#if y/n gets unwanted suitors sun is the first to throw hands

[betweenblackberrybranches]

Well both Sun and Moon have their problems with Y/Ns work just very different kinds of problems

[george-weasleys-girl]

Act Like You Mean It

Start here:

Chapter 4

Summary: George and Y/N are oblivious idiots in love who agree to fake date in the attempt to drive away Y/N's unwanted suitor.

Warnings: allusions to sex, underage drinking, cursing

~•~

George Weasley x Fem!reader

~•~

Y/N tasted of firewhiskey, and of the toffee she'd eaten just moments before they stumbled onto the dance floor, drunk and lovesick. Kissing her wasn't meant to happen, and George wasn't entirely sure how it happened. Nor did he care that it might be a bad idea as he melted into her embrace, her hands sliding up his behind his head to pull him closer. It was everything he'd ever dreamed it would be and more.

~•~

George's lips were warm and soft against hers, sending her into a dizzy spiral that had nothing to do with the alcohol surging through her veins. A little voice in her head screamed that she shouldn't be doing this, but the blood pumping in her ears drowned it out. She'd gladly suffer the consequences just for this one brief euphoric moment of bliss. The chance may never pass her way again.

~•~

"Fuck." Y/N shielded her eyes. The blinding sun pouring through the window stabbed relentlessly into her brain. 'I'm never drinking that much again.' She flopped back down on the pillow and heard a muffled snore. Y/N slowly turned her head to see George sleeping beside her. 'What -' She lifted the blanket, and her breath caught in her throat.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

The kiss. She could only remember the kiss. How did this happen? She couldn't remember. She couldn't remember anything beyond that kiss. What have we done?

Hangover forgotten, she took in her surroundings. They were in George's dorm. Her eyes immediately darted to Fred and Lee's beds. Empty and obviously not occupied all night. A small sigh of relief escaped her lips.

'There's that, at least.'

Her eyes scanned the rest of the room, landing on the trail of clothes leading from the door to the bed. 'Fuck. Quite literally.'

"Y/N?" George's voice was rough with sleep."Wait, what...?" He noticed her bare back and immediately looked at himself under the covers. "Did we...?"

"I - I think so," Y/N's voice trembled.

"Shit. I, uh, I don't remember anything past-" George began.

"The kiss," Y/N finished.

"Yeah." George replied. "Do you - I'll avert my eyes - if you want to get dressed."

"Um, yeah," she mumbled.

"Ok," George looked away.

Y/N jumped up, searching for her clothes, throwing them on as she went.

"So, uh, I'll just go out now," she fumbled. "So you can get dressed. And then, we should, you know, probably talk." Y/N spared a quick glance at George and then hurried out the door.

~•~

They sat face to face on the sofa in the common room. Confused and scared, George blurted out first thing that popped in his head, that he thought might salvage their endangered friendship. "I was really drunk last night and I had no idea what I was doing. I'm so sorry."

"No idea..." Y/N looked down. "Yeah... same..."

George nodded. "Right, right. So, um, yeah... last night was a mistake. It should've never happened."

"Yes, of course," Y/N kept her eyes downcast. "As you said, a mistake."

"We should just, you know, pretend it never happened," he stammered.

"Pretend. Yeah, just keep pretending. Good idea," Y/N's voice could've frozen the room. "Listen, I'm not feeling so great. You know, hangover and everything. I'm gonna go have a nap."

"Ok. Right. Good plan. So, um... I'll see you at dinner, yeah?" He asked hopefully.

Y/N stopped but didn't turn around. "Sure. Yeah. Dinner."

George watched her ascend the stairs, struggling to keep his heart from exploding into a million pieces and overwhelmed with the horrible feeling that he'd just made the biggest mistake of his life.

~•~

Fred stared at his twin. "Are you fucking kidding me? You told her to forget you had sex? What's wrong with you?"

"I - I don't know," George raked his fingers through his hair. "I just thought it'd be best. I didn't want her to think - "

"That you actually like her?" Fred cut him off. "That you didn't just fuck because you were drunk and horny and it didn't mean anything?"

George shrugged and stared at the floor. "What do I do?"

"Hell, if I know," Fred threw his hands in the air. "I'm not even sure if telling her the truth would do any good now."

~•~

Y/N didn't go down for dinner. How could she even look at George right now, knowing that last night was nothing more than a drunken escapade to him? It didn't matter that neither of them could remember it. They both knew it happened.

And it mattered to her.

She rolled over, covering her head with the blanket. It was over. Their "relationship," their friendship, everything. All she wanted to do now was to just sleep until the jagged edges of her shattered heart healed. Or turned to stone. She didn't care which. She would've welcomed either one happily.

~•~

George knocked on her door.

No answer.

He knocked again.

Still no answer.

He opened the door a crack. "Y/N? Are you in here?"

Y/N rolled over and sighed. She should've locked the damn door. Because of course he'd come looking for her when she didn't show up for dinner.

"You ok?" His voice shook. "You didn't come down for dinner."

"Not hungry."

"Oh. Um. Well, would you like some company?"

'Yes, I'd love some company.' She thought. 'I'd love for everything to go back to way it was. But that's not going to happen ever again.'

"No," she said. "I just want to sleep."

"Oh. Right. Of course," George cleared his throat. "I'll stop by and check on you in a bit?"

"No." Y/N sat up but still refused to look at him. "I think we need to spend some time apart."

"Apart?" She heard him move toward her, and she held up her hand.

"Just go, please. I - I can't talk about this right now. I need to sort some things out." She lay back down and covered her head again.

~•~

For a few excruciatingly long moments, he simply stood there, watching her, before she finally heard his shuffling footsteps leave the room. It was only then that she let her tears fall.

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[ddarker-dreams]

2 Become 1. Trish x F Reader [Smut]

a/n: uhh. i love women. ahaaaaaaaaa.... i’ve never really written smut before so here’s to hoping this is Coherent . i imagine this taking place a few years down the line from the anime, when trish is an established singer and you’re her adoring gf!! thank you @vani-ya​ for editing my first attempt at smut <33 word count: 2.2k. warnings: light suffocation, verbal degradation, some possessiveness.

“You always let them look at you like that,” Trish huffs, kicking her pearl colored taormina pumps off onto the floor without a care. Her typically meticulously styled hair has been reduced to a shadow of itself, loose strands of pink locks framing her face. She looks unhinged, the cocktail dress wrapped around her chest moving in time with her heaving breaths. “I can’t stand it.” 

Your weight shifts from leg to leg, uncertain of how to best resolve this situation. Tonight was meant to be a monumental one for your lover, the release of her second full album. Accompanying the event was an exclusive party, high society socialites coming in droves to support and swarm about. Big name celebrities that maintain friendships with Trish weren’t a rare occurrence, as much as she bemoans having to stay on good terms with people she could care less for.

It was all going just fine until one of them started flirting with you.

She’s given you the cold shoulder ever since. You thought she’d be more understanding of your situation, not wanting to place her in an unwanted position by chasing off the suitor. Choosing your words felt almost like a death sentence, destined to upset someone no matter what you do. Unluckily for you, it’s Trish who’s exacting her pointed wrath upon you. All feeble attempts at explanations went unheard in favor of berating your supposedly “lascivious” behavior. 

“What? Fantasizing about him now or something? Stop zoning out and listen to me.” Her voice is laced with sweet poison, like a deadly melody to your ears. She scrunches her nose up -- as you’ve noticed she does when displeased -- glossy lips down turned. All of her mannerisms are memorized like the back of your hand, a treasure map you’ve long grown familiar with. This emotion of unbridled rage is a new one, and despite yourself, you feel a growing heat in between your legs at how she’s speaking down towards you.

“I’m not zoning out,” you reaffirm, applying a quick bandaid to a worsening situation. “Please, just let me explain--”

“Explain what? That you wanted someone other than me to fuck you?” 

The vulgar words fall from her tongue with ease, striking a chord within you. You’ve always known her to be the possessive type, coming from nothing and making her own way in the world. You were the only person she’s ever confided in, a reality that makes your heart swell with pride. She cherishes you, as you do her. 

“That’s not it at all.” 

This time, she opts to ignore you, struggling with the zipper on the back of her dress. Trish blows a strand of hair out of her face, growing more frustrated by the second. Your brain is still trying to work this out, thinking of all the best possible things to say to calm her down. When she gets like this, indignant and turning her nose to you, there’s not much to say. The pent up frustration needs a release somehow, and you have a few ideas on how to help her.

“Cara,” your voice is a low hush, just loud enough to reach her ears. You walk towards her, slowly, accenting the sway of your hips with every step. This dress hugs your figure perfectly, a gift given by your girlfriend. She’s still refusing to look at you, caught up in her mental battle of angst. The goosebumps dotting her skin don’t go unnoticed by you, familiar with how much she adores being called pet names by you. “Let me make it up to you.” 

Your shared King size bed creaks underneath the addition of your weight. From the rush of getting ready for tonight, clothes and shoes line the floor of your penthouse suite. Being so close to her gives a chance to inhale her signature perfume, rich with jasmine and hints of blackberry. Lips hover just above the pulse of her neck, tongue swiping out to lick a spot that sends her shivering. 

“Y-you can’t,” she inhales, rubbing her thighs together, “seduce me out of this one. I’m serious, you know.”

Humming against her soft skin in confirmation, your lips turn into a smile. She’s under your divine spell, her quickening pulse betraying the indifference of her words. Sucking lightly against the spot, you earn a sharp inhale when teeth meet flesh in a loving bite. Trish’s entire body is tense, muscles refusing to relax. Moving away from the spot on her neck, one of her most sensitive ones, you take in Trish’s appearance. Thick mascara-covered eyelashes cover her emerald eyes, roseate lips parting to either admonish you or encourage you further. 

Placing a hand on the soft skin of her thigh, you give a tentative squeeze. 

“Can’t seduce you out of this one, huh?” You can’t help but repeat her words back with a knowing smile, earning another sour expression. She tuts, peeling your groping hand off of her. Instead of pushing you away, she takes ahold of your shoulders, shoving you recklessly against the bed and climbing on top of you, straddling your hips. 

It’s her turn to tease you now, rubbing achingly slow just above your heat. You can feel her panties growing more soaked with each gyration, curses slipping from her lips. The stain this’ll undoubtedly leave against your dress is of little concern to you, too preoccupied with watching your girlfriend fuck herself against your exposed thighs to care. She leans her head back, movements growing more frantic, and in turn making your own heat desire stimulation. Before she can go further with her movements, she stops, as if remembering you’re there with her. Cheeks flushing, she motions to the zipper on the back of her dress. Understanding the silent message, you peel the fabric off of her skin, revealing her soft chest. Unable to help yourself, you dip down, latching your mouth against her sensitive nipple and suckling it softly. 

“S-such a whore, aren’t you?” She manages to get out in between shaky sighs. You let your actions speak on your behalf, occupying yourself with pleasuring her pert nipple. With your free hand, you knead her chest, thumb rubbing sensual circles into her. Moving back, you take the chance to flick your tongue over her nipple, drinking in the unabashed moans that drip from her lips like honey. She cants her chest into you, not so subtly grinding her clothed heat against you once more. 

Moving back with an audible pop, you look up to her. “I could say the same for you.” 

Needing some friction of your own, your fingers dip into your panties to rub against your slick folds. Trish watches with interest as you pleasure yourself, subconsciously biting her lip at the sight. With how worked up the two of you are getting, it wouldn’t take long to climax, but where’s the fun in that? Her hand snaps to yours, wrapping around your wrist and pulling it away. 

“Did I say you could do that?” The edge one would expect to accompany the words is gone, replaced with a deep longing. She can never stay upset with you for long. You’re both her weakness and strength, the sun that illuminates her life. You giggle at her impatience, lithe fingers tugging up your dress without wasting anymore time. She raises an eyebrow at your lacy black panties. Seeing how the skimpy fabric hugs the curves of your hips, accenting your ass, has her chewing the inside of her mouth. Had you not pissed her off earlier, she might have complimented your stupidly attractive body. 

Pushing the thought away for later, she pulls down your panties. Your cunt is on full display, flushed and begging to be touched. The way she stares at you, like a predator wanting to devour a meal, sends shivers down your spine. Kicking off her own panties, she throws them onto the floor without a care. Trish sweeps down, placing kisses against your clavicle, her soft hair brushing against your exposed skin. 

Not wanting to waste any more time, having hours of pent up frustration to take out on you, she presses you further into the bed. You spread your legs, already anticipating her next movements. Trish moves her pussy against yours, the both of you letting out a low noise. She inhales shakily, steadying her arms on either side of you. Treating you like nothing other than a tool for her own pleasure, she fucks herself against you, moans growing louder with every movement of her hips. Any teasing for her zeal in pleasing herself dies out on your tongue, too occupied with the delicious friction of your cunts rubbing together. You move your hips up to meet her halfway, head thrown back at how amazing she makes you feel. 

Trish pants, increasing her pace, but growing more erratic in the process. “You… you make me so angry…” 

You whimper pitifully at her admonishing, Trish takes the opportunity to pinch your nipples in a borderline painful fashion. It sends a wave of pleasure over you, moan after moan leaving your lips as she continues to abuse your pussy with her own. You can feel your release building up, growing stronger with each passing second. Trish, your ever-attentive girlfriend, senses how your thighs start to tense up.

“That’s, hah, that’s right,” she takes in a deep breath, flicking your nipple once again. “Ngh… come, just because of me… no one else, only me…!” 

You let out a strangled moan at her encouragement, orgasm sending waves of satisfaction throughout your entire body. She continues her movements, fucking you to the fullest, wanting the scent of her perfume to seep into your skin. To have you all to herself, claiming you as her personal slut. Knowing that if anyone wanted a taste of you, it’d be Trish’s cum mixed in with your own. When your body relaxes against the bed, sweat covered chest trying desperately to take in air, she moves off your exhausted body.

Still overcoming your own haze, you manage to weakly ask what she’s doing, knowing she has yet to come. But she shushes you, crawling over to your spot on the bed. Before you get the chance to ask what she’s doing, she lifts herself up, her own wet folds hovering just inches above your face. You flush a bright red at the sight, able to interpret what it is she wants, but still surprised by the boldness of her actions.

“Act like a whore, get treated like a whore. Make some use of that stupid tongue for once.” 

Trish lowers herself against your mouth without another word. Out of instinct, your hands reach to grope the plump curve of her ass, keeping her from suffocating you entirely. She moans when your fingertips dig into the soft skin, unable to stop herself from humping your face. Swallowing, your tongue peaks out, flattening against her hot cunt. In a slow, teasing motion, you take your time tasting her. Tongue pressed harshly against her folds, starting at the bottom and licking to the top. You stop just shy of her clit, holding back a laugh at the whine she emits. 

Feeling a new sense of vigor at the taste of your girlfriend’s cum leaking out, you lap at her pussy, knowing testing her patience any further will land you in hot water. Trish’s fingers curl up, hips gyrating in time with your tongue’s movements. She’s getting closer herself, body growing tenser as you eat her pussy out. Her hands reach out to the bedpost, steadying her trembling thighs. With the newfound support, she fucks your face, frantically chasing her own release. Her moans increase in volume, a string of curses leaving her as she stills against your tongue, which alternates between sucking and licking her heat. 

There’s no speaking at first, only Trish climbing off of you. She swings her legs over the side of the bed, not wanting you to see how flushed her face is. The opportunity to take in much needed oxygen is taken advantage of, panting until your heart rate settles just a bit. When she doesn’t initiate a conversation, you crawl over to her bare back, placing kisses on it. Wrapping your arms around her midsection, your lips press against the shell of her ear, blowing. 

“Are you still mad at me, il mio angelo musicale?”

You nibble on her ear as she tenses, all too familiar with how much she loves your little nickname for her. Trish doesn’t swat you away, instead leaning against your bare chest, sighing at the sensation. She wants to berate you further, but a void in her heart stops the words from leaving. All along, she knew on some level that you weren’t doing anything malicious. Just the thought of some man coming along and picking your unfairly cute self up was upsetting enough. She’s lost too much, too many people. 

If she lost you, her world would be meaningless. 

Instead of voicing any of these sentimental thoughts, she clicks her tongue. There’s no spite in her words, not anymore, instead replaced with thinly veiled adoration for you. “Maybe. I’ll have to think about it some more.” 

“If you need to ride my face again just to find out, let me know. You’ll have to pay for my neck surgery, should it be necessary.”

“S-shut up! God you’re so stupid…”