft and windblown, dressed in an indecently short blue summer dress printed with orange hibiscus flowers. 

How fitting. Oscar smiles, watching as Logan attentively scans through the laminated menu. Their waitress stops by, pours them each a mug of steaming black coffee, and waits for their order while chomping on a piece of pink bubblegum. 

“Plate of chips for me, thanks.” Oscar hands her his menu. 

Logan’s blue eyes meet his and he shyly pushes the menu towards the waitress. “Um, pancakes if you have them. With extra butter and um, maple syrup?” He asks, chin tucked to his chest. 

Fuck, Oscar wants him. Wants to tuck Logan into his arms and kiss the hesitation from his lips. Logan should never look so small, with hunched shoulders and nervous smile. Not Logan, so sweet and gentle and trusting, not knowing how Oscar is holding himself back by the skin of his teeth, desperate to hold Logan’s hand, to just brush the inside of his wrist and smell that green apple, candy floss scent. 

“Sure,” the waitress replies, shaking Oscar from his less-than-honorable thoughts. “Anything else?” 

Oscar doesn’t miss the way Logan glances at the menu for half a second before looking up again and shaking his head. 

“He’ll also have the scrambled eggs, with a side of bacon, toast and jam, and some cream and sugar for his coffee.” Oscar instructs. Logan’s thin enough as it is—painfully thin—and all Oscar wants to do is protect him, care for him in any small way Logan will allow. 

“Oscar—“ 

But the waitress has already begun walking away, and soon Oscar is met with frantic blue eyes. 

“Oscar I…I can’t—” Logan looks down, shame etched in his face, and it suddenly registers to Oscar that his sweet Logan is embarrassed. Ashamed maybe, because he couldn’t afford anything else. 

“I got this, Logan.” He was never going to let Logan pay in the first place, but now, looking as Logan shrunk in on himself, Oscar wants to make it absolutely clear. “You don’t have to worry about anything.” Not with me. Never with me. Logan will never have to pay for a goddamn thing in his life so long as he’s with Oscar. 

“But I can’t ask you to pay for all that, Oscar. You really don’t have to, and I’m not that hungry.” 

“Then you can bring the rest home with you.” Oscar smiles, hoping its warm and light, hiding the truth depth of how utterly besotted Oscar has become. 

Logan ducks his head, shy again. He nervously tugs at the jacket around his shoulders, wrapping the orange fabric closer to himself. 

Oscar’s Alpha is positively pounding his chest in pride, delighted at the sight of the blond wrapping himself in Oscar’s clothes—in Oscar’s scent. 

“Thank you.” Logan’s voice is soft and grateful—too grateful for something so small, for something that is Logan’s right. The Omega deserves to be cared for and doted on and if Oscar’s the only Alpha in all the UK who can recognize that, then, well, all the better. “I usually make pancakes every Sunday but um, well, today wasn’t a…good day.” 

“Yeah? That sounds like a dream. I haven’t had homemade pancakes since I left Australia.” 

“Australia.” Logan repeats. “So that’s where your accent’s from.” 

Oscar chuckles. “Yeah, I work around the UK but I’m from Melbourne. Moved here a few years back but I travel quite a bit so I don’t really have a permanent base.” 

“What do you do for work?” Logan’s question catches Oscar off-guard. 

It’s not that he’s arrogant or assumes everyone knows who he is, but ever since coming into Formula One, he’s gotten his fair share of fans asking him for selfies on the streets or approaching him in restaurants. 

For some reason, Logan’s genuine curiosity strikes a chord with Oscar. The knowledge that Logan agreed to a late night meal with Oscar for no other reason than because he wanted to—not so he can post photos or generate more likes for his Instagram feed. It makes the part of Oscar that already wants to share every part of himself with Logan even more eager to know the American. 

“I’m in motorsport.” Oscar settles on, deciding they can focus on specifics later. Right now, he doesn’t want to talk about himself. He just wants to hear Logan’s voice. “Been involved with it since I was a kid. It’s why I left Australia.” 

“You pursued your dream.” Logan’s voice is light and amazed, but Oscar can detect a thread of sadness running through his soft tone. “That’s wonderful.” 

“What about you? What’s an American doing in London?” 

Logan shrugs, tugging Oscar’s jacket closer. “I was young and stupid. I thought I met the love of my life and followed him here to the UK. Turns out, the love was one-sided and he didn’t want anything to do with me after I got here.” 

“He’s a fucking idiot.”

The Omega’s head snaps up, started by the venom and rage in Oscar’s tone but he can’t help it. Who was the fucking moron who had all of Logan’s love and trust in the palm of his hand and then squandered it? Reckless and cruel, uncaring of how precious such a gift was. 

“You didn’t deserve that, Logan. Not from someone who was supposed to love you and take care of you.” 

Logan shakes his head, a soft sniffle escaping him. “No one’s taken care of me in a long time.” 

“Then let me.” The words are out before Oscar can help it, his arm reaching across the formica table to gently brush against the blond’s fragile wrist. 

Before Oscar can continue, the smell of pancakes and chips arrive and steaming plates of food are placed in front of them, alongside a carafe of coffee and containers of milk, cream, and sugar. 

Logan’s startled expression slowly fades into one of quiet delight as he inhales the syrupy sweetness of pancakes and butter. “Oh, this looks so good.” He grins, and Oscar can make out the faintest imprint of a dimple on his right cheek. It does funny things to his heart, makes Oscar feel like he’s going too fast in a right hander, but he refuses to let go of this feeling. 

Not for anything in the world. 

🌊🌊🌊 🌊🌊🌊

Oscar watches as Logan mops up the last bit of maple syrup with his pancake, a small, contented smile on his lips as he finishes his meal. The scrambled eggs and bacon are nearly gone, and Logan has polished off the toast and jam as well. It makes Oscar’s heart swell with happiness that he’s been able to provide for Logan, but the other part of him worries—is Logan not eating enough? From their conversation Oscar knows Logan doesn’t have anyone looking out for him, not after leaving the States and coming to the UK. 

“Hey Logan?” 

“Mmh?” The blond looks up, cheeks full with pancakes and syrup, and Oscar has to bite back a laugh at how utterly adorable the American looks right now. 

“I hope I’m not prying but…would you be okay with me just walking you home?” He tilts his chin to the wide matchbox windows. “It’s dark and I really don’t want you out there by yourself.” 

Logan shrugs. “I’m used to it.” 

“Used to it?” 

The blond suddenly freezes. His limbs, loose from good food and warmth, suddenly become rigid again and Logan’s blue eyes are suddenly fixed to his plate—as if it’s the most interesting sight he’s ever seen. 

“Logan?” 

“I um, I just meant, um—” The words are stammered and fragmented—almost panicked—and Oscar can’t bear hearing Logan sound so small again. 

“It’s okay, Logan.” He tries. His voice is not naturally soothing but for Logan, Oscar is willing to make a fool of himself it means getting a smile from the blond in front of him. “You don’t have to explain. I’m sorry, I got nosy—”

“You didn’t.” Logan interrupts. “I…I guess I should have told you from the start. I um, I’m used to walking alone at night because I—I work the streets that way.” He says the last part so quietly that Oscar almost misses it. “I’m sorry.” He adds, shaking Oscar from his stupor. 

Work the streets…? 

Logan, in a tiny blue summer dress walking around London when it’s nearly 12 degrees.

Logan, who keeps his shoulders hunched and face downward, as if waiting for orders.

Logan, who hadn’t hesitated to follow a stranger into a secluded location. 

Logan, who moved all the way to the UK for someone who abandoned him—who likely left Logan with no resources or recourse except for—

Fuck. Oscar can feel his heart aching for Logan. For this beautiful, fragile, sweet man who loved so sincerely but was left wounded and hurt and still, Oscar marvels, he was still able to smile so kindly and gently, even while surviving the best he could after such a betrayal. 

“I’m sorry.” Logan repeats again, biting down on his lower lip. “I—I didn’t mean trick you.” 

“You didn’t. Logan, I promise you didn’t. I would’ve made a fool of myself for you even if you’d told me from the start what you did. And what you do is nothing to be ashamed of.” Oscar speaks softly, wants Logan to know that he has nothing to be embarrassed about. 

He found a way to survive in a strange country, all alone, with no support or resources. How many others could say the same? 

Blue eyes—wide and shimmering and so heartbreakingly beautiful—look at Oscar, half in fear and half in hope. “You’re…you’re not mad?” He whispers. 

“No.” Oscar can’t help it, he stands up and moves to sit right next to Logan, careful to leave a good amount of space. “I…Logan I think you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. Inside and out.” 

“I’m not.” Logan shakes his head, a loose blond curl falling across his forehead. “I’m really not.” 

Oscar raises his hand, slowly and carefully, so Logan can track his every movement. When Logan doesn’t shrink back, when he stays still, Oscar gently brushes the loose strand of hair away. “Then, can I prove you wrong?” 

“Then, can I prove you wrong?” 

Logan must have misheard. His hands grip Oscar’s jacket even tighter, afraid that if he doesn’t then this wonderful, caring, handsome man in front of him will vanish—like Cinderella’s carriage after midnight. 

“I—I don’t…” 

“I’m competitive by nature,” Oscar chuckles, “and I don’t like being wrong. Let me prove to you how beautiful you are.” 

“Prove…?” 

“Yeah.” Oscar leans in, amber eyes warm and hopeful. “Can I take care of you Logan? Take you on dates, show you just how amazing you are?” 

Logan can hardly breathe, his heart rate skyrocketing as Oscar’s words slowly sink in. “You want to date me?” The words sound strange on his tongue, as if Logan’s suddenly been asked to speak Russian. 

“Yeah. I really want to.” Oscar smiles, eyes crinkling. 

“I—I don’t know what to say.” Logan is truly at a loss, he feels like he’s treading water, too afraid to trust that the ship in front of him isn’t a mirage. “I mean—you’re not a serial killer are you?” 

Oscar laughs out loud, head thrown back and exposing the strong line of his neck. “I promise you,” Oscar’s fingertip gently brushes against his knuckles, “I’m not a serial killer.” 

“Sounds like something a serial killer would say.” He replies breathily. It’s silly and absurd and he feels utterly delirious—

But for the first time, Logan doesn’t care. He can’t put into words how he feels around Oscar, only that he’s never felt so warm—so utterly complete—not even when he was a child, safely ensconced away at his family estate in Florida. Being around Oscar it feels…it feels like home. 

🌊🌊🌊 🌊🌊🌊

Oscar walks Logan back to his flat. He makes sure the blond Omega puts on his jacket properly before zipping it up all the way to Logan’s throat before they walk out the door. 

“You like seeing me in your clothes?” Logan joked. 

“I do.” Oscar replied instantly, shamelessly—and Logan had blushed bright pink before hurriedly making his way outside. 

Now they’re only minutes away from Logan’s flat, a small, run-down place he’d managed to score for cheap because of its basement location and lack of heating. Oscar’s arm has been hovering protectively over Logan’s waist this entire time, the warmth of his body heat seeping into Logan’s skin despite the distance and layers of clothing. 

Logan smiles again as he takes a deep breath, inhaling a scent so uniquely Oscar he wonders how he’s lived without it for so many years. 

Ocean breeze, eucalyptus, and the fresh, bright scent of grapefruit—it smells like warm summers in Australia, airy and invigorating. He can’t help but take deep lungfuls of the fragrance any time Oscar looks away, wanting to memorize the scent before having to give the jacket back. 

By the time they make their way to Logan’s front door, he feels drunk off of Oscar—his scent, his presence, the barest whisper of his touch.

“This is me.” Logan stops in front of a set of stairs leading down to the basement level. 

Oscar glances down at the rundown building and then back at Logan. His face is contemplative, a slight furrow to his brow, and Logan imagines this is what Oscar must look like while working—locked in and completely focused, all his attention directed to the task at hand. 

Before Logan can ask what’s wrong, Oscar’s arm—the one that had been hovering protectively around Logan’s waist—suddenly clamps down, the touch sending an electric spark through Logan and he can’t help the soft gasp he lets out. 

Oscar tugs Logan to him, until they’re both pressed flush against the other. 

“I know this is going to sound crazy,” Oscar huffs out a chuckle, “and I understand if you say no—but Logan, I don’t want to let you go.” 

“Oscar—”

“Stay with me.” Oscar whispers. “I have a flat in Kensington, you can pick whichever bedroom you want. Just—stay with me.” 

“Oscar.” 

“Please.” He presses his forehead against Logan’s, arm tightening around his waist as Oscar’s other hand comes to caress Logan’s jaw. “Let me take care of you.” 

Logan exhales, shaky and in disbelief. “You want me to stay with you?” 

“Yes.” 

“For how long?” 

“What?” Oscar looks confused. 

“For how long Oscar. I need to know.” Because I know you’ll get sick of me, sooner rather than later. I need to come up with a contingency plan, I need to know how to live like I used to once you leave me. 

“Logan, there isn’t a time limit to this.” Oscar’s thumb brushes against the corner of Logan’s mouth. “I want you to stay with me until you're tired of looking at my face.” He adds with a wry smile. 

Logan shakes his head. “Oscar, I’m a prostitute, if you want to fuck me—”

“Fuck you?” Oscar repeats, stunned at first and then—his face hardens, jaw set. "You think I just want to fuck you." Something dangerous enters his tone. Something dark and cold and furious. The arm around Logan’s waist suddenly tightens to the point of bruising, the gentle hold Oscar has against Logan’s jaw is suddenly tense. “Logan, I want to take care of you. This—fuck, this isn’t me hiring you.” His breathing is ragged, fingers digging into Logan’s hip. “Let me ask you one thing. Do you want to be with me?” 

Oh god. 

Oh god, oh god, oh god. Logan can feel himself getting wet—the power in Oscar’s voice, the darkness in his eyes—fuck. No one has ever looked at Logan with this much want and desire—not even the man Logan thought he’d one day marry. The look Oscar is giving him now, the rage and passion and sheer, all-consuming need, has Logan weak in the knees, has his pussy gushing out slick that trickles down his thigh. 

“Yes.” He gasps, heart thrumming and throat tight. “Yes, I want to be with you. I—I want to be yours.” 

Oscar exhales, tipping his head back for a moment before looking at Logan once more. “Then you’ll let me take care of you. You’ll let me get to know you. And then, if you ask nicely, I’ll spend every moment making love to you.” 

Logan’s breath hitches, his hand coming to clasp at his belly, wanting—so desperately—to feel Oscar bury himself between Logan’s thighs. 

“Please.” Logan whimpers. “I want you.” 

“Then be a good girl,” Oscar’s hand traces down from Logan’s jaw to his neck, “and come home with me.” 

Logan—unable to speak, unable to think—can only nod, frantically. 

Home. His Omega is purring, his instincts on fire. Home, Alpha, safe, stay, protector, mate—

Logan’s heart stills. 

Mate. 

Would…would Oscar want to mate him? Logan looks at the Alpha, his feet unconsciously following the brunet as they walk down an unfamiliar street, his right hand still on his belly. 

Logan inhales sharply, the scent of green apple and eucalyptus suddenly merging together in a perfect, delicate balance. 

Maybe…maybe if he tries hard enough, if he can prove himself useful to Oscar, then maybe—just maybe—Oscar might still want him after learning the truth? 

“Logan?” Oscar asks worriedly. “Are you alright?” 

Logan tilts his head up, sees warm, concerned amber gazing down at him. 

And he nods, tucking his face into Oscar’s chest, letting himself pretend for this one moment. 

“I’m going to take care of you now, Logan.” Oscar’s low voice rumbles. “I promise you.” 

Chapter Text

It’s nearing 2 am by the time they get to Oscar’s Kensington flat. He’s thankful the housekeeper and cleaning crew came by the day before, having prepared the flat for Oscar’s arrival ahead of the British Grand Prix. He knows there’s freshly made food in the fridge courtesy of his private chef (all approved by Arthur who Oscar likes well enough but misses the familiarity that came with Kim) and the luxury complex he lives in always provides fresh flowers for his entryway lobby. 

Oscar’s grateful. He knows his place is sterile as is and he doesn’t want Logan walking into what looks like a BBC home decor showroom instead of an actual, lived-in flat. 

They make their way up the glossy private elevator, Logan’s wide blue eyes taking everything in with curiosity and the sort of sweet excitability that has Oscar’s lips curling up in an unconscious smile. Logan is just so genuine—his every reaction and started laugh, the way he blushes and tries to look down, as if that would distract from just how beautiful he looks with his cheeks flushed pink and lower lip bitten raw. Fuck, Oscar knows he’s been pushing his luck as is, unable to let go of Logan’s waist for even a second as they walk down the carpeted hallway with its wall-mounted light fixtures and perfectly regulated temperature. 

“This is beautiful.” Logan whispers softly, eyes darting from the rich, burgundy carpets to the honey marble mosaic. 

“Yeah.” Oscar doesn’t look away from Logan’s face, amber eyes drinking in the awed expression on his pretty face, how his hands have finally loosened their iron grip around Oscar’s jacket. 

He’s comfortable, Oscar realizes. He’s comfortable around me.

The very thought has him preening and he does his best to suppress the rumble threatening to make its way up his throat. With a casual swipe of his access card, Oscar opens the door to his flat—well, penthouse—and ushers Logan inside. 

“Reese came by and prepped some meals for me, so the fridge is stocked and—shit, you want something to drink?” Oscar takes Logan’s hand and brings him over to the kitchen, the lights turning on automatically as they move. “Water? Tea? Coffee? I um, I also have wine but I really can’t tell one bottle from the other.” He ducks his head down, wishing he’d paid more attention to Charles’ ramblings on how a Chianti differs from a Malbec. 

“Just water’s fine.” Logan’s voice is soft and shy, and Oscar delights in how his slim fingers never slip from Oscar’s hold, their palms pressed together. 

“Great.” He opens the fridge and sees glass bottles and cans lining the side. “Um, still water? Sparkling? Flavored?” 

Logan laughs, shaking his head. “I can’t believe this is your life.” He nods towards the immaculate fridge with its color coded drinks and neatly lined rows of Tupperware. 

“Well,” Oscar turns back around, uncaring that the fridge door is still open, “this is your life now too.” 

He can’t wait to pamper Logan the way he deserves—spa days and thick, warm blankets, all the nesting materials Logan could ever need. His favorite foods and beverages, cuddling Logan close so he never feels alone. Kisses in the morning and gifts every day—starting with a shopping spree. Oscar wants Logan to buy himself an entirely new wardrobe—dresses, shoes, socks, everything—and he wants to see Logan model every outfit for him. Wants to praise Logan, tell the Omega how pretty he looks and see that gorgeous, shy flush appear on his cheeks and neck and chest. (And maybe, some darker part of Oscar whispers, he can see just how far down Logan’s blush spreads.) 

He shakes that thought from his head. Not now, not until Logan realizes he’s his, that he belongs to Oscar just as much as Oscar belongs to him. 

Oscar feels a slight tug to his hand, looks down to see it’s Logan shuffling closer, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. “You…you really mean that?” He darts a quick glance around the state of the art kitchen and then back down to his own battered sneakers. “I don’t—I mean, I’d be okay if you changed your mind.” He adds gently. 

Always so gentle. 

So sweet and considerate, always thinking of others.

Oscar unclasps their hands, hears a little whimper leave Logan’s lips, before he grabs the Omega by his waist, locking both arms around the blond. “I know you’re trying to be kind, Logan.” His voice is low, a dangerous rumble now audible. “But when I said I want you to be mine, I meant it. You accepted. You don’t get to change your mind.” And without another word—without giving Logan a chance to breathe—Oscar ducks his head down, burying his face in Logan’s neck, greedily inhaling lungfuls of green apple, candy floss, fresh basil. 

Fuck, he smells delectable. 

Logan only whimpers again, tilting his neck to give Oscar more access, his own arms curling up around Oscar’s back, hands tangling in the Alpha’s hair. “O-oh Oscar, I—I’m—” Logan doesn’t get to finish because Oscar can already smell it.

Slick.

Sweet and sticky and dripping. Logan is wet and Oscar shoves his thigh between Logan’s legs, lets him grind down, soaking the fabric of Oscar’s jeans. 

The rich apple and candy floss scent is overwhelming now. Oscar feels like he’s swimming in it, thick and syrupy and rich—fuck, he can almost taste it. He needs to—

“Baby,” Oscar pants, barely managing to pull back so they’re eye to eye. Logan’s gaze is hazy, the blue darkening to navy as the blond cries out in protest, slim arms trying to tug Oscar back. “Baby, we need to stop—unless you want my face buried in your sweet little cunt in the next second, then we need to stop. I can’t—fuck, you smell so fucking sweet. Sweetest thing in the world.” He can hear his own accent deepening, words melting together as his hands dig into Logan’s hips. He knows he’ll leave bruises but it’s better than the alternative—giving into his desires and consuming Logan whole right here and now. 

“I—I want you Oscar,” Logan manages, eyes darting from Oscar’s lips to his throat to his eyes. “Please—don’t leave, don’t leave me.” 

Oscar growls, low and fierce and possessive, before he dives back in, kissing Logan’s neck, marking him as his teeth dig bruises into the pale skin. “Never,” he vows, “never gonna leave you.” He leans back, chest heaving, and when he sees Logan’s thighs twitch, feels how utterly soaked the denim has become from his pretty boy’s sopping wet pussy—

He doesn’t care—fuck propriety, fuck dignity, Oscar needs a taste. Just one taste.

He kneels down, parting Logan’s thighs even as the Omega gasps in shock. He rucks up the short blue sundress and sees the tiniest scrap of baby pink lace, completely soaked through. 

Slick is dripping down his inner thighs, trickling down the rosy-pale flesh, honey sweet, and all Oscar’s. 

All mine. 

“Oscar, please, you don’t have to—I can just suck you off, I—”

Oscar’s hand, large and warm, grip Logan’s thigh. He loves it, loves seeing how his thick fingers sink into the soft skin, how Logan moans desperately the harder Oscar grips him. “No,” he shakes his head, “you’re not taking this from me. Not now, not ever.” Oscar mouth comes to press against Logan’s thigh, tongue finally tasting the slick that’s pouring out of Logan’s barely clothed pussy, sweetness and green apple and candy floss hitting his throat and he sucks and licks and tastes.

Fuck, Oscar pants, biting down on the Omega’s inner thigh as he sucks harder, wanting to leave the imprints of his teeth—claiming—so one would ever mistake Logan for anything other than his. 

Above him Logan is whimpering, crying, thighs shaking. Cries of oh god, Oscar and feels so good and please don’t stop reverberating off the walls. 

He moves up, nose brushing against wet silk, and he growls, tongue coming to press against Logan’s clothed clit. “Pretty boy,” he sucks lightly at the silk and lace, “you’ve been hiding this from me?” 

“I—no, I just—” Logan’s words are incomprehensible, his hands shaking as he balls them into fists against Oscar’s jacket. 

Well that just won’t do. 

“Put your hands in my hair, pretty boy.” 

Logan bites down hard on his lip. “I—”

Oscar bites down on Logan’s clit—not hard enough to punish, but firm enough to warn. 

Logan yelps, hands instantly moving from Oscar’s jacket to his sweat-damp hair, slim fingers sliding through the strands—still nervous, still unsure. 

“There you go,” Oscar rumbles, pleased. “Keep listening to me, pretty boy, alright?” 

“A-alright.” 

“Good.” 

And Oscar dives in, hand coming to pull the flimsy material of Logan’s panties out of his way, finally allowing access to the flushed pink folds of Logan’s pussy. 

For a minute, he just looks—slick, glossy folds, puffy and swollen with anticipation, with neglect from how others have failed to worship Logan the way he deserves. But it’s Logan’s sweet little clit—cherry red and precious—that suddenly has Oscar starving. 

He mouth latches onto it, needing to taste, needing to suck—

And Logan’s gasp melts into a loud, shaky moan. He buries his fingers in Oscar’s hair, desperately trying to tug him close. His thighs widen and fuck, his Omega’s doing so good—spreading his legs for Oscar instinctively. “My good girl,” Oscar praises before he braces his hand against Logan’s thigh and lifts the Omega’s leg over his shoulder, allowing Oscar to press his face against Logan’s entire pussy. 

“A-ah, Oscar—oh god, please, feels so good—please don’t stop, please don’t—!” Logan pants as Oscar flattens his tongue, drowning himself in slick as his free hand comes to brush against Logan’s clit, earning himself a moan loud enough to make Oscar grateful for soundproof walls. 

God, Logan sounds perfect. 

The Omega rocks himself against Oscar’s face as the Alpha eats him out, mouth always finding its way back to that perfect, cherry clit that has Oscar addicted, tongue wrapping around the cherry red bud as his fingers stroke Logan’s slick wet folds. 

“Close—! Fuck, Oscar, I’m so close—ah—!” Logan rides Oscar’s face faster, desperate to chase his release, and Oscar lets him—lets his baby take anything he wants from him.

His mouth clamps down around Logan’s clit, teeth grazing the overstimulated pearl right as his middle and ring fingers brush against Logan’s entrance—

Oscar’s mouth is flooded with green apple, candy floss, and basil—the flavors strong and sweet and gushing as Logan comes, body shaking, moaning uncontrollably above him as he moves against Oscar’s mouth. 

Oscar doesn’t stop, tasting and licking Logan’s pussy until the blond’s hips jerk away, thighs trembling as his hands cradle Oscar’s head. Overstimulated and hypersensitive but unwilling to relinquish his hold on the Alpha. 

“Good girl, perfect girl, you did so well, tasted so fucking sweet.” Oscar rumbles before placing one last kiss on Logan’s red, swollen folds. He leans back, kisses down Logan’s inner thigh before gently setting the blond’s leg down. 

Logan is shaking all over and cries out when Oscar has to pull back slightly to stand up.

He immediately rectifies this, moves to pull Logan into his arms, murmuring soothing whispers of I’m here, I’ve got you, never gonna let you go. 

“Can’t believe you let me taste you, perfect baby.” Oscar kisses the top of Logan’s hand as he lifts Logan’s sundress. He wants to feel Logan’s lower half pressed against him, without the fabric of the dress getting in the way. God he’s sick but he wants to be able to trace Logan’s plump little ass, let his fingers graze down to the blond’s kiss-bitten thighs, trace and tease that perfect clit again—

“M-me?” Logan sounds incredulous even as he pants against Oscar’s shoulder. “I didn’t do anything and—oh god,” Logan presses his thigh to Oscar’s groin, “you’re still hard, I’m sorry—I’ve been so selfish, I didn’t even think about—”

Before Logan can blink—before he can even take another breath—Oscar’s hand comes down with a loud, deafening crack as he slaps Logan’s exposed ass. 

“Oscar—!” He cries but Oscar notices the way Logan’s hips tilt forward, jerking against Oscar’s cock. 

“None of that.” He kisses Logan’s collarbone. “You were perfect, you let me taste you and have you and god, you felt so good. So wet and sweet, your slick was dripping down my chin.” 

“I—I’m sorry.” Logan hides his face in Oscar’s neck and the Alpha grins. Logan was wet. Again. 

“Never apologize for that. You gave me a feast, baby. Thank you.” Gently, the hand that had come down so hard on Logan’s perfect little ass, moves under to slowly lift Logan up. “Wrap your legs around me, pretty girl. I’m going to take you to bed.” 

🌊🌊🌊 🌊🌊🌊

“I’m going to take you to bed.” 

Logan’s heart jolts at that, joy and delirium and pure, unshakeable happiness thrum through him. Bed, Alpha wants to take me to bed, Alpha said I was good, Alpha said I tasted good. Logan’s inner Omega has never been so delighted. He feels warm all over, bubbly and jittery and ready to explode with adoration for this man. 

Oscar. 

Logan does as the Alpha instructs, wraps his legs around the brunet’s thick torso and tucks his head against his shoulder. 

“Good girl.” Oscar praises again as he carries Logan out of the kitchen. 

The blond closes his eyes, nuzzling closer. Doing good for Alpha, his mind reminds him, gonna always be good for Alpha. The thought has Logan’s face splitting into a wide smile. He can’t wait for tomorrow—he’ll kiss Oscar awake and make him breakfast and maybe his Alpha will hold him as Logan cooks. Those strong, capable arms wrapping around Logan’s waist as he cracks eggs and mixes batter for pancakes. Logan wants to feel Oscar kiss his neck as they maneuver around the kitchen, wants to hear the Alpha call him good girl and release more of that pleased ocean breeze and eucalyptus scent. 

“Doing okay?” Oscar’s voice is raspy and already so familiar as he checks in on Logan. 

His heart feels full to bursting. The casual affection, the continuous care—no one had never taken so much as a moment to make sure Logan was alright. Not the hired whore. 

At that thought Logan curls in tighter, holding Oscar closer. Because Oscar didn’t see a cheap little slut who made his money spreading his legs for other people. He had called Logan beautiful, inside and out, and had made Logan see stars without a thought to himself and his own pleasure. Who asked Logan is this okay? before branding Logan as his, now and forever.

Deep down, the Omega in him knows—knows that no matter what happens, from here on out, Logan belonged to Oscar. To this strong, tender, commanding Australian Alpha who Logan was well past infatuated with and was now careening dangerously to love. 

He shuts his eyes. No, not yet. Don’t be too much—don’t scare away the best thing in your life. 

“Baby?” Oscar asks again and it’s only when he feels the gentle brush of the Alpha’s fingers in his hair does Logan realize they’ve come to a stop. 

“Hmm?” He glances up, vision blurry from how hard he’s squeezed his eyes shut. “Oscar?” 

“I’m here, Logan.” He soothes. “I’m gonna put you on the bed now and clean you up, that alright?” 

Logan nods, cheeks flushing at Oscar’s thoughtfulness. 

“Thank you.” He whispers meekly and Oscar chuckles as he moves Logan to the enormous king sized bed. 

But when he lays Logan down, the Omega instantly becomes alert—something is wrong. His body becomes rigid, heart rate increasing, and Logan can feel himself panicking, can feel tears gathering in his eyes. 

Where was his Alpha’s scent? Logan tilts his head to the side, trying to inhale the scent of the Australian seaside—ocean breeze, eucalyptus, fresh grapefruit. 

But there’s nothing there. 

A choked sob escapes Logan’s lips—Alpha, where was Alpha’s scent? Did Alpha leave? Was he a bad Omega? He can do better, Logan can do so much better, come back, please come back Alpha—

Logan doesn’t hear the thudding footsteps as Oscar rushes back in from the bathroom, warm washcloth in hand. Doesn’t see how the Alpha’s face is suddenly terrified, his hands shaking as he moves to the bed, gently sitting beside Logan, calloused hands brushing aside damp golden hair. 

“Baby—”

At the sound of Oscar’s voice, Logan’s body works on autopilot—he instantly rolls over to where Oscar is seated, arms wrapping tightly around his torso, face burying itself in Oscar’s stomach. “Alpha came back.” Logan cries, hot tears rolling down his cheeks. “Thought you were mad, thought you left.” 

Oscar continues to gently stroke Logan’s hair, his scent strong and comforting as it practically blankets Logan with how harshly the Omega is rubbing his face against the Alpha’s shirt. “Never going to leave you, Logan. I could never leave a perfect Omega like you, with your sweet scent and pretty face. Wherever I go, you’ll come with me. To ever country, every quali, every race. Hey,” Oscar’s gentle caress moves to Logan’s cheek, “I’m here, baby, don’t hurt yourself.” 

Logan tries to gentle his movements, but his body is hyperaware of the Alpha now—too tense and anxious to be anywhere that isn’t plastered against Oscar. 

“Bed isn’t right.” Logan mutters. “Don’t like it.” He can’t help the childish whine, the petulance that’s leaking into his tone. He knows it’s not right—that he’s behaving like an ungrateful, spoiled brat—but Logan can’t help it. The bed doesn’t smell like Oscar and that just isn’t right. 

Oscar moves closer, tugs Logan so that the Omega is now seated on his lap, half-slumped over so his cheek is pressed against Oscar’s shoulder. “I’m sorry about that, baby. I can take you to another guest room, whichever one you want—” He’s barely able to finish the sentence when Logan’s head snaps up, blue eyes dark and panicked. 

“No, Alpha, no,” Logan shakes his head, can’t understand why every instinct is urging him to stay as close as possible to the Alpha, “need your scent. Need you. Nest won’t be right without you.” This much Logan knows for certain. His nest won’t be complete without his Alpha, without Oscar, and Logan absolutely will not be able to calm himself until he’s buried beneath layers and layers of his new favorite scent in the world. 

Ocean breeze, eucalyptus. 

Oscar. 

🌊🌊🌊 🌊🌊🌊

“Nest won’t be right without you.” Logan’s words echo through Oscar’s mind, reverberating and ringing until it’s the only truth he knows. 

Logan…Logan wants Oscar in his nest. 

Never in his wildest dreams did Oscar think he’d ever be allowed anywhere near the Omega’s nest until weeks—or months—later. An Omega’s nest is a scared thing, reserved for serious courtships, mates, and pups. 

Not strange, pathetic Alphas who can’t seem to keep their hands off of beautiful, sweet Omegas. 

“You want me in your nest baby?” Oscar can hardly breathe.

Logan, however, doesn’t even hesitate when he nods firmly against Oscar’s shoulder. “Need you there.” He blinks up, those blue eyes freezing Oscar in place. “Nest needs to smell like you.” 

Nest needs to smell like you—oh. 

Oh fuck. 

Oscar glances down at the bedsheets, thousand count Egyptian cotton. Untouched by anyone aside from the cleaners and smelling like detergent with a hint of lemon.

Logan had recoiled at the scent, worked himself to a frenzy, tears in his eyes, lips trembling. 

He…he wanted Oscar’s bed, wanted his scent. Logan wanted Oscar to cross the last remaining line of propriety that was left and bury the Omega in his unmade blankets, infused with his Alpha scent, and let Logan build a nest there. 

He closes his eyes, hope and disbelief warring in his heart. 

Some part of Oscar thinks he should temper this, should slow down this rapidly escalating courtship (was it a courtship? It had to be, Oscar promises himself he’ll buy all the traditional courting gifts tomorrow morning) so they could talk things through, could discuss like reasonable adults. 

But the other part of Oscar—the greater part, the one that hungered for race wins and wasn’t afraid to toe every line in the rulebook to get ahead—rumbled in approval. Omega was in his bed, Omega was his and anything less was a travesty of the highest order. Fuck convention, what were a few societal rules compared to what he and Logan had found? This was his future mate, the one his lonely heart had been searching for without knowing. 

And Oscar had finally found him, walking cold and alone on the streets of London with no one to care for him. 

Not anyone. 

Oscar presses a kiss to Logan’s forehead. “Sorry baby,” he whispers, “I’m gonna take you to my bed now. Our bed, if you want.” 

“I do, I want that. Want that so much.” Logan purrs happily. “Want our bed. No more guest beds.” He wrinkles his nose in distaste and Oscar laughs. God, his Omega is adorable. 

“No more guest beds.” He agrees and just because he can, he kisses Logan again—this time, on the tip of his nose. “Perfect Omega, I’m going to keep you forever.” 

Logan only smiles, content at long last, any lingering stress fading away as he relaxes in Oscar’s arms. 

And later, when Oscar cleans Logan in the safety and comfort of their bed, having stripped his Omega (his soon-to-be Omega) out of his wrinkled sundress and into one of Oscar’s old McLaren shirts, Oscar can’t help but think of rings and baby cradles. He doesn’t want to waste a minute—can’t afford to let anyone else with half a brain snatch Logan away from him. His pretty Omega needs to be mated and wed—and Oscar knows there’s a Harry Winston’s nearby. 

He climbs into bed beside Logan, shirtless and in soft sleep pants, spooning the Omega with a faint smile on his lips. 

Forever sounded just right. 

Logan wakes up in a cocoon of warmth, softness, and familiarity the likes he’s never known but can now no longer live without. The sweet, fresh scent of green apple mixes perfectly with clean eucalyptus and the ocean breeze, washing over Logan in a tide of bliss and frothing, bubbling joy. He giggles, half-awake and giddy, as he snuggles deeper into the fleece-soft blankets, body searching out for more of that perfect ocean breeze and eucalyptus.

It’s only when he hears a low rumble of laughter that his sleepy blue eyes open. Rolling over, Logan hopes and prays that last night wasn’t all a dream—that Oscar stayed and held him, whispered sweet assurances in his ear until Logan fell asleep. 

Honey-brown hair. Soft amber eyes. A small but genuine smile on chapped lips. 

Oscar.

Logan’s Omega purrs in satisfaction. His own lithe frame is plastered against Oscar’s strong, study body, their legs tangled together, Oscar’s arms cradling Logan as if they’d fallen asleep intertwined in one another. 

“Good morning.” The Alpha murmurs, voice scratchy and rough and hot enough to put a blush to Logan’s cheeks. “You look like you slept well.”

“I did.” He peers up shyly. “Your scent made everything better.” 

Oscar’s chest rumbles in pleasure, hands gently rubbing Logan’s back, twisting the soft, worn fabric in between his fingers.

Wait. 

Logan glances down and where he expected a crumpled blue sundress, he instead sees a black and orange shirt, well-worn and slightly faded from numerous washes, printed with an odd symbol he vaguely recognizes. 

“I couldn’t let you fall asleep in that dress.” Oscar explains, voice slightly apologetic but his expression is another but. He looks proud as punch to see Logan draped in his clothes, in his bed, smothered in Oscar’s scent.

“You…want me to wear your clothes?” His last Alpha hadn’t. Had called Logan clingy and childish for wanting to keep pieces of the other man’s scent around him. Had called Logan a baby—immature for his age—and had never provided Logan with soft sleep clothes. 

Now here Oscar was, gifting Logan with his favorite shirt (as indicated by how strongly it smelt of Oscar), cuddling him in the Alpha’s own bed, and practically preening with pride. All because Logan was here, clearly marked as Oscar’s—as Alpha’s—and the brunet clearly had no intention of letting go. Not by how firmly he was gripping Logan’s waist, his heartbeat so close to Logan’s ear. 

Lifting his gaze back up, Logan sees Oscar’s expression darken, a thunderous sort of anger briefly flashing across his face before vanishing. “I want you in my clothes, Logan. I want you in my shirts and nothing else.” Logan squeaks, embarrassed and aroused as Oscar’s hand trails up his spine. “I want you covered in my scent so everyone can know you belong to me. That all they can do is watch while you’re in my arms because they can only dream of having an Omega as sweet and kind as you in their life.” 

Tears threaten to spill down his cheeks. 

A single morning—a single moment—has given Logan the warmth and affection he’s craved his entire life and his heart simply can’t take it. He tucks himself against Oscar, wanting to stay protected in the shelter of his arms forever. “Thank you, Alpha.” He whispers, letting himself call Oscar by his designation—an act usually reserved for courted Omegas but here Logan was, calling the Aussie Alpha without a second thought. 

But for once, Logan doesn’t care. 

Can’t bring himself to care.

Not when Oscar’s scent deepens, rich and all-encompassing, not when he feels the warmth of Oscar’s lips pressing a kiss against his temple as he holds Logan tighter. “Perfect Omega,” he smiles, “you’re gonna look so pretty in the paddock.” 

The paddock? 

Logan looks up, tilting his chin so he can meet Oscar’s beautiful amber-brown eyes. “The paddock? What paddock?” 

The Alpha looks equally confused. “At the races. You can stay in my garage and watch there, I’ll make sure everyone at McLaren treats you like the angel you are.” 

“Your garage?” Logan’s mind is buzzing—is Oscar a mechanic? But no, he said he was in motorsport. A mechanic for one of the teams then. Endurance racing? IndyCar? Logan used to love motorsport—would watch it every Sunday—but his Alpha back then, or ex-Alpha, thought Omegas watching something like IndyCar or Formula One was unbecoming. He threatened to leave and Logan was terrified of being left alone. 

Oscar, however, doesn’t seem at all perturbed by the idea of an Omega watching motorsport. “Yeah baby,” he nuzzles his cheek against Logan’s fluffy blond hair, “I’ll show you around—everything, from Woking to the racetrack. And if Lando tries to annoy you, then you just tell him to fuck off.” 

Lando? Woking? 

The racetrack? 

Logan’s mind whirls, trying to remember why everything sounded so familiar and—

His breath hitches and his heart stutters.

“You’re…you’re Oscar Piastri.” Logan whispers. “You’re the McLaren prodigy.” 

Oscar snorts. “Don’t know about that. I have a good car and I know how to drive fast. Nothing prodigious about it.” 

“You—I barely watch Formula One anymore but I still heard about you.” Logan insists. “Your race in Qatar was incredible, the way you held off the Mercedes and that Red Bull—”

“The sprint race?” 

“Your race pace was amazing, I saw clips of it everywhere and it made me want to watch F1 again.” He knows Oscar might not fully understand the weight of Logan’s words but he felt compelled to watch every highlight reel involving a car emblazoned with an 81. He just never imagined he’d meet the driver in real life, never mind have Oscar cradling Logan in his arms. 

🌊🌊🌊 🌊🌊🌊

“…it made me want to watch F1 again.” 

Logan’s voice is soft—almost secretive—and Oscar knows instantly how much it must’ve cost Logan to say those words out loud. He doesn’t know exactly what happened in the Omega’s past to have caused him to turn away from motorsport, but from everything he’s learned about Logan, he suspects it has something to do with that unworthy sack of shit who dared call himself Logan’s Alpha—for however brief a time. 

“Thank you.” He says instead, fingertips brushing against the knobs of Logan’s spine. “Next time I win a race I’ll kiss you after, when I’m covered in champagne and you’ll have to push me off.” 

“I won’t push you off.” Logan blushes. “But I’ll only kiss the champagne off your lips. Can’t let the cameras see me mauling their champion on live TV.” 

The line is so unexpected—teasing and wry and a little embarrassed—that Oscar laughs. Full on laughs. Not the low chuckles he’s usually known for or the quiet smile-and-nods. Oh no, the sound erupts from Oscar’s lips—bold and genuine—surprises even himself. 

Logan’s eyes brighten at the sound, his own smile growing wider, and Oscar can’t help what he does next. 

Without a second thought he drags Logan on top of him, ignoring his squeals of protest until the pretty blond is fully laid across Oscar’s body—and then, he goes in for the attack.

Lips pressing kisses to Logan’s cheeks, chin, and nose; to his throat and chest—everywhere Oscar can reach.

The delighted peals of laughter Logan lets out effuse Oscar’s own heart with a happiness he rarely feels outside of the car. Except now, Oscar is certain this is better than racing, better than fighting for wins and battling champions on track. 

Here, with Logan sprawled on top of him and the scent of green apple in the air, Oscar has found peace. 

🌊🌊🌊 🌊🌊🌊

Logan makes them pancakes from scratch after Oscar’s stomach rumbles and the Omega delightedly exclaims that Oscar’s kitchen is state of the art and beautiful and would Oscar be okay letting him cook? The Alpha had pressed Logan into the wall and kissed him senseless after that, panting against his neck that Logan can do whatever makes him happy—whether that’s cooking pancakes or taking up underwater basket weaving. Whatever put a smile to Logan’s face was more than okay in Oscar’s book. 

Oscar initially planned to walk into the kitchen wearing just his sleep pants but Logan took one look at Oscar's bare torso and promptly cuddled himself back into the Alpha's arms, kissing and teasing Oscar's chest with little kitten licks. "If you don't pull on a shirt then we're going to starve." The Omega hummed, plastered in Oscar's arms and purring happily. 

Oscar would've been perfectly content staying in bed, letting Logan kiss and touch him however the he liked, but he knows his Omega needs food and nutrients and the provider in Oscar simply can't stand the idea of the pretty blond moving through the day without a good breakfast. 

Now, with Logan still dressed in Oscar’s old McLaren tee and humming what Oscar thinks is Whitney Houston’s How Will I Know as he mixes batter, the Aussie can’t keep his hands off of the blushing Omega. 

Logan is addictive as he twists and turns, pouring batter, flipping pancakes, and telling Oscar to “skedaddle over” like some old timey cartoon. 

Oscar wraps his arms around Logan’s middle, hands clasped on top of his stomach, and wonders what it would be like to see Logan’s belly swell—their own little pup growing in the Omega’s womb. Their own little family. 

Against him, Logan tenses slightly before relaxing. 

“What are you thinking?” He drops a kiss to the crook of Logan’s neck. 

A breathy laugh escapes the blond’s lips as he continues to spoon batter into the pan. “Just…how happy I am. How happy to have you.” He picks up the nearby spatula. “Oscar…” 

“Yeah?” 

“Did you ever—I mean, I know it’s a silly question to ask now but,” he hesitates, “would you…would you ever want pups?” 

Yes. God yes, he does. Oscar’s arm tighten around Logan’s middle. “With you, yes.” 

“Oscar!” 

He laughs. “Just being honest.” He kisses Logan’s neck again. “You’re blushing.” 

“You’re insufferable.” 

“Liar.” 

“Maybe a little.” Logan flips a pancake over, blue eyes fixed on the task in front of him. “Oscar—I…I need to tell you something.” He flips another pancake over. 

“Did you want to wait until the food’s done?”

“No. I can’t. If I wait then I’ll never be able to tell you.” He flips another pancake. “And then you’d hate me.” 

“I could never.” The words are said immediately—instinctively—and Oscar doesn’t even bother hiding it. “Baby…look at me?”

Logan shakes his head. Oscar can feel his breath hitching, his heartbeat quickening. 

“Baby, calm down, you’re going to make yourself sick.” He chides gently, slowly removing his arms from Logan in order to get him a glass of water.

Logan’s free hand—the one not wielding a batter-dipped spatula—immediately clamps down on Oscar’s arm, pressing it tight against his stomach. “Please don’t let go of me.” Logan whispers brokenly. “I can’t think if you’re not touching me.” 

Confusion sweeps through Oscar—he can’t think of why Logan is in near tears but the bigger part of him, the Alpha in him, screams your Omega is in distress—protect, comfort, fix this now. Oscar returns to holding Logan from behind, doing his best to release calming pheromones. 

It works—a little. 

Logan is no longer hyperventilating and has managed to flip the last of the pancakes before turning down the stove. “Don’t let go, okay?” He asks, voice small and fragile and afraid. 

“I won’t.” Oscar isn’t planning to let go of Logan for the foreseeable future but now—at Logan’s insistence—Oscar has no qualms about clinging onto the Omega as tight and as closely as he’ll allow. 

A shaky exhale leaves the other man’s lips. And then—

“I didn’t tell you something last night. Something important. And I wasn’t trying to trick you, I promise Oscar. I was just…I was so afraid. You’re the best thing I’ve ever had in my life and I know it sounds ridiculous because we’ve only known each other a single night but I’ve never felt like this before. I’ve never met anyone who’s made me feel so safe and happy just by being near me.” Logan lets out a sob before shakily grabbing a nearby plate. “I think you’re amazing Oscar. When you learned what I was you didn’t turn me away. You offered to walk me home, you gave me your jacket, you gave me your time and your warmth and god, I…I like you so much. I just wanted to keep talking to you, keep seeing you smile, keep listening to your voice.” He manages to flip the pancakes—one by one—onto the porcelain plate, hand painted with blue hyacinths. “I’m pregnant.” Logan whispers, so quietly and shamefully that Oscar thinks he’s hallucinated the words. 

“Logan—”

“I was—stupid. Like I always am.” A bitter laugh leaves his lips. “But I…I needed the money. I couldn’t pick up any more shifts at Atherton’s and—” Oscar hears Logan sniffle, hears his breathing become ragged again. “I’m making excuses.” He manages. “But I shouldn’t have trusted that client. I got tested as soon as I could and that’s when they told me I’m…I’m going to have a baby.” 

Oscar’s arms stay wrapped tight around Logan, his hands pressing against the blond’s slim waist. His still flat belly. 

“I know you must hate me.” Oscar feels hot tears drop onto the back of his hands. “But I—I want to say thank you. Thank you for holding me. Thank you for the best night of my life. Thank you so much for letting me be here.” 

And—fuck it. The last of Oscar’s restraint snaps. 

He whirls Logan around so they’re face to face, the Omega all but buried in Oscar’s arms as the Alpha looks down at a beautiful, tear-stained face, cheeks red from crying and mouth bitten raw from how hard Logan must have tried to contain his tears. 

“You don’t have to thank me for anything.” Oscar whispers. Everything he’s feeling—the rage, the desperation, the love and desire—it’s choking him from the inside out, leaving Oscar unable to form more than the most simple words. “Logan, I could never, ever hate you. I could never think less of you. All you did, you did to survive. And I am so fucking grateful that we met last night. You’ve made me smile like nothing else, made me feel like no one ever has. Around you, I don’t have to be anyone but myself and that, Logan, is so fucking rare in my world. We’re Formula One drivers but we’re expected to be every single character in between.” He moves his head, fingers slipping under Logan’s chin to tilt his head up. “But around you? I can just be me.” 

Logan shakes his head, silent tears streaming down his cheeks. “You’re wonderful. You were wonderful from the start. I couldn’t have dreamed anyone better than you. But Oscar, I…I can’t stay with you.” 

Ice pierces through Oscar’s heart—brutal and unforgiving. “What?” His lips barely move, unwilling to give voice to the possibility of Logan leaving. “What did you just say?” 

“You can’t possibly want me around, Oscar.” Logan continues—completely unaware of how Oscar’s heart has dropped to his feet. “I’m pregnant with another man’s baby, I—I’m a whore.” 

Oscar shakes his head, unwilling and unable to allow Logan to even entertain such hateful thoughts about himself. Leaning down, he presses his forehead against the Omega’s, allows his scent to permeate the air. “You’re the most beautiful person I have ever met Logan. I told you that yesterday night, and it’s still true now. I want you as my Omega,” Logan lets out a quiet little cry, his hands gripping Oscar’s shirt like a lifeline, “I want to take care of you. Love you if you’ll let me.” He murmurs, some part of him deathly afraid of how much he’s revealed—how he’s all but served his beating heart to Logan on a silver platter. But he’s all in now and if there’s one thing Oscar’s learned it’s to never, ever hesitate once a move has been made. “Let me court you, Logan. Let me court you and claim you and mate you. Let me make you mine.” 

As soon as those words leave Oscar’s lips, Logan collapses against him—like a marionette with its strings cut. Logan falls into him—and weeps. He cries, body shaking and face buried in Oscar’s chest. He cries like he’s never been allowed to—like this is the first time his chest has been split open and Logan has finally been allowed to feel. To experience. To just be. 

He cries as Oscar presses kisses to the top of his head, runs his hands soothingly up and down Logan’s back. He cries, desperately trying to cling onto Oscar—closer and closer, as if wanting to tuck himself into the empty spaces of Oscar’s body. 

And Oscar wants that. 

Wants Logan’s heart to beat for them both, wants their very bones to be etched with the memory of the other. 

“I—I want to be yours Oscar,” Logan hiccups as the last of his sobs begin to fade. “All I want is to be yours. I want you to own me, I want you to claim me, always, and keep me forever. Please, I just want to belong to you.” 

And god—has Oscar ever heard of anything so perfect? 

“You’re already mine, Logan. But I’ll make it official—I’ll do this right, I promise.” He breathes. “And I’ll be yours too, baby. You get an equal claim on me, don’t forget that.” 

“Mine?” Logan’s lips are pressed to Oscar’s chest, he can feel the movement of his mouth, the breathy little sighs and how when he speaks, it’s like he’s kissing the words right into Oscar’s heart. “You’d be mine?”

“I wouldn’t want to be anybody else’s.” Oscar vows. 

He holds Logan then, cradling his soft, sweet Omega in his arms, rocking him gently in a sunlit kitchen in a Kensington penthouse, just the two of them—and the baby Oscar knows he'll love as his own. 

Chapter Text

Confirmed. Dinner for two, private room, The Ledbury. Boasting 3 stars in the Michelin Guide and nestled right in Notting Hill with a menu lovingly curated by chef-patron Brett Graham and head chef Tom Spenceley, The Ledbury was one of Oscar’s favorite restaurants. It was discrete and non-pretentious but had an exquisite menu of phenomenal food and beautiful presentation. 

Oscar had his PA make the reservations and then proceeded to ask her for a selection of the latest cocktail dresses from all the big fashion brands. Logan could pick and choose whichever outfit he wanted—hell, he could pick all of them if he wanted to—and once he was all dolled up (Oscar had thanked Charles profusely for the beauticians he’d recommended), Oscar planned to give him the pièce de résistance—the rose gold Two Butterfly pendant from Van Cleef & Arpels, complete with pink sapphire wings and a white diamond center. 

Maybe it was cheesy and a little cliche but Oscar couldn’t help it. From the wide variety of jewelry stores Max recommended, Oscar had taken one look at Van Cleef’s selection and instantly knew the pink butterfly pendant would be Logan’s. A fresh start for Logan and Oscar, the two of them stretching their wings, ready to fly with each other. 

(God, Oscar is so thankful his sisters aren’t here to watch him moon over Logan while giving a sappy internal monologue that would’ve made for perfect blackmail material.) 

He’s so excited by the time 6 pm rolls around. Logan is finishing up with the beauticians and spa people and whoever else Charles wrote down and told Oscar to book and they still have an hour and a half before their reservation. Charles had been very, very insistent he needed to give Logan enough time to get ready. “No rushing la petite poupée,” the Monegasque driver warned him over the phone, “the poor dear probably isn’t used to someone caring for him like you do, so you must not mark him feel rushed, compris?” 

So Oscar listened, made sure there was plenty of time left on the clock, and now was doing his very best to contain his excitement because even two hours away from Logan felt like a lifetime. 

(He realizes now that he’ll never be able to leave Logan at home during race weekends, knows he’ll need Logan there, by his side, holding his hand, kissing his cheek at whichever country they’ve traveled to. Oscar knows it’s probably unhealthy—that it’s definitely codependent—but he doesn’t care. He’ll make every trip a little vacation for Logan, invite his sisters and mother along so the sweet, shy Omega can meet his family and see how easily they fall in love with him—just like Oscar did.) 

He’s still sitting there on the couch, a movie playing mindlessly in the background and hands cradling the Van Cleef & Arpels jewelry box in its signature mossy green. 

It’s only because his instincts are so attuned to Logan that he realizes when the green apple and candy floss scent deepens—richer and brighter than it’s ever been—that Oscar all but shoots up, turning to see—

Oh fuck. 

Fuck, fuck fuck. 

There, walking towards him, is Logan—his Logan—his peachy soft skin practically glowing from whatever spa treatments that were done. His blond hair has been washed, conditioned, cut, and perfectly styled so it falls over his forehead, the strands glimmering gold. Those long, lean legs look so soft that Oscar’s hands twitch with desire to touch them—scrubbed, exfoliated, shaved smooth and looking fresh from the bath, temping Oscar from beneath the same well-worn McLaren t-shirt Logan now wears every day to bed. 

Oscar doesn’t know what it was those beauticians did but Logan…Logan looks angelic. The makeup—was he even wearing makeup?—is so subtle that the only thing Oscar can tell Logan is actually wearing is a soft, shiny lip gloss the color of pink begonias. His eyes—that gorgeous ocean blue—are practically glowing, framed by long dark lashes, perfectly curled, and something shimmery on his eyelids. His high cheekbones and the cut of his jaw look sculpted out of marble—like those statutes Oscar remembers seeing at the Musée d’Orsay, the eternal memories of great heroes and their last loves. 

But as Logan moves closer, seemingly lit from within, the apples of cheeks turn rosy and fuck—Oscar knows he shouldn’t think this, shouldn’t be contemplating this, not right now—but Logan looks freshly fucked. Lips parted, face flushed, skin luminous. He can hear the moans Logan let out that night in the kitchen, when Oscar got to suck and kiss and taste the nectar between his pretty boy’s thighs. 

Fuck. Oscar can feel himself getting hard as Logan stops in front of him, head tilting down as if embarrassed. 

Oscar wants to kiss him—and, who’s going to stop him? Reaching out, he hauls his Omega’ into his arms and adores how Logan goes so easily, collapsing into Oscar as if he’s the only home he’s ever known. 

“Beautiful,” Oscar breathes, “you look so fucking beautiful, Logan. Angelic. Heavenly. And every other synonym I can’t seem to remember right now.” 

A pleased, shy little laugh escapes Logan’s lips and he wraps his arms around Oscar’s neck, eyes gleaming with happiness. “God, you’re a charmer tonight.” 

“Only telling you the truth, angel.” 

“Angel?” He wrinkles his nose. “Is that my new nickname?” 

“Angel, darling, honey,” Oscar lists off, watching as each new nickname causes Logan to laugh harder. “But I think my favorite will always be mine.” 

Instantly the laughter turns into a burning, bright red blush as Logan tucks himself into the crook of Oscar’s neck. 

The act itself now has Oscar laughing as he runs one hand through the other’s soft blond hair, careful not to ruin the style but truly unable to help himself. “I can’t wait for everyone to see you tonight, baby. They’ll be drooling with jealousy knowing you’re all mine. And fuck, I forgot to tell you the fun part.” Oscar suddenly remembers as he leans back slightly, causing Logan to look up in confusion. 

Oscar deposits the Van Cleef box on the glass coffee table before showing Logan his phone. He selects the carousel of photos his PA sent him and hands the phone to a bewildered Logan who is now standing cradled in Oscar’s arms and holding his phone like it’s poison. 

“You can pick out whatever you want. Pick all of them actually.” Oscar kisses the top of Logan’s head. “Anna will have it delivered and then you can wear it to dinner at The Ledbury tonight.” 

“Anna?” 

“My PA.” Oscar’s hands sneaks up under Logan’s shirt—or, Oscar’s shirt. “She’ll bring the entire collection over. You can play dress up and then we’ll go out and I’ll get to see the most beautiful Omega in the world sitting across from me over a candlelit dinner.” 

Logan blushes, hiding his face in the crook of Oscar’s neck once more, but there’s a tension to Logan’s narrow shoulders—a sort of discomfort that hadn’t been there before. 

“Baby?” 

Logan doesn’t answer and instead circles his own arms around Oscar’s waist, hugging him close. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing.” The Omega replies stubbornly, refusing to lift his head. 

“Logan.” 

“I’m fine.” 

“You’re not.” 

“I’m…I don’t…” He trails off, hesitant in a way that Oscar hasn’t seen since they ran into each other a handful of nights ago. “I just don’t want to embarrass you, I guess.” 

Oscar frowns. “Embarrass me? Baby do you see yourself? You walked over here looking like a dream come to life—I, shit, I got hard just looking at you.” He tugs Logan closer, pressing his hips against the plush softness of Logan’s thigh. “I’d be more worried about me embarrassing you. Look at the crazy Aussie jumping around and acting like a loon just to make that pretty Omega smile.” He kisses the top of Logan’s head, feels a sliver of relief when he feels the blond huffing out a small laugh. “What’s bothering you, Logie? You can tell me. You can always tell me.” 

Hesitation. Oscar watches the way he bites down on his bottom lip, worrying it between his teeth. And then—

“I…I know this is going to sound ungrateful,” he whispers, eyes downcast,” but I’m…nervous. All those people around us and looking at you, at me. I’m used to working in the shadows, leaving before anyone really lays eyes on me. I just don’t want to walk beside you and have you regret it.” 

Pain—sharp and stinging—lacerates Oscar’s chest. Logan’s lack of self-esteem and feelings of unworthiness that had been instilled in him through years of sex work and the pitiful Alphas who mistreated him had worn away at the Omega’s sense of self. In the time they’d spent together, Oscar knew Logan was naturally soft spoken, that he was polite and sweet and so damn courteous he would ignore his own discomfort for the sake of others. His baby was a bit of a people pleaser and the Alpha knew it was his job to love and care for Logan until he was aware of his actual worth and was able to walk into rooms with his head held high, Oscar’s hand firmly clasped in his, and blue eyes sparkling with confidence. 

Until then, Oscar reminded himself, Logan needed love and support—not Oscar threatening to gouge out the eyes of anyone who dared look at Logan the wrong way. 

“I’m going to tell you this now—you are the kindest, gentlest, most tender-hearted angel who’s ever walked this earth,” Oscar’s lips press against the top of Logan’s head, “and until you believe it, I’ll be here to remind you.” 

A soft little sigh escapes Logan’s lips. “Thank you.” The words are meek—a little self-conscious—but Logan offers none of his usual protest at the compliment.

“And you know what? Let me give Anna the night off. She can have a long weekend.” He takes the phone from Logan’s hand and rattles off a few quick text messages. “And we can have date night at home.” 

“What?” Logan looks up, alarmed. “But you made reservations, you organized everything and put in so much work—”

“Taking care of you is not work, Logan. It’s a privilege. And The Ledbury will still be there even if we don’t make our reservation—hell, we might make someone else’s night if we don’t show up—so let me cuddle you and we can picnic on the balcony, yeah? I’ll get us some pastries from that bakery you like—the one with the chocolate ganache lava cake—and you can make mocktails in the kitchen. We can watch the sunset and I’ll pretend like I’m licking the chocolate off your face when I’m really just stealing kisses.” 

At his words, Logan leans back slightly. Both their arms are wrapped around each other, hearts connected, and tears are now forming in those clear blue eyes. “You mean it?” His voice cracks slightly. Joy and love and hope frothing to the surface. 

“Yeah Logie.” His eyes crinkle as he smiles. “Just as long as I’m with you.” 

“I’ll always be here.” The words are spoken like a promise—like a sacred, solemn vow. “I’ll always be with you.” 

“Good.” He tucks his phone into his back pocket. “Now close your eyes and turn around.” 

An adorable pout appears on Logan’s face. “But I want to kiss you.” 

“In a minute, love.” He turns to pick up the neglected Van Cleef box and moves to face Logan, now standing dutifully with his eyes closed, pink lips still fixed in a pout. Fuck, he can’t help himself. Oscar places a gentle kiss to those soft lips, adoring how Logan tries to deepen the kiss before gently moving back. “Hold out your hands, baby.” He instructs, and then deposits the gift box into Logan’s palm. 

Blue eyes blink open as a faint look of confusion comes over his face. “Oscar…?” 

“Open it.” 

He hears Logan’s breath hitch as delicate fingers, slim and graceful, pluck one the mossy green box delicately printed with the Van Cleef & Arpels symbol in a paler shade of green. 

Slowly, the butterfly emerges—pink sapphires, white diamond body, hung on a platinum chain. 

Logan’s mouth opens but no sound comes out. 

“Surprise.” Oscar smiles, outwardly confident but inside, he’s as nervous as he was the day he first stepped into a Formula One car. “It’s um, it’s from Van Cleef’s Two Butterfly collection. I thought the pink sapphire would look beautiful on you—it matches that blush of yours perfectly.” He gives a light tease and Logan chokes out a faint laugh. 

“Oscar…this—this is beautiful.” He hasn’t looked away from the necklace, one hand hovering above where it’s nestled in the velvet cushion. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so beautiful.” There’s another look of disbelief that crosses Logan’s face before suddenly, he turns to place the box down on the nearest side table and then all but jumps into Oscar’s arms. 

It’s only thanks to his rigorous reflex training that Oscar catches Logan in time, right as the Omega locks his legs around the Alpha’s waist, arms wrapping around Oscar’s neck. He kisses him then—passionate and deep before he licks at Oscar’s bottom lip, asking for permission.

He gives it, opens his mouth, lets Logan take anything he wants. He tastes lemonade and mint and something so sweet that it could only be Logan himself. Oscar tilts his head, kissing back, lips moving against Logan’s own as he gives himself to the beautiful man in his arms. 

It’s only when they’re both breathless, chests heaving, that Logan leans back, radiant. “Thank you baby,” he pants softly, “thank you for everything.” 

The words I love you are stuck in Oscar’s throat. The crashing, overwhelming wave of emotion sweeping him under.

Instead, Oscar captures Logan’s lips in another kiss. They have time before sunset. 

Logan watched the Belgian Grand Prix at home, not quite ready to venture onto the world’s stage as Oscar’s partner just yet. He’d messaged his boyfriend (maybe they weren’t official yet—Logan had been too nervous to ask, though that hasn’t stopped him from calling Oscar his boyfriend in his heart) almost obsessively, sending texts, voice memos, and memes even though Oscar could only respond sporadically in between media duties, free practice, quali, and race prep. 

But now, after a painful, aching week away, Oscar is home, lying on the enormous leather couch with Logan sprawled on top of him. They’re watching Notting Hill on the enormous flat screen, the penthouse smells of the chicken parmigiana Logan had made from scratch. On the coffee table are the now empty ramekins that once held chocolate soufflés (the fourth batch Logan made after the first three had completely collapsed on themselves ten seconds after coming out of the oven) alongside a half-full bottle of chilled sparkling cider. The American is nearly a puddle of happiness. 

He’s convinced that there is no heaven or paradise that isn’t Oscar Piastri lying beneath him, one hand carding through Logan’s hair while his other hand rests firmly on the Omega’s ass. 

He turns so his chin is now resting on Oscar’s solid chest. For a moment, he just looks—at Oscar’s profile, turned to face the TV, how his eyes are focused on the screen, the occasional amused snort sounding like music to Logan’s ears. 

“Looking at me baby?” Oscar murmurs, turning so they’re now face to face. 

“Yes.” He replies shamelessly. “Can’t help it. Alpha’s so pretty.” 

“Yeah? I’m your Alpha?” 

Logan’s heart pounds. He knows what he called Oscar during their first night together, begging the Aussie to stay in his nest, to smother Logan in his scent. 

But there are expectations—protocols and traditions. 

And they’d broken every single one less than 12 hours after meeting. 

“You’re my Alpha.” But does it even matter? Logan thinks. He knows Oscar’s it for him, the one he’s going to love forever—his future mate, if Logan’s lucky. “Can I call you that, Oscar? My Alpha?” 

“You have to ask?” Oscar breathes, fingers tugging at Logan’s blond strands. “You’re giving me something I would’ve never dared ask for and you think I would tell you no?” He huffs out a laugh and, before Logan knows it, Oscar is sitting upright and Logan is hauled onto his lap, straddling Oscar. His Alpha tugs Logan close and he can’t help but admire the perfect amber-whiskey softness of Oscar’s eyes—familiar and warm and the safest sight he’s ever known. “I want you forever, Logan, you and our little one.” And—oh. Logan’s breath hitches, heart nearly beating out of his chest. “Our family is the most important thing to me. You’re my Omega and I’m your Alpha, always.” 

The words seep into Logan, filtering through skin and muscle to rest in the depths of Logan’s heart. 

Our family. 

“Do you mean that?” His voice cracks, lips trembling with the weight of a love he never thought he could feel. “I love this baby but I also love you Oscar. I love you.” He confesses freely—openly—unable to contain the truth for a moment longer. “Please don’t tell me you want us if you don’t mean it. Because this baby will be very real in a few months, I’m—I’m going to look different. I’m going to smell different. And I want this baby, Oscar. I want this baby and I want you.” God, he’s greedy. He’s so stupidly greedy but these past few days with Oscar have taught Logan that maybe it’s okay to want things for himself. That it’s okay to fight for what he wants, to speak up and be brave and straighten his spine even when he’s afraid. 

But the expression Oscar deals him—so filled with affection and a hint of pride at Logan’s growing confidence—is what gives Logan the strength to confess. 

Oscar’s hand moves from Logan’s hip to cup his cheek, thumb brushing against his jaw. “I love you, Logan Sargeant. I love you and I want a family with you—I want forever with you, if you’ll have me.” His eyes crinkle, smile widening as the scent of ocean breeze and eucalyptus deepen. “The moment I saw you, when I held you in my arms, I knew you were it for me, Logan. Maybe it was fate, kismet, or serendipity—but I felt something in me just…fill in. You’re my missing puzzle piece, baby. And I—well, I think this is going to sound crazy,” he lets out a slightly self-deprecating chuckle, “but I’ve always believed in true mates. Some part of me always held onto that dream, even as I grew up and the whole concept seemed less and less likely. But I’ve seen true mates with my own eyes,” Oscar’s hand moves, long, calloused fingers tangling in Logan’s soft blond hair. “And I think we’re one of the lucky ones Logan.” 

Logan can’t believe what he’s hearing. It’s like Oscar’s peeked into Logan’s mind, read his truest hopes and wishes, and is now saying them out loud. “You believe in true mates?” Logan doesn’t dare to speak above a whisper, too afraid of shattering this moment before them. 

“I do.” Oscar affirms, voice strong and steady. “I think you’re my true mate, and I’m yours. That we’re each other’s.” He hesitates. “I know it might sound a bit mad but I’ve felt this from the start. And I’m just thinking out loud,” he adds quickly, “you don’t have to believe this, or agree with me just because you think it’s what I want to hear.” 

Logan can’t speak. He physically can’t articulate a single thought—his heart is too full, overflowing with a love that’s fit to burst before the Omega all but throws himself at Oscar in a passionate, all-consuming kiss. Oscar has only a second to react before Logan deepens the kiss, trying to push their bodies closer even as their like this, chest to chest, and Logan all but melted on top of the Australian Alpha. 

“Baby, Logan—” 

“I love you.” Logan exhales, leaning back just enough so blue eyes meet amber. “I believe in true mates and I think my heart accepted you as my Alpha before I could even wrap my mind around it.” He’s speaking freely now, no longer hesitant, not a stutter in sight. “I didn’t know what to do because even though I didn’t know you yet, I’d never felt more complete than when you grabbed me by the waist and kept me from face-planting on the concrete sidewalk.” Oscar snorts out a laugh but his eyes are suspiciously shiny and his grip on Logan’s hips have become painfully, blissfully tight. “I didn’t think I’d ever find anyone who’d want us,” he moves one hand from Oscar’s shoulder to press against his own still-flat stomach, “but I was wrong. I found the missing piece to our little family the night I met you, Oscar.” Tears swim in Logan’s eyes as he leans forward to press a feather-soft kiss to Oscar’s trembling lips. “You’re my family, Oscar, and you’re going to be the best papa.” 

Oscar doesn’t speak then but his breathing is ragged, tear-soaked and filled with emotion, as he holds Logan closer. Presses the Omega’s cheek to his heart, wants Logan to know who it beats for. 

“Let’s buy a cradle.” Oscar suddenly says. “We’ll have to turn one of the guest rooms into a nursery—I think the middle room, it’ll be next to our bedroom and Baby Sargeant-Piastri will get the best view of the sunset.” 

Logan snorts. “Baby Sargeant-Piastri? Bit of a mouthful for someone who’s not even the size of a walnut yet.” 

“It’s the best we’ve got and I’m not calling our baby ‘peanut’ or anything inane like that.” 

“Peanut’s cute!” 

“It’s overused. Our baby’s one of a kind.” 

“All babies are one of a kind, you pretentious hipster.” 

Oscar drops a casual kiss to the top of Logan’s head. “We’re not calling our baby ‘peanut.’” 

“Well, we’re not giving the baby a nickname with seven syllables in it either.” 

From the corner of his eye he can see the brunet smiling, front teeth showing in a way that looks absolutely adorable. 

“You look kind of like a bunny when you smile like that.” He reaches up, one hand tracing Oscar’s lips. 

“I look like a rabbit?” 

“No,” Logan corrects, “a bunny. Much cuter.” 

“…Thanks.” The sarcasm is so thick in his voice Logan’s amazed he doesn’t choke on it. 

He giggles. “It’s a compliment! Your front teeth peek out when you’re really smiling and you look like the cutest bunny in the world.” Logan lifts his head and maneuvers so they’re face to face, Oscar tryin to bite back amusement and Logan’s eyes shining with mischief. “We should call our baby that.” It’s the first time he’s acknowledged the child as theirs. “Bunny.” 

Oscar kisses him then, sweet and cherished, then leans back with a fond smile. “Absolutely not.” 

Summer break arrives a month after Logan has moved in with Oscar. The McLaren driver had arranged everything, confirming the end of Logan’s lease, moving nearly everything into storage, and ensuring Logan would receive the best medical and prenatal care as their little miracle continues to grow safe and healthy, protected and so, so loved by both parents. 

It’s been a month of pure bliss and Oscar has a little surprise up his sleeve for his Omega. After a movie night in their bedroom, both cuddled together under fleece blankets and a veritable mountain of snacks, the Omega—stripped down to a pair of silky panties—had shyly confessed that the one thing he missed the most since his move to the UK were the endless white sand beaches and crashing ocean waves of the Florida seaside. 

And if Logan was missing Florida, then there was only one thing to do. 

🌊🌊🌊 🌊🌊🌊

“Oscar you didn’t!” Logan’s delighted exclamation is well worth the secrecy and planning as they step out of the McLaren 750S and onto the beachfront house located right on top the pristine white sands of Clearwater Beach. He watches as Logan all but runs off the private, gated driveway and onto the sandy beach spread out before them with the beach house in the background. 

His Omega is dressed in a fluttery ice blue halter dress with a ruffled hem that stopped mid-thigh. The fabric was semi-sheer and layered on top of each other, lending the entire dress to give a dreamy, almost fairy-like effect. Paired with Logan’s lithe frame and elegant limbs, Oscar felt like he was watching a dream come to life as Logan moved with a ballerina’s grace towards the gentle ocean shore. 

A delighted burst of laughter escapes the blond as he slips off the white heeled sandals Charles had insisted Oscar buy for Logan ahead of the trip (Fendi something—Ffold? Something like that). Fingers curled along the strap of his new shoes, Logan rushes to the water, a yelp escaping him at the chilly temperature even with a bright yellow sun blazing overhead. “Oscar! What’re you still doing by the car? The water's beautiful!” Blue eyes flash over to where Oscar’s standing, arms crossed, leaning against the side of the McLaren. 

A smile twitches on his lips, stoic expression broken by the fondness in his eyes. 

“I’m good here.” He calls out, watching as Logan jumps when a gentle wave hits his calves. 

He can’t help it. Oscar takes out his phone and sneaks in a photo or two. He wants to capture this moment, of Logan free and happy playing in the waves, the heaviness of doubt and fear leaving him and allowing his Logan to shine, gold and blue and beautiful. 

“You’re missing out on all the fun!” Logan shouts back, giggling as the water rises higher the further out he goes. 

“Careful!” Oscar can’t help it—he knows Logan can swim (he grew up by the beach for Christ’s sake)—but his Alpha instincts have been going haywire lately. It seems now that they’ve accepted each other as their future mates, Oscar’s inner Alpha has also accepted his role as protector and provider, growling over Logan like some brutish caveman. 

But can anyone blame Oscar? 

With Logan looking so sweet and vulnerable in his arms every morning, his pretty baby’s cheeks so soft and rosy from sleep and kisses. Oscar knows Logan could’ve asked for anything from him and he would’ve given it. 

But all his precious boy wanted was to see the beach and feel the salt air on his skin. 

Overhead, a seagull flies above the gate of their private beach house. Oscar’s amber eyes track the flight of the bird, marveling at the tranquility of the scene before him. 

A faint glint of…something catches his eye. He squints. Was that a camera? 

Don’t be paranoid Oscar, he chides himself, no one knows you’re here. Do not let your own anxiety ruin this trip for Logan. 

Besides, what paparazzi stalked some random beach in Florida? Weren’t they all in Los Angeles or New York? Oscar shakes the thought from his head. This was going to be a relaxing trip for him and Logan. He’d spoil his baby rotten, send him to the spa, cuddle him in fresh linen sheets, dine at the finest restaurants, and walk along the shoreline at night, when the stars were out and Logan could finally tell him about the constellations he’d memorized as a child. 

“Oscar!” Logan shouts again, and the brunet’s gaze immediately returns to his Omega. 

Pink cheeked, seawater in his hair and the bottom of his pretty blue dress slightly damp. 

“I think I need to change, I don’t want to ruin this—!” His sentence is interrupted by another wave cresting forth, this time half-drenching Logan in foamy white-blue water. 

Oscar can’t help it. His baby, soaked through and holding his shoes, the chiffon of his dress turning completely see-through. 

Fuck it. 

He toes off his shoes and walks towards the shoreline to scoop Logan in his arms, twirling him around as Logan laughs, burying his face against Oscar’s chest. “I’m getting you all wet—!” He warns. 

Oscar doesn’t care. “I’ll get you wet later.” He smirks, kissing the tip of Logan’s nose. 

“Oscar!” 

🌊🌊🌊 🌊🌊🌊

They run into Max and Charles entirely by accident while headed to The Black Pearl restaurant for dinner. 

Honestly, Oscar had no idea why the power couple in F1 had chosen this sleepy stretch of sand to spend their summer break but then again, the McLaren driver supposed, the privacy of it all could be appealing to the two most photographed faces in the paddock. 

“Oscar!” Charles calls out cheerfully as they meet underneath fairy lights, the stone pathway surrounded by lush palm trees and what looks to be paper lanterns hanging all around. 

“Charles, Max,” Oscar nods politely, wrapping one arm around Logan and tucking the Omega against his side. “Surprised to see you both here.” 

“There isn’t a tiki bar in existence that won’t get a visit from Charlie at least once.” The Dutch Alpha chuckles. His left arm is wrapped all the way around the brunet Omega’s slim waist, their hands threaded together at Charles’ hip while the Monegasque leans against his taller mate, smile sweet and pleased and, if Oscar were to guess, a little drunk.

Max is tall and steady, easily holding Charles’ weight while his free hand holds his mate's sparkly lavender purse that is in sharp contrast to his white button-up and navy blue trousers. 

Against him, Oscar feels Logan let out a sound of admiration as Charles turns to Max, letting his short summer dress spin and shimmer against the lantern lights. 

“Show them the pictures Maxie!” Charles untangles his right hand from Max’s to grab at the lavender purse, only managing to stay on his feet thanks to Max’s tight grip around his waist. “It’s such a lovely sight—très festif, très amusant! You and—mon dieu, je suis tellement désolé!” He lets the half-opened purse hang in his hand as he tries to march forward, forcing Max to trot behind him in an effort to keep the very tipsy Monegasque upright. 

Standing directly in front of Logan, Charles cheerfully thrusts out his hand in greeting. “Bonsoir! You must be the very beautiful mystery that’s kept our Oscar in such a good mood lately!” 

Oscar watches with unguarded affection as Logan blushes shyly, one hand coming to curl around the front of Oscar’s shirt as he gives an embarrassed shrug. “I don’t think Oscar’s mood has much to do with me but it’s very kind of you to say so.” Logan gives a sweet, shy smile. “My name is Logan, it’s very nice to meet you Charles.” 

“Oh, tu es juste adorable!” [Oh, you are just adorable!] Charles all but coos, looking very much like he was seconds away from pinching Logan’s cheeks. 

Max lets out a low chuckle and gives a loose wave with his free hand. “Max. Nice to meet you, and hope you and Oscar are having a good night here.” He nods to the boardwalk surroundings, the dark blue of the night lit up by a blanket of stars and warmed by golden lantern lights. “You headed to dinner?”

He nods. “The Black Pearl on Main Street, it’s got a good pasta selection for Logan.” 

“Ah, good choice. We were at Watercolor Grillhouse, it’s got a great view of the ocean. Very intimate, good for privacy.” 

Oscar thinks back to how they’ve managed to navigate their way through the Florida seaside with minimal disruption. “Good to know, though I don’t think that’s as big a problem for me. Less photogenic.” 

“Nonsense!” Charles interjects right as Logan murmurs: 

“I think you’re very handsome.” 

Max laughs out loud at this, blue eyes observing as he watches the way Oscar tugs Logan closer, drops a kiss to his temple that causes the shy American Omega to bloom with joy. 

It’s a small moment, but the Dutchman can’t help but watch the way Logan sways into Oscar, how the Australian can barely keep his hands off Logan. Not possessive or cloying—but protective. 

Present. 

As if he’s fully aware of the dangers of the world and simply wants to hold Logan close, to be his sanctuary and his home.

It’s the same way Max holds Charles, the same way he’s observed Kimi holding Sebastian. 

In his arms, he feels Charles move, doesn’t even glance down before he feels soft lips press against his jaw. 

“What was that for?” He murmurs, glancing down at the same brunet he’s loved since they were both 13 and fearless and already falling in love. 

“They are in their own world,” Charles replies with a slight pout, “it is very cute but also very rude! How am I supposed to make friends with Logan if Oscar is hogging all his attention?” 

From the corner of his eye he can see how Oscar is whispering something in Logan’s ear that causes the American to giggle delightedly. 

It’s a sweet picture—Logan is maybe a few centimeters taller than Oscar but somehow, it’s the Australian who’s presence towers and fills the space. Logan curves in on himself—shy and a little unsure—but when he’s speaking with Oscar, Max sees how the blond simply glows. Relaxed and happy. 

“Do you see?” His Omega frowns with exaggerated drama. “They are all sugar and love and I don’t even have a camera with me.” 

“Oh?” Max does little to hide his smirk. “They remind you of anyone, schat?” 

Charles’ cheeks turn rosy. “Well,” he turns around so they are face to face, Charles’ fingers curling around the front of Max’s button-up, “are you going to complain?” He ducks his head, looking up at Max through long fringed lashes. “My poor bébé, your mate is so in love with you.” Mischief sparkles in those gorgeous green eyes Max so adores. 

“Yeah,” his voice is soft, “and I love him too.” 

“Hey, Max!” Oscar’s voice suddenly cuts through the weight of the moment as both Max and Charles turn to face the other Alpha. “Logan and I need to make our reservation.” He smirks. “Try not to get arrested for public indecency.” 

Beside him, Logan blushes scarlet. 

“We will wish the same for you, mon ami!” Charles replies with a matching smirk. 

“That won’t be necessary,” Logan cuts in, “Oscar and I can be very discreet.” 

Max barks out a laugh—shocked and surprised by the quip—while Charles nearly claps in delight. “Oh, you are a dear!” The Monegasque laughs. “And witty too!” 

“He’s the best.” Oscar grins. “And he’s mine for keeps.”   

Max watches as the young couple walks off, Logan still tucked to Oscar’s side as the sea breeze blows in. 

Without another word, Max bends down to tuck one arm under Charles’ knees, hoisting him up. 

“Max—! One moment my love,” Charles says even as he loops his arm around his mate’s neck, “we simply must take a picture together, non? To commemorate the day our Australian Iceman’s icy heart melted!”

Logan tilts his head, slightly confused. “Iceman? But Oscar isn’t icy at all. He’s considerate and observant and generous with his time and his heart. I don’t think he’s an Iceman at all.” He says this so sincerely, honestly bleeding into every word. Max watches as Oscar’s expression turns positively besotted, lips curved into a smile the Dutchman’s never seen on the likes of the McLaren driver before—something so soft and intimate he wonders if Oscar’s aware of his own expression. 

“He didn’t mean anything by it, love.” Oscar explains tenderly. “It’s a nickname someone in the press came up with and everyone else just ran with it. Apparently, I remind the old guard of Kimi Raikkonen and since no one’s creative enough to come up with anything else, I just…inherited his title, I guess.” 

“Well that’s a silly thing to do.” Logan protests with a light huff. 

“Most of F1 reporting is a bit silly.” Charles chimes in from his place in Max’s arms. “But that’s why we adore your Oscar, oui? He’s very—how do you say? Straight edged?” 

“Straightforward, schat.” Max corrects with a kiss to the brunet’s temple. “And if we’re all going to be posing for a photo, who’s taking it?” 

“I think there’s a feature where it can self-time photos.” Oscar pulls out his phone. “Here, I got it.” 

“You absolute luddite.” Charles coos at Max, smile fond and tipsy and so in love. 

Beside him, Logan hugs Oscar from behind as the Aussie sets up his phone on a nearby post, angling it so it can capture the requisite selfie. 

“You want me to move?” The blond asks, face half-buried in Oscar’s shirt. 

“No. Keep holding onto me. I don’t want a second to go by without your touch on my skin.” 

“God we haven’t even gone to dinner yet and you’re already drunk.” 

“What can I say?” Oscar turns around after the camera as been set, sweeping Logan into his chest. “You’ve got me feeling poetic.” 

“All set?” Max calls out.

Oscar nods as he and Logan walk over. “Shouldn’t take very long—”

“Mais non!” Charles protests. “We’ll need to make several—this is a moment that simply must be captured. I think I’ll post it on my story, if that’s okay with you?” He directs the question to Logan, who’s wide blue eyes quickly turn to Oscar for guidance. 

“Up to you, love.” The Alpha reassures. “Whatever you want.” 

“Stories disappear, right?” 

Charles nods. “Oh yes, they only last for 24 hours. It’ll be gone after, I promise.” 

Logan chews on his bottom lip. “Okay. Maybe just one?” 

“Perfect!” Charles cheers right as the camera goes off. “Putain, we’ll need to try again.” 

Logan giggles. “Let’s set the timer for bit longer, Osc.” 

Oscar can only kiss him in response. 

(They do eventually manage to get “the shot,” as Charles dubs it. By then, Oscar and Logan are almost 15 minutes late to their reservation and the Australian declares Logan needs sustenance immediately. The couples exchange numbers, with Charles promising to send Logan lots of beautiful dresses after learning Logan has only been buying clothes one at a time and by then both Max and Oscar are impatient to kiss their Omegas again and the quartet bids one another good night.) 

🌊🌊🌊 🌊🌊🌊

charles_leclerc has posted to his story. 

[Image Description: Max holding Charles bridal style in his arms while Logan is plastered to Oscar’s side, the Australian clutching at the blond Omega’s waist under the flickering torchlight of the Floridian evening. Charles has set the image to the song “I Melt With You” by Modern English. Within the photo Charles has written the caption: j’ai vu des amoureux au bord de la mer. Oscar Piastri has been tagged.] 

🌊🌊🌊 🌊🌊🌊

The warm, sea salt air of the Floridian coast kisses the sweat from Logan’s brow as he and Oscar walk hand in hand down the gravel path. Cicadas sing in the distance, accompanied by the harmony of palm trees swaying in the night. Oscar’s palm—his Alpha’s palm—is pressed against his, fingers intertwined, and Logan can hardly believe that this crystal-cut reality now belongs to him. 

His cheeks hurt from smiling. His skin is kissed by silk every step he takes, the pink butterfly necklace is a permanent fixture around Logan’s neck, and the scent of green apple scents the air, so sweet and fresh one would think they were in the midst of an apple orchard rather than the seaside. 

“You smell delectable.” A strong, familiar accent murmurs, voice caressing Logan’s skin and causing goosebumps to bloom. 

He turns, blue eyes meeting amber. “I’m happy.” He says even as his heart feels full to bursting, filled with such a soul-encompassing bliss that Logan doubts Shelley or Keats would be able to articulate the happiness flush around him. 

Oscar’s eyes soften, his grip on Logan’s hand tightening before he brings their intertwined hands to his lips, placing a kiss to where their fingers are laced. “I’m glad.” 

A supernova blooms in his heart. “You’re going to make me blush.” His voice is breathy—seductive in a way that’s inimitable, borne solely from adoration and a love so true the universe has destined their hearts find one another in every life. “If you keep this up, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to watch a romcom again. You’ll be the gold standard.” 

“Oh? You mean I’ll finally have one up on Colonel Brandon?” They’d watched Sense & Sensibility on the flight over—the 1995 adaptation by Emma Thompson, Logan’s favorite version. He’d been seated on Oscar’s lap, a puddle of feather-soft sighs and beaming smiles whenever Alan Rickman’s Colonel Brandon appeared on screen. 

At Oscar’s mention, Logan only shakes his head and leans to kiss the apple of Oscar’s cheek. “You’re better than Colonel Brandon, Oscar. You’re real and you’re here and,” he exhales, “you’re mine.” 

When he leans back, he sees that Oscar’s eyes are glassy, almost shimmering under the clear evening stars. “I’m yours.” He affirms, voice quiet but strong, assured in the same way Logan fell in love with all those weeks ago. “And the next time we watch Sense & Sensibility I’ll remind you of what you said here so you better save all those sighs and swoons for me, got it?” 

“Well aren’t you possessive all of a sudden.” Logan huffs. “You can’t blame a man for finding a steadfast gentleman in Regency wear swoon worthy!” 

“Is this your way of saying you want me to dress in breeches, a waistcoat, and learn how to ride a horse?” 

Logan fake gasps. “Oscar! Are you telling me you can’t steal a horse and gallop through the rain in dramatic fashion for me?”

“You caught me. All this time I hoped you’d never find out and would be satisfied with a garage full of McLaren’s instead.” He deadpans. 

“Silly Alpha,” Logan bumps his hip against Oscar’s, “how’re you supposed to dramatically gallop through a roiling English field in a sports car?” 

“…To be fair, I don’t think that was in the minds of the engineers when they were designing McLaren road cars, babe.” 

“A great injustice.” 

“Worthy of a riot?” Oscar arches a brow. 

Logan nods. “A rebellion, really. After all, it’s a crucial feature.” 

“The ability to drive through English fields in the pouring rain?” 

“The ability to gallop through English fields in the pouring rain.” 

“Isn’t that what Willoughby did before he betrayed Marianne?” 

“Yes. But then Colonel Brandon redeemed the concept of riding through the rain for your love.” Logan corrects with a kiss to Oscar’s jaw. “So the next time you’re at work please ask them to add a ‘gallop’ feature to the next McLaren road car.” 

“Hm.” Oscar squeezes Logan’s hand tighter. “And if they can’t?” 

“Then I guess you’ll just have to carry me everywhere.” Logan pretends to dramatically swoon into Oscar’s arms but is wholly unprepared for the Alpha to actually pick him up, quick as can be, before spinning the both of them around to the sound of Logan’s surprised laugh.  

“Oscar! Put me down—! I was kidding!” 

“No chance.” He responds with a kiss to Logan’s lips. “You said it, and I’m more than happy to oblige.” 

“I’m too heavy—!” 

“You and our baby are perfect.” Oscar retorts, cradling Logan closer to his chest. 

The Omega truly suspects Oscar’s on a mission to make Logan’s heart melt and restart as many times as possible tonight. “That’s cheesy.” He manages, voice thick with tears and joy. 

“Yeah.” He shrugs, continuing to walk down the pathway towards the restaurant. “But I’m beginning to think you like it.” 

Logan doesn’t say anything, only rests his head against Oscar’s collarbone, one arm coming to loop around the Alpha’s neck as the other rests on top of his belly. He wants to say I love everything about you but doesn’t think he can get the words out without tearing up. Instead, Logan merely turns to press a kiss to Oscar’s chest, lips warm against the thin fabric of Oscar’s linen shirt. “Love you.” He whispers softly instead. Love you more than life itself. 

Around them, the scent of green apple blends seamlessly with eucalyptus, harmonizing in perfect balance. 

He’s dressed in a dainty sunflower print sundress. It’s silk, with a square neckline, and delicate straps made of sunshine yellow glass beads. Logan found the dress at a nearby boutique and had convinced Oscar to walk around the block twice so Logan could admire it. 

And then his Alpha had surprised him with the dress three days ago. 

It’d given Logan the confidence to do what he’s been carefully planning for the last eight days. 

Dinner is on the table, candles have been lit, and Logan had carefully built a plush, warm, cozy nest for the two of them on their bed. Layered among the cashmere and fleece are Oscar’s McLaren tees—the ones he wears so often that the fabric is soaked through with ocean breeze and eucalyptus. Logan’s own silk tank tops and hoodies he’s pilfered from Oscar nest in between the layers of papaya and cotton, infusing the sea breeze aroma with a delicate balance of green apple and tempering the strong eucalyptus with the sweetness of candy floss and citrus. 

Logan himself is wrapped in silk and sunflowers, on his feet are the light blue Jimmy Choo heeled sandals Charles had gifted him before he and Max had left Florida. Logan had carefully done his short blond hair, applied a light layer of makeup with glittery baby blue eyeshadow and a shimmery pink lip gloss that tasted like strawberries. 

He exhales. 

Tonight is the night he’s going to ask Oscar to mate him once the F1 season ends. 

TMZ 

Got a tip? Email or call (888) xxx-xxxx

McLaren Star OSCAR PIASTRI Allegedly Dating…..an ESCORT???

By TMZ STAFF

Published August 18, 2025 1:45 PM PDT

Formula One fans worldwide—and McLaren fans in particular—are about to get the shock of a lifetime. TMZ has exclusive insider confirmation that McLaren driver Oscar Piastri, currently leading the 2025 World Driver’s Championship, has been spotted out and about during this season’s summer break with a tall, leggy blond American. The couple have been photographed vacationing in Clearwater Beach, Florida and looking very cozy indeed—with several pictures surfacing of the McLaren star with his arms wrapped around the mystery blond as well as seaside photos of the couple sharing a passionate kiss (see below). 

TMZ has learned that this supermodel-like beauty has been identified as American ex-pat Logan Sargeant, a party boy known throughout the London scene for having expensive tastes and an even pricier date night tab. According to TMZ’s insider source, the bombshell blond has been linked to several high profile executives and businessmen around the London area. It’s alleged that Oscar and Logan met sometime during or after the British Grand Prix in July of this year, meaning this whirlwind romance is only a handful of weeks old. 

“Logan goes after what he wants,” the insider informed TMZ, “and right now, Oscar’s the shiny thing [Logan] wants. But I’d tell this Oscar Piastri guy to run while he can. Logan gets obsessive and clingy—and you don’t want to be on the receiving end of that Omega’s temper tantrum.” 

Salacious indeed! TMZ has reached out to Mr. Piastri’s representative to ask for a comment but have received no reply. Regardless of the scandal, it appears that love is indeed in the air. Ferrari driver Charles Leclerc posted on his Instagram story on the morning of August 14, 2025 a very loved up photo of himself, his partner Max Verstappen, and Oscar and Logan smiling after a night out together. While Max had swept Leclerc up in a bride on her wedding day, Oscar and Logan can be seen leaning against each other, with the Australian driver’s arm wrapped tightly around the American’s waist. Logan himself was beaming with the look of love, hardly even glancing at the camera and preferring to gaze adoringly at the multiple Grand Prix winner instead. 

This is a developing story. Following TMZ.com for more details and updates to come! 

@spokenword5: so….did anyone um, see THE pics…👀

@lec-verstappennn: Are you talking about the paparazzi pics of Oscar and that blond guy? @spokenword5 I thought they were cute! I’ve never seen Oscar smile like that before and I know it’s super invasive but I’m in love with that one pic of Oscar sweeping the blond guy (his date??) in his arms and kissing ON THE SHORELINE. It’s giving Jane Austen ✨

@angelis-lemans: oh damn @lec-verstappennn you don’t know? 

@lec-verstappennn: No??? @angelis-lemans @spokenword5 Oscar’s just on a cute date with some guy? 

@spokenword5: …. you better um, sit down @lec-verstappennn and read this TMZ.com/2025/08/18/oscar-piastri-dating-escort-logan-sargeant/  

@oscuhhh81: Hi can some one pls summarize? Am at airport rn and WiFi is unstable 😭

@aussie_iceman81: Alright @lec-verstappennn @oscuhhh81 this is going to be a multi-part post. And disclaimer: These are absolutely not my personal beliefs, they’re just what’s being rumored right now. but basically, Oscar and Logan (that’s the name of the guy he’s with/arguably dating) took a vacation to Clearwater Beach, FL on 8/12 during summer break. Oscar rented a private beach house for the two of them (@MarquetteProperties) and his McLaren 750S was spotted at an airport hanger on 8/11 and can also be seen in the pap pics taken two days later (1 of 4) 

@aussie_iceman81: No other pics of Oscar and Logan are seen for the rest of 8/12. On the evening of 8/15 @monacosharl16 posted a pic of Max and Charles with Oscar and Logan on their Instagram page. This photo was originally posted on Charles’s Insta stories around 3:17 am EST on 8/14. He had tagged the photo @TheBlackPearl which is a restaurant near Clearwater. @monacosharl16 cropped the photo but Charles also had text on the photo which read: “j’ai vu des amoureux au bord de la mer” which translates to “I saw lovers by the sea”. The photo tagged Oscar but did not tag Logan (2 of 4) 

@aussie_iceman81: Now here’s where we get into speculative territory. Several fanpages saw the pic/reposted and one user (@vivalastrada) claimed that she knew Logan—he apparently dated her older brother years ago and (allegedly) stalked her brother to the UK?? @vivalastrada then wrote that Logan was apparently looking to “lock down” a rich husband but after her brother (who she claims is an investment banker) dumped him, he didn’t leave the UK but kind of turned it into his hunting ground and that it’s kind of an open secret among the big name bankers/clientele that Logan is an “escort” but really, that’s just a nice term for “sugar baby looking to marry rich” (3 of 4)

@aussie_iceman81: Another user @spyglass-tales (which is a notorious F1 WAG gossip account that’s run by some seriously aggressive admins) then posted on their Insta page that Logan had been a client for big name suits in Finance, including high ranking executives at Credit Suisse, Barclays, Société Générale, and ING Group (for those who don’t know these are some of the largest financial institutions in the WORLD with revenue in the Billions). Logan has been seen/photographed at their penthouses and vacation homes and that he was between clients when he met Oscar (4 of 4)

@raspberry_cognac: @aussie_iceman81 where are these supposed photos of Logan with all these mystery clients?

@aussie_iceman81: They can’t be released @raspberry_cognac … the people in them are way too powerful. But I have a friend who’s an accountant at Credit Suisse and he says that it’s pretty common to see Logan as the “date” to any one of the big name executives there.

@myword_george: great, so this whole conspiracy is a “trust me bro” story @aussie_iceman81 nice 🙄

@spokenword5: just because we don’t have proof doesn’t mean it’s not real?? not everyone documents everything??? @myword_george #useyourbrain 

@myword_george: did you seriously just type “we don’t have proof but it’s real”? @spokenword5

@angelis-lemans: @myword_george I know this whole thing sounds farfetched but if NUMEROUS people are calling Logan out for being a gold digger and an escort, then, like, there’s got to be a grain of truth there? 

@sunshinemarquez: For someone who claims this isn’t your “personal beliefs” you sure as hell are defending this theory @aussie_iceman81

@aussie_iceman81: I don’t believe it 100% but I’m also not blind to the facts @sunshinemarquez

@lec-verstappennn: Here I was thinking we just got some cute pics of Osc with his new bf and instead we have a whole ass conspiracy 😭😭😭

@oscuhhh81: i keep hoping it’s my WiFi that’s glitching bc wtf did i just read . . .logan’s an escort? and a gold digger? fuck. run oscar, fucking run @oscarpiastri 

@lando-sainzz: #LoganSargeant is literally the worst sort of person. He’s fucking around with Oscar’s heart for what, money? Fame? Publicity? Someone take out the trash, he’s disgusting. 

@vanthoor_more: @lando-sainzz how quickly do you think #LoganSargeant moved once he found out who Oscar is? 

@versailles-lesun: PSA everyone should use the hashtag #LoganSargeant so we can get it trending! We need Oscar to see the truth: that the person he’s with is a manipulator, a stalker, and an overall gold digger who doesn’t care about him. We’re in Oscar’s corner and we need to help him realize the truth! #LoganSargeant 

@bearmanbby87: clocked #logansargeant for who he was the second I saw those Florida pics. Those shoes Logan was holding? Fendi. They cost $1,150 😒

@palm_seaside: @bearmanbby87 wrong. The pair Logan’s wearing is the regular Fendi Ffold and they’re $870 a pair. I know we’re looking out for Oscar and his best interests but let’s be accurate in how we do it! 

@sarthe1906: Found the dress Logan was wearing in the beach pics. It’s by Cult Mia and it’s the “Ikinita La Biana in Blue” dress ($1,382). 

@sarthe1906: Dress Logan’s wearing in the pic with Max and Charles is the Prada embroidered lace-trimmed linen mini-dress in pink ($6,700). Shoes are Gianvito Rossi “Flavia” high heeled sandals in pink ($1,195). 

@pinksilk0021: so basically . . . . #LoganSargeant is a money whore. also anyone annoyed he’s taller than oscar? 

@irrelevant_introspection: Wouldn’t say Logan’s a “money whore.” Cult Mia is pretty niche, it’s an online boutique that sells some mid to high fashion pieces. And from the pap pics, it doesn’t look like Logan went on a shopping spree. He’s actually rewearing a lot of pieces, like the ice blue dress from Cult Mia (he wears it on three separate days, 8/13, 8/14, and 8/16) and he wore the same off-the-rack Alexander McQueen evening gown (in pink satin-silk) on 8/14 and 8/15. 

@irrelevant_introspection: You can get the same Alexander McQueen dress from Net-a-Porter. All I’m saying is, if this Logan character is a supposed “gold digger” then he’s a really lousy one. 

@bearmanbby87: Thanks for finding the info @irrelevant_introspection! Make sure to hashtag #LoganSargeant to bring awareness! 

@sarthe1906: @bearmanbby87 I’m not going to shame someone Oscar cares about just because they’re wearing nice things. And I’m not going to immediately jump on Logan as a gold digger or someone using Oscar for his money until we know more facts. Right now, I’m just reporting on what Logan’s wearing cause he looks cute and I have free time. 

@pastrypastrypastry: Does anyone else think it’s disgusting how we’re already labeling #LoganSargeant a gold digger when we don’t know anything about him yet? What if he and Oscar just randomly met one night and fell in love? What if we’re hurting someone who’s completely innocent and who’s just with Oscar because he *loves* Oscar? Someone play ‘because i liked a boy’ by Sabrina Carpenter 😔

@lecstappen1633: @pastrypastrypastry FINALLY! Someone with common sense and rationality! Ffs neither Oscar nor Logan have spoken about their relationship so all we have is cheap ass TMZ blasting random shit on the internet. Also let’s not fucking forget who Oscar and Logan were hanging out with in FL when they had their privacy breached: Max fucking Verstappen and Charles fucking Leclerc. You really think Max and Charles would pose for a picture with someone who’s just using Oscar for money and fame? Let’s all calm the fuck down #LoganSargeant

@quandrant_lando4: totally off topic but i really hope logan’s added taylor swift’s “slut!” to his playlist. boy needs some good music while going thru this bullshit :( 

Chapter Text

“And final rep…keep good form…and done! Excellent job Osc, this was tough but you pushed through.” Arthur claps a hand on the back of Oscar’s sweat-drenched shirt with a firm nod of approval. 

“Cheers mate.” Oscar manages as Arthur tosses him a towel to wipe the wet dripping down his jaw, chest still heaving from the last set of deadlifts. “Hey, you mind if I just take the post-workout smoothie to go? I’m meeting Logan for dinner and I don’t want to keep him waiting too long. He’s cooking.” 

“Yeah, not a problem.” Arthur sets down the equipment he’s been putting away and walks over to the mini fridge in the corner. “How’re things with Logan?” 

Oscar can’t help the goofy grin that appears on his face. It happens every time Logan’s mentioned, or whenever something reminds him of Logan which, Oscar realizes, is nearly everything. “He’s…he’s just amazing.” He wipes the towel across his forehead to try and hide the way his expression has gone dreamy. “Last night he was making these stuffed bell peppers and I was hanging around, trying to help, and Logan just starts singing Be My Baby. We got into a karaoke competition with each other while fighting with the oven and trying to remember if we’d scooped out the bell pepper seeds before putting in the stuffing.” Oscar’s grateful his cheeks and face are still red from the workout as he really doesn’t want to explain that the play-fighting had ended with Logan straddling Oscar’s lap, hips grinding down on Oscar’s hard cock and they’d—well. 

They’d christened every part of the dining room table and nearby chairs by the timer finally went off, alerting them their dinner was ready. 

“That sounds fun.” Arthur’s voice interrupts. 

Oscar turns to find his trainer holding out his smoothie with an amused half-smirk on his face. “Thanks. It was.” He grips the chilled plastic, running one hand through his hair, towel draped across his shoulders. “Fuck, is it insane that I miss him? It’s only been two hours but I just…I need to see him.” 

“That’s instinct, Osc.” Arthur’s smirk softens. “And that’s also love. Just wait until you have pups of your own. I went nearly feral with Steph, needing to be around her every minute of every day.” 

Pups of his own. 

Oscar takes a large drink of his smoothie to keep the smile from his face. Their little miracle is already growing safe and healthy and Oscar can’t wait to watch Logan swell with life as the months go on. 

“Get yourself home, Oscar. Your scent is positively cloying.” 

🌊🌊🌊 🌊🌊🌊

He’s walking out of the private gym when his phone rings—the familiar poppy tune of a 2010s power ballad Oscar can’t recall the name of but one Hattie programmed as her specific ringtone. 

“Hello?” Oscar tucks his phone between his ear and shoulder, smoothie tucked in the crook of his arm as he rummages through his gym bag for a spare towel. “You’re calling early—”

“Oscar.” 

He immediately stills. Never, in all his life, has Oscar heard Hattie sound as serious—and slightly panicked—as she does right now. 

“Oscar, I need you to listen to me, right now. And if you’re outside, then I need you to go somewhere isolated.” 

“Wha—Hattie, I’m late for dinner with Logan—”

A strangled sort of sound cuts through the phone line. “Osc, I need to tell you this before you see him—and I need you to stay calm. Okay?” 

An uncomfortable chill cuts through the heat, arctic and cold, freezing him from the inside out. 

“What’s going on Hattie? Are you hurt? Edie and Mae? Mom—”

“We’re fine, we’re all fine—it’s not about us. It’s—it’s about…Logan.” 

The Alpha instincts—those coiling, second senses that had slowly begun to spike since Hattie’s panicked greeting—suddenly comes rushing to the forefront. Logan, hurt, protect, love him, fix this now—

He drops his gym bag and moves blindly towards the first surface he sees—a brick terrace blocking several trees—and sags against the brick, letting the roughness cut into his lower back. With his right hand he grips his phone, forcing himself to breathe. 

In and out, in and out.

Hattie wouldn’t sound this serious—this distressed—if it wasn’t a genuine emergency.

“What’s going on, Hattie.”

She exhales a shaky breath. “Osc, someone—some tabloid outlet—managed to get their hands on some paparazzi pics of you and Logan in Florida.” 

His heartbeat stills. 

“It got published on TMZ and then a bunch of these comments—probably made by a bunch of clout chasers—suddenly cropped up. And—they’re saying horrible things Osc. Just vile, hateful bullshit—”

“What are they saying.” 

“They’re—I mean, fuck, how do I say this. They’re calling Logan a—and don’t bite my head off—but they’re calling Logan a…a whore.” Her voice goes hushed. “People are writing comments saying that he’s—well, that he’s only with you for money and fame. These anonymous sources are calling Logan an escort, that he was between clients before he met you. They’re saying it’s his job to sleep with rich men and you’re just one of many.” 

There is no air in Oscar’s lungs. The whole of Monaco has gone quiet. He can’t hear anything except the grinding of his own teeth, the pain in his jaw as he forces himself to keep the scream inside his chest. “What else.” 

“Oscar—”

“What fucking else, Hattie.” 

“…They’re saying he doesn’t love you. That he’s using you.” She swallows. “And that you’re letting him.” 

Rage. Cold, unfitted rage courses through his veins like nothing he’s ever felt. 

All his life, Oscar has had an excellent grip on his emotions, rarely expressing anything beyond annoyance and light frustration. When he came into Formula One, they called him the second coming of Kimi Raikkonen. His cold, dispassionate personality irritated journalists and delighted McLaren with how Oscar easily racked up race win after race win—in only his first few years in F1. 

He was calculating and detached. Never irrational. 

Never emotional. 

Except—

“Oscar, fuck, Osc—breathe. Fucking breathe, oh my god, you—you’re growling.”

The animalistic, seething fury in him has finally erupted—all at once—and Oscar’s inner Alpha is howling with a rage that burns through him, eviscerating flesh and muscle and branding Oscar to the bone.

How. Fucking. Dare. They.

His hand—the one not gripping his phone—clutches at the rough brickwork beneath him. He can feel it tearing into his palm but no pain ever comes.

Logan. 

His sweet, kind, lovely Logan who was too generous with his heart and willing to see the best in everyone. Contentious and polite and the gentlest Omega in all the world with a heart so full of light that Oscar is amazed the cosmos haven’t come to snatch Logan away for their own supernova. 

And they—those faceless, nameless writers of myth, designed solely to provoke outrage—had made Logan their target.

Oscar digs his hand into the gritty brick. “Send it to me.” 

Hattie hesitates. “Oscar—”

“I want to read it. I need to.” 

“You don’t,” she tries to insist, “what they wrote is absolute bullshit—”

Oscar shakes his head roughly, uncontrolled, like a dog set wild. “I need to know exactly what they’ve said about Logan. I need to. Because I know Logan will have already seen it.” It’s one of his baby’s more self-punishing habits. Logan may not have any public social media accounts but he does have a private Instagram and X account with almost zero followers that he uses to remain on the up and up. 

And unfortunately for them both, Logan is a little bit chronically online. 

“I need to see it.” Oscar repeats.

He needs to know every slanderous lie printed about Logan so that when he returns home, he’ll know how to refute it. 

Hattie gives a shaky sigh. “It’s not going to be pleasant.”

Oscar presses down so hard into the brick he can feel the faint trickle of blood running down his palm. “I know.” 

“…Make sure he’s okay?” His sister’s voice is soft, almost hesitant. “Logan and I text you know. And even though I’ve only known him for a short while, I think he’s the sweetest person I’ve ever met.” She pauses. “So you better treat him right and fix this, Osc.” 

Somewhere, deep inside, beyond the rage and anger and grief, Oscar feels his heart crack, just a little.

Because for so long, Logan was alone—no family, no friends.

And now here Hattie was, protective and worried and needing to know Logan would be okay.

Gratitude pulses through his veins, temporarily blocking out the darker emotions. “Don’t worry,” he reassures, grip loosening, “I won’t give up until Logan knows how precious he is.”

He arrives home, heart in his throat, practically falling through the door and tearing into the dining room in search of Logan. 

He only vaguely sees the perfectly dressed table with its fresh white linen tablecloth, decorative lemons and white daises, candles glowing softly in polished candlestick holders. There’s a slightly acrid scent in the air—burnt pasta and over-cooked vegetables. When Oscar glances into the kitchen, he sees pans of roast vegetables haphazardly tossed on top of the stove alongside various pots and pans scattered nearby. Fresh cut flowers are in the sink while a crystal-cut vase has been shoved carelessly into the spice rack. 

“Logan? Logan, baby, you here?” Oscar tosses his car keys onto the nearby side table as he stumbles into the living room, desperate to see blond hair and blue eyes and a smile that made his heart skip a beat. “Love? Please answer me—” 

There’s no one on the sofa but Oscar doesn’t miss the soft sniffle, the heartbroken cry, that near shatters him.

Oscar looks down to see Logan, in a pretty sunflower print dress, curled on the floor of the couch, knees drawn to his chest, arms wrapped tightly around himself, sobbing into himself. His head is bowed, tears dripping into the dress’s fabric, mixing with the eyeliner and mascara as Logan’s shoulders shake with silent sobs. 

His usually sweet and bright scent of green apple and candy floss is completely muted, layered with a bone-deep sadness and anguish that feels like a punch in the gut. He almost collapses when he sees the state of his baby, of his sweet Logan who has only ever been kind and considerate and so goddamn thoughtful it sometimes makes Oscar want to kiss him breathless and tell Logan to be a little selfish. His Logan. His Logan who gives away so much of himself and is now curled up on the cold hardwood floor, curling in on himself, unwilling to even cry out loud. 

“Logan…” Oscar can hear his voice. He hears how it creaks and breaks, trembling with all the emotion he’s never been able to fully express but that he feels as viscerally and brutally as a knife to the chest. 

Logan hiccups, burying his face on top his knees as his shoulders shake even harder.

Fuck it. 

Oscar takes strides forward and in one smooth motion slides down onto the ground next to Logan before lifting the slim-framed blond into his arms. Logan hardly even protests, body limp and weak with tears, as his head presses against Oscar’s heart and his arms are motionless by his side. 

“I’m so sorry Logan, I’m so sorry that I dragged you into this. I’m so sorry that I made you a part of this media circus when all you deserve is peace and happiness. I’m sorry that I couldn’t protect you, that I didn’t do a better job of making sure we were better hidden in Florida. I’m sorry I didn’t think to take the initiative and call Della and Lee and the whole PR team because I was naive and I thought—I thought nothing would happen.” He laughs bitterly, regret and rage coursing through him (not at Logan—never at Logan—but at his own ignorance and stupidity). “I’m sorry I didn’t tell anyone beforehand, maybe then they could’ve prepared an action plan in case our photos got leaked. I—I’m sorry I didn’t protect you better, Logan. I’m so sorry baby.” His voice catches, unshed tears clogging his throat and making his words shake even as Oscar forces himself to continue. “It was my fault. I didn’t hire the right security or plan ahead and it’s you who’s suffering. I promise I’ll do better Logan, I promise.” He holds Logan tighter, the hands that have been tenderly wrapped around Logan’s back and waist now press into his skin as Oscar clutches onto him, desperate and fearful and knowing he’s just made the biggest fuck up of his life. “Please,” he whispers, “please don’t leave me.” 

Oscar knows that anyone in their right mind would walk out on him. Hell, he knows that if Logan did slap him across the face like he deserved and stormed out of their home then he would be in the right. Leaving the pathetic Alpha who couldn’t properly care for him the way he deserved. He’s terrified that Logan will see just how desperate Oscar is for the other man’s love, for his care and affection and gentleness in a world where there was no place for sympathy, not if you wanted to be number one. 

Oscar clings onto Logan’s softness, has come to depend on the blond’s sweet, sunny smiles and seeing those warm blue eyes turn liquid with affection at the end of a long, tiring day. 

But instead of cherishing Logan—instead of carefully ensuring his baby’s happiness and safety—Oscar grew arrogant and lazy, assuming they could carry on the way they have without even the tiniest bit of work on his end.

Oscar drops his forehead to press against the top of Logan’s head, greedy and wanting. 

“I’ll do better.” He promises (begs) again. “I promise I’ll do better, Logan. Just give me another chance.” 

Like you even deserve it. A sharp, cutting sneer rings in his ears. Like you haven’t taken advantage of Logan’s goodwill and compassion, letting him love you and comfort you without giving him a damn thing in return. Deluding yourself into thinking a few nice trinkets were all that was needed to keep Logan happy. 

And now here you are, the voice continues, snide and mocking, pleading with him to give you a chance that you haven’t earned. What a waste. 

“Osc?” Logan’s soft, warm hand cups his cheek and Oscar’s immediately snap open. He doesn’t know when he closed them in the first place but Logan is looking at him now, head slightly tilted from where he’s sitting on Oscar’s lap, eyes red-rimmed and puffy from continuous crying and cheeks stained with tears and watery mascara. 

Logan looks the picture of misery but there is still so much sympathy—so much genuine concern—on his beautiful face that Oscar feels sick with unworthiness. 

He doesn't deserve him. 

“Oscar…you’re crying.” Logan’s them brushes against his cheekbone and Oscar startles.

Crying? 

He’s been crying? 

For the love of—

“Fuck,” he grunts, “fuck I’m so sorry. Forget that." He tries to brush it aside but Logan won’t let him.

“No.” He shakes his head. “Your feelings are just as valid as mine. You don’t get to tell me what to forget and what to focus on.” He says quietly but fiercely. Unrelenting.

If Oscar had thought himself completely and totally head-over-heels before, then he’s been wholly unprepared for this moment.

Logan is steel draped in silk and Oscar will happily fall to his feet at even the slightest hint of a command.

“I’m sorry.” He repeats, as if it’s the only thing his stupid tongue knows how to say. 

Logan sniffles and uses his other hand to wipe at a stray teardrop running down his jaw. “You keep apologizing.” 

“Because I need to. Because you deserve to hear it. Because I fucked up so badly but you’re the one that got hurt.” 

“Oscar…” Logan bites down on his bottom lip. Hard. 

“Don’t do that, love, you’ll hurt yourself.” Oscar’s chides gently, wanting so desperately to kiss the hurt off Logan’s lips but not knowing if he deserves the touch of the Omega’s soft mouth on his. 

“Did you—did you read what they said.” It’s a struggle for Logan to maintain eye contact. Oscar catches how the blond ducks his head twice before forcing himself to look Oscar in the eyes. “The article?” His lips barely move, the words a mere hush, but Oscar hears him loud and clear.

“I read it. I read every single bullshit tweet and comment and post.” He doesn’t tell Logan how Oscar had called Sophie, screaming like a lunatic, demanding she do something—that McLaren do something—that they fucking call the Board of Directors and get them to do something. 

He’d damn near lost his mind on a random street in Monaco screaming and yelling and desperate on the phone. 

To Sophie’s credit, she never lost her cool. Merely told Oscar that there was a rapid response team working on crafting a reply and working to take down both the article and most of the tweets related to it. 

It’d still taken every ounce of control in Oscar’s body not to vomit right then and there, sickness and rage and hurt slicing through him without even the slightest reprieve. 

“It was my fault.” Oscar bows his head, unable to look into those wide ocean eyes any longer. “I’m sorry that they took your personal life and spun it into something heinous and published it for everyone to see. I’m sorry I didn’t protect you better.” 

“But…you—I, I’m—” Logan stutters, sounding so lost and confused even as his hand remains on Oscar’s cheek, an anchor to sanity. “Oscar don’t—don’t you want to know if what they said is true…?” 

Oscar shakes his head and immediately looks up, eyes wild and expression half-feral with love and rage. He opens his mouth to speak but Logan interrupts, fingers moving to press against his lips. 

“The things they wrote…the allegations,” Logan sighs shakily, “you know I’ve been—that I was...a—a prostitute. That I came to London because I thought I was in love. You never even asked who that Alpha was.” 

“Because he doesn’t matter.” Oscar says, breath warm against the press of Logan’s fingertips. “I don’t need to know every last detail about what you did and why. I know you, Logan, and I know that you aren’t with me for money or fame or anything like that.” 

“But how?” Logan asks, sounding lost and hopeful and so terrified. “Anyone else would’ve thrown me out. Anyone else would’ve slapped me after reading everything and wondered if maybe it was all true.” 

Oscar’s eyes soften, hard amber melting to honey-gold. “I knew.” His hand moves from Logan’s waist to his wrist, tugging down Logan’s hand so he can press a kiss to his palm. “I knew from the moment I met you when you asked me what I did and I told you I was in motorsport. You didn’t ask if I was a driver or a mechanic or a goddamn journalist. You only told me it was wonderful I pursued my dream.” 

“But I—” 

Oscar huffs out a laugh. “You have never asked me for one luxury item the entire time you’ve been here. You’ve never asked me to take you to a Formula One race or to pose for pictures that you can upload to your Instagram for likes and clout. Hell, I don’t even think you have a public facing social media account do you?” Logan blinks, eyes wide. “Yeah,” he kisses Logan’s palm again, “didn’t think so. You’re not chasing brand deals or asking me to get you a manager. You’re not contacting paparazzi or phoning in journalists. Instead, I get the absolute honor of coming home to see you looking gorgeous and sweet and soft in a dress Charles sent you and the first thing you do is kiss me and hold me close. Logan,” he moves his hand under the Omega’s chin, tilting his face up, “if anyone else saw this, they’d think I was forcing you to stay home and isolate you. They’d think I was trying to force you into being my little stay-at-home Omega and forcing you to bend to my whims.” 

“That’s not true!” The words burst out of Logan, indignant and stunned. “If anyone thinks that then they’re just stupid and don’t know us at all. They don’t know how badly I’ve wanted a home to decorate and take care of, how much I’ve wanted a space that was safe for me and the person I—the person I love.” The word ‘love’ is spoken shakily—almost hurriedly, as if Logan is afraid Oscar will snatch back his own affections if Logan verbalizes his feelings. “No one else gets to tell me how to think or what to think. All I’ve ever wanted was to love and be loved. All I’ve ever wanted was a family of my own.” He moves Oscar’s hand from his chin to his belly, where their baby rests. “I want to stay in our nest, growing our pup, and waiting for you to come home so we can eat dinner and make love. If anyone thinks you’re forcing me into anything then they’re either brainless or jealous.” 

Oscar smiles, watery and shaky but so fucking proud at how ferociously Logan is guarding his happiness. “That’s the exact way I feel about those tweets, love. They’re pointless.” He leans in, pressing their foreheads together. “They mean less than nothing. They only symbolize how I failed to protect you—”

“You didn’t fail at anything, Oscar.” Logan interrupts gently but firmly. “I don’t need you to protect me from the world. I was terrified you would believe what they said, that I was taking advantage of you. I was angry at myself because I thought—I thought maybe you’d think I was disgusting and dirty and used. That you would realize you deserved so much better than someone like me. But I never, ever blamed you Oscar.” Logan’s voice gains strength. “I would never blame you for the stupid things random people wrote on the internet.” 

Oscar pulls back so he can cradle Logan’s face in both his hands. He needs Logan to know this, he needs Logan to realize that whatever hateful, vile accusations he’s heard from people in the past are simply untrue. 

They don’t matter, not when Oscar knows that Logan is the most precious jewel in his life. “Then don’t blame yourself either.” He murmurs, soft honey eyes meeting tearstained blue. “I hate every single person in your past who’s ever told you those things. I hate the Alpha who didn’t realize just how exceptional you are. But Logan, Logan I need you to know how much I admire that you followed your heart. That you love so fearlessly. That even after every single heartbreak you still find the strength to be kind.” 

Tears well up in Logan’s eyes but Oscar can see that the heavy fog of shame is slowly dissipating. Not quite gone, but no longer as dense as before. “Even—even so, I’m still—” Used. Dirty. Oscar hears those words without Logan needing to say them. 

“You’re perfect in every way that matters, Logan.” He reassures, needing Logan to know that Oscar’s love for him has never been dependent on whatever Victorian standards of morality still existed in some people’s minds. 

A choked sob escapes Logan’s lips, but he is no longer silent as he cries. “I love you,” Logan manages through tears, “I love you so much and I—and I want us to be together forever. You and me and—”

“Our little bunny.” Oscar finishes, laughing as Logan cries harder. 

“You—you said you wouldn’t call it that.” 

“Changed my mind,” Oscar smiles. “I love our baby and I love you Logan Hunter Sargeant.” 

Logan whimpers, tears steadily falling down his cheeks but his scent—god. 

Crisp green apple, sweet sugar floss. 

In a blur of blond and blue and tears Oscar finds himself wrapped in Logan, the Omega throwing his arms over his Alpha, hiccuping tears and watery laughter as Oscar loses his balance and they tumble down to the polished wood floor. “Oof—”

Logan buries his face in the crook of Oscar’s neck, teeth grazing against the unbroken scent gland. “Mate me?” He asks in a hushed whisper. 

Oscar’s heartbeat stills completely for a moment, the world freezing in perfect synchronicity. He swears he can hear the speed of sound echoing through his ears before Logan’s tongue darts out to lick at the gland and the world suddenly comes rushing back. 

“Yes,” he’s breathless, lungs unable to get enough air even as his chest heaves, “yes, Logan, yes—you mean that baby?” 

Logan nods, still not looking up, still letting his teeth and tongue lick and taste the mating gland on Oscar’s neck. 

A mating gland just for Logan. 

“Then bite me baby. Make me yours.” 

And Logan does—confidently, tenderly, and so lovingly that it makes Oscar’s toes curl. The cut of Logan’s teeth into his gland feels like nothing Oscar’s ever felt before—the highest bliss, sunshine on skin, the warmth and comfort of home, home, home ringing in his ears, etching itself into his very soul. 

Logan’s tongue licks away the blood, lips kissing and sucking at the gland now forever marked with the teeth of his Omega, never stopping even as pleasure pulses through Oscar—like the aftershocks of an orgasm. It vibrates through every neuron, every cell, and Oscar feels it—the moment when Logan, warm and lovely and a piece of his very soul, curls inside Oscar’s heart. How his presence shyly kisses Oscar’s own mind, reassuring him that he will never, ever be alone again. 

Oscar doesn’t even realize he’s gone completely slack, eyes closed and breathing uneven until Logan is kissing his jaw, soft little butterfly kisses before he makes his way to Oscar’s parted lips. 

Hazily, he opens his eyes to see Logan haloed in blurry gold. The sunset soaks in and Logan glows, angelic and soft as he gazes down at his mate. “Hello love.” One hand comes to caress Oscar’s cheek. “How do you feel?” 

He wants to speak—truly, he does—but his tongue is heavy, the colors of the world seem to blend together every time he blinks, and he doesn’t want to miss even a single moment of watching this angel above him.

Logan giggles, obviously pleased at how he’s reduced Oscar to nothing more than blissed out puddle of goo. “Love you.” He manages to slur, not quite sure if it’s even English he’s speaking but judging by the way Logan’s eyes shine, Oscar thinks the message got through. 

“You’ll have to mate me too,” his Omega adds with a faint pout. “I need everyone to know you’re mine, forever. No one can have you ever again.” 

Oscar hums in agreement, but in the back of his mind he’s wondering who he would even look at. Logan is the only thing he wants to see for the rest of his life. Logan and their little baby bunny. 

“You’re smiling again.” Logan leans down to kiss him but Oscar is struggling to keep his eyes open. “No, don’t fight it,” Logan tucks himself down in Oscar’s arms, “I’ll get us to bed soon.” 

Bed.

Bed? 

Oscar forces himself into consciousness as Logan’s words register, as the coldness of the hardwood sinks into his skin and he realizes they’re still lying there, collapsed in a heap on the living room. 

Bed. The bed—he needs to get Logan to the bed. 

He can’t mate Logan here, not on the floor.

“Up.” He manages, lips numb but instincts sharpening. “Up, baby.” 

Logan, however, refuses. “Stop it Osc, you’ll hurt yourself—!” 

“Won’t. Won’t hurt myself.” 

“You’re going to dislocate your shoulder and I’m going to have to take you to the hospital and fight with nurses who want me to stay in the waiting room instead of staying with you, where I belong.” Logan huffs, feigning annoyance even as he cuddles closer around him.

For the first time in his life, Oscar manages to silence his brain, letting whatever instincts that have designated him as an Alpha take over.

With an almost inhuman amount of strength Oscar turns, picks Logan up and tucks him into his arms as he rises (some subconscious part thanks Arthur for the brutality of the deadlifts he’s been doing). Logan squeals, legs kicking slightly as he’s suddenly hauled into Oscar’s arms and lifted off the ground but the sweetness in the air thickens, turning almost sticky with candy floss.

Logan’s wet, Oscar realizes. So wet he’s soaking the air with his arousal, letting slick drip from his pussy at Oscar’s show of strength. 

At his Alpha’s show of strength. 

Oscar’s Alpha all but growls at the thought—smug and proud as he strides into their bedroom, Logan warm and pliant in his arms, thighs pressed tight together when—

Oscar feels it. 

The trickle of slick slowly leaking from between his Omega is desperately squeezing his legs together. It leaks onto Oscar’s forearm, sweet and sticky like hot sugar. 

A soft whimper escapes Logan’s lips as Oscar pauses, only steps away from the bed. “I—I’m sorry—” He begins, cheeks flush with embarrassment and arousal. “It’s just, I get so wet when you hold me and carry me, I just want to—to kiss you all over.” He says the last part like a secret, hastily spilling from his lips even as Logan’s hips tilt upwards at the thought of kissing Oscar, seeking friction, seeking relief. 

He looks down. 

Logan’s face is a mess of tear stains and smeared lipstick, eyes shining and slightly puffy from crying, hair mussed and damp with sweat. 

Oscar can’t help it—he growls, low and rumbling, before moving to the bed, laying Logan down before his hands skim down the Omega’s sides, fingers seeking the zipper to tear this sunflower dress off him. Beneath him, Logan parts his legs—unconsciously, obediently—and watches with pupils blown wide as Oscar latches into the tiny white zipper below Logan’s ribcage and unwraps him like something sacred. 

Flushed pale skin, a chest with the prettiest pink nipples that are hard and taut, ready to be sucked and worshipped. Though still in the early stages of pregnancy, Oscar can see how Logan’s chest is changing, the breast tissue softening in anticipation for the newborn, the flat planes of Logan’s chest beginning to swell. Further down, the slim waist that tapers down to a perfect delta between Logan’s legs, a delta that is left completely bare. Not a scrap of lace or silk in sight. 

Oscar’s head snaps up, meets Logan’s flushed face and shy smile. “Surprise?” He murmurs, shimming his hips so the dress can fall further down. 

And it does, sliding down Logan’s lithe body and unveiling a perfectly waxed pussy, lips puffy and pink, dripping slick so the insides of Logan’s legs shine. His slim thighs tremble in anticipation as Oscar reaches out one hand to tug the sundress the rest of the way down before tossing it to the floor. The beads on the straps clank against the polished wooden surface but Oscar can hardly hear anything other than the blood rushing through his hears. 

The syrupy sweetness of Logan’s slick, how readily he’s parted his legs so Oscar can see the perfect rose of his cunt, folds petal-soft as he traces one finger down, lingering on the shy little bud peeking out, slightly swollen and so, so wet. 

“Beautiful.” He rumbles, moving one hand to grip at Logan’s hip, the other remaining pressed against the cunt Oscar has licked and sucked and kissed until the Omega was sobbing with pleasure, with overstimulation, trying desperately to edge away and push closer at the same time. 

“Gonna fuck me Alpha?” Logan pants. “Gonna make me yours?” 

Oscar groans at the thought, of mating Logan while he’s the throes of passion, forever branding him as belong to Oscar for all the world to see. 

“Osc, Osc—please,” Logan gasps when he feels Oscar’s thumb brush against his swollen, wet clit, “love, please—oh, need your knot—”

He’s slippery and soaked and Oscar wants to spend the rest of this night worshipping Logan’s perfect, soft pussy but he can feel the heat creeping in, burning across his skin, teeth aching to bite and claim and mate. 

Just as Oscar leans down to lick against the puffy redness of Logan’s parted mouth, his Omega braces himself, pressing both hands—which had been gripping the sheets beneath them—against Oscar’s chest. “No.” He pouts. “You’re too overdressed. Want you naked. Now.” 

Logan’s hands reach for the bottom of Oscar’s shirt, wanting to see his Alpha’s bare chest and muscled torso. Hastily, Logan crawls his way up until he’s on his knees in their bed, slim fingers moving beneath the workout tee, impatient and demanding, desperate to feel his Alpha’s skin pressed against his, to feel teeth marking and mating him in the way Logan’s wanted since the moment they first met. 

“Off now, please.” Logan tugs again and hears Oscar let out a low, amused chuckle. 

“Someone’s impatient.” He growls, eyes twinkling as he removes his shirt, tossing it somewhere on the floor and leaving Logan to squirm at the sight of the McLaren driver’s broad chest and shoulders, the defined lines of his abs petering down to a perfect V at his hips. 

Slick pools between his thighs as he rubs them together, still kneeling on the bed, naked and hot with sweat beading down his temple. “Osc—”

“I know,” he murmurs, hands moving to his shorts before freezing midway. “Fuck.” He whispers and Logan frowns. Why is Alpha stopping? Why is Alpha still wearing so many clothes—? “Look at your nipples baby,” Oscar barely manages, breath stuttering, “all puffy and pink and I haven’t even touched them yet.” 

Logan squirms where he’s kneeling, the wetness trickling down his legs causing a soft, filthy squelch to echo through the air. “They’re always like this when I’m around you.” As his pregnancy has progressed, Logan’s body has become hypersensitive to the handsome, strong Alpha who’s constantly leaking pheromones everywhere. “I get wet and my nipples get hard and—and—”

“What else?” Oscar’s pupils are blown wide. “Tell me, please.”  

“My…my chest tingles.” He whispers in a hush. “And sometimes when I touch myself here,” one hand moves to cup at his slightly swollen pec, now growing softer as his body prepares for the baby, “I feel it tingle all the way here.” His other hand moves to touch his cunt, fingers nearly slipping at the amount of slick that’s gathered. “It feels like you’re kissing me w-when I—ah, when I touch here.” One finger brushes aside the front fold, leaving Logan’s swollen, berry red clit in Oscar’s eye line. Gleaming and wet, like someone’s coated it with candied sugar. 

Logan bites his lip, wants desperately to plunge his own fingers in, anything to get some relief when Oscar all but pounces. He barely manages a gasp when the Alpha all but tackles him down on the bed, straddling Logan’s slim hips while one hand pins both of the Omega’s wrists over his head. 

Blue eyes widen when he sees Oscar’s expression. 

The feral want, the half-mad desire. 

“Oscar…?” 

“No touching.” He snarls, grip tightening around Logan’s wrists as his other hand trails up Logan’s naked waist before—

Logan moans as Oscar’s fingers dig into the curve between his hip and ribs—bruising, claiming. 

“Mine.” His Alpha rocks his hips, the fabric of his workout shorts scratching his soft, sensitive folds. 

“Y-yes, all yours Oscar, ‘m all yours—!” He’s panting, heat rate skyrocketing. “Please, make me yours, just wanna be yours.” 

Oscar kisses him, just once, deep and filthy, this mouths hot and slick as Oscar sucks on Logan’s bottom lip. The hand on Logan’s waist vanishes for a moment, causing him to whimper in protest, before he feels Oscar’s hips tilt and rock forward, the motion shallow and teasing until—

“Oh!” The moan that escapes Logan is loud and desperate as Oscar continues to kiss him, as he rocks his hips forward and Logan can no longer feel the fabric of his shorts but the thick, hard line of his cock dragging across Logan’s soft inner thighs, rubbing against his slick wet folds. “Oscar, Oscar, yes—need you in me.” He rocks his own hips forward, spreads his legs wider as Oscar moves so he’s kneeling above Logan. 

Above him, framed by the silver light of the moon, is the most beautiful man Logan has ever seen.

Hard planes of muscle, powerful thighs, and a cock that Logan knows will split him open. Oscar is girthy and wide, cock an angry reddish purple, so thick and long that just looking at it has Logan gushing more slick. 

Oscar hasn’t properly fucked Logan—not yet, not with his cock buried in his pussy like it was always meant to be. 

But rather than forcing Logan’s legs wider, rather than fucking into him and claiming Logan with his knot, Oscar leans over, one hand reaching to the bedside table and—

No—! 

Logan immediately wraps his long legs around Oscar’s hips and uses all his strength to tug his Alpha forward. Oscar stumbles, hands coming to bracket Logan’s head as he falls forward. “Logan—?” 

“No condoms, please. I’m clean, I promise, I’ll—I’ll call the clinic and have them send you my records but I need you in me, need your cum, please.” Tears fall down his cheeks as he begs, his Omega simply unable to stand the thought of any kind of barrier in between them. 

Oscar’s expression softens. “You sure baby?” 

Logan nods eagerly—perhaps too eager—but Oscar only leans down to kiss him again. 

“I’m clean too,” he murmurs against Logan’s lips, “and I’m going to fuck you now, baby.” 

“Yes, god yes, please.” He groans as Oscar moves one hand down to gently trace Logan’s folds. “In me, please—” He’s so overstimulated, so wet and aroused, body screaming for his Alpha’s knot, for his bite. 

“Let me eat you out first—”

Logan shakes his head. “No, wanna feel you split me open. Want to feel my tight hole stretching around your cock, want to scream your name and feel you so deep in me that I’ll never belong to anyone else.” The words pour form his lips, filthy and wanting and unashamed. 

Amber eyes darken and the soft, loving expression that Oscar has changes to one of dark desire. 

“You sure?” He asks, just once more.

Logan nods. “Yes, please—”

Oscar doesn’t even give him a chance to finish before he lines his cock up to Logan’s dripping entrance and in one smooth, brutal stroke buries himself in Logan’s untouched hole. The force—the sheer, aching stretch as Logan’s cunt desperately tries to take Oscar’s cock—punches the air out of Logan’s lungs. His arms scrabble around Oscar’s neck, nails biting into his skin as Logan moans, breathy and high, one hand coming to tangle in the back of Oscar’s head. “Oh—fuck, so good, Alpha, feel so good—”

“God, you’re tight Logan,” Oscar groans. “Fuck, how do you feel so perfect? Wet and hot and—god, I could stay in you forever.” He drops his head down, pressing their foreheads together. “Can I move baby?” 

Logan gives a soft little mewl, tilting his hips up in concession.

Oscar’s mouth finds Logan’s, kissing into him as he rocks back, swallowing Logan’s whimper of protest before he thrusts back in—gently. Logan’s eager cunt welcomes Oscar’s cock, hole stretched and sore and desperate for more. 

“Harder.” Logan demands, tightening his leg around Oscar’s waist. “Please, Alpha, want to feel it.” 

That’s all it takes for Oscar to throw caution to the wind. 

The Alpha pulls back only to thrust in deeper—harder—pace turning more brutal as the speed of Oscar’s thrusts inside Logan’s wet, dripping cunt turn unrelenting, hardly giving the Omega time to breathe before he’s fucking his cock back in.

“Perfect,” Oscar’s mouth moves from Logan’s jaw to his neck, “perfect little pussy, managing to take all of me, letting me fuck you like this.” 

Logan practically melts into a puddle when he feels the sharp canines of Oscar’s teeth scrape against his mating gland. “Yes—Alpha, oh—oh! Right there, Osc, please—more—!” Logan’s cries fill the air as Oscar’s cock thrusts in that perfect place in Logan that has him seeing stars, gushing more slick, and unable to form words beyond his Alpha’s name.

He cries in pleasure as Oscar’s thick cock fills him again and again—god, he’s never felt more full in his life. The way every inch of his cunt is alight with pleasure, the friction as Oscar’s cock rubs deep inside him, ploughing inside Logan’s cunt like it was home. 

Logan feels Oscar’s hand trailing down, fingers finding that candy-sweet nub and causing Logan to jolt with pleasure as Oscar swirls his thumb around it. Logan’s entire body is so close the precipice of bliss, his body sings with it and he can’t stop moaning even as tears drip down his cheeks, his sobs begging Oscar to never stop, to keep going, to fuck him full—

“You feel so good around my cock,” Oscar praises, hips never faltering in their brutal rhythm. 

Logan doesn’t even notice as Oscar’s mouth trails further down, when his thumb and forefinger presses down forcefully against Logan’s clit right as he gives one harsh, brutal thrust back inside his cunt—

Logan screams as his orgasm rips through him, cunt spasming, rhythmically pulsing around his Alpha's cock. He barely feels the way Oscar’s teeth cut into Logan’s neck, etching his mark into Logan’s skin and heart and soul for all the world to see, now and forever.

He only feels warmth spreading through him, filling him, as his Alpha spills inside Logan. 

The Omega is delirious, brain melted to mush, heartbeat wild in his ears but his body curls around Oscar, heart screaming for him to hold onto his Alpha and never, ever let him go.

Instincts take hold as Logan’s own mouth latches onto Oscar’s scarred mating gland and he sucks—harsh and pleading, teeth scraping against the still-tender flesh.

“Fuck, Logan, fuck baby—oh god, that feels so fucking good—!” Oscar’s hips completely lose their rhythm, thrusting frantically as Logan feels his pussy stretching to the limit to accommodate the thick knot that plugs him up. 

Oscar’s chest is heaving, arms shaking from the effort of holding himself up when Logan hugs him closer, wants to feel the full weight of Oscar pressed against him.

“Love you.” Logan whispers like a prayer, like it’s the only truth he’s ever known. “Love you so much.” 

Everything is a blur of motion and color as he feels Oscar gather Logan into his arms, rolling them onto their sides so Oscar’s knot can rest comfortably in Logan’s twitching pussy. Feels Oscar’s tongue licking at the fresh mating mark, lips etching I love you, I love you, I love you into the skin. 

He closes his eyes, home at long last. 

Logan adjusts Ava’s little sunflower cap. He’d made it one afternoon, nine months pregnant, and learning every craft available to him after Oscar had all but declared Logan’s feet should never touch the ground and had resorted to carrying his mate everywhere. Now, their little miracle is here, gurgling and giggling in Logan’s arms as they wait for her papa to make his way to the top step of the podium. They’re in the McLaren hospitality suite since Ava wasn’t quite old enough to handle the crowds of the garage, much less those in the barriers. 

“Guh!” Ava shouts, thrusting one chubby fist forward at the window when Max appears, having secured P2 at the Australian Grand Prix, only a hundredth of a second away from victory. Logan knows that clip of Max and Oscar on the last lap, unrelenting and uncompromising, fighting until the very last millimeter of track, will go viral in a matter of seconds. 

His phone buzzes and he looks down to see a series of messages from Charles.

The Monegasque Omega sends him a picture of him balancing a stuffed lion on his pregnant belly (now seven months if Logan remembers correctly) alongside a string of texts.  

Charles✨: Ooh looks like I’ll have to comfort someone after he comes back to the hotel 😏

Charles✨: Think Max would lose it if I told him I’m here in his shirt and no panties? 

Logan huffs out a laugh, adjusting Ava in his arms so she can continue peering out the window as he texts one-handed.

Logan: I think you’d give him a conniption on live TV 😂

Charles✨: 😂😂

Charles✨: oui, but I want Maxie to blush and stutter and almost faint before rushing back home to me where he belongs 💋

Logan: Ha! You won’t have to try very hard. He tripped on air when he saw you in his hoodie last week 😉

Charles✨: Hm, a bit like how Oscar forgot English and stammered for a whole minute when he saw you wearing that shirt with his name on it? 

Charles✨: Tell me you made that man work for it that night! 

Logan: 🤭 Well…let’s just say I’m glad Edie was in town to watch Ava 

Outside, the cheer of the crowd breaks catches both Logan and Ava’s attention.

“Guh! Guh! Guh!” Ava squeals giddily, blue eyes bright and eager as she all but shoves herself forward to try and catch a closer glimpse. 

“Oh my, someone’s eager to see papa, huh?” Logan moves closer to the floor to ceiling windows, watching as his Alpha’s handsome face appears on the digital screen. 

He looks cool and composed, completely unflappable with a slight hint of a smirk on his lips. 

They’ll never know how thoughtful and gentle Oscar can be, how he held Logan together when Logan didn’t know how to be kind towards himself. 

“Papa’s almost here.” He whispers to Ava, who starts to kick her chubby little legs excitedly. Logan laughs. “Me too baby, I’m excited too.” 

And then Oscar arrives—hair tousled, cheeks pink, and looking so absurdly handsome in his fireproofs that Logan wants to jump him right then and there. He lifts one arm in a fist pump and the crowd roars back, cheers and chants and screams echoing all the way up to where Logan and Ava are standing. 

Pride and joy and aching love dance across Logan’s heart, bright and frothy like freshly popped champagne. He holds Ava closer, pressing her soft, chubby cheek against his chest as she kicks her little feet in delight when Oscar takes off his cap for the national anthem. 

“That’s your daddy,” Logan murmurs again, voice thick with emotion, “and he loves you so much.” 

Ava babbles happily in her mama’s arms as Logan hoists her higher, one hand coming to smooth out the bright lemon-yellow fabric of her baby dress. It’d been a gift from Mae, who’d seen it a local shop in Melbourne and had immediately bought the dress, wrapped it in brown paper and string, and sent it to Logan before the week was even out. The little piece of card stock where the youngest Piastri had hastily scribbled Need to expand the color palette of my favorite niece. She is not going to grow up thinking orange is an acceptable color to wear 24/7 

The simple happiness that filled Logan at reading the note, the everyday familiarity and warmth, never ceased to amaze him. To know that this was his family, these were the people who would stand by him no matter what. Who would love him without question, not because of anything he did but because he was simply…Logan.

Overhead, the Australian national anthem ends and Logan watches eagerly as the trophies are distributed. 

He waits until Oscar receives his first place trophy before bouncing Ava on his hip, causing the little girl to squeal with delight. “And there it is! Daddy’s trophy!” He points against the glass but Ava’s attention is taken in by the sparkling sapphire and silver bangle dangling from her mama’s wrist. (The same bracelet Oscar had given Logan on the day Ava was born. When Logan saw that the sapphires had been arranged to look like a tidal wave, he’d promptly burst into tears all over again, overwhelmed and in love as Oscar held him in the private maternity suite.) 

With a fearless lunge, Ava’s chubby hand grips into the bangle and brings it to her mouth. “Now, just one second, little miss—” 

A few moments later, Ava’s teething toy—shaped like a lion, mouth open in a roar—is in her hands. She spends all of two minutes gnawing on the chilled toy before her eyes begin to droop closed. 

“Too much excitement, bunny?” Logan kisses her cheek, gently bringing her to rest against Logan’s shoulder as he drops the teething toy in the baby bag. 

In a few moments, Oscar will return to them—champagne soaked and sweaty. He’ll kiss Logan breathless before sweeping Ava into his arms, cuddling their little love bug in his strong arms the same way he’s done since the moment she was born. They’ll drive back to the hotel where Ava’s crib has already been set up. Together, they’ll wish her good night and sweet dreams, Oscar unable to resist a few feather-light kisses to Ava’s bright blonde curls. 

They’ll have dinner together, curled up on the couch and 30 Rock playing in the background. 

Ocean breeze and green apple, a scent already so infused in every room and available scrap of fabric that it’s almost impossible to smell one without the other, will soak into the air along with a softer, milkier fragrance. 

Logan will rest there, in the arms of the Alpha who loves him, one hand pressed to Oscar’s heart, the other to the soft curve of his stomach.   

He can’t wait to see their little family grow. 

🌊🌊🌊 🌊🌊🌊

(Logan doesn’t know about the diamond ring Oscar carries with him everywhere, tucking it in pockets and sock drawers and having Arthur hold onto it with the threat of bodily harm if it’s misplaced or lost. Logan doesn’t know how long Oscar has been planning this, how his Alpha will get down on one knee on the same beach he and his sisters used to sprint up and down as children. How Oscar has never been good with words but will stumble his way through a proposal that’s more emotion than articulation but Logan will feel each and every word like a brand on his heart. Logan doesn’t know that in a few short months, he will be Logan Piastri, husband to McLaren’s first world champion since Lewis Hamilton in 2008. He doesn’t know he’ll walk down the aisle, six months pregnant with his and Oscar’s second child, and vow before god and man that he belongs to Oscar, heart and soul.) 

(But that’s a story for another time.)