OBLIVIOUS | FanFic: Logan Paul |

Violated |14|

| Strong Language |

*Livana's PoV*

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"Damn paparazzi."

The last two words of the evening. Or so I thought.

Logan's hand gripped my waist as he led us out the plexi-glass double doors of Katsuya, straight to the sea of flashing lights and video-cams with 28-300 mm lenses. I don't know cameras, but after hanging around Logan and Brendan, I had picked a few things up. What this translated to, in basic terms, was a 10.7X zoom. I guessed most of these cameras had at least that capability.

They were held by men dressed in dark jackets and desperation. Their movement was more of a dance, as they struggled to dodge both each other and the ruthless, oncoming LA traffic, their singular mission: to capture a picture of the beautiful blonde boy beside me. Well, and slander his name of course. Or get that juicy sound-bite that would allow them a title totally worthy of clickbait. But then again, Logan was leaving the restaurant with me, silver dress and all, so it was pretty obvious what the headlines would read tomorrow.

"Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck."

He cursed for the sixth time under his breath, tilting his head in the opposite direction. Oddly enough, this turned me on. Not the tilting of his head, but the cursing. The way he said the word 'fuck' made me fall apart every time. I hated when other people said it, but coming from him...jesus. It was like...the word took on a whole other meaning.

But then again, Logan could make anything sexy.

My heel bucked underneath the weight of my ankle, and I latched onto his elbow, silently admonishing my clumsiness. Especially at inopportune moments.

Dammit.

Now was not the time to get distracted by Logan's inhuman, daily dose of pure sexy.

Seriously, Livana?

We needed to move, and move quickly.

He didn't say anything as the men in black gained on us, only picking up his pace across the glittering sidewalk. I hoped he knew that I understood. That I understood why tonight, of all nights, he didn't want to be the center of attention.

"LOGAN!"

"HEY LOGAN!"

"How's life off from vlogging?"

"ARE YOU QUITTING YOUTUBE?"

He was used to it, in fact he THRIVED off of it—no, that wasn't it. After everything that had happened, the whole idea of paparazzi was...sensitive—most people now would rather find fault in everything that he did.

Keeping our eyes trained to the sidewalk, we hustled in the direction of valet parking, where Logan swiped the keys to the Yeti and guided me down the street briskly, urging me forward with every step.

"HEY LOGAN! Who's the girl?"

I, however, could only walk so fast in stilettos.

Men in black came charging down our path, shouting out verbal abuse to both Logan and I, gaining distance on us. A dangerous distance.

Before I could react, Logan scooped me into his arms and sprinted the rest of the way to the parking garage, rounding a corner at lightening speed and lunging to where the Yeti was parked. He hoisted me into the back seat, slamming the door behind him.

"Why are we in th--"

He covered my mouth with his hand, silencing me, and lowered us both to the carpeted floor, pressing our backs tightly against the edge of the passenger seats. There wasn't a lot of room; somehow, my feet ended up in his lap, his elbow on my shoulder.