#george can be innocent at the same time

[brotherofbagels]

There needs to be more nuance in how people view the situation but the internet doesn't allow for that.

[david-talks-sw]

Debunking more myths in the GFFA: the Jedi and the clones.

I wrote a post debunking the various myths about how "the Jedi condone slavery", a while ago. Something I had omitted (because it's such a big topic) was the following two statements that concern the clone troopers' relations with the Jedi:

"The clones were genetically bred to have accelerated growth, so they're technically child soldiers."

"The clones were slaves of the Jedi."

Both the above statements are inaccurate, let's explore why. 

"The clones were child soldiers"

Let's get the easy one out of the way first, because it's a logic that cuts both ways. If age is our only determination of the maturity of a Star Wars character, then Grogu is not a baby. He is aged 50, and is thus a middle-aged man.

Who cruelly eats the babies of a woman...

... and knowingly tortures animals for his own sadistic pleasure.

Of course, I'm kidding. Grogu's none of the above things.

The narrative frames him as a cute baby who does innocent baby stuff. Him eating the eggs is played off as comedic, as is him lifting with the frog. To this day, some fans still call him "Baby Yoda".

Conversely, despite the clones being 10/14-years-old, their actions, behaviors, way of thinking, sense of humor, morals etc, are all those of an adult.

Like, Ahsoka is technically older than Rex in this scene.

The scene doesn't portray them as peers, though. This isn't written as "a teen and a tween talking". No, Rex looks, acts and behaves like a grown-up and is thus framed as such by the narrative.

You can make the argument "they're child soldiers", but (unless you're doing so in bad faith) you'd also have to argue that "Grogu's an adult".

"The clones were the Jedi's slaves"

Nope. For all intents and purposes, they're in the same boat as the Jedi, who George Lucas stated multiple times had been drafted to fight in the war.

Again: both the Jedi (monk/diplomats untrained for fighting on a battlefield) and clones (literally bred en masse only to fight) are being forced to fight by Palpatine and the Senate.

Though, on paper, the clones were commissioned by Jedi Master Sifo-Dyas, it was actually done by the Sith (who either manipulated or assassinated Sifo-Dyas then stole his identity, depending on the continuity you choose to adhere to). The rest of the Jedi had no idea these clones were being created.

So while the clones are slaves... they're not owned by the Jedi.

They're the army of the Republic, they belong to the Senate. This isn't exactly a scoop, they refer to the clones as something to purchase...

... and manufacture.

As far as the Senate’s concerned, clones are property, like droids. 

Like there's a whole subplot in The Bad Batch about this very point: after the war, the clones are decommissioned and left out to dry because they literally have no rights, they served their purpose.

The only trooper to ever canonically blame the Jedi for the clones' enslavement is Slick, who the narrative frames as having been bribed and manipulated by Asajj Ventress into betraying his comrades.

Also, the only canonical Jedi shown to ever be mean, dismissive or mistreating the clones in any way, is Pong Krell.

And it's eventually revealed he’s in fact a full-on traitor, hence why the story frames him as an antagonistic dick from the moment he's introduced. He doesn’t represent the Jedi in any way.

We know this because the other Jedi we’ve been shown are always prioritizing their clones’ lives over theirs, if given the chance.

Finally, if we wanna get even more specific... as Commander-in-Chief of the Grand Army of the Republic (GAR), the clones belong to Palpatine. 

Palpatine who is a Sith Lord. 

Palpatine who arranged for the creation of the clones and had them all injected with a chip that would activate upon hearing a code-word...

... and forced them to murder their Jedi without hesitation or remorse.

When you bear all that  ⬆️  in mind and when you read this quote by George Lucas...

"The Jedi won't lead droids. Their whole basis is connecting with the life force. They'd just say, 'That's not the way we operate. We don't function with non-life-forms.” So if there is to be a Republic army, it would have to be an army of humans."    - The Star Wars Archives: 1999-2005, 2020  

... narratively-speaking, everything falls into place.

Sidious knows that:

If he orchestrates a war designed to thin the Jedi's numbers, corrupt their values and plunge the galaxy into chaos...

If he wants to draft the Jedi - peace-keeping diplomats who’d never willingly join the fray - to fight in his war...

... then the only way they won't resist the draft and abstain from fighting is if they think joining the conflict will save lives.

So he creates a set of cruel, sadistic villains for them to face, opponents who will target innocent civilians at every turn...

... and instead of lifeless droids, he prepares for the Jedi an army of men... living, mortal people who, despite being well-trained, will be completely out of their league when facing the likes of Dooku...

... Ventress...

... Grievous...

... Savage Opress...

... or the defoliator, a tank that annihilates organic matter.

Thus, in order to save as many clone and civilian lives, the Jedi join the fray despite knowing that doing so will corrupt their values. 

And as the war rages on, a bond of respect is formed between the two groups.

Clearly, the Jedi don't like the fact that the Republic is using the clones to fight a war, but for that matter, they don't like being in a war, in fact they advocated against it.

However, it's happening regardless of their issues with the idea or personal philosophies. Said The Clone Wars writer Henry Gilroy:

"I’d rather not get into the Jedi’s philosophical issues about an army of living beings created to fight, but the Jedi are in a tough spot themselves, being peacekeepers turned warriors trying to save the Republic."

And bear in mind, the Jedi are basically space psychics, the clones are living beings that they can individually feel in the Force... 

... so the Jedi feel every death but need to move on, regardless, only being able to mourn the troopers at the end of every battle.

We see this in the Legends continuity too, by the way.

(that is, when the writers actually try to engage with the narrative)

Also, if you ask the clones, they’re grateful the Jedi have their backs.

When Depa Billaba voices her concerns about how the war is impacting the Jedi's principles, troopers Grey and Styles are quick to make it clear how grateful they all are for the Jedi's involvement:

So the clones aren't the Jedi's slaves. If anything, they're both slaves of the Republic (considering how low the Jedi's status actually is in the hierarchy).

Only I'd argue the clones have it much, much worse. 

The Senate sees the Jedi as "ugh, the holier-than-thou space-monk lapdogs who work for us"... but a Jedi has the option to give up that responsibility. They can leave the Order, no fuss or stigma. 

A clone trooper cannot leave the GAR! If they do, they’re marked for treason and execution. Again, they’re not perceived as “people”.

And it doesn’t help that the Kaminoans, the clones’ very creators, see the troopers as products/units/merchandise. A notion that the Jedi are quick to correct whenever they get the chance.

How The Clone Wars writers describe the clones' relationship with the Jedi.

George Lucas hasn’t spoken much about this subject aside from the quote from further up. But to be fair... the Prequels aren’t about the clones’ dynamic with the Jedi, so it makes sense that he wouldn’t talk on that subject so much.

He did mention that part of The Clone Wars’ perks is that he could:

“Do stories about some of the individual clones and get to know them.”

But that’s as far as it gets. 

So for this part, I'm just gonna let Dave Filoni, showrunner of The Clone Wars and the upcoming series Ahsoka, and TCW writer Henry Gilroy - both of whom worked closely with Lucas - take the wheel. They make themselves pretty clear on how the clone/Jedi dynamic is meant to be viewed. 

Here’s Henry Gilroy:

"In my mind, the Jedi see the clones as individuals, living beings that have the same right to life as any other being, but understand that they have a job to do."

"The clones see the Jedi as their commanding officers on one hand, but also, at least subconsciously, they look to them for clues to social/moral behavior."    

"Some clones may find themselves getting philosophical leadership from the Jedi that helps them answer some of the deeper questions of life."    

"We thought this was a great opportunity to show how the Jedi interact with clones. Specifically, Yoda in a teaching role of the clones, who were socially new, who kind of grew up�� who were created to fight, and he really broadened their horizons and helped them realize there was a great big universe out there that was bigger than just fighting and killing."    

And here’s Dave Filoni’s comments:

"I truly believe that the Jedi try to humanize their clones and make them more individual, as Henry says."    

"I think we saw that in Revenge of the Sith, when the Clones were colorful and named under the Jedi Generals, and then in the final shots of the film with Palpatine and Vader near the new Death Star, the ships are grey, the color and life is sucked out. The Stormtroopers are only numbers and identified by black and white armor or uniforms in A New Hope." 

"The soldiers have become disposable to the Emperor."    

"That is something the Jedi would never do."    

"Yoda teaching the clones much like he taught Luke. ‘Cause that was kind of natural for [the Jedi], a natural instinct to take to these clones like they’re students."    

None of the above quotes from two different writers of The Clone Wars, who had many interactions with George Lucas, frame the Jedi and the clones’ relationship in a negative way. 

How much more proof do we need that "the clones were slaves of the Jedi” isn’t the intended narrative?

My point being that while the clones' ordeal is indeed horrible, the Jedi have nothing to do with it. The narrative of The Clone Wars always frames it as the fault of the Sith, the Senate and the Kaminoans.

If you go by the intended narrative, the Jedi were the clones' teachers and brothers-in-arms. The clones and the Jedi were not just comrades.

They were friends.

[cassie48]

𝗛𝗶𝘀 𝗾𝘂𝗲𝗲𝗻

King Hal x fem reader.

A/N: In which the king isn’t happy with how his wife, the queen is treated.

(O.O)(O.O)(O.O)(O.O)(O.O)(O.O)(O.O)(O.O)(O.O)(

You were chosen to be queen. Hal himself wanted you. But, in some ways, a lot of ways actually, you felt you weren’t meant to be a queen. You were very quiet and innocent, to scared to correct someone or stand up for yourself.

Now, Hal was always there to stand up for you, he was really very protective of you. He threatened men that mocked you, and declared to the people of England that you were his wife, and that they must accept that.

On this particular day, you were sat on a bench in a secluded area of the gardens, hiding from everyone, crying. Earlier that day there had been an incident, leading you to hide away from your husband and those he would send to look for you.

You had been on a stroll, earlier that day. You often went on strolls when Hal would have meetings. On this particular morning, you bumped into a man that served Paul. He was a sort of advisor and helped him stay in order. George, was his name.

You had never really warmed to him, as he constantly made you uncomfortable. He would send you odd looks, when Hal wasn’t looking, sometimes in places that no man but Hal should be looking.

“Sorry George” You said looking at the ground.

“Oh it’s fine your majesty, it’s my fault” he said with a disgusting smirk.

“Do you know where Hal is?” Your sweet voice said, wanting to see your husband.

“He’s busy right now” he told you.

You nodded turning to continue on your walk, when his voice continued.

“I could accompany you, you know” George said not even bothering to address you respectfully.

“Oh, it’s fine, really” you said going to turn.

“Are you sure, I’d like to” he said, clearly wanting you to agree to go with him.

“No really, it would be…improper” you said, with a polite smile, trying to leave.

But, to your shock, he grabbed your upper arm roughly, tracing his finger over your body.

“From what I’ve heard, you’re quite the improper girl” he whispered, his fingers sickly travelling all over you.

“W-What?” You said your voice trembling, pulling back slightly, but it didn’t work.

“The men talk, say that you’ve been quite 𝘐𝘮𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘳” he said with a menacing smile.

This was when you lost it, you stared to ball your eyes out, ripping yourself away from his hold, running off to hide in the gardens, crying as you did, that’s where you found the little bench.

(O.O)(O.O)(O.O)(O.O)(O.O)(O.O)(O.O)(O.O)(O.O)(O.

At that same time, Paul was leaving his meeting room, going to see you in your chambers. This was a daily routine for him, he truly loved him.

But a scowl made its way on his face when you weren’t there. “Where is the queen?” He yelled at the servants in the room.

“We, aren’t sure, your majesty” a man answered staring at the ground in fear.

“Is it not your job to take care of her when I’m not?” He yelled rage dripping from his voice as he grew more worried.

“Find her” he demanded with a cold voice.

They all scrambled, running in all directions to search for you, fearing for their lives if they didn’t.

Around an hour later, there was still no sign of you, Hal was getting very impatient. So he went to look for you himself.

He knew your favourite places in the castle and he knew one of which was the gardens, so he made his way there. He had searched almost all the gardens, until her heard a soft crying.

Hal eventually found you on that bench, as soon as he saw you, he was 𝘔𝘢𝘥.

“My love? What’s wrong?” He asked as he sat on the bench too, placing you on his lap.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, continuing to cry loudly into his chest.

“Are you hurt?” He asked with a concerned look on his face.

You nodded your head no and hugged onto him tighter, as the tears fell down your face.

“Love, you have to tell me what’s wrong, so I can fix it” he said kissing your head.

“It was…g-george” you cried.

“What about 𝘎𝘦𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘦?” He said, his face suddenly becoming cold.

“He, he said I was an improper lady! And h-he was touching me Hal” you hiccuped.

Hals phase froze in anger and shock. George was in the room when Hal first threatened everyone about going near his wife. He made it very clear she was to be shown respect. George was one of his most trusted men. 𝘞𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦.

“I’ll deal with him, this won’t happen again” he said kissing your hand.

You eventually lifted your head from his chest, as he wiped your tears from your cheeks.

“C-Can we go for a walk?” Your gentle voice asked.

“Of course, anything for you” Hal answered lifting her off his lap onto the ground, and taking her hand in his.

They walked the grounds talking about everything and anything, happy to be in each others company.

You hugged his side, yawning, suddenly becoming very tired.

“Do you want to retire” he said, his arm around your waist.

You only nodded in response, and you both headed back to your chambers.

He ordered the maids to run a bath for you, before kissing you softly, telling you he had something to take care of, and he’d be back later.

Around one hour later, you lay in the bath, the bubbles covering your naked body, and your eyes closed, enjoying the heat.

The door swung open to reveal your husband once more, but this time with blood on his hands.

“Hal?” Your little voice squeaked.

“It’s not my blood, I only took care of something that needed to be handled” he said sitting beside you, and giving you a kiss on the forehead.

You nodded, your eyes heavy as you leaned into his touch. You yearned to be in bed.

Hal caught onto this, and ordered the maids to help you prepare for bed, and get into your nightdress.

“What did you do to him, George I mean” you whispered, playing with your fingers.

Hal smiled before saying “I taught him a lesson” and giving you a long kiss, and bidding you goodnight.

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘭𝘭,

𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘦𝘯.

A/n

I hope you all enjoyed, I’ve been wanting to write for Hal for some time now so finally I did!!

[httpiastri]

I'm going crazy thinking about riding Lando in his sim chair

LIKE GURL IT WOULD BE SO FUCKING HOT

👀 helloooooooooo please the thoughts you brought to my mind..... not very holy

(18+ content below, minors pls dni)

lando has been on the call for way too long now.

he promised he’d just go for one more round on the sim with george and alex, but that was almost two hours ago. you are bored, and the shows on the tv in lando’s living room are not doing enough to help you forget about your boyfriend neglecting you.

when you finally get off the couch and go over to his room, lando is in the exact same position as he was when you left him; body relaxed back against the sim chair, legs spread wide, head slump back against the headrest. he's laughing at something george has just said when his eyes fall on you in the doorway.

"oh, my girl is here!" he exclaims, reaching out a hand towards you as you move closer. "the boys say hi."

you intertwine your fingers with his, leaning down to the mic of his headset. "hi, boys!"

he takes a quick moment to mute himself from the call, looking back up at you. "what's up?"

"can i join you?"

his face lights up. "do you want to play?" his expression then changes when he sees you shaking your head.

"i just want to sit."

he can't quite grasp what you're saying. it doesn't click until you step so close that your knees are bumping against his thigh, just before you drape one of your legs over his lap, sitting down on top of him. lando blinks at you and gulps, not able to control the tent already forming in his pants when you shuffle to find a comfortable position. you know he has always had a weakness for you sitting on his lap, so the innocent eyes and the sweet pout you're showing off are nothing but an act. "is something wrong?" you ask, one of your hands coming up to stroke his cheek as he shivers.

"lando? where did you go, mate?"

in a matter of just seconds, he had managed to forget about his friends and the round they were playing. he's forgotten about everything that isn't you and your pretty face.

"sorry, guys," he says once he's gone off mute. his voice breaks when he tries to speak again, so he coughs and tries one more time. "something has come up, i have to go."

lando doesn't even give his friends time to ask why or say goodbye before he's hung up the call, his focus back on you again. his hands move up and down your sides as he shakes his head. "what? why did you hang up?"

"don't play with me right now." he squints at you, a playful grin spreading over his lips.

"it's all your fault anyway," you say, letting your hands reach down to play with the zipper of his jeans. "you ignored me."

he lets out a shaky sigh when you pop the button open, slowly pulling down the zipper. "what do i have to do to get you to forgive me?"

"i think you know."

and god riding him then 😩 in the seat where he does so much of his work, so many hours of the day... he's going to be reminded of you and grow horny every time he goes back there

[itsvelyria]

"types of smiles the f1 boys would love from their s/o"

happy show-your-loved-ones-you-love-them day!! 🤍🤎

Charles Leclerc

the shy smile: he fell in love with you when he saw that smile for the first time. he always knew you were too good, too nice to this cruel world and despite all the hardships you’d faced, you somehow still retained that innocence from childhood. that shy smile, all gentle and modest — he liked to think you reserved it solely for him, made his heart flutter like a schoolboy with their first crush all over again. your lowered eyes, radiating a certain charm he could never put to words. it was like he was cleansed from all the negativity that accompanied his line of work. maybe it would be better to say he was your devoted follower, begging his goddess for just a glimpse of her smile every so often.

Carlos Sainz

the loving smile: it wasn’t like Carlos had never had a crush before, hell he’s been in a long-term relationship before. but never has he felt the pull to you so strong before, even as you are right across him, laughing at something his sister said. his mind can only focus on the way your eyes sparkle at dinner with his family, mapping the crinkles beside them. and as the gaze he is dying to have land on him does, the bright smile shifts, edges softening into fondness, the slight raise of your eyebrows asking what he needed. he reaches across the table, greedily needing to feel your warmth too, wanting this moment to last forever.

Danny Ricciardo

the smirk: he can see it taunting him even from a few feet away, in the neon pink glow of the club. you were teasing him, challenging him after a casual remark about how you had no game. the glances you send up at the second level where he hung by the railing shoots sparks of green fury in him. he should have known better; you were nothing if not confident and it was evident in the guy you had been grinding against for the past 15 minutes. he hated everything about this, his skin felt like it was on literal fire, and he had half a mind to go down to the floor to drag you away. perhaps Max had a point, maybe he needed to face the reality that he had feelings for you.

George Russell

the warm smile: miles away from your hometown, new cities every week, away from everything and everyone he'd ever known, you were his anchor. your presence grounded him when it felt like the world was spiralling away and he had absolutely no control over anything. he waited as you spoke to a member of the team, the warm smile on your face taking the tension out of the new girl. it was the same smile you brought to restaurants and parties, making the people around feel at home. it was the same smile you gave him in his moments of uncertainty. you bounded over happily, saying something about the same school, with the new girl trailing behind and as he smiled at his colleague, something in his brain told him that things may change and ebb away but your smile could never.

Lando Norris

the proud smile: his whole life, he’s been working to be the best – to stand on the topmost step of the podium and hold that trophy up, to have people acknowledge him as a great driver, the best in the world. and he’s one step closer, the first race win of his career, a step towards greater things. he could feel the elation emitting from his entire team, but the pats on his back and cheers from his team couldn’t compare with that beam on your face. even all the way up on the podium, the only thing he was focused on was your face and how it resembled a mother hen looking on her chick. he pumps the trophy higher, the sense of pride bursting in his chest and all he could think about was how he was going to be a better driver, a better man, for you.

Lewis Hamilton

the comforting smile: it was the slightest tilt of your lips, the light from his nightstand outlining the soft frame of your body. the smile in your voice was easy to detect even as he laid his head on your tummy, exhausted from a long day of endless meetings and emails. sometimes, he wonders why he works so hard. his life has already amounted to so much and he had accumulated enough life experience to know the most important thing was family and his sweetheart. and then its nights like this, when the world beyond your sanctuary is dead asleep and everything fades away, leaving only what mattered: the gentle vibration under his head and your sweet lullaby and smile telling him nothing was more important than this moment right now.

Max Verstappen

the smiling eyes: the Internet had never been a nice place to him. sneers and belittling comments deterring him from ever going on there if he had a choice. but as a 3-time World Champion, his social media obligations were more important than before. when you two started dating, he wanted to keep it private. everything bad in the world, in his opinion, had no chance of ever hurting you as long as he was around. which is also why he never brought you to races. the fewer the interactions between you, the less there was for the media to scrutinize. but it was moments like this, as the camera pans to you in the garage. your face is hidden but your eyes are bright and admiring him in his element, your name broadcasted with his beneath, told to whoever was watching, that he bookmarks the image in his mind.

[formulawolff]

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ words of endearment - the grid ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

pairing: female!reader x the grid

summary: the words of endearment or pet names the men of the grid would more than likely call you if you were in a relationship with them! <3

a/n: this isn't anything super serious! just something cute i was thinking of yesterday & decided to write it! :))

max verstappen ➵ liefje - meaning "little dear" in dutch. although you may be the same height as him, maybe even taller, he just thinks that term is so fitting, so you. you're his little dear, whether you like it or not!

sergio "checo" pérez ➵ mi amor - meaning "my love" in spanish. it was one of the first nicknames he ever gave you, and it has just stuck since. however, the meaning of it has become deeper and deeper as your relationship with the driver has progressed. he often uses it in interviews whenever speaking of you, just to keep your name private from the nosy press.

carlos sainz ➵ mi corazón - meaning "my heart" in spanish. you are quite literally everything he has ever wanted in a partner, and you treat him exceptionally well. since you have shown him nothing but love from the start of your relationship, you are the reason he keeps going. you keep him motivated to keep breathing, so that's how you got the loving nickname.

charles leclerc ➵ love of my life - you could quite literally ask anyone who charles loves the most, and their answer would be you. that man adores you more than he loves racing, more than leo, and more than his friendships with the other drivers. you are the one thing he loves most, so of course he's going to refer to you as the love of his life.

lando norris ➵ my sunshine - after a tough race one day, you held him in your arms, humming "you are my sunshine" as he fell asleep. ever since that night, he has always lovingly referred to you as "my sunshine", as you light up his dark days.

oscar piastri ➵ honey - the meaning behind this is simple. you're just so sweet like honey, and he cannot get enough of you. even when you're apart, he is craving his little "honey bee."

lewis hamilton ➵ love bug - at first, he used it jokingly, since he thought you "stung" him, injecting him with a love spell. however, over time, it is the nickname he has used it the most frequently. he uses it all of the time: in interviews, across social media, and at the paddock. you will forever be his little love bug.

george russell ➵ darling - this was another one used jokingly, but over time, it really grew on him. you were making fun of his british lingo and accent one day, and so he jokingly stated, "well if you don't like it darling, then you can leave!" yet, it grew on you too, the two of you using it for inside jokes, but for other occasions as well.

daniel ricciardo ➵ my sweet southern belle - he likes to use this one with an exaggerated accent. we all know how much daniel loves the south, so it was just perfect he used it one day with you. also, he likes to think you're a little innocent. (but that could be further from the truth, and he knows it)

yuki tsunoda ➵ my cutie - he just thinks everything you do is so so cute. he can't get enough of your contagious energy, and your presence. additionally, he uses the term whenever he addresses you on social media, which has the fans going wildddd at how pure his love is for you.

pierre gasly ➵ ma moitié - meaning "my other half" in french. he likes to think of it more as "my better half" whenever he uses it. after all, you bring out the best in him. no matter his mood, the occasion, or the location. you are just his person, and he wants you to know that.

esteban ocon ➵ mon cœur - meaning "my heart" in french. you are this man's everything. his sun, his moon, his stars. his entire world. he would be so lost without all of your continuous support and love.

fernando alonso ➵ bebé - meaning "baby" in spanish. although you get mami quite often, he uses the latter because you are his baby. no one else could ever compare to you.

lance stroll ➵ ma belle - meaning "my beautiful" in french. he just thinks you are so breathtaking, and he wants you to know every. single. day. no matter what.

alex albon ➵ sweetheart - not only are you sweet, but you have a good heart. and that is what alex admires most about you, as it shines through in every aspect of your life. so why not combine the two?

logan sargeant ➵ baby girl - look, the man is from florida so i can picture him exaggerating this with a slight southern accent. however, this was a nickname he used from day one, as he did not want you to lose interest or feel like you were unwanted.

kevin magnussen ➵ skat - meaning "treasure" in danish. when you first heard him say it, you were confused, as you thought he was quire literally calling you "shit." however, he made it very clear that you are the one thing in life that he cherishes the most.

nico hülkenberg ➵ engel - meaning "angel" in german. you appeared in his life at a moment where he needed someone most, so he lovingly refers to you as his "little engel." plus, he thinks you just have this warm, inviting light to you that always shines.

valterri bottas ➵ kulta - while the meaning directly translate to "gold" in english, he uses it endearingly as "dear" or "darling." as the english translation suggests, you are so precious to him and he never wants to let you go.

zhou guanyu ➵ beautiful girl - when zhou slid into your dms for the first time, that was the first thing he commented. since then, the nickname has stuck. and no, you never get tired of it. ever.

bonus!

toto wolff ➵ hase - meaning "bunny" in german. if you were to be an animal in his eyes, you would be a bunny. you're oh so cute, oh so cuddly, and well... the two of you may act like rabbits at times (if ya catch my drift)

[tarjapearce]

Mi Dulce Cereza

Ranchero! Miguel O'Hara x Reader

Synopsis: Revenge's path is never an easy feat. Not when love for the enemy and other feelings get in the way. Would it rise and come out as a victor? Or would it succumb to the sweetest of beings?

WARNING: Novela level drama, Toxic relationships, character introduction, mild and brief sexual tension, No use of YN, Family feud, scheming, disingenuous behaviors. No proofread

Summary: Miguel's revenge is set into motion.

A/N: Centuries later, here it is <3, hope you enjoy this new version! So nervous about this jskjs. Thanks to my beta reader @oharasmommymilkers00 for the help <3

"Ma!"

The ten-year-old boy called, desperate as he searched and scourged the house he lived in, to eventually find her mother in his younger brother's room.

Ravenous and long curls adorned her back. Brown beautiful eyes stared with adoration at the little six-year-old boy, carefully tucked in her arms as she combed her child's wavy strands away from his innocent face.

"Ma!" the boy called a bit more urgent as he tugged on her skirt, earning him a hushed grunt from her.

"Gabriel está durmiendo, Miguel!" (Gabriel is sleeping)

"No, Ma! Debes venir a la entrada! Hay gente buscando a George!" (You gotta come to the door! There's people looking for George!)

Conchata quickly put Gabriel into his crib and darted to the entrance. Panic and bile rose in her insides.

The banging on the feeble and rusty metal doors alarmed Conchata the more she approached the main hacienda's door.

Much to her and Miguel's surprise a group of men, awaited outside. Dressed in the blue and white colors proper of a Santa Margarita's Town police officer.

Miguel's eyes wandered over the guns that nested on the men's hips as they rode their horses haughtily. But paid special attention to the man leading them.

Hardened and weathered face, partially obscured by his camel brown Stetson hat, dressed up sharply, letting his belt and the overall imposing aura to do the talk for him, same as his horse and everything that donned his body. His eyes narrowed as soon as he saw Conchata.

"Miss Stone. I believe it's the third time I ask for you to leave" He acknowledged sternly.

A surname that made Miguel's churn in utter discomfort, but his mother always told him to give that name to strangers, since the O'Hara was only for the family. But even that one didn't sit right in his heart either. Not when the provider of such surname had been long gone from their lives, with no intention of returning.

And the men before his home were everything but familiar, strangers at best. Invaders. Trespassers with a penchant for intimidation as they were all armed to the teeth.

"The hell you want?!" Conchata crossed her arms and returned the steely glare the handsome and powerful man gave her.

His mother's bravado was certainly something Miguel could look up, despite the woman not being her best title of mother with him. But her bravery made him courageous.

"For you to leave my property."

"What are you talking about?! This is not your property, Anderton!"

A man like Pastor William was hard to ignore, not when power and influences oozed from him by merely existing.

"It is. You're living in Edenton's. Half the area is mine now."

"I have my property papers! This is outright ridiculous!" Conchata huffed as she sent Miguel to to get them.

"My lawyer is here. So we can have this settled once for all."

"There is nothing to settle!, I told your people I wouldn't sell my home and now you're acting far from someone that believes in God to get it!, maldita rata!" (fucking rat)

William narrowed his eyes at the last words that spilled with venom from Conchata's plump lips. He wasn't a man to give easily into anger, but his patience wasn't something to be tested either.

He had bought a good chunk of Edenton's territory and much to Conchata's dismay her home was right in the middle of said property.

The boy wasted no time into retrieving her mother's proofs of ownership as she opened the door to see the man that ground her nerves in seconds. Face to face.

And when the policeman and lawyer took a brief look at them, they could only snort in derision upon reading them.

"Not only are they outdated, but the important signatures are missing. This is fake."

Conchata paled, and she clutched her chest. Her heart pounded so hard she had to grab Miguel's lanky arm to support herself. Everything was slowly falling apart.

"Ma?"

Her boy looked up at her, concern plastered over his young yet understanding face

"T-That cannot be! George left it all arranged before leaving!"

"He didn't. Otherwise I wouldn't be here."

William gave the papers to his lawyer as he climbed off the horse and Conchata immediately tried to get them back, but tore them im the process

"No! No! That's not true! My papers " She shrieked and the police officer intervened as soon as she tried to go for Anderton's lawyer.

"Stop! " Miguel was held back after kicking the officer's shin.

Conchata freed herself from the guard's grip, only to deliver a hard slap on William's face.

"La vas a pagar caro cabrón! A mi nadie me sacará de mi casa!" (You'll pay for this. None kicks me out of my home!)

The officers held Conchata back and Miguel, since the boy attempted to defend the remnants of his mother's dignity. But there was little they could do.

Conchata's land was prosperous, and so far it provided a good income to live rather peacefully and away from the rest. Until now.

William was rather strict and apprehensive about his properties. He owed half the town, and for Conchata to live there, right in the spot he wanted to build his home for his new family, rendered nothing but a black and ugly spot to his future dream.

Buthe would erase it. And if he needed to get over the law, to get it, he would. Influences had their perks. And these worked to his favor without a hitch.

"I'll give you three days for you to pack it up 'n leave."

"Three days?! Where am I going to find a place to live? My children... I can't leave-"

"I'm sure the local shelters will take you in gladly. Be grateful I got you time."

William seethed with his usual calm, sending shivers down Miguel's spine, as the boy held onto his mother's skirt.

The men turned around in their horses and soon began galloping away, but William got up on the beast back, remaining high and proud. Looking down at him.

For a man to make Conchata to clutch and hold on to him so protectively, meant she had no power at all. That she had been defeated. Something his childish brain thought impossible.

It reminded him the ways she sometimes protected him and Gabriel from George in his usual drunk fits.

That day, Pastor William Anderton remained forever engraved in Miguel's core memories and in his heart's growing rage.

Resentment wasn't often a feeling a boy so young like him should experience. But there he was, memorizing every dip, pore and soft wrinkle from the man's features so his heart and mind wouldn't forget him.

So he wouldn't forget who had been the monster that forced his family to leave and abandon everything he had known so far.

Miguel O'Hara had no longer a home.

But if there was something William had forgotten, was to never scorn a woman. Much less one with a fiery temper and a heart full of fresh wounds.

He had doused her wounded heart in salt, rubbed with it and then tossed it to the fire. To let it break and burn to ashes.

William hadn't shown mercy, despite the word coming from his mouth every Sunday in his church as part of his speech to the masses.

But Conchata's mind was already turning and plotting.

----

Miguel's upbringing was everything but easy, but that didn't stop him from achieving whatever goals he proposed.

Shelters and rental homes were left behind, and soon he earned a scholarship into a college, earning him a degree and masters in agronomy and large-scale management.

Gabriel in the meantime helped Conchata around the house. Having little side hustles for himself.

But as he grew up, so did his hatred for the Andertons. It didn't help that Conchata threw more dry hatred bones to the vengeful fire with her bitter tells. She always boasted on whatever little thing the Andertons did with spite and hatred in her heart.

William's face remained intact in Miguel's brain. Ever hardened and cruel, impassive to anyone else's suffering. Indifferent to his mother's pleas.

The day they left everything they knew, scarred him to this very day. Miguel sworn to one day, he'd owe his own estate, full of everything he always wanted.

He wouldn't have to sojourn through shelters and temporary homes ever again, having a hard time sleeping because of his mother's safety. He wouldn't have to look down in fear and shame when people that breathed and exhaled money, talked to him.

He wouldn't have to see his mother, shitty as she was sometimes, breaking down for not having for the most basic of needs. And he definitely wouldn't let himself to be trampled all over again by anyone. Not rich, nor poor.

Now, with a master's degree in his pocket, a new project rose in his mind. Train and rehab horses professionally. An emerging and blooming business within Santa Margarita.

Everything out of hearing that William entered a new venture. Purebred horses.

Of course a man like him had to be in the mouth of every people in town.

William ran the biggest church in the city, had multiple successful and clean business thanks to his estate, Cherryville. And now, the horses.

A novelty in town. He'd often see through the newspaper images of William and his wife, Rosaura, telling how wonderful and valuable they were for the community, and how much their philanthropic tendencies helped those in need. The man was rotting money after all.

Oh, the irony. Miguel sometimes wondered if William did it out of genuine vocation, cause he had to give the man some credit for keeping a saint facade in front of the rest for so long. He was doing it go hard or go home.

If people only knew the scum he is.

If everyone truly knew who Pastor William J. Anderton was, none would spare him a glance. None would look at his way twice to spare him some kind words. Everyone would shun him and mark him a fraud. His world would collapse. Something Miguel needed to achieve.

The purebred training horse's business opened his contact list, and with his smarts and the follow of his intuition, it took him a couple of years to get him in the map of those that were in dire need of help and could afford it.

Cause if he could exploit the rich, he wouldn't waste the chance of earning good money. Not when his personal estate was under construction and renovations, away in it's own heaven, outside Santa Margarita.

He stopped introducing himself as Miguel Stone long ago. He didn't want anything to do with that surname that stirred nothing but hatred and suffocating anger, towards the man that harmed his little and already broken family even more. And the O'Hara had earned him a bit of reputation.

A credible and respectful renown to meet people that gave him the chance to not only learn from the best horse trainers, but gave him the chance to apply everything he knew. Adding even more value to his resume.

Gabriel also graduated college, following Miguel's steps. Although the latter was more inclined to production than management. He was a more practical man than the over thinker of his brother.

Together they made a phenomenal duo, but when separated, months could pass before they saw eachother again.

But with Miguel's plan running, Gabriel promised him to remain close and available as possible to see it through.

In fact, William sought him out himself to ask him if he could train his horses and took full on responsibility of his farm.

-----

He was ready to set his plan into motion. None other than his number one enemy had hired him.

Miguel's body buzzed with a mix of anxiety and excitement. Being the best to get hired was scratched off his list.

Soon all the hatred festering in his heart to the man that destroyed his childhood and family, would come to fruition. But there was a remaining distraction.

Dana.

"Remind me again, why are you going to a farm to be exploited and mistreated by rich people?"

The soft voice behind him echoed in his room. Miguel sat naked on the bed, as the short-haired brunette with blue eyes hugged him from behind and kissed his cheek and neck.

"Gotta make it as believable as possible if I want to expose the Andertons."

Dana just hummed, seeing him so determined and focused into getting this family feud, settled once and for all, amused her to no end.

Dana rolled her eyes while resting her chin on his sharp and well worked shoulder, "But no need to be so serious."

It was Miguel's turn to roll his eyes and stand up, reaching his underwear in tandem.

"Don't be cold, Miggy. I just wanna see you again, once you're victorious, so we can keep celebrating"

Miguel chuckled with derision as he took a towel and wrapped it up loosely against his waist.

"I'm good, thanks. And there's no we in this."

"Are you sure? I mean, I spread word around on you and look at you now. The best trainer. I'd say I'm also part of this too"

Her voice irked sometimes whenever it got like this. Sickly sweet and full of lies. Even more when she purred nothing but half truths.

In truth, he had met Dana for the past six months, all thanks to Gabriel that suggested her as a contact link to those he wanted to get at. Filthy and obscenely rich people that needed someone to help them out with their properties as soon as possible, to salvage them out of sentimentalism.

Even though the initial chemistry was undeniable, it had worn out thanks to her insufferable and possessive attitude. And no matter how many times he'd tell her a plain and outright No, she kept insisting. She was the one that always returned and always ended up in his bed.

"Yeah, no. Look, I don't want you snooping around. And I mean it."

The only that believed that they were something. Sure, Dana served his purpose to keep those physical urges away, but other than that, there was nothing substantial about her he could say he was attracted to, besides her contacts.

Dana's hands tried to reach him, but Miguel stepped away from her touch, recoiling with haste and heading for the shower.

"If you ruin this for me, I swear, We'll have problems."

More than they already did? Impossible.

Dana just laughed, "Don't be mean, you gotta reward me one way or another for your clientele."

"Dios mio... Con qué loca me vine a enredar" (My God, what a crazy woman I came to get involved with)

He mumbled while stepping into the shower.

"I'll see you soon, baby." Her giggles had his eyes rolling with annoyance and his shoulders squaring.

He'd leave in a couple of hours, to start what his whole self had been preparing for years. Soon the Andertons would know him.

----

Returning to the place he grew up had his stomach in a tight and anxious knot, tighter than a hair's tangle.

The once colorless and rusty metal doors he loved to slam with his soccer ball while playing with Gabriel, were now turned into sturdy, iron structures that moved automatically. Sliding to the side to let him in as soon as he reported himself through the camera's speaker.

A Stony L-shaped wall held a metallic letters into another metallic structure. Cherryville Ranch.

He had arrived and his heart beat at the uncomfortable sensation of seeing his home destroyed and turned into a colonial-like resort.

Where there was a modest yet firm built, one floored home, was now a two floored manor that extended left to right. A vibrant sunset orange dressed the walls of the structure, adding enough color to the place sumptuous grandeur.

The staff ran up and down, bustling and moving like busy ants through the anthill, obeying the queen. Or rather monarchs.

His black Chevrolet Silverado parked outside, following the instructions of a man that gave him the ok with a good smile.

He had arrived ten minutes earlier, just in case. Miguel stepped out and put on his hat.

A black and brown flannel dressed up his torso snugly, a pair of jeans that did a wonderful job into containing his well worked legs, the belt just hugged his narrow waist, accentuating his sculpted physique.

The man offered his help with his suitcase, but Miguel refused with a polite smile.

"Keep going straight and you'll get to Mr. Anderton's office. It's the only brown door in this floor."

Strong hands clenched at the name of his enemy.

"Thanks."

Miguel had to take a moment to breathe in and take his surroundings.

Everything he remembered from his childhood, gone. His heart felt mike coming home to a stranger's home. Foraying in someone else's territory.

A someone that obliterated every single bit of his childhood, every piece of memory he created with Gabriel, forever gone and buried.

Replaced with over the top decors, a fake sense of coziness, hidden lies embedded in the sunset like sturdy walls, and people he once strived to be like. All now trespassers and inconnus.

Conchata always fed his brain into believing greater things, alway encouraged him to keep the hatred alive.

Would she be proud to see how far on his plan had he gotten? Probably. Even if she was busy with her new boyfriend that provided everything.

Some women shushed and spilled their gasp as he passed, leaving his presence alone to do the talk for him regarding the effect he had on women.

But this land, his once forgotten and forlorn home, would be his again.

With steadfast steps, he ventured in the enemy's territory, passing rooms and people that unavoidably watched him with brief curiosity.

But all those hubristic thoughts sapped away as soon as his eyes came in contact with the door.

A thrilled and anxious chill ran down his spine upon hearing the terse voice of his sworn foe, giving orders to someone in particular. Miguel's throat felt arid.

His heart thumped a miles per second, his breath paced into a more agitated pace and his eyes kept blinking, readying themselves to face his nemesis.

"Come in."

He obeyed and his nose flared, releasing a shaky exhale when seeing William. Same weather and cold face, the only difference was him looking a bit more rugged and his white hairs even more prominent.

It was as if time had barely passed over him.

It took every single cell and fibre of his body to control the urge to punch him in the face. But the satisfaction of having the reversed roles for a moment brought satisfaction like no other.

This time William had to crane up his head to see him, and a chill ran down his spine when meeting Miguel's red-ish brown eyes. Piercing and judging with all the intention of doing so, as if the very man before him knew his deepest secrets.

The door shut with a quiet click and Miguel stepped closer.

"Mr. O'Hara." William stood to meet him with a brief and firm handshake.

"Sir."

William nodded with a brief smile and gestured for him to sit before him.

"Must say what people say about you, do you justice."

"Good things I hope."

"Now. The property you'll be in charge is  in a bit of a mishap, I've barely had the time to fix it-"

"S'alright. It's part of the barn you said?"

"Indeed. Your functions are detailed in the contract, payment is every fortnight, unless you'd like to choose another type of payment time."

"Fortnight is alright."

William pushed the contract to Miguel, and this wasted no time in reading it and taking a picture of each page.

"Any doubts you, can call me and I'll get back to you as soon as possible."

Miguel signed and pushed the paper back to him. William put it on a folder and then put it on a file. He turned off his computer, and lead the way towards the stables.

"I've tried everything, and nothing works. People have told me to sacrifice the horse, but I can't do that."

Miguel wandered after William through the never ending halls of the estate, there was nothing left of his home. Not even the built in stone oven, where he'd watch Conchata prepare dinner and he'd help out with the tortillas.

Now full of modern equipment and full of people cooking different things he couldn't name.

Miguel had to admit that the stables were his favorite part from the whole dollhouse. William knew no concept of budget. But that was alright, cause every horse in it was worth every single penny and had turned it into a lovely stable aisle.

Each horse had its own fortified enclosure, well kept and clean. There were no bad odors, dirt, mud. None of that. Matter of fact, his eyes blinked when seeing some horses having a swim in a giant custom made pool.

Everything in Cherryville oozed with power and money.

Having revenge and interacting with horses he only dreamed of while getting paid, felt the ultimate fantasy came true.

The angry neigh of a horse snapped him out of his thoughts. The black Friesian stallion kicked and nipped another brown horse nearby. The caretakers immediately separated them both.

William sighed deeply and defeated. And Miguel approached to inspect the brown mustang horse.

"That's Joaquín. The black one is Agustín."

Miguel quirked his brow at the name choices but was glad to have something he was familiar with.

Miguel chuckled and nodded

"Do you know spanish, Mr. Anderton?"

"The amount enough to understand when my wife is angry."

"I see."

As much as he wanted to let out an array of insults here and there to test his words, he'd keep his sharp tongue for himself.

"You can start tomorrow, I'll let you get installed. The barn is in good conditions to suit your needs. If anything is missing, ask any of the helpers around."

With a final and firm handshake, William left.

Miguel gave himself a tour. He wanted to familiarize with the property as much as he could. He didn't like to rely on others for the simplest of task.

Even his way to the barn had been paved and well lighted. No longer being the muddy a d dark road he loved to splash his feet in, even if that meant to have his ear pulled by Conchata later.

The barn, like the rest, took his breath away. It looked like a house for himself.

He wasted no time into admiring the work, and effort put into it. The tack room was sure a thing, but his bedroom and office were even better conditioned. It was a place worth of his skills and knowledge.

Miguel begun unpacking and installing himself. From his window he could see yet another extension of property, Bodegas and the staff living quarters he supposed.

One thing he had forgotten about the place were the torrential rains that always seeped in. Sometimes the blackouts were so common he'd rather be candle lit.

And another entrance to the whole facility adjacent a couple of blocks from his barn.

---

He had finished his shower after spending his evening trying to get acquainted with Agustín and the rest of his crew. Overall and so far it seemed the perfect place to work, but also a challenge.

Thunders roared outside and rain kept flogging every surface it could, permeating to the core. He was ready to make his bed and call Gabriel when the lights were out.

A loud whir echoed through, before the lights returned, the generator wasted to time into working.

What alerted him was the main entrance opening and closing shut.

Had a worker slipped in?

Another blackout happened as he approached to the door only to find a soaked and gorgeous woman shivering on the entrance.

"Ma'am?"

----

Your friends had promised to be a casual party among the singletons in town, nothing more, nothing less. But time and drinks kept going, like the fun.

Until you had enough. As an Anderton you had a reputation to keep, but you were glad your friends made you feel a normal woman, free of keen and expecting eyes and societal etiquettes.

Free of the overbearing role model you had to be for being the Pastor's daughter.

But right now all you cared for was to get inside the barn to give your body a rest from the cold.

The once lovely dress you wore was now hugging you with a vice like grip, suffocating your curves like a second skin. The red and short cardigan around your shoulders did little to nothing to protect you from the unforgiving rain. Hair stuck to your shivering face, teeth clattered as you looked through the window. The rain had no intention to stop.

Your hands removed the cardigan, then tossed the clothing piece to the floor, as you rubbed some heat back.

"Ma'am?"

The rich and deep voice got you jumping in your spot.

"Oh, my god... I'm-" You swallowed when seeing the handsome man before you, dressed up in nothing but his grey sweatpants and some slippers. A towel hung loosely on one of his shoulders.

His brow quirked as his face remained serene.

"I-I'm sorry didn't know the barn was occupied."

You kept rubbing your arms, hoping for the rain to drop. A loud thunder made you recoil from the door, while the drip drops scurrying off your body rolled down to the floor, joining into a puddle beneath your red heeled sandals.

If it wasn't for your hair sticking on your cheeks, the man would definitely see the profuse blush emerging on them. Shirtless men weren't in your everyday occurrence, much less handsome and tall men with beautiful eyes that seized your soul.

A smirk came on Miguel's face, as he retrieved another towel from the bathroom and he approached.

"I got installed today, it's ok."

He gave you the towel, and you took with a grateful smile. Immediately pat drying your face, neck and arms.

He watched you with sharp eyes, following your hand's movement as he slicked back his hair.

You were gorgeous. And drenched to the bones. That little dress did little to keep his eyes wandering to your thighs, marveling at the soft and plumpness of them. He had to look away as soon as his eyes stopped on your chest. The outline of your nipples poking out the dress, gave him enough distraction for a moment.

You didn't look past twenties.

"Uhm..." Your sweet and stammering voice made him curious.

Such a polite girl.

"Yes?"

"Can I use the barn's phone, please?"

He shook his head softly and opened his office. Letting the door open for you to enter.

"Of course."

"Sorry for the floor."

Your arms crossed on your chest, giving him a glimpse of your cleavage. Then fetched the phone, the number however made him frown as it was William's personal contact number.

"Hello? Papa? Can you send someone to the barn with an umbrella, please?"

Papa

Miguel blinked as he stared your way from the door frame. This was even better than he anticipated.

He was so deep in his scheming that forgot William's family. So far he knew, the Anderton man had only one child. And he was now looking at said person.

He could see some bits of William in you, specially in your nose and cheekbones. The rest was your mother's doing.

And what a good job they've made.

"I know, I'm sorry. Got too caught up in the party."

Miguel luck couldn't truly get any better. He could even taste his revenge through his mouth. It was sweet as your perfume.

"Thanks. Love you!"

You hung up the call and smiled his way.

"Thank you. Mr...?"

"O'Hara. Miguel O'Hara."

You gave him your name with a sweet smile as he shook your hand amiably.

"Right. So you're the new trainer?"

His lax frame slanted against the doorframe, blocking your way from the entrance with his form. His eyes fixed you with an enigmatic smirk.

Your nervousness was making your mind a jumbled mess by simply being around him. Half-naked men and men were off the list. Mainly because your parents' strict beliefs. And the man that would get you, would be your future husband. Without discussion.

"I am. Yes. Quite impressive the settlement you've got."

"Ah, well. Dad takes seriously his businesses, and he needs all the help he can get. So thank you for coming."

"My pleasure to help, señorita."

His lip curled, almost imperceptible upon your flustered reaction. Your skin remained with goosebumps.

"Come. Let's get you warmed up."

You followed him to the fireplace and soon he got another towel since the one you had was soaked through.

You sat in front of the fireplace and he draped your shoulders with the dry and cozy towel to then sit across you.

"Thanks" You gulped and extended your hands towards the fire, gaining a much needed wave of heat.

He couldn't wait for you to leave and call Gabriel to tell him everything he had seen so far. Everything was beyond perfect, like if the universe itself had delivered his revenge on a silver platter.

A couple of minutes passed before a familiar voice to you echoed from outside the barn.

"Mi niña! Let's go!"

The ever familiar voice of your nana called, and you stood.

"Thanks for the help, Miguel."

"Anytime, señorita."

He nodded with a softened smile, that didn't reach his eyes and watched you leave.

"See you soon!" You waved and headed back to the main doors. Your heels clicking on the floor.

"Vicky!" you squeezed under the umbrella after your nana secured the towel.

You wanted to give Miguel a last thanking but the latter had already closed the door. You left to the manor.

Miguel rushed to fetch his phone and immediately called Gabriel. He picked up after the third ringing.

Miguel talked and rambled about everything he had seen, and Gabriel could only listen. Expectant.

"Lemme get some months in and then you can come. That way we gather more evidence."

"What about that woman? Anderton's daughter."

He sighed with a dreamy heave.

"She looks the type that's perfect for luring."

"Use her to your advantage. Hit em right where it hurts."

"I'll do it. Don't worry. She's too kind and sweet. Won't see it coming."

With this new piece of information, Miguel could do so many things. But his goal was clear.

He'd hit William right where he dared hit Conchata a long time ago.

He'd go after you. And if that meant to act like he adored you, then so be it.

His revenge was finally in motion.

----

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[writing-with-sophia]

Common character archetypes in literature

Character archetypes are universal patterns of behavior, personality traits, and motivations that are commonly found in literature, mythology, and other forms of storytelling. They are often used as a shorthand to help readers quickly understand and relate to a character's role and purpose in the story.

Here are some common character archetypes:

The Hero: The hero is a brave and noble character who goes on a quest or journey to achieve a goal or overcome a challenge. Examples of heroes include Odysseus in Homer's "The Odyssey" and Frodo in J.R.R. Tolkien's "The Lord of the Rings."

The Villain: The villain is an evil character who opposes the hero and tries to prevent them from achieving their goal. Examples of villains include Darth Vader in "Star Wars" and Iago in Shakespeare's "Othello."

The Mentor: The mentor is a knowledgeable and seasoned figure who directs and encourages the protagonist throughout their adventure. Examples of mentors include Gandalf in "The Lord of the Rings" and Obi-Wan Kenobi in "Star Wars."

The Trickster: The trickster is a mischievous character who uses their wit and cunning to achieve their goals. Examples of tricksters include Loki in Norse mythology and Hermes in Greek mythology.

The Damsel in Distress: The damsel in distress is a female character who requires saving from a hero. Examples of damsels in distress include Princess Peach in the Mario video game series and Sleeping Beauty in the fairy tale of the same name.

The Wise Old Man/ Woman: The wise old man or woman is commonly portrayed as having immense wisdom and expertise, and often acts as a mentor or guide to the protagonist. Examples of wise old men and women include Dumbledore in the Harry Potter series and the Oracle in Greek mythology. Such archetypes have been frequently employed in literature over time to communicate universal themes and concepts about human existence.

The Innocent: The innocent is a pure and uncorrupted character who often serves as a symbol of hope and goodness. Examples of innocents include Dorothy in "The Wizard of Oz" and Boo Radley in "To Kill a Mockingbird."

The Outcast: The outcast is a character who is rejected by society and often feels a sense of alienation or isolation. Examples of outcasts include Frankenstein's monster in Mary Shelley's "Frankenstein" and Hester Prynne in Nathaniel Hawthorne's "The Scarlet Letter."

The Temptress: The temptress is a seductive female character who lures men into danger or temptation. Examples of temptresses include Circe in Greek mythology and the character of Delilah in the Bible.

The Scapegoat: The scapegoat is a character who is blamed for the problems or issues of others. Examples of scapegoats include Tom Robinson in "To Kill a Mockingbird" and Piggy in "Lord of the Flies."

The Rebel: The rebel is a character who challenges authority and often advocates for change. Examples of rebels include Winston Smith in George Orwell's "1984" and Holden Caulfield in J.D. Salinger's "The Catcher in the Rye."

The Everyman: The everyman is a relatable character who represents the average person and often serves as the protagonist in a story. Examples of everymen include Bilbo Baggins in "The Hobbit" and Winston Smith in "1984."

The Wise Fool: The wise fool is often portrayed as someone who appears to be simple-minded, foolish, or even insane, but who possesses insights and wisdom that are not immediately apparent to others. Examples of the wise fools include the protagonist in "Diary of a Madman" and Yorick in "Tristram Shandy".

The preceding list outlines the typical character archetypes found in literature. Can you determine which archetype best fits your characters?

If you want to read more about The Wise Fool archetype, click here: The Wise Fool - Who is that?

[emeritusemeritus]

Wanna Bewitch you in the moonlight. Pt. 1

[F.W X Reader X G.W ]

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

Title: Just wanna bewitch you in the moonlight.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x reader x George Weasley

Timeline: Predominately set between GOF and OOTP (some canon has been altered to fit the story)

Summary: Both twins like Gryffindor!reader. Reader likes both twins. How will she decide who to chose in the end? Amortentia might be able to help, or not.

Warnings: Smut, mentions of sex, established relationships, threesomes, friends to lovers, all the good stuff. NO Twincest. Mentions of illness, Brief mentions of vomiting.

Tags will be updated along the way.

Part 1

"Oh, y/n dear, how wonderful to have you with us!" Mrs Weasley said wiping her hands on her apron before she threw her arms around you, embracing you in a warm and maternal manner as you stepped inside the Burrow.

"Mrs Weasley, thank you so much for having me," you smiled, wrapping your arms around her, smiling at the comforting feel and smell that encapsulated the entire Burrow and each Weasley inside.

"Oh Mrs Weasley," she laughed pulling apart, "how many times do I have to say, call me Molly!"

"Maybe just once more," you joked, smiling wide as she huffed out a laugh, rubbing your shoulder.

"We're back too you know," Fred said from behind you, leaning on the doorframe with George fixed to his side. She hurried over smiling, pausing briefly to hit Fred's shoulder at his tone, before wrapping her arms around both the boys at the same time. It was a sight to behold, seeing little Molly Weasley trying to reach up to give her two 6ft 3 sons a hug but it was completely heartwarming, seeing their smiles.

"Oh how lovely to have my boys back," she smiles, standing beside them. The entire scene was entirely endearing, particularly the hint of a blush that spread almost in perfect sync upon the twins' cheeks.

"Is Ginny not with you?" She suddenly asks, realising that two of her expected children were not present.

"No they're stopping by Hermione's to get some things before they come home," George replies absently, wandering over to the counter where a fresh batch of scones caught his attention, sat cooling on a wire rack. He reached for one and was immediately intercepted by Molly, earning a swift slap to his hand in a silent warning.

"Right, y/n dear," she says, turning to you with a smile. "I wasn't sure what the sleeping arrangements would be for you all so you can either share Ginny's room with her and Hermione or," Molly began to say, trying to do the mental arithmetic of sleeping arrangements until she was interrupted by George.

"She can stay with us mum, we'll move our beds together and pop up the old cot from Charlie's room," he says, sounding like he had already planned it out in great detail.

"Oh, yes I suppose that would work," she says, completely unaware of the relationship blooming between the three of you. You knew she'd never agree to you sleeping with either of the twins alone, but having the other one in the room seemed to ease her mind that nothing untoward would happen.

"You aren't making her sleep in that old thing!" She suddenly says, horrified at the thought of her guest having to sleep on the death contraption that had been in their family for decades.

"No mum, she can have my bed, I'll sleep on it," Fred says, moving forward to place his hand on your shoulder, doing his best to act innocent, though you could see straight through it.

"Wonderful," Molly says, clapping her hands together as she moves away and busies herself in the kitchen again. She shouts to the boys to help you with your bags, to which they both reply in perfect synchronisation that they already were.

They usher you up the stairs, each twin carrying one of your bags as you make your way to their bedroom. It's exactly as you remember, except it looks like it's been cleaned recently, no doubt by Molly.

"You're not really sleeping on the cot are you?" You ask, turning to Fred. He gives you a look of bewilderment before snorting out a laugh, reaching out for your hand to pull you into his chest, his right arm securing you to his body as it wraps around your waist.

"Not for a single second," he smirks, reaching up to play with a strand of hair that had fallen in front of your ear.

"But we are pushing the beds together," George says from behind you, moving closer to you both.

"And you are going to sleep right in the middle, between both of your handsome," Fred adds.

"Charming," George.

"Well endowed..."

"Boyfriends," they both say, sandwiching you between their bodies. You couldn't help but smile at their antics, realising that they had clearly had this planned for quite some time.

"So I get to sleep on the divide of the beds and fall between in the middle of the night? How romantic," you joked, reaching up to play with the collar of Fred's jacket.

"Ahh we've thought of that too," George says from behind you, reading down to place a kiss to the side of your neck.

Suddenly, both twins pull away and start organising the bedroom. Fred pulls away the small cabinet between the beds and places it next to you near the door, winking at you as he moves back to help George move the beds. They drag Fred's bed over from the right towards George's on the left and create one large bed in the middle of the room. George rushes off to get the cot from Charlie's room and unfolds it for decorative purposes in the space left behind where Fred's bed used to be.

Fred suddenly pulls back the sheets from both beds and then pulls out his wand and casts a charm you'd never heard of. The bed is immediately fixed together through magic, causing you to raise your eyebrows in amazement. He throws the covers haphazardly over the beds before doing the same to the sheets, making it one large duvet. He turns his head to you, seeing you look on in amazement and shoots a cocky smirk towards you.

"Your boyfriend's good right?" He smirks, causing you to roll your eyes slightly. George then moves the cabinet beside you towards the back of the room, sliding it under the space of the desk, kicking the little waste paper bin to the side.

"Fit for a Queen," George smiles, gesturing towards the large bed.

"Or for a fit Queen," Fred quips, gesturing towards you. "Crash test?"

You huff out a laugh at the terrible pun and move to throw yourself down onto the newly extended bed, instantly surprised by the lack of divide between the two and the fact that it was actually quite sturdy.

"You know we could test it out in different ways," George says smirking as he looks at you, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. You look up at him with a sultry look, liking the idea very much, before you turn to look at Fred with the same pointed look.

"Boys! Y/n! The others are here and lunch is ready!" Molly's voice radiates surprisingly well up the stairs of the burrow, effectively ending your next moves and the boys immediately huff and grunt in frustration. You offer them a sad smile before reaching your hand out to George for him to pull you up. He instantly reaches out for your hand in his large one and pulls you up towards him effortlessly.

"Later?" You ask with a small smile, reaching up and pouting so that he'd kiss you. His eyes light up just slightly as he silently nods enthusiastically before reaching down to give you a sweet kiss. You then turn to Fred who is not so patiently waiting his turn before he drags you out of his brothers arms and into his own. He also reaches down to give you a sweet kiss, though his is much more loaded than George's, his tongue licking along your bottom lip as he fights to deepen the kiss. You pull away with a chuckle, placing your hand on his chest. "Down boy," you joke and he grins down at you.

"Not me you need to be telling princess," he cheekily grins, wiggling his eyebrows and poignantly flicking his eyes down to his groin, which seems excited to say the least. You bite your lip and drag your hand down his chest towards his excited member, placing your hand gently over the bulge in his trousers. You flick your eyes up to his face as he stands with wide eyes and his lips parted in a little 'o' shape, following your movements very carefully.

"Down boy," you whisper, teasing as you suddenly pull your hands away and move to walk out of the bedroom door. You can hear George's laughter as you descend the stairs and then a little commotion and 'ow' from George, no doubt caused by Fred.

You greet Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny in the kitchen, followed by George only a minute later and then by Fred five minutes after that. You don't miss the little mock glare he shoots you as he takes a seat at the table, one twin either side of you. All you can do is give him a little innocent, doe-eyed smile before you focus your attention on the array of food that Molly had prepared.

"So, y/n, what are your plans whilst you're here?" Ginny asks you from across the table, pausing at the end to frown at Ron who had shovelled as much food as possible into his mouth and then asked, with a mouthful of food, for Harry to pass the bread rolls.

"I'm not really sure," you smiled with a little shrug, not really considering what was on the agenda.

"She's busy, whatever you've got planned," Fred says bluntly as he pokes at his food, already disliking the idea of you spending time with anyone else whilst you were away from school. You immediately elbow him roughly in the shoulder, earning a laugh from George who watches on silently.

"Never too busy for you Gin," you said, winking at her with a smile. She smiled back and began talking about you girls having a sleepover one night, which did sound fun. Fred muttered something under his breath but you gave him a swift kick to the shin under the table which George snickered at, keeping quiet himself as to not also feel your wrath.

As soon as Fred and George had finished eating they all but dragged you away from the table and up to their bedroom, pausing only briefly for you to shout out your thanks to Molly for a wonderful lunch.

As soon as you were back in their room, you threw yourself down onto the bed, rolling to lie on your stomach as you watched them pull out their trunk of tricks. You'd already agreed earlier on that morning on the train home that you would help them with their new idea for their business, some sort of new confectionary, no doubt with a sinister twist.

From your conversation and actions before lunch, you'd assumed the boys had dragged you upstairs for another reason entirely, but it seemed that their current developments had overshadowed their needs. You had to hold back a laugh at the pair, realising that they were the only two men you knew that would focus on their pranks over sex with their girlfriend.

They had assured you not long after that they had the afternoon and evening all planned out and they would only spend a little time doing this before you could do something more exciting, something you'd really enjoy.

"So they're like puking pastilles but not?" You asked from your position on the bed, bent legs swinging behind you as you watched them concentrate on their project. Fred simply nodded, eyes never once leaving the prototype, his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth as he tried to perfect the recipe.

"Kind of, angel," George explained, using his nickname for you, flicking his eyes up to yours as he spoke, "but they don't make the eater sick, just make them turn pale and sickly looking."

"Ahh make them turn into a Weasley then," you joked. George immediately threw a piece of whatever he had in his hand at you in retaliation and Fred simply snorted, still focusing on the task at hand.

It was the most you'd spoken since they began tinkering, their full attention and focus on their creation. It wasn't exactly the day you had in mind and you were quite frankly thoroughly bored, something you very rarely were in the presence of the Weasley twins. You couldn't blame them, they were in the development stage of their new product, which meant perfecting the recipe and then the antidote which took time and patience.

"Are you adding them to the skiving snack boxes?" You asked after a few more moments of silence, trying to occupy yourself as you sat bored in their room.

"No, they're more like an additional add on," George explained, reaching up to grab something beside you on the bed, briefly pausing to touch your leg as he leaned beside you.

"Ah a savvy business move," you replied cheekily.

When it fell silent again, you rolled over onto your back and stared up at the disjointed ceiling, watching how the wooden beams interlocked at awkward angles and looking at all the various memorabilia and stuff that littered the walls of their room. You briefly considered going to visit Ginny and the others before your eyes started to close on their own accord.

———————————

"Bugger bugger bugger!"

You frowned at the sudden burst of noise, your eyes struggling to open and then focus as you realised you'd fallen asleep on the bed. You sat up, squinting at the light from the windows around you and watched in confusion as George paced around the room in a tizzy.

"George?" You asked weakly, your voice not quite working yet. He turned around with such a speed it was almost alarming. His face looked panicked and nervous and you immediately sat further up in concern, your sleepy haze fading rapidly as worry took over you. "What's wrong? What happened?"

"Fred, I told him not to but you know what he's like when he gets something in his head and he wouldn't listen," George babbles, messing with his hair as he paces the room.

"Fred? What's wrong with Fred?" You asked, trying to figure out what George was saying.

"He ate the bloody thing!" He says, throwing himself down onto the rickety metal cot in the corner of the room. It suddenly all made sense to you and a lingering unease settled in your stomach as you thought about the dangers.

"Where is he?" You asked quickly, worried that he wasn't in the room.

"Toilet," George mumbles, running his hand through his hair again.

You immediately leapt off the bed and ran out into the corridor, trying to be quiet as to not alert anyone else as you quickly scaled the wooden staircase that lead up to the next level of the burrow where the toilet was.

You quietly knocked on the door, "Freddie?"

You heard a brief, slow shuffle on the other side of the door and the door creaked open to reveal Fred who looked bloody awful.

"Bloody hell," you said without thinking, looking upon the appearance of your boyfriend. He quickly pulled you into the bathroom and closed the door behind you both. You scrunched your nose at the vague smell of sick that hung in the air but you quickly got past it, moving to stand in front of Fred.

He looked ghostly pale and a little green in his undertone, sweat forming like droplets on his forehead where he had pushed back his hair. His eyes looked sunken and dull, no longer twinkling like usual and his under eyes were almost purple looking. You tried not to react, already feeling bad about your subconscious outburst at seeing him and tried to wipe away a few beads of sweat off his brow. To your surprise, they wouldn't actually wipe off and had become an effect of the sinister sweets they'd created. "How you feeling Freddie?" You asked, trying to keep your voice even.

"At least we know they work, a little too well," he says, deflecting the question. He suddenly lurches away from you and shuffles quickly to the toilet as he heaves whilst clutching his stomach, though nothing comes up. "Sorry," he cringes in embarrassment at you seeing that, "thought I'd got through the worst of that."

"How long does is take for the antidote to kick in?" You asked, concerned about the lasting effects, not knowing exactly how long ago he'd eaten it. He didn't verbally reply but instead gave you a little uncomfortable smile, telling you everything you needed to know.

"Fred Weasley!" You whisper yelled, striking him in the shoulder as you realised he hadn't created the antidote yet. "You frigging idiot!" You hit him again and he just stood there and took it, though he did seem to lose a little of his balance.

"It was more to test out the taste," he said quietly, as if it was an excuse for eating the contraption. "Which definitely still needs work by the way, bloody awful aftertaste, too much caramel." You shot him a look of utter bewilderment as he heaved again, frustration building in you as he didn't take it seriously at all, despite looking like a walking corpse and heaving all over the place.

"Come on, you need to lie down," you said, extending your hand to his to lead him back to his bedroom. You lead him down the stairs and into his and George's room, carefully avoiding anyone else in the house.

"Bloody hell," George said, looking up from his hands, not moving an inch since you'd left, as his brother entered the room, seeing him look absolutely awful.

"At least we know it works," Fred says with the hint of a smirk, though his eyes still looked sad and glimmer-less.

"Bed. Now." You ordered, annoyed at his joking especially at a time like this. Surprisingly, Fred complied without any qualms and threw himself down onto the bed, his eyes closing in relief as he lay there. You tipped out a few loose crumbled papers from the waste bin next to the desk and placed it beside the bed incase he needed it.

"George, can you get him some water please?" You asked, turning your attention back to the notes they'd made on the recipes, trying to figure out if any of the ingredients had a reverser you could use to cancel out the effects.

Fred heaved again and you tensed, turning to offer him some help, only to see him half flinging out of bed to lean over to the bin. You stood and reached out for the bin and placed it into his arms, where he kept it secured and never out of reach.

"What do you mean he's sick? Fred, er, George move out the way!" You heard Molly's voice getting louder and louder, matching the influx of panicked footsteps that seemed to be running up the stairs. She immediately burst through the room and made an ungodly sound as looked upon her son, seeing his frighteningly pale complexion and overall malaise as he clutched his bin, looking helpless.

"Oh my boy," she said, running over to him. She immediately put the back of her hand towards his head and frowned at feeling a lack of temperature.

"That's odd," she mutters. "Are you two okay?" She asks, turning to you and George who are standing off to the side, both a little scared of her reaction and Fred's symptoms.

"Yeah mum."

"Yes Molly," you both replied at the same time, trying to sound completely sincere.

"Did he eat anything on the train?" She asks, trying to smooth his hair down in the front to keep it away from his face. You could tell he tried his hardest to hold back the impending heave but he couldn't hold it any longer and dry heaved once again into the waiting bin.

"Cauldron cake," you said, thinking quickly, "he did eat a cauldron cake on the train, but we shared some fizzing whizbees, didn't we George?" You looked at George, imploring him with your eyes to go along with it.

"Yeah," George said suddenly nodding as he looked at you before turning to his mum, "maybe the cake was bad?"

Molly mumbled something in frustration as she looked at Fred before zooming out the door, muttering something about her apothecary kit which might be of use.

"Georgie," Fred says quietly as he tries to get his brother's attention. George moves closer to Fred and leans down so that Fred can whisper in his ear. You frown, watching them secretly converse, wondering what they are saying.

Molly returns not a moment later, armed with an array of various potions and elixirs which could hopefully cure Fred.

The truth was, the only thing that was able to cure their inventions quickly were the antidotes, otherwise the symptoms would stick around for roughly 24 hours at most, the effectiveness of the enchanted foods rapidly decreasing once the 12 hour mark passed with the entire malady vanishing after 24 hours. You and George both knew that Fred would be okay tomorrow but it wouldn't hurt for him to at least take some of the potions to ease his queasiness.

"Here eat this, slowly, that's right," Molly says, thrusting some form of wafer towards Fred. He pulled a disgusted face as he ate it but to his credit he did manage to consume it without gagging and keep it down. "Dehydrated ginger root, it should help with the nausea," she explained to no one in particular as she faffed about in the little case, searching for a specific bottle. She eventually gave up and pulled out her wand, mumbling accio to bring the thing she needed to the front.

"Here, drink this, it's dandelion root and burdock oil, it will help with your complexion and ease your tummy," she said to Fred, smoothing back his hair again as another wave of gagging ran through him.

He took slow sips of the potion and raised his eyebrows at the taste, clearly not expecting it to be so tasty.

"We have that at home," you said, not really sure of why you said it but it was funny to see the wizard if equivalent to a muggle drink.

"Really?" Molly asks, turning to you with a surprised look on her face.

"Yeah but it's just a fizzy drink, not really medicinal anymore," you explained with a laugh, feeling a little silly about your random tangent.

"We need to get some," Fred mumbled, drinking down the rest of the potion enthusiastically, causing Molly to loudly warn him to take it steady.

"We could nip into the village and get some for you?" You turn to George, asking him with your eyes if he'd join you, "I know where they sell it." George nodded with a little shrug. You then turned back to look at Fred and Molly who looked at you in surprise, "if it would make you feel better." Fred nodded enthusiastically with a little smile, already seeing a little more colour coming to his face.

"Oh, how lovely, what a lovely gesture," Molly said with a warm smile. "You can take your father's car, as long as you are safe," she said, fixing George with a look of warning.

"How little you think of me," George said sarcastically.

"Or how well she knows you," you snorted, reaching behind him to search for a sweater in your trunk.

"I'll go get the keys," Molly says, taking her apothecary case with her as she moves out of the room.

"Fuck," you mumbled, still searching for a sweater but not finding any.

"What's wrong?" George asks, moving to stand behind you.

"I can't find my sweater," you mumbled again, trying to dig through your belongings but coming up empty handed.

"We've got plenty, borrow one of ours," George says casually, walking straight over to the drawers on the left side of the room and pulling out a thick knitted cardigan that you'd remembered the both of them wearing to the quidditch World Cup. "This okay?" He asks, extending it towards you.

"It's perfect, thank you," you smile, reaching for it and slipping it around yourself, feeling the warmth and coziness of it already, the wonderfully comforting scent of the twins surrounding you. You couldn't help but raise the fabric of the sleeve up to your nose for a closer smell, your eyes closing as you smiled at the scent. You could tell this one was Fred's from the unmistakable but subtle marshmallow sweetness of his natural scent which George didn't have.

When you looked up, the boys were both watching you with smirks on their faces, clearly seeing everything you'd done. You blushed under their intense gazes and turned away, grabbing a few things you'd need and placing them into the little bag you'd brought, making sure you had your little coin purse of muggle money.

"You ready?" You asked George, who was stood next to Fred quietly talking. He turned and nodded, mumbling out 'nearly' and walked over to the little wardrobe hidden in a nook in the corner before pulling out a blue patterned shirt. He slipped off the polo shirt he'd been wearing and you couldn't help but watch as he stood shirtless, slipping into his blue shirt and slowly buttoning it up. You couldn't take your eyes away from him, admiring his naked torso and staring at the small patch of hair on his chest and the beautiful trail that started just below his naval and stretched downwards. He looked at you, amused with his eyebrow raised as he caught you looking and for the second time in minutes you couldn't help but blush. "Ready," he said with a firm nod, appearing by your side.

"Do you want anything else?" You asked, turning to Fred but found him sleeping, clearly exhausted by his sickness or one of Molly's potions had knocked him out cold. George reached for your waist and smiled as he guided you out the door, slowly closing the wooden door as to not wake his brother as you both went on your little adventure.

[abiiors]

one for the road // george daniel x reader

a/n: the idea belongs to my sweet friend ace @ughgoaway and i'm just bringing it to life but JFC GEORGE'S HANDS HAVE BEEN THE ONLY THING ON MY MIND SINCE BOILER ROOM (side note but it took me sooooo long to think of a title until one for the road by am came up on shuffle) cw: semi-public, fingering, edging, slightly dom/sub?? like it's kinda hinted but that's it, the writer’s hand kink is very obvious in this one wc: 2.6k

l.a. traffic is the bane of your existence. everything crawls at a glacial pace, there are a million and one red lights and every once in a while someone tries to honk or zoom past as if that would magically clear the road for them. you try to play some music and even that keeps getting interrupted by the two calls george has gotten so far. 

you’re frustrated beyond belief and so is he, judging by his tight grip on the steering wheel and his clenched jaw. 

“george!” you whine. it’s childish and immature, and yet you can’t help it. it’s not even ten a.m. and everything is already hellish. 

“i know, baby,” he speaks in a low voice, navigating yet more traffic. by some miracle, the car in front of you speeds, opening up space for you to cross the green light. george perks up, about to floor it when someone cuts in from behind, and gets stuck right in front of you. just in time for the light to turn red.

george slaps the steering wheel, letting out a few choice curse words, you groan into your hands, about to curse some more when his hand lands on your thigh. 

it’s innocent enough—something he’s done countless times. it’s almost a permanent resting spot for his hands when you’re driving anyway, but the rough pads of his fingers scratch against your thigh. his rings glint in the sunlight, and you stare at his hands, completely forgetting about the frustration from just a minute ago. 

the red light lasts far longer than it should, longer than it has any right to. but in the end you move again, and george’s hand goes back to the steering wheel. instantly, you miss the warmth of it, the friction of his fingers against the smooth skin of your thigh. you fidget with the hem of your short, short skirt, wishing your fingers felt the same. they don’t, not even close. 

“fuckin’ hell,” george curses quietly, voice gravelly. his fingers drum on the leather, and a deep groan echoes around the car, making your mind go to all the places it really shouldn’t. 

you sneak another look at him, at the way he dwarfs the car seat. his long legs are almost stretched out in front of him, spread wide. your mind wanders to all the times you've sat between them, pleasing him for hours, being a good girl and keeping him warm. 

“you’ve gone quiet,” he speaks suddenly and places his hand back on your thigh. it almost makes you jump but you see right in front of you, at another red light and then at his hand on your thigh, at the veins littering it. 

“‘m fine!” you squeak, voice weirdly high-pitched. 

“you’re annoyed, aren’t you,” he tuts. “‘m so sorry, baby.” he does sound genuinely sorry, stroking your thigh with a gesture that he thinks is comforting.

for you, however, it only makes everything worse. 

george draws small circle on your skin, round and round and absentminded as he waits for the car in front of you to start moving. he doesn’t know how strongly you’re trying not to rub your thighs together. he doesn’t know the kind of buzz filling your head, each time his hand inches higher or inward. 

“n-no,” you choke out, trying to sound as normal as possible. you’re completely fine! you’re not about to soak through your underwear and onto the rich leather seats. “traffic’s normal.”

the last bit catches his attention but before he can say anything, the light turns green and george removes his hand once again. you scrunch your eyes shut, embarrassed at breathy your voice sounded just now. how girlish and needy. 

but the sunlight makes his rings glint again and your mouth goes dry. 

oh to feel them against your cunt… your ass… 

oh to feel the cold metal on your lips while he shuts you up by shoving his fingers in your mouth. 

“baby? you alright?” he tries to sneak a quick glance at you while also keeping an eye on the road. “shit, you’re not carsick, are you?”

sick. yes. that would be one word to describe you—sick in the head for wanting him to use his fingers right now, so publicly in the middle of a busy l.a. highway. right here where anyone can peep in. 

he sneaks another glance at you, a bit longer this time with his brows furrowed and lips pressed in a straight line, and places his hand on your leg again. deliberate. 

“bab—”

“george!” a whine slips out of you, and you can’t help but cross your legs this time, effectively trapping his hand between them. his fingers are so fucking close to your cunt, so…

“oh,” he breathes out and you feel his fingers move. it’s a swipe against the inside of your thigh, so fucking high up that he might as well be touching you now. no, scratch that. he is touching you now as his finger softly brushes over your clothed cunt. you hiss through your teeth, already sensitive. 

“what have you been thinking about, hmm?” your eyes linger on his hand still, half of it disappearing under your skirt. his fingers move deftly, still swiping against your pussy, on the insides of your thigh. “you’re drenched…”

the breath whooshes out of your lungs once the red light hits and george slides the underwear aside. 

“yeah?”

“please…” you all but beg, spreading your legs just a bit wider so his hand can fit better. slowly, leisurely, his fingers move through your folds, parting them and making you moan softly each time he brushes against your clit. 

the red light even allows him to look at you, but you’re far too gone to care what he sees—your eyes half shut, mouth parted and slack, parting further when his thumb presses against your lit. the cold metal of the ring brushes against warm skin, sending a shiver down your back, and you but thrust up. 

“can you–can you go faster?”

“my dirty girl,” he tsks, “you think i’m gonna get you off here? where anyone can see you?”

right. the people. not that you can be blamed for it, the outside world is the last thing on your mind. 

“we aren’t in a rush, are we?” his voice takes a low, mocking quality. it’s so unfair that he should know you this well. that he should know how desperate you are for a release. he isn’t in a rush only because you are. a minute more of this teasing, and you might just lose your mind. 

“i’ll be—”

a horn cuts you off and his eyes snap to the road, where the light, much to your frustration, has turned green once again. within moments george pulls his hand away, fingers just about coated with slick and places it back on the steering wheel. 

“no, no—”

“patience, baby…” he uses the voice he always does when he wants you to obey. it’s the voice that rings around in your head. “i’ll get back to you if you sit patiently.”

and just like that his attention is back to the road again. you huff, aching all over and trying not to replace his hand with yours. it won’t end well for you, if you did that. your thighs feel sticky and the leather of the seat rubs against your skin all wrong. everything is all wrong. craning your neck a little you try to see where the next red light is—suddenly that’s all you crave. suddenly your pulse spikes when you see a light turn green. 

but the traffic takes care of the rest, and george’s fingers are back at your cunt the moment the car comes to a standstill. 

“you’ll be good for me, won’t you?” he asks sweetly, pressing his thumb against your clit just hard enough that you lurch off your seat, squeezing your legs shut again. this is where his hand belongs, this is where it should stay.

“i’ll be good, i’ll be so… so g-good.” the words get harder the more he touches and teases, drawing a lazy eight around your clit and dipping his fingers in and out, never deep enough though. he always pulls them out just before, keeps you right on your toes. in turn, your fingers curl, long nails digging into the leather until it leaves half-moon shaped marks behind. 

if this keeps going, you might just tear through them…

“just a bit m-more… please, george,” you try begging again, not that it worked for you the first time but george relents just a little and pushes his fingers deeper. desperately you clench around him, whimpering and whining and pushing your hips up to take more of him. a second later, he wrenches his hand away, leaving you cold and empty.

tears of frustration brim on your lash line. you were so close, so close to feeling good, feeling floaty. the seat is soaked with your arousal now, and your fingers dig into the seat tight enough to leave your knuckles while. your heart hammers in your throat, head dizzy and swimming with thoughts of only his hands—his hands around your throat, choking the breath out of you. his hands on your ass, squeezing and kneading the skin, hands gripping your hips, your thighs tightly. leaving bruises. 

“shh, baby… you’re doing so well,” his gravelly voice interrupts the train of thoughts and you realise you’ve been squirming and moaning, trying to find at least a little friction from the seat but it’s utterly useless. “you’ll wait till the next red light, won’t you? my good girl.”

“your good girl,” you nod fervently, eager to prove how much you deserve his fingers, how much you deserve an orgasm. george looks at you quickly, smiling in a way that makes his face look sharp and smug and goes back to driving. if it weren’t for the bulge in his jeans, you would have been convinced that this doesn’t affect him at all. 

you almost close your eyes, swallowing harshly to get rid of the tears clogging your throat. you almost even manage to calm yourself down just a smidge, when the car stops again. this time, you barely get a moment’s notice before fingers thrust inside you, deep. all the way in, hitting the sweet spot. your back arches all the way off the seat and you cry out his name. you gulp in large breaths, trying not to pass out at the sudden onslaught of pleasure. 

it’s like he’s turned the dial up from zero to one hundred, pumping his fingers in and out of you, thumb pressed against your clit. his body is twisted to look at you, lips hovering so close to the shell of your ear. once or twice he even nips the soft skin, earning himself yet another cry. 

“yes, yes, that’s it… that’s…”

“yeah? that’s it? am i doing good, baby?”

he is, he knows he is. you feel like you’re on cloud nine, completely forgetting about the other cars outside along with the heat and traffic and every other thing that frustrated you not even an hour ago. the only frustration you know is the frustration of not getting to cum. 

“words, sweet girl,” he taunts, “am i doing good?”

“so good… so good…”

george tsks. “but what if i’m not done with you yet, hmm?”

you can almost hear the pout in his voice, the undercurrent of smugness, and this time you see it coming before he pulls away. 

“no no no nooo, george!” it’s the most frustrated you’ve ever been, shaking and crying, edged over and over again, and at his mercy. every time he pulls away it’s like your body’s doused with ice cold water, each time more tears fall down your cheeks. your mascara must be a mess by now, lipstick smudged by how much you’ve bit your lips.

“you’re mean,” you pout at him and george laughs. he actually laughs!

“do you want me to stop th—”

“no!” you cry out, scared that he’d really stop. scared that you’d have to sit here in a limbo, aching so desperately between your legs and not being able to do anything about it. but at the next red light, george takes mercy on you. 

his fingers hover right over your clit, flicking it swiftly before they’re inside you again. the metal of his rings stings against your skin, digging into the sensitive skin. if anything, the mix of pain and pleasure is all the more heedy, dizzying. your head falls back, back still arched off the seat until your hips are moving of their own accord, rutting and grinding against his hand, riding his fingers. you try to match his pace. 

it’s too much, too much, too much.

“pretty baby,” he coos, “look so good riding my fingers, look so good when you’re desperate for me like this.”

desperate is exactly what you are. you finally place your hand over his, pushing his thick fingers deepers. to your surprise, george even lets you. the rough calluses provide just the right amount of friction. his name is the only thing you can chant over and over again, moaning to the rhythm of his fingers. 

“please, please, wanna cum. please george…”

you know the light's about to turn green, you don’t have much time. you know if he denies you again, you might just lose whatever hold you have on your sanity. george places a kiss on your jaw, lips warm against your skin, his stubble almost scratchy. then his mouth hovers right above your ear. 

“since you asked so sweetly…” 

your entire body tenses at his words, pussy clenching around his fingers so hard until your can practically feel the rings inside you. pleasure swims through your whole body and your vision turns white. the next thing you feel is something wet and sticky sliding under your ass, coating his hands and george continues to finger you. 

your legs shake and tremble with the force of the orgasm, stars flare in front of your closed eyelids and you grip onto his hand, keeping it buried deep between your legs, riding it until the dizzying waves of pleasure subside. grinding on it until you can finally slow down and open your eyes again. 

two seconds later, the light turns green again and he has no choice but to pull away. his fingers leave a trail of your release on the steering wheel. 

“can i clean you up?” you ask sweetly, batting your eyelashes at him even though he’s trying to focus on the road. doesn’t matter though, his hands look just as delicious as before and you can’t help but stick his fingers in your mouth, suck on them, swirling your tongue around the digits until all you can taste is your release. the salty taste of it sits on your tongue and you pushing his fingers in deeping, almost gagging around them, till your lips touch the cold rings.

“fuck,” george curses under his breath when you let go of them and swerves the car, taking the exit he’s just seen. 

“what are you doing?”

“going to find a hotel for us, sweet girl.” he mumbles, shifting in the seat, trying to adjust his very obvious bulge. “haven’t gotten enough of you just yet.”

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[formulauno98]

Yacht Girl Summer - Chapter Three / Saturday - George Russell x Reader, Toto Wolff x Reader

One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Nothing spicy yet. This is going to be a slow burn and if you're uncomfortable with the idea of two-timing don't read this.

Author’s Notes: Disclaimer, purely fiction. No use of Y/N and minimal descriptions because I want everyone/anyone to be able to enjoy this.

SATURDAY MORNING

Having woken up early again you slipped out of bed and left George snoozing, throwing on your favourite sundress and some light make-up just in case a certain Team Principal happened to already be at breakfast. You chastised yourself for even allowing yourself to think this way, knowing that your loving boyfriend was innocently sleeping a few metres away. 

Stealing yourself, you promised that it was just a crush and besides, Toto was a few decades your senior and likely was not interested in you in that way. He was just being friendly, right?

Making your way to breakfast you were a little disappointed to find the table empty. Perhaps it was a sign. As you started to get lost in your thoughts, your solitude was interrupted by the arrival of James and Cara. They were perfectly nice people but again, several decades your senior and the small talk had already started to grate. God knows how you were going to survive seven days of this.

Raising a smile, you bid them a good morning.

“Morning,” said James, sitting down across from you, Cara to the other side. “How did you sleep? George not up yet?”

“So well actually, our cabin is lovely.” you said, adding, “George was fast asleep so I figured since it’s his holiday, I should leave him for a bit.”

“Good good, ours too.” chimed in Cara, “That poor young man, he must be off of his feet.”

Just as you were about to reply, a deep voice boomed from behind you, “Good morning everyone.”

You gulped. It was Toto. As you all murmured in response, he settled down beside you, not taking his usual spot at the head of the table, “Do you mind if I sit here? It feels more sociable.” he said.

“Of course not, it’s your boat,” you said laughing. “Did you sleep well?”

“Like a baby.” said Toto, “I take it George is still in bed?”

“Yep,” you said, “I was just saying to these two that I let him have a lie-in. He’s been exhausted from work lately.” Realising you were talking to his boss, you backtracked somewhat, “Although I know you and James must feel it too.”

Nodding, James chimed in, “Yes and no, we’re older, we’re used to it. Toto will agree with me on this.”

“Thank you for calling me an old man.” said Toto curtly, chiding James as he poured his morning coffee, “Would you like some?” he added, gesturing at the empty cup in front of you.

“Yes please,” you replied, “Thank you, Toto.”

“It’s no bother,” he said, flashing you a grin before offering the same to James and Cara.

– – –

You’d almost finished your breakfast by the time George joined you, John and Marion having joined your group shortly after Toto. Your boyfriend still looked half asleep and faced some gentle teasing from his colleagues on the state of his hair as he settled down in the empty chair at the head of the table.

“Forget your hairbrush?” asked James, laughing at his own comment.

“I’m not sure if that’s from sleep,” added John, with a sly look to you, insinuating that you might have been involved.

Uncomfortably blushing you felt Toto’s eyes on you once again as you mumbled a denial, “He wishes.”

“Indeed,” said Toto under his breath, giving you a strange look.

Now it was George’s turn to blush as he laughed off his bedhead, denying the accusations.

Quickly conversation turned to the day’s plans. As promised, Toto had planned another snorkelling excursion, this time to a spot nearby with an underwater trail that promised some interesting sights.

Tired from yesterday’s activities, George and John were less than keen to join, George turning to you and asking quietly, “Can we just chill today?”

A little disappointed to miss out on snorkelling you felt torn. You didn’t particularly want to spend the day trapped on the yacht with George, John and your feelings but equally you would feel very guilty if you went without him.

“Sure.” you said, “Or maybe I could go in the morning and come back in the afternoon?”

Overhearing your conversation, Toto offered the solution, “Why don’t we all just go in the afternoon? The water will be warmer and we can all chill.”

The group were agreeable to his suggestion and resolved to have a lazy morning in preparation for an activity-filled afternoon.

SATURDAY AFTERNOON

Having spent the morning tanning on the sunloungers on the sun deck beside George, you were well and truly relaxed. Reluctant to admit it, George had made the right call to skip another early morning adventure and you were content as you basked in the warm rays, slathered in your favourite shimmering body oil.

“I told you you’d love it,” said George from beside you.

“Well, I could get used to this yacht life,” you said, not entirely lying.

George flipped onto his side to face you, “Maybe one day we can get our own yacht.”

Raising your eyebrow, you countered, “I’m not sure if we’re quite in this league.” before humouring him slightly, “Maybe a small one.”

“Great, I’ll pull up on my pedalo next Summer,” said George with a laugh. “But you’re going to have to pedal.”

“Fuck off.” you said teasingly, “I’ll push you off the slide.”

He leaned forward to squeeze you around the waist as he laughed at your protests. Guilt flooded through you as you considered the fact that this might be your last Summer together. You had no doubt you’d have a nice life with George and he clearly wanted a future but something was off.

Ever the mindreader, at the very moment the thought passed through your mind, a broad shadow loomed over you. Looking up, it was none other than Toto, smirking down at the two of you fooling around.

“Lunch is served, lovebirds,” he said, interrupting George’s shower of affection.

“Thanks, boss.” said George, sitting up and righting himself, ever obedient to his Team Principal, “We’ll be right down.”

“No rush,” said Toto, still smirking as he turned to return down the stairs.

“How long was he standing there?” asked George, a worried look on his face.

“No idea.” you said, “Why does it matter?”

“I don’t know.” George’s face dropped, “I’m trying to be professional. He is my boss after all.”

“George, you guys are considerably closer than most working relationships, I don’t think he minds you relaxing.” you offered, knowing that this was no lie.

“I guess.” said George, pulling on his shirt before slapping his knees as he stood up  “Right, shall we head down?”

“Sure,” you said, your mind still elsewhere.

– – –

That afternoon had flown by, with lunch being a late and lazy affair, the perfect preamble to your snorkelling adventure.

Going back on his word, George had decided to stay on the yacht with John and James, leaving you, Cara and Marion to go snorkelling with Toto, the stoic Austrian getting more and more flustered as the three of you teased him about it being a girls trip.

“You’re one of the girls Toto!” said Cara, a little tipsy from your boozy rosé-fuelled lunch. Possibly not the wisest idea before going snorkelling but the currents were gentle in the Med and you had two crew members with you on the motor launch to make sure nothing went awry.

“You secretly love it, Toto,” teased Marion. “Besides, I want to know, do you have any new lady friends on the go? I met Sandrine at Imola but John said she’s no longer on the scene. I’m surprised you haven’t been snapped up.”

Your ears picked up at his tidbit, you hadn’t considered the fact that Toto was probably entertaining women. You wondered what his type was. Probably tall and elegant. Someone to match his stature.

Blushing furiously, Toto retorted, “Not at the moment. I’m too old for dating. And too busy.”

Marion scoffed, “I don’t believe that for a single second. John’s told me some stories, Mr Wolff.”

Going even redder, Toto looked down at the floor, “Well that was only after my divorce was finalised…”

“So I heard,” said Cara looking at him furtively, “We’ll have a think, maybe we can set you up with someone.”

Not knowing Toto as well as the other two women, you’d remained silent throughout the conversation, until now, “I’m sure Toto can find his own girlfriend.” you said with a laugh, trying to end their plight.

Toto raised his eyebrows at you, “Well, to be fair my track record is not so great.”

“I’m sure you’ll survive,” you teased, the other two women nodding in agreement.

“You’re a handsome guy, Toto,” said Cara, her face soft, “Any woman would be lucky to have you.”

“Steady on Cara, your husband is back on the yacht.” teased Marion, lightly tapping her arm jokingly.

Laughing along with the two older women you locked eyes with Toto once more, his dark eyes indecipherable.

– – –

The water was lovely until it wasn’t. You were a strong swimmer but you quickly found yourself battling a strong current as you fought your way back to the motor launch, swimming and making no ground. Fuck.

You could just make out Cara and Marion on the boat ahead, the two of them having quickly given up due to the rougher-than-usual conditions and continued their boozy afternoon. You had stupidly followed the snorkelling trail all the way around and now found yourself caught out. Toto was nowhere to be seen and you were too far away from the boat to signal. Double fuck.

You could feel yourself tiring but knew that if you gave up you’d be swept further out so you soldiered on, making little ground when suddenly out of nowhere, an arm grabbed you around the waist, pulling you forward.

“Hey!” you said, getting a mouthful of sea water as you were taken totally by surprise.

“Need a hand?” a familiarly heavily accented voice asked. It was Toto.

“Maybe,” you said feebly, coughing up the last of the salty water you’d inhaled and letting him wrap his arms around you, pulling you effortlessly through the water and towards the boat. “Thank you, I was struggling there.”

“I could see,” he said kindly, his muscular arm holding you secure against his surprisingly solid body. Once again you chastised yourself, you had almost drowned yourself and were now busy thinking about Toto’s body.

The strong Austrian made quick work of getting you back to the motor launch, the crew clocking the fact you were in trouble and waiting attentively over the side of the boat to pull you on board. Toto somewhat unceremoniously scooped you up and pushed you back on, you trying your best not to think about the fact he’d just grabbed a handful of your ass to do so.

“Darling, are you okay?” Cara and Marion fussed over you, immediately draping a large stripy beach towel over your shoulders. You glanced up to see an equally sopping wet Toto clambering onto the boat, water clinging to his rash vest showcasing an impressive physique.

“Yes all good, thank you so much Toto.” you stood up, embracing him warmly and wrapping your towel around him. “Sorry I took the last dry towel, please have some!”

Looking bemused, he allowed you to extend the towel over his shoulder and sat down side by side with you. Cara and Marion looking equally amused at your exuberant display of thanks.

“It’s no problem.” he said bluntly, “What were you doing all the way out there?”

“I just followed the snorkel trail but the current picked up and I couldn’t get back so I drifted,” you said, now embarrassed that you’d managed to struggle with a simple trail. “Please don’t tell George, he will freak out.”

Looking even more amused, Toto put his arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer, “These things happen, we won’t tell him. Right ladies?” he said, looking across at Cara and Marion.

“Of course we won’t darling,” said Marion kindly. “Here have some rosé, flush out that seawater.”

Smiling weakly you took the glass she offered and sipped contently, Toto’s arm still resting on your shoulders. You were grateful for the extra warmth as there was a sudden chill in the air.

Content cuddling up to Toto, you found the journey back to the yacht all too quick. As the motor launch pulled up alongside the yacht and Marion and Cara hot-footed it back onboard, you shivered as Toto took back his arm, gently placing the towel back around your shoulders, “Here you go,” he said kindly, his eyes crinkling.

“Thank you again, Toto,” you said, standing up to walk back along the passerelle to the yacht.

“Don’t mention it,” he said, following closely behind. 

As you made it back onto the deck, you were suddenly very aware that you were alone with Toto once more, the ladies having disappeared inside and the crew busy slotting the motor launch back in place.

“Did you have fun at least?” he asked, coming to a stop close by your side.

“I did.” you said, smiling, “Even if I swallowed a bit too much seawater.”

“Sorry about that,” he said, clutching the back of his neck with his large hand, looking slightly embarrassed by his actions.

“Oh gosh, not your fault at all,” you said, reaching out to pat him on the arm, completely misjudging it and ending up pawing his firm chest.

Toto looked down at your hand curiously, the tension palpable. Surely this was not one-sided? You tried to shake your thoughts but couldn’t break the connection.

It wasn’t until you heard George’s laugh travelling from the other side of the boat that you snapped out of the trance, a flicker of disappointment on Toto’s face as you dropped your hand back down.

“Right, well like I said, we will keep it between us,” he promised, turning his head to greet George. 

“Hey guys,” said George, sidling up to you, merry from drinking all afternoon, “How was it?”

As you began to tell George what you’d seen, you kept sneaking the odd glance at Toto, wondering if there was something there. Only time would tell.

Part Four

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[il-miele-che-scrive]

Drunken Mistakes

charles leclerc x reader x george russell summary: in the aftermath of a breakup, y/n and charles try to reconnect, but y/n makes a mistake, leading to a heartbreaking confession words count: 3k warnings: mentions of alcohol

The argument that led to Y/n and Charles' breakup started innocently enough. Charles had noticed his girlfriend was focusing on her job so much that they barely had time for each other. He couldn't remember the last time she attended his race.

"You never have time for me anymore." The man said. "I feel like we're growing apart."

"Me?" The girl scoffed. "Let me remind you, during the season you're in a different country every weekend."

"That's my job, Y/n, I am a formula one driver in case you forgot. But now the season is over and I want to spend time with my girlfriend."

"You knew what you were getting into when we started dating." Y/n argued, her tone defensive.

"You used to come to the most of my races!"

"Work has been tough, there's a lot to do." Her eyes avoided his gaze.

"Why do you care about it so much? It's not like you need money, I could buy you anthing you want."

"This isn't about money, Charles. It's about my career, my ambitions. I have goals too, you know?"

"But what about us? I miss you, Y/n. I miss us."

The room fell into a heavy silence. Y/n could see the pain in Charles' eyes, mirroring her own sadness.

Charles spoke after a moment of silence. "Maybe we're just not right for each other."

Y/n felt a lump in her throat as she searched for the right words. At one point she questioned if she heard that right. Charles was breaking up with her.

Charles regretted his own words, but his pride wouldn't let him take them back. He knew breaking up wasn't the only solution

Tears welled up in Y/n's eyes, but she tried to hold them back. "I never thought it would come to this." She admitted, her voice cracking.

"Sometimes, people change. Maybe we're just not the same people we fell in love with." Charles' voice was tinted with with sorrow.

In the following days, the space between Y/n and Charles grew wider, both emotionally and physically. They lived together, so the girl decided to pack her things and move out. It was hard, but not impossible to find a place in a matter of hours. And thanks to being hardworking, she didn't have to worry too much about the cost.

The problem was, she kept seeing Charles everywhere, in all social medias. Even after unfollowing each other, Y/n kept seeing news about him, pictures from events. The constant reminders made moving on way the more challenging.

In an attempt to break free from this loop, Y/n decided to put herself in a different kind of atmosphere. One night the idea of using alcohol as a temporary remedy for her heartache crossed her mind.

Dressed for the occasion, Y/n stepped into a bar. It was full of people, too many people for the possibility of being recognized by someone she could've known.

"What can I get you tonight?" The bartender asked as the girl sat down on a stool by the bar.

"Surprise me." She replied, a smile playing on her lips.

As the bartender began making a drink for her, Y/n allowed herself to look around the room. It was then that her eyes caught sight of someone familiar approaching her.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Y/n!"

George Russell. Not a close friend of Charles, but certainly an acquiantance of his. Y/n exchanged a word or two with him in the past, but didn't know him as well as she knew Carlos or Lando, who were closer with her ex-boyfriend.

"Nice to see you, George," Y/n sent the man a smile as he sat down on the stool next to her.

"What brings you here?" He asked, a curious glint in his eyes

"Needed to change my routine a little," she replied, accepting her drink from the bartender.

"How have you been holding up? Charles mentioned the breakup to me, but I didn't want to pry."

Not to mention it was all over the media, Y/n added in her thoughts.

Y/n sighed. "It's the reason why I'm here, what do you think?" She took a sip from her drink.

George leaned back, a sympathetic expression on his face. "Breakups are never easy. I can imagine it's been tough for you."

"It's the adjustment, you know?" Y/n continued, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. "Getting used to the idea that the person you once shared everything with is now just a memory."

The man nodded in understanding. "Yeah, I've been through a few breakups myself. It's never easy."

Y/n found herself drawn to George's charm and the way he made her feel understood. His presence carried some kind of comfort that eased the ache in her heart.

George on the other hand, catching a glimpse of Y/n's eyes, found himself captivated by the vulnerability. The girl let herself be so open, talking about her breakup and the pain it brought.

"You know what, Y/n? Let me get you another drink." George said, a playful twinkle in his eyes.

Y/n smiled. "Sure, why not?"

George leaned against the counter, engaging in a brief exchange of words with the bartender, later turned his attention back to Y/n. "I've got this one," he declared with a charming grin.

The atmosphere between the two of them grew intimate as they continued the conversation with another drink. A subtle connection lingered between Y/n and George.

In a moment of unspoken tension, George's eyes met Y/n's with a hint of something more, longing for an intimacy that went beyond mere conversation.

Their faces drew closer, the anticipation building up. Y/n had come to the bar seeking a distraction and it seemed she was on the brink of finding it.

A moment of silence embraced them, a comfortable one. One in which drowned even the ambiance of the lively bar. The music, still loud, became a distant background.

Y/n closed her eyes, preparing to connect her lips with George's. But just as their breaths mingled, George hesitated, pulling back.

Instead of diving into a kiss, George surprised her by leaning back and asking, "How about we continue this conversation somewhere a bit more private?"

Y/n looked at him. "Like what?" She asked.

"My place is somewhat close."

Y/n's curiosity and the unspoken tension between them pushed her to agree. "Lead the way."

The city streets seemed to sway gently around Y/n and George as they made their way to his place. The night air carried a cold breeze, but the warmth of the alcohol kept them unaware of it.

Arriving at George's place, the quiet hum of the city outside was replaced by the comforting cosiness of his home. The dim lights embracing them in a romantic atmosphere.

George turned to Y/n after locking the door. Not moving from the hallway, they smiled at each other. George walked closed, causing Y/n to step back and eventually her back touched the wall.

Y/n's hands landed on George's shoulders, pulling the man even closer. Their eyes met and soon after that, their lips connected in a short kiss.

A quiet, tipsy giggle escaped from Y/n's mouth. George gently grabbed the girl by her wrist and led her into the living room. Sitting down on the sofa, he placed his hands on Y/n's hips, causing her to land in his lap.

As they embraced the tipsy intimacy, the living room became a sanctuary for yet another kiss. One that lasted way longer. One that had their clothes scattered around on the floor.

Closed curtains successfully stopped the morning light from getting inside the room. Y/n opened her eyes. She slept wrapped up in George's arms, so she carefully detangled herself from his embrace to sit up. Of course she didn't drink enough to not remember what happened.

Although she wished she did. A mix of guilt and regret washed over Y/n as she looked around. The cosy atmosphere that felt so comforting the night before now seemed to emphasize the reality of the situation.

Her eyes landed on George who was still peacefully asleep. Y/n didn't know what to do, she's never been in such situation before.

Water. She needed water. Her throat felt like a desert.

The girl quietly walked to the kitchen to pour herself a glass of tap water. Somehow, her phone was on the countertop. She grabbed the device to check for any missed calls or messages left without a reply.

Her heart sunk when she saw missed calls and a few texts from Charles. What could he have wanted? Y/n hesitated for a moment, contemplating whether to return the calls or respond to the texts. The weight of guilt intensified as she listened to Charles' voicemails.

Hey, Y/n, it's Charles. I know we're broken up and you probably hate me, but something kept telling me to call you. Call me back when you can, I miss you.

If you're not up for talking, just send me a text to let me know you're okay. I care about you and I want to make sure you're safe.

Y/n, it's Charles again. I'm not sure what's going on, but I've been trying to reach you all night. I just want to make sure you're safe

Y/n, it's Charles. I've left several messages, and I'm starting to think the worst. Please, just give me a sign that you're alright. I care about you a lot and not knowing is really getting to me

"What have I done?" Y/n whispered to herself. The guilt consumed her, overshadowing the moments of happiness she successfully looked for the night before.

Anxiety started to build up in her chest and her eyes were starting to get a bit watery. She hesitated, but eventually decided to return the calls, hoping George won't wake up to witness this.

"Y/n, where were you? I've been trying to reach you all night." Charles questioned.

"I needed some alone time." Y/n began, stammering a bit. "I don't have to explain my choices and actions to you, especially now."

There was a heavy silence on the other end of the line and Y/n could almost sense Charles processing her words.

"Y/n, we need to talk. This isn't fair to either of us," he finally said.

I don't wanna see you ever again, Y/n wished she said. Her words came out a bit differently however.However, her words came out a bit differently. "Fine, let's talk." Because no matter what she did, she missed Charles.

"Could you come over today? It's so, I don't know, weird to talk about it on the phone."

"Sure. When could I come over?"

"As soon as you can, maybe? If that's alright for you."

"Give me an hour or so, I'll be there." And with that, she hung up.

Just as the conversation was finished, George walked into the kitchen. He looked at Y/n with a warm smile that gradually faded as he sensed the tension.

"Morning," he said with a rasp in his voice, "are you okay?"

Y/n sighed, running a hand through her hair. She decided to be honest with George, he deserved it after all. "We need to talk about what happened yesterday."

"Yeah, about that..." he scratched his neck, "I don't want to give you any kind of hope or-"

"Wait, what? Was it meaningless to you?"

"Ah, here it comes. Well, I'm not looking for anything... romantic. Not now. We can do what we did last night more often, but no strings attached."

These words gave Y/n a sense of relief. "You don't know how glad I am that this didn't mean anything to you."

Y/n's confession hung in the air, creating an awkward pause between her and George.

"Are you being sarcastic?" He asked. "I don't want to complicate things further or lead you on."

"No, no sarcasm at all. Actually, I've just talked to Charles on the phone."

"Oh, and? What did he want?"

"He was worried, tried contacting me last night too many times. And... well, I'm meeting him today. He wants to talk."

"Ah, that's never good. Do you think he'll want to get back together?"

Y/n took a deep breath. The answer was yes, she did expect Charles to get back together. However, she didn't know if she should tell that to George.

Considering the silence on Y/n's side, George continued. "Do you wanna get back together with him? It didn't seem like it last night," a sly smile appeared on his face.

"I... I'm not sure, George. Charles and I have a history and there are feelings involved, but things have been complicated lately." Y/n replied, choosing her words carefully.

"Relationships are messy and figuring out what you want is important. Just be honest with yourself."

With George's words echoing in her mind, Y/n gathered her thoughts and headed to meet Charles. She stopped by her own place beforehand to make herself look decent.

"Hey," he greeted her, as he opened his door to let her in. There was an expression of concern on his face.

Charles didn't look better than Y/n that morning. His hair was disheveled, he looked as if he wasn't able to get good sleep in the past few days nor did he shave his face.

"I was worried sick," he admitted, "what happened? Why didn't you answer earlier?"

"Jesus, Charles, I was busy. Besides it's not very ex-boyfriend of you to call me a thousand times in a row."

The air inside the apartment felt heavy. In an awkward silence, Y/n and Charles settled on the couch.

"I care about you, Y/n. Damn it, I love you." The man broke the silence. "I don't think the breakup was a good idea."

"Well, it was your idea..."

"I make mistakes, we all do, but it's nothing that cannot be fixed, right?"

You're gonna hate what I'm about to tell you, Y/n thought. She could see the sincerity in his eyes and it made her feel so much guilt.

"Charles, I... I appreciate your honesty and I care about you too," she began, "so I need to tell you what happened yesterday."

Charles ran a hand through his unkempt hair. "I know we had issues, but I still believe we can work through them. I love you, Y/n, and I can't just let go."

Y/n took a deep breath. "Don't say that."

"Why not? That's the truth, I love you and I've never regretted anything as much as I regret breaking up with you."

"Charles, stop." Her voice raised slightly, but then she lowered it back to normal. "I did... something last night and... It was a mistake, but it happened, I cannot hide it from you."

Charles nodded. "Then tell me, but I swear nothing can change my mind."

"Okay..." Y/n hesitated, looking for the words that would hurt the least. "Last night I went out, drank probably more than I should've and I... ended up spending the night with someone."

Charles didn't reply for a long time, a mix of shock and hurt crossed his face. The room seemed to close in on Charles and Y/n as the silence stretched.

"You... you what?" Charles finally said, his voice a fragile whisper.

Y/n felt her chest tighten as she faced the consequences of her actions. "Charles, I know this is difficult to hear and I'm so sorry. It was a drunken mistake, I didn't realize what I was doing."

"Do I know him?"

"What?"

"Do I know him?" His voice raised. "If you told me you did it, you can tell me who you did it with."

Y/n hesitated, realizing the added layer of pain she brought. "It was someone you know," she admitted, "George."

"George? George Russell? Really?" Charles's voice carried a tint of anger and hurt. "You could choose any guy, but you decided to go for him?"

"I didn't plan it, it was a mistake and I regret it."

"And you have the audacity to come here, probably straight from his place?"

"You wanted to see me."

"I had no idea you fucked Russell!"

"You said we can work through our issues. It's not a mistake that cannot be fixed, right?" Y/n pleaded, her eyes starting to tear up. She was surprised she managed to keep herself from crying for so long.

"I don't know anymore, Y/n," Charles sighed. "I love you, but I don't think you realize the weight of what you've done."

"I understand, Charles. I truly am sorry," Y/n cried, her voice shaky with emotion.

"No, Y/n, just stop. I can't believe this is happening, I need time to process it. I think it's better if you leave."

Y/n felt her relationship with Charles crumbling beneath the weight of her mistake.

Charles's gaze was distant, the pain in his eyes echoing the depth of his hurt. "Y/n, I need time to figure out if we can move past this. Right now it's too much."

Tears started to slowly run down Y/n's cheeks as the reality started to sink it. "I never meant to hurt you like this, Charles. I love you and-"

"I need space, Y/n," Charles said with a heavy sigh. "I need to process everything. Please, just go."

It felt like a dagger through Y/n's heart, but she nodded. Deep down she understood it. With a heavy heart, she stood up, casting one last look at the man she still loved. She left Charles to deal with the aftermath of their mutual pain.

Each step away from Charles felt like a step into an uncertain future, leaving behind the comfort of what was familiar. Y/n couldn't shake the guilt and regret that devoured her, questioning if there was any way to fix what she had broken.

[wildpeachfarm]

I hope this is appropriate but I just can't help but feel this situation creates a very dangerous precedent for all inevitable future situations, no matter who they are against.

Caiti was not sexually assaulted. I do not doubt that her feelings are real and valid, though I share the belief that her friends have exacerbated them. George should have been more careful. He could have checked in with her if he had even an inkling she was uncomfortable, but he did not sexual assault her and is not a predator and much less the pedophile or rapist Twitter is making him out to be. We become so blinded by initial reactions and big scary words that the actual story gets lost. People making things up on Caiti's behalf only harms her; saying he got her drunk, saying her molested her privates, saying he intended to rape her, that he was sober the whole time, stripping her of her agency, so on.

Her statement about not needing to provide evidence and people backing her up on that is dangerous. When you make an accusation of this nature against a public figure, you need to have proof to some degree. Believe victims, when they are victims beyond reasonable doubt. In a public setting, it is innocent until proven guilty. This is not a situation where your girl friend tells you she was groped at a frat party and you believe her unquestionably; this is the internet where we've spent the last year battling fake allegations against one of our guys. We should know this.

You can send her love and comfort regardless. She deserves it because it's clear that she has been affected by the situation. George deserves to be free of being mislabeled as horrific things. Nobody should be attacked for staying or going. To me, this is another "drituation" deal where, until the video, it's word against word and the realities of what the girls claimed and their proof follows. It's your own morals that you need to follow, but not everybody needs to adhere to those same ones.

.

[vibingandsimping]

Would you be willing to write Astarion x a fem!reader (if it matters) where originally he’s slightly annoyed because she just seems like another goody two shoes hero, until she finally gets the chance to punish someone for their actions only to realize that she’s just as cruel and violent as he is, she just directs it at people who deserve it the most. I just wanna be bitchy and judgy with him

My character was an oathbreaker paladin and the best way i could describe her is that she became a paladin in the same way mean girls in high school became nurses, to basically bully people for a job which I thought was a ridiculously fun way to play a character and thought Astarion might approve of it too

DAMN IT. Now I have to make a human tav that’s Regina George and play the game as her. Curse you.

How in the hell was an Oathbreaker so good-natured? You went against your contract. You couldn’t be so heroic. He knew something was beyond the surface. It just pissed him off that you concealed that nature. He craved to see that part of you. Perhaps it was a fluke? A one-time deal that damned you? His snippy behavior towards you was bred from the fact he couldn’t figure you out. At least, he thought that, until you reached the Goblin Camp. Your demeanor was so much more aggressive. It was a delicious sight. It first started with you making a goblin kiss your feet. Gods, he loved that. He wished he were you in that position. Astarion simply clapped in amusement and praised you for the cruel behavior.

Who knew you had it in you, darling? From that on you were much more keen on acting such. Not towards the innocent, much to Astarions disappointment, but to those deserving. You’d bring down karma and justice onto those. Such as telling the goblin in the Shadowlands to fetch after dooming an animal to the shadows. Usually, when killing you were quick about it. Not one to make them suffer for long. He found it quite boring til you were faced with the option to murder someone thought evil. The way you drove your blade into their skin and charred their flesh with spells was violent and bloody. Their screams echoing as you slay them. He never thought you more beautiful, honestly, with the blood staining your face and hands. You two would gossip and chat during adventures. Remarking those you’d punished or killed. He’d snob with you about them. Anything to feed into this behavior he beloved. Watching you climb the ladder of power by evoking your justice onto those

Overall, he finds you quite interesting. He can’t wait til he can peel all the layers and get to know the true you. It’s almost like a challenge.

[lex9923]

Tw// SA

This will be my one and only official statement on this situation, because frankly I’m done with all of this mental hopscotch happening.

I am a sexual assault victim. I was the same age as Caiti is now when it happened, and I was cornered with his hands down my pants touching my vagina and up my shirt touching my boobs, while I tried to get away and make it stop. I still to this day don’t know who my attacker was, but it will follow me for the rest of my life. It’s been five years since then, and my story has not changed once. Not ever. I hadn’t told people for a couple years cause I thought since I didn’t know who my attacker was, I wouldn’t be believed. As well as the fact that I came forward about a sexual harassment I faced at a job and was met with “well, boys will be boys”. Through it all, I am here, and I survived.

Watching the reaction to this situation from both of the main parties involved, those who weren’t there, those who were, and the fans had sent me spiraling. I’ve spent the past two weeks reliving that trauma from five years ago cause I thought I misinterpreted my assault as something else. I had not, and never have. It’s been incredibly invalidating watching the alleged “victim” change the story multiple times, make fake texts, omit important information, all while not even listening to the person she accused of a criminally offensive act.

Caiti is absolutely allowed to feel uncomfortable and regret what happened after the fact, but it is not, and will not ever be assault-unless George actually did touch her boobs, and then that will be a different discussion, but with her credibility disappearing, I’ll only believe it if he admits it himself. I’m trying to extend grace to her being young, sexually inexperienced, and caught up in online culture, but it’s hard the longer this gets dragged out. There are things you do when approaching a situation like this:

1. You absolutely need to provide evidence and proof of your claims. You can’t prove something that never happened, but you can prove something that did. It’s why it’s innocent until proven guilty. Expecting people to blindly believe you is delusional at worst and ignorant at best.

2. You must absolutely have your story 100% correct and factual to how you perceived what happened, before bringing forth any accusations. Using purposefully charged language and then changing the story to match the one you accused is not it. Nor is changing your story yet again when people are catching on to the inconsistencies.

3. Allow the accused person to defend themself. You can’t expect people to listen to all of your claims-most of them blindly doing so-and then get upset when people wait for both sides to say their piece, especially when you present no evidence at your initial statement. Again, you have to prove guilt. If you can’t prove it, the accused are allowed to defend themself.

4. You are in no way obligated to accept apologies, but acknowledging one was made-multiple times in fact- is the bare minimum. Trying to change your story one last time to make it seem even worse than what you both agreed upon, and then hiding behind “I’m not going to address this anymore” is manipulative at worst and cowardly at best.

I hope Caiti gets therapy, cause it’s clear she’s been severely affected by something, though I’m not sure she even knows what it is. I also hope she learns from this, and next time utilizes the “direct message” function every single app has. This could have been a dm, and the way it spiraled has been a shitshow and her intentions are coming off less and less pure the more this gets dragged out. I’m so sorry she was uncomfortable, and regretful, but until she shows any proof whatsoever of any assault happening, it will never be. I hope she heals, and I hope she gets better friends cause they have all failed her.

For George, I’m sorry this got blown so out of proportion and no one even privately talked to him about any uncomfortability being felt. I’m sorry his friends are performative. I’m hopeful that he was made aware of things he wasn’t before, and will do better next time. He is not irredeemable, and I believe growth is possible (the difference in his two responses proves as such). I hope this isn’t the last we see of him or his content, and I hope he can heal from this as well.

To my fellow SA survivors, I’m so incredibly sorry that our trauma has been thrown around like this. Our hurt and pain do not deserve to be mocked in this way, and I wish it would’ve never even happened. You’re stronger than what happened, regardless of how shitty this situation has been for us. And as a 24 year old, I like to consider myself a big sister of sorts, so I love all of you. We got through it then, we’ll do it again.

Speaking woman to woman, I’m sorry this has been so messed up. This will make it harder for us to come forward in the future and that is indescribably frustrating. However, that does not take away from the pain and hurt we went through, and I hope if you do have the strength to come forward, you are believed.

I’m done with this whole situation. It should not have come to this point, and if you stayed this far, I greatly appreciate you reading this. One last time. Caiti, I’m sorry you were so uncomfortable. Get therapy, better friends, and take a break from the internet. George, I hope you learn from this situation, and I’m sorry you were made out to be a criminally offensive person before giving your side or anyone ever speaking to you.

I hope you both heal.

I hope sexual assault victims having to relive trauma, and are affected by this continue to heal.

I love you all.

Lex

[makemeactup]

Ringo Starr x Reader - Stolen Glances

Summary: Ringo has feelings for his long time friend, but cant bring himself to do more than steal glances.

This is actually something I wrote for my oc but thought everyone would enjoy it. So — here ya go!

---

It wasn't that Ringo was scared to say anything to you. No, he wasn't the least bit worried about the outcome. You were adults now, it'd be fine. But, perhaps, he was just being cautious about the situation. Weighing up the possibilities and the comfort of the now. Such as:

Everytime you would playfully shove him, or playfully punch his shoulder, or playfully try to fight or wrestle, or just sit next him or drape your legs over his lap or put your head on his shoulder, Ringo held a humongous grin. His cheeks would tint a soft red. His blue eyes took you in as quickly as they could without drawing any attention.

Each time, he played along or dismissed you with a joke. Sometimes he would wrestle or take an exaggerated boxing stance, or he'd put his hand around your legs to make sure that you could relax and not worry about them sliding off. You'd smile at him then, beaming and radiant. And it'd be just for him — until one of the other boys, usually John, demanded your attention.

You were like that with everyone for the most part, Ringo had reasoned. You'd playfully shove George, but you wouldn't try to fight him. You'd use Paul as a pillow, but you wouldn't try to wrestle with him. You'd offer both men your smile, the one they all knew so well. But John, to Ringo's eyes, was too close to how you treated him.

John did get the playful fights and attempts to wrestle, and sometimes you'd get put into a headlock or he'd have his arm wrenched behind his back. John did get sat next to, and he got your head on his shoulder, or legs over his lap. But worst of all, he got the smile. The others got the smile, sure, but that wasn't the same. It was a specific smile.

But who was Ringo against John? Clint Eastwood versus Larry Fine?

Oh well, Ringo would shrug to himself at the thought. You were all long time friends, nothing more. His feelings had to pass, right? The denial certainly wouldn't, but that was neither here nor there.

Sat behind his drumkit, drumsticks held loosely in hand, he watched his friends interact. He watched you as you laughed at something George had said, waving him away. He admired your side profile, your shiny hair. Your shirt was nice today.

Sporadically, his eyes flickered to whoever was talking, an attempt to cover his tracks. He'd crack a smile and laugh at a joke or story, but he wasn't actually listening. Not as he gently hit the cymbals absentmindedly, and not as he looked at you again.

"—right, Ringo?" Came the sudden voice of Paul, the use of his name knocking him back into the room.

It was only then, under the scrutinising stares of his friends, did the drummer realise that his face gave away his previously absent mind. His eyes, dark with the apparent lack of sleep lately, grew briefly wide as he perked up and looked at Paul.

"What'd you say, Paul?"

"You alright? You look spaced out."

"Oh," Ringo blinked. "Yeah, I'm fine. And you?"

"You're gonna get bug-eyed if y' keep starin'," John hummed, smirk wide. He had obviously seen something the others hadn't.

"In me own world," Ringo raised an arm and moved his drumstick in a circular motion beside his temple for emphasis.

"Can I join your world?" You asked innocently, brows arching, as if you'd have to plead for him to say yes.

"'course ya can!" He beamed softly. "None'a these jokers can, though."

"What have I done?" George asked, sounding offended to be included with John and Paul.

"Dunno, let me get back t' you," Ringo offered, earning a small laugh and smile from his friends.

His eyes met yours, and he offered a small shrug. When you didn't immediately turn around, he swore he felt his neck grow warmer and the grip on his drumsticks grow ten times tighter. His lips grew into a lopsided grin, nose turning a soft shade of red.

When you did eventually turn back around, he released a breath he didn't know he was holding. Swallowing thickly and lightly hitting his drumsticks together, he feigned interest in whatever joke or story was being told. All the while, as subtly as he could in the background, he kept stealing loving glances at you.