#sugarsnapficlets

[sugarsnappeases]

microfic - bella killing sirius 🥰 | 1.5k words | warnings for um. death. obviously. but also for confusing narrative style ❤️

for the light of my life @quillkiller on this most auspicious day

Bellatrix laughs as Andy - the woman who looks like Andy, except for the purple hair, and the dirty blood - falls backwards away from her. She’s never going to get into the Duelling Club at Hogwarts if she keeps leaving her left side open like that; she’s lucky she has Bellatrix there to teach her.

The woman - her sister, blood-traitor, spawn of a mudblood, fighting on the side of the Order - doesn’t get back up again, limp body tumbling down the steep, stone steps. Bellatrix hasn’t lost a duel since she was thirteen, she holds the Duelling Club record for most consecutive wins - she’s the best person that Andy could have come to for help - she wasn’t going to be beaten by some filthy Auror brat.

Turning away from the unmoving body, Bellatrix runs deeper into the fray, moving towards the raised dais with its stone archway. It’s chaos, flashes of spellfire shooting across the room in all directions, red, purple, white, green, shouts and crashes and explosions as spells miss and damage the room, or as they hit their mark and damage the enemy.

She deflects a curse on instinct, swinging around to face the direction it had come from - a familiar face, her baby cousin - “Bella, will you duel me now?” - a traitor and a coward and unworthy of the name of Black.

Bellatrix returns fire. She’ll go easy on him, because Sirius is just a boy, mock-duelling with a borrowed wand and the small repertoire of spells that he had learned from her or from his parents, but he had always been quick on his feet, good at skipping out of the line of fire - she would make a proper duellist of him yet. She should kill him, for having everything and for running away from it, for turning against her, against his family, cursing their name then having the audacity to use the spells that she had taught him to fight for the wrong side of the war.

It’s the first time that she's seen him since he was disowned, in the middle of Diagon Alley, fighting with the Order of the Phoenix, and she should kill him. It’s the Yule holidays of her seventh year at Hogwarts, Sirius is nine and determinedly dodging her spells, one of their favourite games. They’re both somewhere else, screams and despair and a spinning, ungraspable whirlpool of memories, standing on the raised stone dais now, close enough to hear the whispers from the tattered veil hanging in the archway - soft, insidious, beneath the clamour of the battle.

Sirius throws a spell back at her, bouncing on the balls of his feet, “Hello cousin.”

Bellatrix grins as she dodges - Sirius is always so energetic, so eager to fight with her in a way that even Andromeda never is, let alone Narcissa or Regulus - so desperate to draw her blood, the same blood that runs through his veins, the same blood that he had forsaken, singling her out on any battlefield in the same way that she always did with him. He had run from everything that she had ever wanted - the Black heirship and the power, the esteem, which that entailed - as if it was nothing, as if she didn’t dream about commanding that level of respect, or awe, or fear, as if she hadn’t been scrambling every day of her life to try and get as close to it as she could. Sirius had run away from it, run away from her, and now he was a part of the Order of the Phoenix and she should kill him. She could kill him, the Black Heir, laughing as he narrowly avoids getting hit with a stupefy - he’s only nine, it’s not like he could really defend himself if she started firing off some of the more lethal spells she knew.

She had taught him how to perform the severing charm just the day before, lending him her wand - walnut and dragon heartstring just like the one that had chosen him when he turned eleven - he’s using Cissy’s today, struggling a little against it’s unicorn hair core, mostly relying on his ability to jump out of the trajectory of spells.

The two of them are volleying spells back and forth - ones that she had taught him and ones that the Dark Lord had taught her and ones that he had learnt without her somewhere - dodging or shielding or deflecting, spells barely grazing each other, she always knew that he would make a fine duellist - she had made him into one. They duel like this every time they see each other, during her holidays from Hogwarts, then during his holidays from Hogwarts; she had watched Sirius turn into a threat - she had taught him how to be a threat.

Bellatrix laughs as he manages to shoot off the severing charm that she had taught him - three different lethal curses in quick succession, a determined kind of acrimony about him, not surprised to see her fighting with the death eaters, in the same way that she isn’t really surprised to see him with the Order. She lets it hit her - blocks them all with a complicated shielding charm and throws back a confringo that explodes the cobblestones beneath his feet - still laughing as he cheers about how he’s fatally wounded her, feeling a sting from the shallow cut on her arm - he’s determined as ever but there’s less anger now; he’s playful, grinning when a curse singes the ends of his hair.

She knows she shouldn’t kill him - she isn’t sure if she could kill him anymore, he’s going toe to toe with her in a way that he’d never been able to when they were kids - she doesn’t think she really wants to kill him, her favourite cousin, more just the things that he represents, the signet ring on his finger that gives him an authority, aged nine, that she doesn’t have, can’t have, at nearly double his age - she thinks she wants to kill him now, though, now that he’s betrayed her, found a new family of mudbloods and blood-traitors and abandoned the role that she’s always craved. Bellatrix fires a stunner at him - puts up a hasty shield against his entrail-expelling curse, another one that she had taught him - the two of them laugh as he ducks it, the red light whizzing over his head - “Come on, you can do better than that!”

It’s loud, cacophonous with the battle raging all around them - blood on the cobblestones of Diagon Alley, some of it hers, some of it his - Cissy’s complaining that she’s bored and wants to go outside - the whispers emanating from the crumbling stone archway are getting louder, seeping their way into Bellatrix’s head - and Sirius’ voice rings in her ears, echoes around the room.

She flings another spell at him, grinning as she watches him determinedly move through the wand movements for diffindo again - he laughs as she stumbles, as her shield collapses under the force of his reducto, as he gains the upper hand - concentrating on pushing his magic through Cissy’s wand, not paying close enough attention to the spell she’s just cast - Sirius deflects the curses she hurls at him, sends a barrage of spells back at her - he’s laughing, cocky as always, as her spell hurtles directly towards him.

It hits him right in the middle of his chest.

It’s quiet, suddenly.

Quiet as Sirius’s laughter cuts off. As his eyes widen in shock. As he falls backwards, slowly, as if some invisible weight were making him heavy, as if some invisible force were gently lifting him away. She looks at him and his face is gaunt, an underlying emaciation that no amount of hearty meals can hide, she sees the same whenever she looks in a mirror, right down to the tired, but ever determined glint in silver-grey eyes.

Bellatrix watches Sirius sink into the tattered veil - watches him fall to the floor of the duelling room in Grimmauld Place, for a second she imagines that he might be dead, what it would feel like to kill him - watches the grim smile on his face as one of his spells meets its target and her vision goes black - the veil flutters, those insidious whispers seem to pause for a moment, then rise to a roaring crescendo as his body disappears.

She screams along with them, triumphant - she hasn’t lost a duel since she was thirteen, Sirius has never once beaten her, always ending their duels on the floor - she’s killed Sirius Black, and everything that he represents, even if he had spurned the signet ring and the esteem that came with it. Bellatrix walks across the room to enervate him - wakes up in Malfoy Manor, Cissy leaning over her and asking if it was true that Sirius was a part of the Order now, if he had really beaten her in a duel - turns away from the whispers and the archway and the duel that she had won, skipping back up the stone steps, laughing as she hops over Andy’s - the mudblood’s - body.

[sugarsnappeases]

microfic - bartylily!! | 2k words | infidelity (sorry james!) and sexual content!! (smuttiest thing i’ve ever written lmao) also barty is a dressmaker and lily is coming for a fitting (wink wink)

“You know, Lady Potter, the more I see you, the more convinced I am that your husband just doesn’t know how to treat a lady right”

Lily rolled her eyes as she walked further into the room, looking at Barty out of the corner of her eye as the door fell shut behind her, “He knows how to pay for all these dresses”

Barty chuckled, stepping up behind her and wrapping his arms around her shoulders, draping himself over her like he wanted her to wear him instead of a dress, leaning in so his lips were pressed against her ear, “Because that’s the only thing you come here for”

“Of course,” said Lily, smoothing down the front of the dress she was wearing and studiously ignoring the heat she could feel rising in his cheeks as Barty bit at her earlobe, trailing his lips down her neck, nipping at her skin. “I’m here for a dress fitting, nothing more, the Mckinnons are having a soirée and I need new measurements done”

“Riiight,” Barty dragged out the word, pulling back, running his hands along her shoulders and down her arms, “Well, I suppose you had better take your dress off then, we want to make these measurements as… close as possible”

Lily laughed, turning to swat at Barty’s arm, catching him watching her, something between awe and pride in his eyes, the same way he’d looked at her the first time he’d made her laugh - the first time he’d made her cum.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to help me with the buttons,” she smiled, playing coy, turning back around again. She could feel the heat of his body as he stepped closer to her again, his breath on the back of her neck, standing far too close to be professional, his hands working their way down her back, undoing the line of pearl buttons.

With the last one, he slid his hand under the fabric of the dress, cold on the skin of her lower back, her waist, squeezing at her hip, and she gasped.

“There,” he said, sliding his other hand up her shoulder and helping her to slip the sleeves off, the top of the dress falling to gather at her waist, exposing her chest to the cool air of the fitting room. Lily leaned back into him slightly as he ran his hand up her stomach to cup one of her breasts.

She wasn’t quite sure how it had started, this thing between them, this routine - Lily would go to get fitted for a dress and Barty would get her off - but there was something addictive about the way he touched her, the attention, the adoration, the worship in his fingers, in his words. He made her feel alive, he made her ache, just a few touches and she could already feel that she was wet, anticipation bubbling under her skin wherever his hands went.

“Now,” Barty said, speaking into her neck, lips pressed against her skin, two fingers circling lightly around her nipple, the other hand moving downwards towards where her dress was bunched up at her waist, “Can you do the rest yourself or do you need my help?”

Lily lay her head back to rest on his shoulder, feeling herself blush as he licked at her neck, breathing, “My husband has paid for your finest attentions”

Barty bit into her neck then, pinching at her nipple at the same time, making Lily gasp again.

“So he has,” Barty agreed, face moving away slightly, both hands moving down to sit just above her dress, fingers brushing over the skin just underneath the fabric, “And, although I’m sure you’re used to disappointment where Lord Potter is concerned, I always make sure my customers are satisfied”

With that he gathered her dress in his hands and pulled it down over her hips, her arse, her thighs, letting it fall to the floor as his hands roamed back up her body, squeezing at her thighs, her arse, her hips.

“My my, Lady Potter,” he murmured, pulling her backwards, closer to him, her bare skin pressing against his clothes, his fingers pressing into her skin, “No undergarments? How scandalous”

Lily huffed, bringing a hand up to thread through his hair, tugging lightly in a way that made his hands squeeze tighter at her body, “Do you satisfy all of your customers in the same way?”

Barty lowered his face to her neck again, mouth just above her pulse point, like he was trying to speak directly into her bloodstream, “Why? Would you be jealous if I said yes?”

One of his hands moved down over her hip bone, brushing through curls and circling her clit, the other moved upwards, cupping her breast again, squeezing her nipple. Lily tightened her grip on his hair, trying to sound unaffected, trying not to moan, as she said, “No”

Barty laughed, hands unrelenting, everywhere, making her squirm against him, heat not just in her cheeks now, “I’m the most popular dressmaker in the city, you know. You’re one of six different fittings just today. Would you be jealous if all of those people got the same treatment as you? My finest attentions?”

Lily shook her head, sure she wouldn’t be able to contain a moan if she attempted to speak this time, his hands were unyielding, inexorable, pressing, squeezing, his breath hot on her neck.

“You’ll have to use your words, princess,” Barty said, pulling her body backwards even closer into his, like he was trying to push himself into her bones, merge them into one, become a part of her, “Tell me. Would you be jealous if I told you that you’re not the only one?”

He moved a finger through her wetness as he spoke, rubbing at her clit again before sliding it into her warm heat, his other hand still playing with her nipple, “If I told you that my shop is popular because of more than just the clothes?”

Lily gasped, hand lifting to join the other clenched tight in Barty’s hair, as his finger slid in and out of her, as he kept speaking, mouth still pressed to her pulse point, “That everyone you see wearing my clothes - all your acquaintances, your friends, your husband - gets all the same benefits that you do?”

She moaned as he added a second finger, as his other hand pinched hard at her nipple, as he bit and licked at her neck, merciless, relentless, everywhere at once in a way that made her feel like she was stood in the middle of a bright, hot bonfire, burning at the stake.

“Tell me, princess,” Barty continued, inexorable, “Would you be jealous?”

His thumb moved to circle her clit as his fingers pressed in and out of her, and Lily moaned again, panting, trying to focus enough to speak, mind consumed by the fire, by the pleasure, by his fingers, his worship of her.

“No,” she eventually managed to breathe out, a word that turned into a moan halfway through as Barty sucked hard at her pulse point, still pressing impossibly closer to her, never close enough.

He licked at the spot he’d sucked, tongue hot and wet, then moved his head away from her neck slightly, the hand on her breast moving up over her collarbone to rest around her throat instead, applying a little pressure, making Lily squirm again, the heat in her burning ever higher, rising to a roaring inferno, closer and closer to the peak of its height.

“What was that, princess?” he said, trailing kisses over her shoulder now, his own breathing heavy as she moaned again, his erection pressing against the curve of her arse where their bodies were tight against each other, closer than close, merging into one.

“I didn’t quite catch it,” he continued, biting at her shoulder, one hand flexing around her neck, the other still working inside her, three fingers now, lighting her up from the inside out, relentless.

Lily pulled at his hair, hard enough to hurt, fingers in a white-knuckled grip, hands sweaty, her turn to make him moan, low and almost desperate into the skin of her shoulder, a curl of satisfaction only adding to the crescendo of heat inside her.

“I said-” she panted, biting at her lip to stop another moan of her own as Barty’s thumb dug into the space between her jaw bone and her skull, as his other thumb rubbed unrelenting circles onto her clit.

“I said no,” she managed, pressing herself back even closer into Barty’s body, close enough that the shape of his shirt buttons, his belt buckle, would probably be indented into the skin of her back, leaving a mark like the hickeys she was sure were bruising her neck, becoming a part of her, fusion.

Barty laughed, hot breath on Lily’s skin, tightening his grip around her throat, fingers sliding in and out of her faster, harder, moving to press his lips against her ear, “I don’t think I believe you”

Lily was hurtling rapidly towards an explosion, toes curling, a flame travelling along a trail of gunpowder, approaching the powder keg, set to blow up, shatter, erupt. She couldn’t stop the noises coming out of her mouth now, needy and greedy and obscene, almost as obscene as the sound of Barty’s fingers moving in her, pushing her closer and closer to the edge, to the burning inferno.

“I think you like the idea of being special too much, princess,” Barty maintained the pressure around her throat, on her clit, relentless, inexorable, merciless, moving to bite at her collarbone, like he was trying to sink his teeth into the bone itself and suck out the marrow, and Lily’s eyes rolled back as something exploded inside of her, the fire reaching the powder keg, falling headfirst into a roaring inferno, fireworks erupting behind her eyelids, collapsing entirely against Barty.

He moaned against her skin again, entirely desperate-sounding now, animalistic, raw, as she spasmed against him, around his fingers still inside her. He moved the hand that had been around her throat to wrap around her waist instead, holding her up as she shattered into pieces in his hands, licking at the layer of sweat on the skin of her neck, tongue hot and wet, groaning like he was tasting ambrosia, something holy despite the way she was burning up in hell’s inferno.

Lily panted, coming down from her high, Barty helping her through it, his erection still pressing up against her arse, his belt buckle, his shirt buttons, still pressing into her skin, the two of them merging into one.

“And you are special,” Barty went on, pulling his fingers out of her, lifting them to his lips, licking them clean and moaning again, the gods’ nectar, divinity, sublimity. With his fingers clean, he gripped Lily’s chin gently and tilted her face towards his, awe, pride, devotion, worship in his eyes as he looked at her blissed-out face.

He kissed her, slow and reverent, and she could taste herself on his lips, his tongue, hot and wet, murmuring against her lips, “So, so special for me, princess”

Lily nearly collapsed back against him again, entirely weak in his arms, still breathing heavily, against his lips, anticipation building again, addicted to his touch, his adoration, the way he held her like he wanted to melt into her, like he wanted them to fuse into one, inseparable.

She turned in his arms, facing him now, wrapping her arms around his neck, one hand sliding into his hair to deepen their kiss, Barty’s hands moving to rest on her hips, pulling back slightly, something a little mocking in his eyes, to say “You know, I bet these little meetings are the only time you ever cum”

Lily scoffed, pulling back further, moving her hands to rest on his chest, pulling her hips back from where they had been grinding against Barty’s, against the wet patch in the place his trousers were straining, “You know, I came here for a dress fitting, nothing more, and you haven’t even gotten your tape measure out yet”

[sugarsnappeases]

microfic - lilyritaminerva | 2.7k words | explicit!!!! lesbian sex!!! also age gap but the sex is between l&r (same age), also voyeurism....

part 2 of sexy rival uni students and prof. mcgonagall au | part 1

“Minerva,” Lily says, or pants really, a little out of breath from where she’s been applying herself to the task of eating Rita out. 

“No,” the woman beneath her breathes, “You’re the one who’s Minerva in this scenario, Evans, that was the deal. I would’ve thought that the second smartest student in class would’ve been able to retain that information.” 

It’s a wonder that Rita can say so much and be so uppity whilst so close to an orgasm. Impressive, even, but she’s wrong on two counts; firstly, Lily is the first smartest student in class, and secondly, Lily wasn’t talking to Rita. Gripping her jaw with one hand, she twists Rita’s head to the side to look at the woman who had just come in through the door to the lecture hall in which they’re fucking, the woman upon who’s desk they’re fucking.

“Minerva,” Lily repeats, in a tone that she hopes implies that she is, quite clearly, better than Rita, who gasps - in realisation, or perhaps for some other reason, if the way that her legs squeeze slightly around Lily’s shoulders means anything.

“That’s Professor McGonagall to the both of you,” the woman in question says, her face unreadable as she walks up the aisle and settles herself in one of the seats in the front row - the one where Rita usually sits. She should probably be jealous, Lily thinks, that the professor has chosen Rita’s seat over her own - which is also front row, with just as good a view of the desk, she’s checked - but the fact that McGonagall has sat down at all is currently scrambling her brain to the point that she thinks the only thing she can really do is gape at her. 

Professor McGonagall smirks a little, resting her hands on the little desk in front of her, attentive, like she’s sitting down ready for a lecture, “Don’t stop on my account, Miss Evans.” 

It’s Lily’s turn to gasp as she processes the professor’s instruction, because it’s definitely an instruction rather than just a suggestion - not that it would really make much difference if it was. Turning back to look at Rita, she’s met with eyes that are probably just as wide as her own, just as hazy, just as wide. She supposes that really there’s nothing else she can do when faced with an instruction like that; she buries her face between Rita’s legs again. 

“Oh,” Rita’s hands move from where they’ve been clutching at the edge of the desk to tangle in Lily’s hair. 

The sex that they have, Lily and Rita, is always, at its core, about her. 

That time after their class, when she had said to Rita “Why don’t you ask Miss Evans to help you?” had led fairly rapidly to their first time, messy and angry in the loos nearest to the lecture hall. After all, McGonagall had suggested it, and the two of them follow her words like gospel, even the throwaway comments or the slightly mocking remarks that probably aren’t meant to be taken seriously - Lily and Rita are always serious about Professor McGonagall.

Lily still isn’t sure how she feels about it all. She doesn’t like Rita at all, would go as far as to say that she hates her even - she’s rude and cruel and pathetically desperate for the professor's attention. But the same could also be said for Lily at times, even if she tried her best to be polite and friendly to everyone she met. Rita tended to bring it out of her, that teeth-and-claws competition for the white-hot spotlight of Professor Mcgonagall’s gaze, that fervent, pulsing overflow of heat and fury in the stacks at the back of the library, or in the nearest supply cupboard, or even, one time, in the single bed in Lily’s student accommodation after they had bumped into each other on a night out - quite literally, Lily had knocked her drink all down Rita’s front. 

This time, months after that first day, they’re taking things to a slightly different level. 

They had snuck into the hall at the end of the day, when they knew that all the lectures and classes in the area would have finished, but before the building is fully locked up, so that they could fuck over the professor’s desk. 

It was Rita’s idea, as most bad decisions are - although Lily can’t deny that this bad decision is incredibly hot. She had proposed a bet, whilst three fingers deep in one of the library study rooms, that whoever scored higher on their next assignment would get to play the student as they acted out their student-professor fantasies in situ, and she hadn’t let Lily cum until she’d agreed. 

Lily agreed. Rita scored higher. 

And so, because she never backed out of a bet, Lily had put on her most professory outfit - the blazer that she had bought thinking ‘Professor McGonagall would wear this’, the short skirt she had bought thinking ‘Professor McGonnagall might like this on me’ and the black heels which made her properly tower over Rita. She’d forgone a shirt because she’s channelling ‘sexy professor’ and it seems to have worked because, when she first slid a finger into Rita’s knickers, she’d been the wettest Lily had ever felt her. 

It had been a little awkward at first. Lily had never really done anything like it before, but she had always been an exceptionally quick-learner and Rita was never shy about telling her exactly what she wanted. After a while, she’d fallen into her role, leaning against the front of the desk like Professor McGonagall always did, Rita stood between her legs like she’d been between McGonagall’s on that first day. They kissed - Rita’s hands sliding under Lily’s blazer and squeezing at her bare tits, Lily’s hands sliding up Rita’s skirt and pulling down her knickers - until Lily turned them around, pushing Rita down to lie on the desk, lowering herself down to her knees and getting down to business.  

Now, Lily can feel the professor’s eyes like a brand, that white-hot spotlight running over both her and Rita, studying them, as intensely as the two of them stare at her during lectures. Rita is lying sideways across the desk, her lipstick smudged all over her chin, her clothes discarded on the floor somewhere, her legs wrapped around Lily’s shoulders, her back arched as she throws her head back against the solid wood. Lily’s still fully clothed - not that she was wearing much to start with - her blazer undone now, her hair a mess from the hands that are tangled up in it, and she’s snaking a hand up Rita’s stomach to caress her tit as she works her tongue against the woman’s clit. 

Professor McGonagall is watching them, so Lily’s going to put on the best damn show she possibly can. Rita moans when she squeezes at her nipple and Lily feels Rita’s legs shaking, realising that she’s close and deciding she doesn’t want this to end that quickly - she doesn’t think she’s ever been more turned on in her life and besides, she still needs to get Rita back for the study room incident. 

“More,” Rita pants out when Lily slows her pace again, resting her hand just below Rita’s tit and pulling her head back as much as she can with Rita’s legs still over her shoulders. She turns to bite at her upper thigh, teasing, relishing in the way it makes those legs squeeze tighter at her head.

Lily locks eyes with the professor over the top of Rita’s thigh, still studying them, leaning forward over her own - Rita’s - desk as if she can’t help but to want to be closer. She raises an eyebrow and Lily grins back, feeling daring, giddy on the heat of the older woman’s gaze, turning back to look at Rita who’s tightening her grip on Lily’s hair and demanding, “Don’t you dare fucking stop, Evans.”

“That’s Professor McGonagall to you,” Lily corrects, delighting in the quiet gasp she thinks she hears from the front row of the lecture hall. 

Rita makes a sort of choked-off noise and tries to drag her head back closer again but Lily doesn’t let her, digging bitten fingernails into her skin, grinning up at her with as much spite as she can despite the way she can feel Rita all over her face, “Where are your manners, Skeeter? What do you say?” 

It’s almost violent, the way Rita yanks her hands out of Lily’s hair so she can lift herself up on her elbows to scowl down at her properly - she supposes she deserves it. 

“Please,” Rita hisses, apparently desperate or turned on enough to beg when her pride would never normally allow it, maybe because of the professor watching them, barely metres away, or because of the fantasy they’ve been acting out. Lily thinks that she would probably beg for Professor McGonagall - she would probably do anything for her. She likes to think she’s better than Rita, though, likes to think it would take more than this to get her to beg like Rita had just done - pathetic, even if the professor is in the room, even if Rita’s practically fuming about it.

She tuts, feeling a little drunk, on power maybe, because Professor McGonagall is watching them and Rita is desperate and Lily is burning up from the inside out, “Please, what?”

There’s a beat of silence where Lily wonders if she’s miscalculated, wonders if maybe Rita isn’t that desperate, if maybe Rita is going to try and embarrass Lily in front of the professor by not replying. 

She needn’t worry though. 

“Please, Professor,” Rita practically spits, furious with Lily, glaring down at her like maybe she could make Lily spontaneously combust with the power of her narrowed eyes alone - flushed red with anger, furious but saying it anyway, begging anyway, and Lily wins this round. 

Lily grins again, sharp and mean, satisfied with the fire in Rita’s eyes and the fact that a glance to her left reveals Professor McGonagall wide-eyed, leaning further over the desk. She gets back to work, moving her hand to squeeze at Rita’s tit again and her head to slot between Rita’s legs again. 

She wonders what the professor is thinking, watching them like this, maybe she’s imagining that she’s the one eating Rita out - if this is the case, Lily may have to kill Rita - maybe she’s imagining that Lily’s eating her out, a thought which makes her apply herself to the task at hand with more fervour and determination than before - she has to prove that she can do a good job, that she could be good for McGonagall. Rita tangles her fingers in Lily’s hair again, moaning loudly, shamelessly, tipping her head back against the wood of the desk. 

It doesn’t take long before Rita is cumming - she’s been so close to an orgasm for so long, even before the professor arrived, her legs shaking on Lily’s shoulders, pressure building and building until it boils over. 

Lily guides her through it, face still buried between her legs, tongue still licking into her, as Rita’s hands clench tight around her hair, turning her head to the side to look at Minerva as she cums. 

It’s quiet then, on the other side of the tsunami; the only sound is their uneven breathing. The hands in her hair loosen their grip and Lily pulls back, turning to look at the professor too. 

Professor McGonagall’s eyes flit between the two of them, Lily wonders again about what she might be thinking. 

“Stand up,” she says, an order, and the two of them hurry to comply, scrambling to stand next to each other in front of the desk - Rita still completely naked, Lily’s blazer falling open and leaving her half-exposed too. She’s sure they look a mess and Lily flushes under the weight of McGonagall’s gaze. 

Slowly, purposefully, Professor McGonagall stands up too, stepping out from behind Rita’s little desk. As she walks towards them, she stops a couple of times, bending to pick up the various articles of Rita’s clothing that have been discarded across the floor. Lily stares at her as she moves, she’s always so elegant, so sure of herself, every movement is precise, measured, like nothing could ever faze her, like she’s doing exactly what she wants and means to do at all times. 

This is why it was so surprising to Lily to see the professor so relatively unravelled earlier, wide-eyed and leaning over the desk, flustered; this is why it’s so surprising that, having gathered up the clothes and handed them to Rita, the professor comes and stands in front of her. Because Lily knows, as McGonagall lifts her arms and starts to rebutton Lily’s blazer, deft fingers working their way up her front, that it’s purposeful, intentional, that this is what she wants and means to do. 

The professor is touching her and Lily thinks she might explode - sure, there’s nothing all that scandalous about the touch, it’s a redressing, making Lily more decent, but it feels intimate, it splits her in half. McGonagall smirks at her, just the corner of her mouth turning up, knowing, and Lily’s sure she’s about the colour of her hair now, blush covering her whole face and spreading down her neck and chest. 

When the buttons are done up, McGonagall runs her fingers through Lily’s hair, smoothing it down, and then takes a hold of her chin. Lily thinks she might die when the professor uses her fingers to wipe the cum from Lily’s face and then places those same fingers against her lips, pressing lightly. This is a dream, Lily decides, when she parts her lips to let the professor’s fingers in and sucks Rita’s cum from them. McGonagall is still watching her, studying her, pulling her fingers out of Lily’s mouth only to repeat the action, again and again, methodical, until her face is clean. 

She’s trembling by the end, barely holding herself upright, melting under the white-hot spotlight of the professor’s undivided attention, the feeling of the firm grip on her chin, of those deft fingers in her mouth, against her tongue. It’s entirely overwhelming and probably the most erotic thing she’s ever experienced and she doesn’t think she’ll survive under that gaze for much longer, her heart is pounding so hard it might be dangerous and she’s sure McGonagall can feel it too. 

Then, she turns to Rita, and Lily leans back against the desk, collapses against it really. She watches, fuming, as the professor smooths down Rita’s shirt, doing up the buttons that Rita had left undone when scrambling to pull her clothes back on. Lily surely deserves the professor’s attention more - she wants the professor’s attention on her at all times, even if it kills her, and if she can’t have it, then she'll make sure Rita can't have it either. 

She watches as McGonagall licks her thumb and then uses it to wipe off the smudges of lipstick around Rita’s mouth . Her mind is a constant loop of not fair, not fair, not fair, but she supposes that she’s had Minvera’s fingers in her mouth and Rita hasn’t and it soothes the wild thing in her ribcage just a little. Maybe even the professor knows that Lily is better than Rita, maybe this is proof. 

When she’s done cleaning them up, Professor McGonagall steps back, looking between the two of them - Lily revels in having the professor’s attention back on her, even if it’s still divided - and smiles like she does when she hands back an assignment in which Lily has done particularly well. 

“I see you’ve taken my suggestions to heart,” she says, something in her eyes that Lily can’t quite understand, something that she’s determined to learn to understand, “Maybe next time, you should go somewhere with a door that you can lock… My office, for example.”

With that, McGonagall turns and walks out of the lecture hall without looking back, leaving Lily and Rita behind to try and pick up their jaws from the floor and get their brains to reboot again.

[sugarsnappeases]

microfic - lesbian lilypad | 1.5k words | sexual content but not tooo explicit

HAPPY BIRTHDAY LIA @themuseoftheviolets !!!!!!!!!!! some office rivalry lesbians for your special day i love you so so much and hope you enjoy <333

“What the fuck,” Lily says as she turns the corner and sees Sirius by the printer, sitting on the little table, shoulders against the wall and legs swinging as she watches the paper slide out of the machine.

She looks over when Lily speaks, raising an eyebrow, trying and failing to hide her smirk, which only really serves to incense Lily more.

“What did you do to my print job?” she scowls, moving closer, hands on her hips, standing a few steps away from Sirius, looking down at where she’s sitting.

“What print job?” Sirius replies, in that constant, infuriating, cavalier tone, like she hasn’t a care in the world.

“My print job,” Lily repeats herself, frustrated, then elaborates, “The one that was printing from this printer two minutes ago when I left to get my stapler.”

She brandishes said stapler for emphasis, waving it in Sirius’ face as if she wouldn’t have already seen it in her hand.

“Oh?” Sirius says, lifting her arms to rest behind her head, looking for all the world like she could be reclining on a beach deckchair, rather than a wobbly little table in their office.

The muscles in her arms shift under the fabric of her white shirt as she moves. She’s wearing one of her shirts with the ridiculously frilly collars and cuffs which Lily thinks only Sirius could actually pull off. Not that she would ever tell Sirius that. The way her arms look in this new position makes Lily’s mouth a little dry. Not that she would ever tell Sirius that.

Lily looks back at Sirius’ face, frowns at the cocky little smile she’s now sporting, and huffs, “Well?”

“Well, what?” Sirius smiles wider.

She takes a step closer so as to properly tower over her, “Well, what did you do to my print job?”

Sirius shrugs, nonchalant, a façade of innocence that wouldn’t fool a toddler, “I’m not sure what you’re asking me”

“You’re not sure what I’m asking you.” Lily is unimpressed, pressing the heel of the hand holding the stapler against her forehead. She wonders whether it might be appropriate to punch a staple into her own head and then blame it on Sirius. Maybe that would get her fired, or at least out of the running for this stupid promotion.

“That’s what I said,” Sirius says, slowly, like Lily’s an idiot.

Lily is not an idiot. Lily is incredibly frustrated.

“I’m asking you what you’ve done with my fucking print job!” She raises her voice a little, gesturing sharply towards the printer and its distinct lack of her eighty-three page report on the company’s financial projections.

Sirius raises an eyebrow again, still infuriatingly aloof, unruffled, something a little mocking in the tilt of her lips as she says, “Was it anything important?”

Lily scowls, because yes, it was something important. And Sirius knew it was something important and that was why she had done something to it. She isn’t quite sure what Sirius has done but she’s going to find out and she’s going to get her report back and she’s going to get the promotion and that’s that.

“It was more important than whatever you’re printing,” Lily replies, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

Sirius laughs, “Is that so?”

She taps the stapler impatiently against her side as she nods, because obviously that’s so.

“So, you think your financial projections are more impo-”

Lily interrupts then, shoving a vindicated finger in her face, “So you do know what the print job was!”

Rolling her eyes, Sirius opens her mouth to reply but is interrupted again before she can, this time by the printer emitting a series of loud beeps.

The two of them turn to look at the machine, leaning sideways to read the message on the display screen: ‘Out of Ink.’

After a moment, Sirius sighs, “This is your fault, you know”

“My fault?” Lily crosses her arms again, outraged, “Oh, well I’m dreadfully sorry for using company ink in the company printer in order to print important company files,“

She takes a step back as Sirius stands up, directly in front of her yet still an inch or so shorter, but doesn’t halt in her tirade, “I mean the gall, right? I’m sure this is deeply inconvenient for you,”

As Sirius moves towards the supply cupboard, Lily walks backwards in front of her, still ranting and letting herself be led blindly.

“You know, this reminds me of an inconvenience I experienced not too long ago. Would you like to hear about it? You’re involved actually, what a coincidence!”

Sirius reaches out a hand as Lily’s back hits the door, turning the handle and pushing it open. Lily mirrors the steps that she takes, moving backwards into the cupboard, fuming and making sure Sirius is aware of that.

“I’d just had to deal with the inconvenience of going to fetch my stapler from my desk when I returned to collect my print job from the printer,”

The door shuts behind them, leaving them in darkness except for the light seeping in from the cracks around the door as Lily backs into one of the shelves, Sirius still right in front of her.

“And lo and behold, my print job was missing!”

Sirius lifts her arm up to get one of the ink cartridges from the shelf just above Lily’s shoulder.

“And what should I find in its stead but you!?”

With her last word, Lily jabs her index finger into Sirius’s sternum and their eyes meet, green on silver-grey, direct eye-contact, with inches between them and tension snapping into place like the pencil Lily had broken in an argument with Sirius a week prior.

The stapler clatters to the floor as she tangles her fingers in Sirius’s hair, their lips meeting in a hot, frantic kiss.

They’ve been doing this a lot recently, since they realised that they were both up for the same promotion and that arguing couldn’t quite expel the annoyance they feel for each other. It’s never planned, never purposeful, but it's starting to become a routine; one of them would accost the other with some complaint until, frustration thick in the air around them, they would crash into each other like tectonic plates - destruction, earthquakes.

Last week, Lily had ‘forgotten’ to forward an important email and Sirius had confronted her about it at the end of the day, once most people had already left. They had fucked up against a desk, Sirius three fingers deep and Lily desperately holding back moans as Joan from HR walked past on her way out.

A few days later, Lily had gone to yell about something Sirius had said to their boss and found her on a Zoom call, gesturing angrily at Lily to shut up. Somehow, that had ended with Lily on her knees under the desk eating her out as Sirius frantically tried to wrap up the meeting.

Now, Sirius is kissing her way down the side of Lily’s neck, long, elegant fingers working open the buttons of her blouse and sliding into her bra. Lily gasps at the touch, moving her hands from Sirius’ hair to slip up under the bottom of her shirt, pressing into her sides.

They’re never particularly careful about getting caught - this supply cupboard isn’t exactly out of the way - but Lily refuses to admit that this might do more to jeopardise her chances at the promotion than Sirius herself ever would have. Either way, she thinks she would still be entirely justified in blaming Sirius if she didn’t get it.

There’s someone else up for the promotion too but Lily can’t remember their name as Sirius bites lightly at her nipple and tugs her skirt up to sit around her hips. She throws her head back against the shelf behind her, running her hands through sleek, black hair again as Sirius sinks to her knees in front of her. Sirius pulls her knickers down, running her nose up her inner thigh, and Lily wraps a leg over her shoulder, pulling her closer.

Lily groans as Sirius licks into her - she despises her and is actively praying for her downfall, but god is she good with her tongue.

*****

One annoyingly earth-shattering orgasm later and Lily is pulling her knickers back up, pushing down her skirt and generally trying to look like she hadn’t had a head between her legs just a minute prior.

Sirius is standing up again, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand in a way that’s quite frankly obscene and grinning cockily at Lily in a way that makes her want to both smash her head against the shelves of the supply cupboard and get down on her own knees and return the favour. Instead she buttons up her blouse and tucks it into her skirt, frowning at Sirius.

“So,” she asks, “what did you do to my print job?”

Sirius’ grin widens, not even the slightest pretence of innocence now, shrugging as she replies, “Oh, I threw it in the bin.”

Lily huffs and marches past Sirius and out of the supply cupboard. She slams the door behind her and goes to put Sirius’ print job in the shredder.

[sugarsnappeases]

microfic - marytunia!!!!! | 1.7k words | i don’t think there’s anything to warn?? so enjoy <3

“Smoke?” Mary asked, shaking the pack in her hand, an eyebrow raised. 

Petunia was already halfway out of her seat, picking up her jacket and leading the way out to the alleyway beside the building where they worked. She’d been waiting for Mary to ask for the last half an hour, fidgeting in her seat and staring blankly at her computer screen. 

A far cry from when she had first started working there, four months ago, trying to stand dead in the centre of the ring of boundaries she had built around herself and making herself as small as possible so that she wouldn’t have to press up against them any more than she already had just by being there, by working in that call centre. 

(D’you wanna come for a smoke?” Mary leaning against her desk, their first day on the job.)

She had been so sure that this job would be temporary, that she would do it for a month at most before she found something better, something that was an actual career, something that paid more than minimum wage and would make her parents proud.  

(Petunia frowning up at her from her chair, “I don’t smoke.”)

They were always proud of Lily, the youngest child, the special one, now in her second term at Oxford, always smarter and prettier and funnier and better than Petunia in every conceivable way, a prodigy, the perfect daughter, the one who had potential. Petunia who didn’t, always average and trying to be satisfied with that, the afterthought, never mind how she had been born first, not bad, not a complete failure but disappointing nevertheless in how she didn’t excel, the sister who was left behind.

(“Will you come anyway?” Mary insisting, those big brown eyes, something nearly desperate in them, and Petunia reluctantly acquiescing.)

Mary had been left behind too, Lily’s best friend all throughout secondary school. Petunia used to think they were more than friends even, but she’d never had any proof and she didn’t like to think about it all that much. Mary wasn’t going to university either, but at least she had actual dreams - Lily may have left them both behind, heading for greener pastures, a new group of friends with summer houses in Tuscany, a new best friend in all her instagram pictures, one that she called a sister, but at least Mary knew what she wanted from the world. Had plans beyond the four walls of the call centre and memories of when a girl with red hair used to smile at her. 

Petunia’s plan had always been to get married, to have a child or two, to spend her time tidying the house and cooking and being unexciting and uneventful, average and disappointing but enough, maybe it would be enough. 

Then Vernon, her long-term boyfriend, had found someone newer and shinier and more interesting and Petunia hadn’t even had the self-respect to leave him, no, he’d had to break up with her after three months of cheating on her and two months of her knowing about it. It was a bit pathetic really, because it wasn’t like Vernon was anything special anyway, in fact, he was fairly awful, but he was security and Petunia always liked to play it safe, no potential, no risks, no surprises. 

She had been surprised to find Mary there, on that first day four months ago, sat at the desk next to hers, friendly as always even as Petunia tried to ignore her, tried to focus on the job (which was mind-numbingly boring and also quite possibly her least favourite thing in the world, calling people up and trying to get them to buy things). It was familiar now though, nice even, especially when they went out to smoke. 

Petunia leant carefully against the brick wall, holding out a hand for one of Mary’s cigarettes. They’d been doing this every day that they’d been at work together for the last four months and she still refused to buy her own pack, she didn’t smoke, you see, but if Mary was offering, then who was she to say no? There probably weren’t many things that she would say no to if it was Mary who was asking.  

Mary huffed as she always did, settling in next to her against the wall and fishing her lighter out of her pocket, placing a cig between Petunia’s waiting fingers.

Once it was lit, Petunia took a long drag, tipping her head back against the wall, eyes closed and breathing out slowly as Mary took it from her so she could take her own, their fingers brushing.

“Lily texted me last night.” she said after a few quiet moments, passing the cig back again. 

Petunia cracked one eye open. So, it was going to be that kind of smoke break, “Oh?”

“She said she wanted me to go and visit her,” Mary continued, “In two weeks.”

Petunia frowned. Two weeks was Mary’s birthday. They had both booked the day off work so they could go into town, do something to celebrate together. 

“Oh.” she said, taking another drag from the cigarette, trying to ease the tension she could suddenly feel in her shoulders.

“Yeah.” said Mary. Then she laughed, a little bitter, a little sad. “Silly, really. All the times I’ve asked her if I could come up and she’s said that she’s too busy, but the first time that she asks me - I’m the one who already has plans.”

Petunia felt herself slump further against the wall, relieved, pleased maybe. Mary nudged her with an elbow, “Hey. Did you think I was gonna just cancel our plans?”

“I don’t know,” Petunia sighed, letting Mary take the cig again, “It’s Lily.”

And really, that could mean any number of things. 

It’s Lily and Lily always gets what she wants. 

It’s Lily and everyone always picks Lily over me. 

It’s Lily and if Lily wanted me to visit, I think I might’ve cancelled our plans.

“Yeah,” Mary replied, blowing smoke out into the crisp February air, “It’s Lily. And of course, I would love to see her. But you’re Petunia.”

“I’m Petunia,” she echoed blankly.

“You’re Petunia,” Mary agreed, a smile in her voice that she could hear now, “and I’ve been looking forward to our little outing for ages,”

Petunia turned her head to look at her, met with those brown eyes much closer than she was expecting, that warm smile, shoulder to shoulder out in the bleak cold. And there was something in the air, more than just cigarette smoke and the intermingling scents of their perfumes, something that made Petunia want to take a risk. 

“And it’s not just because you’re pissed at her?” she asked, because that would be worse maybe, Mary just using her to get back at Lily in some way, even if that was somewhat how Petunia had rationalised their… friendship, at first, or maybe it wouldn’t really make much of a difference, she didn’t know.  

“No,” Mary rolled her eyes, taking another drag before handing the cigarette back to Petunia, “It’s not because I’m pissed at her. Not everything is about Lily. Even if she had replied to every single message I’d ever sent her, I would still wanna go with you.”

Petunia paused, lips pursing around the end of the cig in her mouth, because she was sure there used to be a time when not everything was about Lily, back before she was born maybe, red hair and bright green eyes and immediately special, immediately the centre of attention (not that Petunia was jealous, she didn’t want to be special, she didn’t want the hot heat of the spotlight, but, it would be nice to have something, maybe, she didn’t know, maybe she was a little jealous). Now, and for as long as she could remember, everything had always been about Lily, it felt strange that Mary should say something like that, refute that absolute intrinsic truth of the universe, so casually, as if it wasn’t an earth-shattering revelation. 

Because Mary wanted to go with her. 

Not Lily. 

Her. 

Petunia Evans. 

Mary was still smiling a little, blinking up at her, earnest, honest, brown eyes that Petunia would probably follow anywhere, brown eyes that were making her brave, making her want to burn down the boundaries she had placed around herself, or at least climb through the hole that Mary had been steadily cutting into them over the course of the last four months. 

They were standing close, and Mary’s shoulder was warm against hers, and Mary wanted to go with her. 

And Petunia wanted to go too. Wanted to float off into this alternate reality where not everything was about Lily, and people chose Petunia because they wanted to, and maybe Petunia didn’t play it safe, maybe she took a risk. 

Maybe she watched as those big brown eyes flicked down to look at her lips for a moment, still wrapped around the end of their cigarette.

Maybe she brought up a hand and tossed the butt onto the floor.

Maybe she moved that hand to Mary’s cheek, soft skin, cold in the winter air.

Maybe she leaned in and pressed their lips together, something far out of the bounds of what she had thought she was or could be, something exciting and eventful, and maybe still disappointing to her parents but maybe that didn’t matter as much as she had always thought it did. 

Maybe what mattered was Mary.

Mary who was kissing her back, a hand on Petunia’s waist and pulling her so they were properly facing each other. 

Mary who wanted to go out with her on her birthday and probably get drunk and come into work hungover the next day and spend an excessive amount of time on smoke breaks. 

Mary who Petunia shouldn’t want, had tried and failed to convince herself that she didn’t want, but who had a smile that could melt glaciers and a gaze that felt like a spotlight and a way of working her way into your life until you looked forward to seeing her more than you had ever looked forward to anything. 

Mary who was there, in the alleyway beside the call centre with Petunia, kissing her in a way that she had never been kissed before, like she was the most precious thing in this universe, like she had potential.

[sugarsnappeases]

microfic - lilyritaminerva (i can explain!!) | 1.5k words | college students (lily & rita) competing for professor minerva’s attention, so age gap and kinda suggestive content | part 2

“Professor, would you be able to help me with something?” Rita glanced behind her as she spoke, feeling a thrill run through her at the sight of Lily’s scowl, just three steps behind her but they were three steps too many. Rita had won this round.

She flashed Lily a smile, her sharp, mean one, before looking back at Professor McGonagall who was leaning against her desk, eyes shifting between Lily and Rita, a glimmer of something in them that was gone before Rita could even begin to decipher it.

“That rather depends on what that something is, Miss Skeeter” Professor McGonagall replied, those eyes settling on her, solid and exhilarating and making Rita’s heart race in the way that having her full attention always did.

The professor was terrifying, and brilliant, and Rita wanted to sit at her feet like a dog, she would wear a leash if the professor wanted, she would do anything if the professor wanted, as long as it meant that her attention was on Rita, and not on Lily.

Lily didn’t deserve it anywhere near as much as Rita did. She wished she could say that Lily was an awful student, or that she had never had a single interesting thought, or that she didn’t deserve to be at the university, let alone anywhere near Professor McGonagall, but she had spent enough time eavesdropping on conversations that Lily had and hacking into the university mainframe to read her essays to know that wouldn’t be true.

Lily was unfortunately intelligent, and her essays were horribly well-thought out, and she had more than earned her place there, but Rita was better, she knew she was better, and she deserved the weight of Professor McGonagall eyes on her, she deserved her approval and her attention and she deserved to be allowed to sit on the professor’s lap and slide her hands under that blazer.

Rita forcefully pulled her thoughts back to the matter at hand and opened her mouth to explain what she wanted help with, but Professor McGonagall spoke again before she could,

“Oh - Miss Evans, if you could wait just a moment, there’s a matter I’d like to discuss with you”

Rita turned again, Lily had a hand on the door to the classroom and it was her turn to flash a smile, spiteful and victorious and making Rita want to slap her.

The door shut and they were the only three people left in the room, Lily taking a few steps closer to the front desk, smugness in every line of her body as she answered, “Of course, Professor”

It was making Rita feel violent. She fantasised sometimes, about attacking Lily, just tackling her right there in the classroom, under the watchful eyes of Professor McGonagall.

Maybe she would smile approvingly at Rita as she pulled at Lily’s hair, as she slapped the smug smile off Lily’s face, as she straddled Lily on the floor, ripping at one of those smart blouses that Lily liked to wear, ruining how neat and put-together she always looked, as she bruised Lily’s pale, delicate skin, as she beat Lily once and for all.

Maybe Professor McGonagall would give Rita a prize for her victory, maybe the prize would involve being pushed up against the desk, the professor’s firm hands on her hips, or maybe one around her neck, pressing her back into the hard wood of the desk, the shiny metal nameplate digging into her spine, and the other hand sliding up her thigh, under the short, short skirts she always wore to these classes, pushing her knickers to one side and -

“Miss Skeeter?” Professor McGonagall was asking and Rita felt like she might die. She blinked out of the haze of her thoughts and glared over at Lily, who was chuckling under her breath.

Lily just raised an eyebrow and Rita rolled her eyes, turning back to face the professor properly. Professor McGonagall was still leaning against the front of her desk, fingers drumming against it, brows slightly furrowed, impatient.

“Sorry, Professor,” Rita was sure that she was blushing, “I just got lost in my thoughts a little”

She didn’t miss the way that Professor McGonagall smirked, just a little, the smallest little twitch of her cheek, and it only made her blush more, she was sure that the professor could tell exactly what direction her thoughts had been heading.

“Well, get on with it then,” she demanded, “What’s this thing you need help with?”

And suddenly, Rita felt a little daring, a little bold, a little shameless. Like a switch flipping, all thoughts of the question she had about her essay retreating as she was overtaken by something that was probably more than a little dangerous.

She took a step closer to the desk, pushing her shoulders back a bit and tilting her head to one side, “I’ve got this problem, you see, it’s rather personal,”

Professor McGonagall straightened slightly, then narrowed her eyes, and Rita didn’t know whether it was because of her tone of voice or the way she was batting her eyelashes or the way that she had taken yet another step closer but she felt something curl with satisfaction in her stomach at the sight of the movement.

It was a cliché probably but Rita was leaning into it as she stepped forward again, only a few paces away from the desk now, continuing in a low voice, “And with all the time I spend doing work for your classes…”

The professor raised an eyebrow then, which was probably fair enough, because although a lot of her time did go towards the actual work, the vast majority of it was spent coming up with ways to get Professor McGonagall’s attention, or obsessively tracking whatever Lily was doing to make sure she was still winning. Speaking of, Rita glanced briefly over to where Lily had walked further back into the room, hands clenched tight around the strap of her satchel, watching the scene in front of her like she was studying it.

“… I haven’t been able to find anyone to help me with it,” Rita finished, focussing back on the professor in front of her, who’s eyes flicked quickly up and down Rita’s body before meeting hers again, heavy and exhilarating.

Rita felt like she was diving headfirst into a volcano and she really quite desperately wanted to burn so she took the last few steps forward, coming to a stop directly in front of Professor McGonagall, close enough that if the professor spread her legs just a little, Rita could settle quite nicely in between them.

She clasped her hands behind her back to stop herself from reaching out and spoke again, slow and suggestive, “And I thought, being as it’s your work that’s stopping me from finding anyone, that maybe you could help me?”

Professor McGonagall smirked again, just a little, and then, as if she was reading her mind, lifted her hands from the desk and placed them on Rita’s hips instead, spreading her legs and pulling Rita into the space between them, nestled there like it was where she belonged. Rita was sure she was bright red, she hadn’t been sure this would work at all but victory was singing through her veins as she heard the way that Lily had gasped at the professor’s actions.

“I’ve just been so tense lately,” Rita went on, pressing her thighs together as the hands at her hips squeezed slightly, “And I really think you might be able to help me relax… Minerva”

The professor smirked, moving her hands to rest on Rita’s arse, pulling her even closer, leaning in so that Rita could feel her breath on her ear,

“Oh Rita,” Professor McGonagall breathed, making Rita both shiver and feel like she was on fire, unclasping her hands and bringing them up to rest on the professor’s chest, “I think I know just the thing,”

“Yeah?” Rita asked, biting at her lip to stop the word from turning into a moan.

“Oh yes,” the professor continued, pulling back a little to look her in the eye, that solid, exhilarating gaze, something glimmering in it that Rita couldn’t quite decipher. Then, Professor McGonagall was moving her hands, back up to Rita’s hips and pushing her round to one side, “Why don’t you ask Miss Evans to help you?”

Rita’s mouth fell open, looking at Lily who was standing just a few paces away and looking right back, face red and a hand over her mouth, eyes wide and slightly hazy just like Rita expected her own were. She glanced back at Professor McGonagall, feeling both a little betrayed and a lot turned on, as the professor dropped her hands from Rita’s hips and placed them back on the desk behind her again.

She just chuckled at whatever was probably written all over Rita’s face, “I think she might be having a similar problem, I’m sure you could… solve it together.”

Then, Professor McGonagall smiled, her own victorious smile, sharp and amused, “You two are my best students after all.”

[sugarsnappeases]

microfic - marytunia :( | 1.6k words | reminiscing on a summer fling - no warnings except potential sadness <33

Petunia looks at herself in the mirror in front of her. She thinks maybe she’s put more blush on the right side of her face than her left, wonders if she should add more to the left or try to wipe some off of the right. She doesn’t make any move to do either. 

Instead, she continues to stare at herself, continues to sit at her dressing table in a full-face of makeup and her freshly-ironed blouse, continues to wait. 

There are just under two hours until Vernon said he would come to pick her up. It’s their third date. They’re going for dinner at a restaurant that Vernon likes. He’s already told her, in immense detail, all about exactly what he’s going to order. Apparently, they do a delicious steak and chips and have his favourite beer on tap. Petunia isn’t huge on beer, or steak for that matter, but he assures her they do other things too. 

There’s still time for her to cancel. There’s still time for the phone that she has out on the table in front of her to start ringing, for the screen to light up with her name. There’s still time for Petunia to pick up. 

She likes Vernon. Really, she does. He’s got a good job, and a strong set of teeth, and an inoffensive wardrobe. He’s straightforward, and respectable, and completely ordinary. 

Petunia had always wanted ordinary. Normal. Something with both feet steadily fixed to the ground and a decent, stable future stretching out in front of it. That’s what Vernon provides for her and that’s what she’d always wanted. What she still wants.

But, there’s still time to cancel the date. There’s still time to call off the whole thing, to cut the nice, Vernon-shaped rope with which she’s been diligently tying herself to the ground and fly away back to the place that she had been that summer. 

It had passed in a sort of magical, swirling haze of stolen time and dazzling colours and a smile that tasted of homegrown strawberries and sunshine. 

She had come to stay for the holidays. 

Mary MacDonald.

Lily’s friend from school.

Petunia had been ready to ignore her for the entire month that she was there. Ready to turn up her nose at Lily and whichever freak friend she’d brought home from her fancy school. Ready to spend the summer in her room or hanging about town with the few people from her college with whom she’s somewhat more than passingly acquainted. She had planned a pleasant, boring summer for herself, the last one she would hopefully ever have in that sorry excuse for a town, before she headed down to London for her typing course. 

The summer she had experienced instead was far more than pleasant and anything but boring. She hadn’t planned for the fact that Lily’s freak friend might worm her way under Petunia’s skin, might learn more about her in a month than her ‘friends’ had in seven whole years of school, might pull laughs out of her like silks from a magician’s sleeve, one after the other until they blurred into a bright string of delight. 

Mary was funny, and charming, disarmingly so, and she’d caught Petunia entirely off-guard. She’d been expecting someone like that horrible Snape boy, sure that all of Lily’s friends from her fancy school were equally as nasty and disturbing, but Mary wasn’t anything like that at all. 

Or maybe she was, just a little; it’s certainly true that her honey-brown eyes could be bee-sting sharp, and that the bright vibrancy with which she carried herself could cut right to the very quick, and that her presence there that summer had marked a profound disturbance in the things that Petunia had always thought were unshakable.

Little by little, alongside the laughter, Mary had pulled things from Petunia that she had been trying to keep hidden, tucked away and protected down in the depths of her ribcage. Things like the yawning, festering desire to press her lips against Mary’s and breathe some of that sunshine in, to kiss her and be transformed into something that dazzled and sparkled and floated high above that little old mining town like Mary did. Like Lily did. 

Mary was contagious. And shimmering gold. And she somehow wiped the greyscale from their perpetually dreary, frowning twilight skies and painted them hues of pink, orange, red. She slowed the turning of the world on its axis, lifted the sun back above the horizon, just for a little while, made everything infinitely more vivid. 

That summer was as brisk and unexpected as the time Lily had pushed her out of a little rowboat into the River Tame when they were kids, and as languid and woozy as long afternoons lying on the sofa recovering from the flu - Petunia was both drowning and burning up. Mary seemed to diffuse honey into the air, making it sweeter and slower, viscous, insidious instead of the usual biting bleakness. 

Time expanded past its rigorous boundaries, like water in the heat; late-night whispers, muffled giggles and inexperienced fumbling; early morning sighs, fingers running softly through hair like the summer through their fingers; glances that spoke a thousand words, brushes of shoulders, when Lily was there, red hair like fire burning the honey into bitter jealousy. Time melted and intermingled with that strawberry-sunshine smile.

All of it was stolen. All of it was sunset.

And nothing can hold the sun above the horizon forever. The day has to end, just as the summer does. 

Mary had to fly back to her fancy school, with Lily and the other freaks. Petunia had to go to London, to endless grey skies and the grounded, absolute life she’s determinedly wanted for herself since the moment Lily had taken flight. 

To her typing course and the ensuing clerical job, and to the little flat for which she’d meticulously saved up and to her two dates and counting with Vernon Dursley. 

There's an hour and thirty-six minutes until that count goes up to three. 

There’s still time to cancel. There’s still time for Mary to call. 

Petunia’s been waiting for her to call since they exchanged numbers, lying in her bed in the early hours of the morning on Mary’s last day there - before Mary had kissed her one last dazzling time and snuck back into Lily’s room as the birds started up their singing, before a quiet breakfast of fading colours and coming back up to the surface, before Petunia’s dad had driven Lily and Mary back to where they belonged and Petunia never would. 

It’s been five months since then. 

February is as miserable as every other month has been since that vivid August, and Mary has not called. Halloween and Guy Fawkes’ and Christmas and New Year have all been and gone. Petunia hasn’t been home, or seen Lily or her parents.

She’s worried that Mary may have soured her hometown and the house she grew up in once and for all, which is ridiculous because she’d lived there under those heavy, grey clouds for eighteen years before Mary had injected them with that swirling colour which had disappeared as she did the second the month of her visit had ended. 

London is just as grey as that little town, despite its vast, bustling potential, and Petunia thinks that’s probably Mary’s fault too.

And Mary has not called. Petunia waits. She stares at herself in the mirror and thinks that if Mary called she would cancel this date. 

She thinks that she’s being completely absurd, because she’d only known Mary for one hungry, shimmering month. It had felt a little like flying, luxuriating in that special glow that always surrounded Lily, a glow that Mary had shared with her. But it was flying with wax wings and the sky was burning and she’d never really had Mary, not really. It was ephemeral, hazy and always slipping away from her. 

And Petunia had never wanted it anyway. She wanted ordinary, entirely non-freakish mundanity - the kind that people like Vernon can provide, artificiality and dullness, simplicity and ease. 

And yet. 

And yet she sits and waits for her phone to ring, sits and tries to stop those honey-brown eyes from blunting and fading in her memory. She sits and tells herself that if Mary called, she would pick up, that if Mary called, she would cancel the date, that if Mary called, she would painstakingly craft her own pair of real wings, sweat and sinew and laborious work, so she and Mary could chase after the sunset forever. 

She knows, really, in the part of her that isn’t trapped away in the fanciful depths of her ribcage, the part of her that had decided that she wanted to be normal, that she would never be able to stay off the ground for that long. 

After a moment, she decides that she should add more blush to her left cheek. It is Valentine’s Day after all. She doesn’t think it would be all that out of the ordinary if a woman was a little more rosy-cheeked than she tended to be. 

One hour and twenty-three minutes later, Petunia puts her phone in her handbag and heads towards the door. Vernon has come to take her on their date. 

Mary has not called.

[sugarsnappeases]

microfic - lesbian tedromeda!! | 2k words | kiki’s delivery service au

this one’s for my angel @stillagoodwitch and also (mainly) for cat (want u to read it aloud to her please, do u think she ships tedromeda??)

Andromeda thought she was doing well, all things considered.

She’d made it to the ocean, flown through the night to a seaside city with no other witches where she could settle down and start her new life, and no lightning bolts had come down from the sky to smite her, no demons had come from the manor to try and drag her back.

She was free and she was doing well.

She had Cat, her cat, all her savings and, of course, her broom and she thought she was making a good first impression on the townspeople, smiling politely and floating overhead in the early morning sun as she looked for somewhere to land.

It was a busy city, busier than anywhere she had ever been - people bustling across the pavements, cars rushing through the streets - but she thought that was probably a good thing, the change, the freedom, the anonymity of crowds.

She moved out into the road a little to fly under a bridge and - swerved as quickly as she could to the left to avoid being run over by a truck that was coming through the other way. Her broom lurched off sideways, her elbow scraping against the wall of the bridge as she flew away from it - directly into the path of another car.

It was louder now, cacophonous even, cars screeching to stops and beeping their horns at her as she tried desperately to get her broom back under control, swinging this way and that and nearly hitting another three cars before the broom sped off down the pavement, Andromeda still clinging on, pedestrians jumping out of her way.

She managed to stop, hovering in the air just around the corner from all the chaos she had caused, and lowered herself, and Cat, who had also been hanging on for dear life, and her savings and her broom, down onto the pavement with a sigh of relief.

Andromeda took a deep breath before looking up at the people who had stopped to stare at her, trying to smile her friendliest smile, which was rather unpractised, trying to look like she knew what she was doing and like she belonged there and like she wasn’t a complete disaster.

She wasn’t entirely sure how well she was succeeding but she smoothed down her hair and after a few moments everyone started to move about their days again.

Turning to Cat, who was perched on her shoulder now, she said “Well, I think-“

“What do you think you’re doing flying around like that?!” Shouted someone who had marched up behind her. Andromeda turned to see what looked like a policeman, still yelling at her, “You could’ve caused a crash! In fact, you’re lucky you didn’t!”

“Sorry, sir,” Andromeda stepped back against the wall behind her, trying to think what she was supposed to do in this kind of situation, it wasn’t really something she had ever been taught to deal with and for all that she was doing well, for all the she was freer and happier, she was started to feel a little overwhelmed, “I’m still getting used to how busy the city is, I just got here today, you see”

The policeman looked unimpressed, “That’s no excuse, you should still know better than to fly around causing a ruckus like that, someone could’ve got seriously hurt!”

Andromeda frowned a little, because surely it hadn’t been that dangerous, she knew she was a good flyer and it wasn’t like it was her fault that the truck had suddenly appeared like that, but she thought it unwise to say, so she let the man continue his tirade.

“Now,” he said finally, pulling out a notebook and flipping it open, “What’s your name and address?”

Andromeda opened her mouth, racking her brains to think of a suitable answer because she wasn’t sure if her name was really hers anymore, she thought her parents would probably have burnt her off the family tree by now, once they had woken up and discovered that she was gone, and she certainly wasn’t going to give out her old address but she didn’t yet have a new one to use instead. She was alone, and she didn’t have a home anymore and she desperately didn’t want this policeman to get in contact with her parents so all that she could come up with to say in the end was, “Um…”

“Don’t even think about lying to me, girl,” the policeman frowned at her, tapping his pen against the top of his notebook, “And hurry it up, I haven’t-“

Just then, he was interrupted by a shout of “Stop! Thief! Somebody stop him! Thief!” and he hurried off around the corner towards the noise, telling Andromeda to wait where she was and not move a muscle.

Andromeda stood there for a second or two, then relaxed her shoulders, turning towards Cat again, “That was lucky”

Cat nodded sagely, agreeing with her, and they wandered away in the other direction, slipping in between the other pedestrians and taking the next turning they came across.

She was taking it as a good sign, a symbol that maybe some god was smiling upon her running away - she knew she had done the right thing, knew she couldn’t have stayed there for a single day longer, she wasn’t sure what she would’ve done if she’d had to come up with a name and address for the policeman.

Running away had been like shedding her name, her last name at least, like an old coat, like a skin that didn’t quite fit right over her bones. The further she had flown from that manor, the more at peace she had felt, something settling in her.

So maybe the two of them, Andy and Cat, weren’t off to the best start but they had still been fairly lucky; at least they hadn’t been hit by any of those cars, at least they didn’t have to give up their old address and at least they weren’t currently being dragged back across the country to Black manor and the parents who Andromeda wasn’t sure would even let her in anymore, to the sisters, who she had been trying quite desperately not to think about, who she wasn’t sure would even want to speak to her anymore.

She had Cat, and her savings, and her broom, and she was going to make a new life for herself. She was free, and she wasn’t going back, and things were going to work out. Andromeda was repeating that like a mantra as she and Cat walked down a side street, trying to decide where to go from there.

“Hey! Hey, wait!” Came a voice from behind them, it wasn’t the policeman, it was a much younger voice, so Andromeda didn’t immediately break into a run, but it put her a little on edge nevertheless. She wasn’t sure what this person wanted so she didn’t turn to face them, continuing to walk onwards,

“Hey, that was pretty good, right?” the person was beside her now, Andromeda peered at them out of the corner of her eye, a person around her age on a bicycle, pedalling along in time with her steps, “I was the one who called thief, it was a distraction, I helped you get away, right?”

Andromeda turned her head slightly to look at them but didn’t reply, still walking along, struggling to suppress the instinctive sneer at the person’s unkempt hair and untidy clothing. She wasn’t her father, she wasn’t a Black, not anymore, but as much as she had shed that skin and felt better for it, there were things that had been drilled into her since birth that would take more than one night on a broomstick and a fifty odd miles to remove.

“Oi Teddy!” someone else called out from a group of teenagers gathered outside a shop, speaking to the person on the bike, who Andy now assumed was named Teddy, “Isn’t it a bit early to be on the prowl?”

Andromeda frowned, wondering whether she should be offended and feeling slightly out of her depth, more than she already had been. Teddy’s only response was a middle finger - frightfully vulgar, said her mother's voice in her head - and Andromeda worried this would lead to some act of violence or something, but the other teenagers barely batted an eye, just laughing in response.

“Shut up,” laughed Teddy back, and then proceeded to nearly crash into a lamppost because they hadn’t been concentrating on the road in front of them. Andromeda lips twitched, wanting to smile in spite of herself, as she continued to walk on, watching all of this out of the corner of her eye and studiously pretending that she wasn’t.

Teddy cycled a little quicker to catch up with her again, “Hey, can I have a look at your broom? It’s so cool that you can fly like that”

Andromeda kept walking, acting like she hadn’t even heard. She wasn’t used to speaking with people her age, or with anyone who wasn’t her family really, and she didn’t know how she was supposed to behave. There was a part of her that found this all quite endearing, but it was being drowned out by panic and frustration and an insistent need to be alone.

“Please could I just have a quick look?” Teddy continued, undeterred by her lack of response, “I love flying, I just wanna see what your broom is like - It could be payment for how I helped you out with the policeman”

At that, Andromeda stopped, turning sharply to look at the person still cycling beside her.

“I didn’t ask for your help!” she said, a little angry now, probably a little irrationally, she had never been good at controlling her temper, she was a Black after all, or she used to be, “I didn’t want your help. I suppose I have to thank you for it now but it was rude of you to not even introduce yourself”

Andromeda started walking again, frustrated at herself for snapping like that but also frustrated when out of the corner of her eye she saw Teddy recover from their moment of shock and grin, wide and bright, pedalling to get beside her again.

“I’m Ted,” they said, still smiling, and Andromeda didn’t know why that made her feel all warm inside, like that smile could solve all her problems, could calm the stormy seas that were constantly waging war on her, trying to pull her under. Then Ted, not Teddy, which must be a nickname, spoke again, “Now I’ve introduced myself, can I please have a look at your broom? Pretty please?”

Andromeda huffed, a bit discomfited by how friendly they were despite her rudeness, a bit annoyed by their persistence, entirely out her depth and clinging on to her pride and her anger like they were life jackets, a last bastion of familiarity in this new life where everything was new.

“No,” she snapped, harsh and definitive, “Leave me alone.”

She felt a bit pathetic as she stomped away, unsure why she had gotten so worked up like that, her anger gone almost as soon as it had arrived, disappointed in herself and the way she had behaved, worried that she was still too much like her family, like she would never be able to escape them even as she left them behind.

Andromeda didn’t know how she was meant to interact with this person, or any person really, she was beginning to worry that she didn’t know anything at all, overwhelmed by the newness of the city, the crowds and the buildings and the sense that she was on the outside, looking in on something that she might never be able to be a part of, uncomfortable with how Ted was trying to invite her in.

She turned a corner and got on her broom, flying away quickly and aimlessly, confused and maybe a little upset but mostly at herself. Andromeda, with Cat sat on the handle of the broom now, wondered whether this new life might be just a tad more difficult than she had first anticipated.