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Some times in july 1981

Photo taken by James titled "my two love"

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Long before the introduction of color film, a Russian chemist and photographer named Sergey Prokudin-Gorsky used an innovative technique. He took three individual black and white photos, each through a colored filter (red, green, and blue), to create fully colored, high-quality pictures. The photo of this woman, taken by him, is around 107 years old!

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@jilymicrofics July Prompts Royalty - AU of a longer fic I'm writing!

Lily slammed the door, resisting the urge to scream.

“Your Highness?” Pettigrew said hesitantly. “I believe your sister does have your best interests at heart—”

“And I can assure you, she decidedly does not,” Lily snapped back. “If the kingdom were in some sort of peril or need, I might understand. But no – she merely wants a lawful way to claim a separate country as her fiefdom.”

“You would be Regent—” Her sister’s annoying advisor continued.

“As though Petunia would allow me to do anything,” Lily said scornfully. “I’d be a puppet ruler. And that’s if my husband didn’t kill me.”

The clang of a sword dropping caught her attention, and she turned to see Lord Potter – the son of the foreign ambassador from Grimmauld – clearing his throat and ducking to pick it up. Her eyes lingered on him, and she lost her breath when her gaze was returned with intensity.

“Leave us, Advisor,” he commanded, and Pettigrew scurried away, clearly too daunted by the prospect of ruining an alliance to continue haranguing her.

“You are to be wed, Your Highness?”

“More sold off to the bidder who presents the best prospects for my sister,” was the derisive reply. “But since your line of succession is quite secure, I wouldn’t worry.”

“My kingdom is one of my priorities, yes,” he said evenly. “But I fear you are wrong in believing it is the only thing that matters to me, Princess.”

Everyone called her that. There was no reason the title from him made her square her shoulders from the shiver running down her spine.

“What about this matters to you, then?” Lily challenged.

“You deserve better than to be a piece in your Queen’s machinations,” he said firmly.

It wasn’t like she didn’t know that. She told herself so all the time.

But this was the first time it had come out of someone else’s mouth.

Her throat worked, and it was only years of political training that prevented her from bursting into tears. “Be that as it may, I am her younger sister. Princess Royal is a title with no power. I cannot stop her from doing anything to me – I am only glad she does not have an heir yet, or. . .”

Lily trailed off, unable to believe she’d let her secret fear slip to someone else, especially someone from another kingdom.

Lord Potter looked flabbergasted. “You genuinely believe she would do you harm?”

Her lips tightened and she looked away. She didn’t need pity for her precarious situation – especially not from someone who could be as cruel and arrogant as he was skilled, protective and loyal. She told him so.

“I do not pity you, Your Highness,” Lord Potter said finally, looking troubled. “Although your assessment of me is not to my liking.”

“That’s how you know it is true,” she informed him.

“Which only makes me admire you more,” he told her. She tried to gauge his sincerity, surprised. “Do you not have any other option?”

“As I said, I have no say or power over a match. My sister will not be persuaded out of it—”

“Even if an important alliance depends on it?”

Normally, she hated being interrupted, but this one stunned her speechless. “I – you do not have the power for that,” she murmured. “And even if you did – why, why would you—?”

“Do not underestimate my influence on my parents and prince,” he said, kneeling as though preparing to propose. “You only need say the word, my lady, and I will bring down our full power on Queen Petunia.”

Disbelieving hope squeezed her insides and her heart fluttered. Petunia would have to give in—

“I cannot,” she realized. “Both our economies would be affected by the dissolution of our alliance. And while you may survive without our trade, my people would suffer. That is not a trade I will make.”

He stood, gaze dark and intense, molten hazel admiring and longing. “And you question why I would do something for you.”

“That wasn’t only something,” she snapped, feeling a blush spread down her neck and chest. His eyes flicked to it too, before resolutely returning to her face.

He bit his lip. “I cannot think of anything else that would make your sister relent,” he admitted. Lily smiled sadly. If she couldn’t, she doubted a stranger could.

“I do appreciate—” She started.

“Is there really nothing else that could be an obstacle?” He pressed.

Lily opened her mouth to question why he was so adamant about this when: “Yes,” she breathed in realization. “The groom himself. If he refuses the match, there is nothing Petunia can do.”

Lord Potter nodded excitedly. “If you give me his name, I will ride immediately, duel him if nothing else—”

“Stop!” She exclaimed. “Why are you – I don’t understand.”

He laughed a little, drawing back. “Perhaps that’s for the best.”

She stared at him, but set that aside for the moment. “No threats,” she said slowly. Lord Potter opened his mouth, likely in protest, but she held her hand up to stop him. “Those will unnecessarily antagonize him, not to mention I do not doubt in my sister’s ability to produce another king or lord with no heir and significant money and land waiting for her.”

“Then what?”

Lily thought aloud. “To refuse the match, he must have a concrete reason, which Petunia will have made sure to avoid. But if I am undesirable to him—”

“I’m afraid that’s a tall order, Princess.”

“Hardly,” she rolled her eyes. “Especially if I’m embroiled in scandal. Despoiled, perhaps.” He gaped as she contemplated. “How would you mind a boost to your reputation, my lord?”

The lord appeared at a loss for words.

“Then you will come to my bedchambers tonight? We shall have to make a fuss, make sure everyone sees. Perhaps we can spread tales of an attempted elopement – that should make me a pariah and make Petunia apoplectic. You, of course, are a man. You will only be admired and praised for seducing a princess.”

“Not by my parents,” he said wryly.

Lily grimaced. Of course. From what she had seen, Lord Potter’s parents were chivalrous, righteous, even if a little naïve. “Then I will find someone—”

“No need,” he declared. “I would be honoured to make a fool of everyone in court for you, Your Highness.”

Her heart leapt. “Then I will see you tonight?”

He gave an exaggerated bow. “You most certainly shall.”

And as she watched him walk away, Lily realized that perhaps she was looking forward to it for more reasons that one.

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This scientist crafts stunning visual art through chemistry.

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I’m paying to force seven thousand strangers to see a photo of my late husband having fun with his dog. Tumblr Blaze is totally worth it. XD

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Potter, Padfoot & Pizza

Read on A03

Lily Evans had spent the better part of the afternoon sitting cross-legged on the grass in the park, trying—and failing—to focus on her university notes. Despite her best efforts, concentration continually slipped through her fingers. The start of term had barely begun and already the looming academic weight was sinking in, pressing heavy on her chest. That couldn't be a good sign.

It was early autumn, and the park was alive with color. Trees blazed with vibrant reds, golds, and fiery oranges, and Lily found herself marveling at each drifting leaf as it spiraled to the ground. She was nestled beneath a large oak, her books open but largely untouched. At one point, she wandered off to grab a coffee from a nearby café, then returned only to doodle in the margins of her notes—tiny stars, swirling lines, and abstract shapes mingling with half-legible handwriting. She even spent a solid hour lying on her stomach, building miniature houses out of leaves and sticks.

In truth, she wasn’t studying at all.

Leaning back on her elbows, she let her gaze drift lazily across the park. That’s when she noticed the dog—a large black one, sleek and healthy-looking, trotting through the trees with its nose to the ground. Lily assumed it belonged to the older couple sitting on a bench at the far end of the park. The dog looked delighted, bounding after squirrels, sniffing everything in sight, and occasionally taking long laps from the nearby pond. It romped through fallen leaves with the unrestrained joy of something that had never known stress.

Lily grinned when the dog paused to roll gleefully in a pile of crisp leaves, sending a burst of color into the air like confetti.

Eventually, she turned back to her notes, highlighted a few key phrases more out of guilt than purpose, and then glanced up again.

The couple was gone.

But the dog remained.

A crease formed between Lily’s brows. The black dog now sat panting not far from her, tail wagging slowly, eyes scanning the park with interest—but there was no urgency, no sign it missed its owners. It looked completely content to be on its own.

"Odd," Lily murmured aloud, brushing leaves off her jeans as she stood and adjusted her jumper.

The dog noticed her movement and perked up, ears swiveling, eyes locking onto her with cautious curiosity.

“Hello there,” she called gently.

The dog tilted its head.

“Who do you belong to?” she asked with a grin, holding out her fingers for it to sniff as she approached slowly.

The dog ambled over, gave her hand a lazy sniff, then promptly flopped onto its back, tail thumping the ground in invitation. Lily chuckled and dropped to her knees, giving the creature a generous belly rub. With her other hand, she reached up and felt for the collar around its neck.

A silver and black tag dangled from the leather strap. It was shaped like a star and gleamed in the sun. Etched into the surface was a single name:

Padfoot.

Lily smiled. "Padfoot," she repeated. “What a peculiar name for a dog.”

Padfoot gave a happy grunt and began licking her face with abandon. Lily laughed, trying to push him off, but he only doubled down, placing his front paws squarely on her shoulders and going in for another round of enthusiastic kisses.

“Oi!” a sharp voice barked from across the lawn.

Padfoot dropped off her like he'd been shot. Lily scrambled upright and whirled toward the source of the voice, ready to scold whoever had shouted. The dog slunk behind her legs like a guilty child.

A young man—about her age—strode toward them, face flushed with annoyance. He wore a dark hoodie emblazoned with the logo of her university and had a satchel slung carelessly over one shoulder, slightly ajar and revealing a stack of English lit books.

Lily instinctively placed a hand on Padfoot’s head as the man approached.

“Come here!” he ordered, sweeping around Lily to grab the dog.

She intercepted him, grabbing his wrist before he could reach Padfoot. “Excuse you?”

The man blinked, clearly not expecting resistance. His annoyed expression faltered as he looked at her—really looked at her. They stared at each other for a brief moment. Lily noticed the mess of black hair, the slightly crooked but endearing glasses, and the surprisingly kind hazel eyes behind them.

“Uh—hi,” he muttered, hand shooting up to tousle his already wild hair. “Thanks for finding my dog. He’s a bloody menace—anyway, I’ll just—”

He moved to grab Padfoot again, but Lily stepped in front of him, crossing her arms.

“And how do I know he’s yours?” she asked coolly.

The boy hesitated. “Er… his name is Padfoot. And he’s my dog?”

“Could’ve read that off his tag,” she replied. “He’s been here for hours. How do I know you’re not just trying to steal a very friendly dog?”

He sighed sharply, the corner of his mouth twitching with restrained frustration. “Because I came home from class to find my front door mysteriously open and this idiot gone. Managed to unlock the bolt himself. Took himself on a walk, apparently.”

Lily raised a skeptical eyebrow. “A self-walking dog?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” he said dryly, casting a glare at Padfoot, who gave a happy little wag and ducked behind Lily’s legs again.

“I’m going to need to see some ID,” she said firmly. “Until then, he stays with me.”

Instead of arguing, the boy looked down at the dog and muttered, “You planned this, didn’t you? Manipulative little git.”

Padfoot’s tail thumped proudly.

Lily bent down, scratched behind the dog’s ears, and started gathering her things. She broke a biscuit from her bag and fed half to Padfoot, who gobbled it gratefully. The boy remained where he was, arms hanging at his sides, watching her.

“I’ll see you later then?” he called after her as she slung her bag over her shoulder and began to walk away with Padfoot trotting beside her.

Lily glanced back. “What makes you think that?”

The boy smirked faintly. “Because that’s my dog. And I’m going to need him back.”

Lily pursed her lips thoughtfully, then patted her thigh. “Come along, Padfoot.”

The dog happily trotted after her, tail wagging, while the black-haired man remained rooted in the middle of the park, arms lifted in exasperation. Out of the corner of her eye, Lily saw him run both hands through his hair, gripping the roots like a man betrayed.

“Traitor!” he called after the dog. “You’re sleeping outside for the rest of your life, you mangy mutt!”

Lily shot him a glare over her shoulder, but said nothing, simply tugged Padfoot’s collar gently and led him away.

On the walk home, they passed a pet shop. Lily popped inside and left with a leash, a small bag of food, and a biscuit Padfoot devoured in seconds. The shop clerk, upon hearing her situation, helpfully gave her the address of a nearby animal shelter where she could print and post flyers to help locate the dog's real family.

It took her two days to get them all up.

In the meantime, Padfoot made himself entirely at home in Lily’s flat.

They went on morning walks through crisp, leaf-littered streets and wandered the quiet neighborhoods by starlight in the evenings. Lily had always wanted a dog, but past flatmates hadn’t been keen on the idea. Now, living alone for the first time, the companionship was welcome. Padfoot curled beside her while she read, followed her into the kitchen like a shadow, and nuzzled under her arm during her late-night telly binges.

On their third night together, Lily and Padfoot were stretched out on the couch sharing a dinner of leftover pizza and ice cream. She passed him her crusts with a fond grin, absently scratching his ears while he licked at a smudge of melted vanilla from the coffee table.

Then the doorbell rang.

Lily blinked in surprise and stood, brushing crumbs from her jumper. She hadn’t been expecting anyone. Maybe one of her mates had popped by unannounced?

She opened the heavy oak door—and immediately found a sheet of paper thrust in her face.

“Hello again,” came a far-too-cheerful voice.

Lily pulled back, stunned.

It was him. The man from the park. But he looked markedly different this time—wearing a crisp button-down, sleeves rolled to his forearms, and slacks instead of jeans. He looked older, somehow. More put-together. A mischievous smirk played on his lips as he waved the paper like a winning lottery ticket.

“What are you doing here?” Lily asked, glancing quickly over her shoulder to make sure Padfoot hadn’t wandered into view.

“Getting my dog,” he replied, sounding slightly put out. “Would you just read the paper?”

Lily snatched it from his hand, eyes scanning the document.

A certified letter from a breeder. Addressed to a Mr. James Fleamont Potter. For ownership of one black dog, name: Padfoot.

She looked up sheepishly. “Oh.”

James folded his arms smugly. “So… my dog, yeah?”

Embarrassed, Lily stepped aside and opened the door wider. “Come in.”

James wasted no time, striding into the flat with all the confidence of someone who’d won the argument hours ago. He paused by a photo on the entryway table.

“You know Mary McDonald?”

Lily blinked. “She’s one of my best friends.”

“I play football with her,” he said, turning to flash her a surprised grin. “Small world.”

“I’ve never seen you at a match.”

“Likewise,” he shot back, eyes scanning her face with mild amusement. He was clearly enjoying this.

Lily cleared her throat and gestured him further inside. “So. Your dog. I hope you don’t mind, but I may have… slightly spoiled him.”

As they stepped into the living room, James’s grin widened. Padfoot was lounging on the couch, paws in the pizza box, licking grease off a discarded crust. He looked up guiltily, tail wagging.

James turned to Lily, an eyebrow raised. “Pizza and ice cream?”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry, but—”

“At least it’s not a school night.”

Lily froze. That had not been the scolding she expected. She looked at him incredulously as he laughed.

“You’re not mad?” she asked.

“Oh, I’m furious,” he said with mock gravity, eyes twinkling. “He’s clearly decided you’re the superior parent. I’ll have to win him back with steak and belly rubs.”

Lily smiled, but quickly schooled her expression when James stepped forward to leash the dog. Padfoot padded obediently over at the sight of another slice.

“I’m glad he has a home,” she said softly.

James paused, then looked up at her. His hand landed gently on her shoulder. “Thanks for taking care of him.”

Their eyes met. His voice was warm, earnest—different from his earlier teasing—and Lily felt something flutter in her stomach she wasn’t prepared to name.

James’s expression softened, but the smirk was never far behind. “A bloke like me can appreciate a girl who treats his dog better than he ever could.”

Lily laughed quietly and led him back to the door, where the night breeze met them with a whisper of cold. She watched as he led Padfoot down the street. The flat already felt emptier.

She was just considering texting Mary to ask when the next football match was when her phone buzzed.

(029) 3214 7856: Same time next week? I’ll bring the dog and pizza if you provide your favorite ice cream. xJP

Lily blinked, then smiled.

Lily Evans: How’d you get my number?

James Potter: Same way I got your name.

Lily Evans: Clever. Do you like chocolate or vanilla?

James Potter: Both.

James Potter: BTW—football matches are Tuesdays and Thursdays at 6PM.

Leaning back against the closed door, Lily smiled down at her screen, warmth flooding her chest.

Maybe this term wouldn’t be so dreadful after all.

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New One-Shot Alert

Feu d'artifice

Feu d'artifice: When Ginny sees the allegedly dead and eaten Scabbers scurry in front of her, she couldn’t help but chase after him. What she found as a result was entirely unexpected.

Special thanks to @arliedraws for the prompt. The idea wouldn't leave my head.

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Crazy to imagine someone following my art since the beginning. If they were like 16, now they are 25. Wowowowow

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In Search of Something More || Read Chapter 10 on Ao3 A Jily Regency AU || 8.1K Words || Rated M || Playlist || Start from the Beginning

In the sunlit garden of her sister’s home, Lord Potter had promised Lily a life of her own design, with minimal expectations—her presence at community events, companionship, and an heir. As the two stumble into the routine of marriage and work to make a life together at Stinchcombe Hall, unsolicited feelings provoke each to start wondering if this is merely a marriage…or if it could be something more.

A continuation of this Jilytober entry.

Chapter 10: Confessions

It’s nearing suppertime when Mrs. Jenkins announces the arrival of a carriage. Lily meets Dorcas in the foyer, both recently changed into something more fit for the evening, and she can see the energy that’s swept into her friend at the new arrival. Dorcas grins, bouncing on her toes and nodding her head towards the door. “Are we waiting on Lord Potter?” Sparing a quick glance towards the hall where his office door is surely closed, Lily makes a swift decision and shakes her head. “No need, if Mr. Meadowes will not find offense?” Brushing off her concerns with a wave of her hand, Dorcas pivots on her heel and makes for the door, Lily lengthening her strides to keep pace. “Michael is not offended by much, he won’t care.” As the two women pull open the doors, a tall man—Michael Meadowes—is lifting a small child out of the carriage, sweeping her through the air, and setting her down firmly on the ground beside him, a look of awe on her face as she takes in the exterior of Stinchcombe Hall.

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June

clearing the air (WIP, 11.7k as of 30 June 2025) by lovelystag. Rated T.

“Can we talk?” “Look, I’m not really looking forward to having another row with you–” “Me neither, I just want to clear the air.” OR A series of events in which James and Lily (and sometimes the others) end up talking things out, finding common ground.

Formidable (WIP, 8k as of 30 June 2025) by @yallthemwitches. Rated M.

“Been practicing your French then?” Sirius sniggers. “ My, wonder why you’d want to boast knowledge of such a romantic language.” “Because it’s the polite thing to do while visiting a foreign country?” “Or—” Sirius hums, taking a drag. “You are trying to impress a certain redhead who—” “Who is my friend, ” James cuts in, with a stern look. “A friend, Pads. Really. Nothing else.”

Catch the Wind: The Remastered Edition (WIP, 33.4k as of 30 June 2025) by @yallthemwitches. Rated E.

When she had stepped off the train in Hogsmeade station, Lily Evans had promised herself one thing: don't be stupid. She isn't quite sure where letting James Potter get under her skin falls on the spectrum of idiocy, but it's definitely up there. 

Icebreaker (completed, 281 words) by @tedwardremus. Rated G.

James never backs down from a dare

When the Void Calls, Will You Answer? (completed, 3k words) by @yallthemwitches. Rated T.

“If anything happens– y’know, to me–will you take care of her?” The question hangs in the air like smoke. “Nothing is going to happen to you mate.” “I know, but I’m speaking hypothetically–” Frustration rises like a wave in his chest, making him want to strike something hard and deliberate. “And I’m saying hypothetically or not, nothing is going to happen to you.”

under the july sun (completed, 3.6k) by @tainwho. Rated T.

A Saturday in Central London is no joke, and several times in the last few minutes, Lily has had to unceremoniously grab James’ arm to prevent them from getting separated. After what feels like at least an hour, James remembers to ask: “Evans, where are we going?” And Lily, with that same, dazzling smile thrown over her shoulder, says: “To get ice cream, obviously.” Or: James and Lily hang out the summer after Sixth Year. James tries to be normal about it.

Second Breakfast (completed, 3.4k) by @tedwardremus. Rated T.

Lily hadn’t realized that the playful talks she’d had with James about getting a house together after Hogwarts were more than just jokes until she found herself standing in the doorway of the cozy little cottage they now shared.

A Sound, Whoever It's For (completed, 2.6k) by @yallthemwitches. Rated E.

It will take a lot of mental scrubbing later, but even through the waves of regret, he knows it will be worth it. How many nights had he laid awake wondering where the creamy ivory of her skin led to under some short pair of jean shorts or muggle skirt? How many casual moments had she accidentally flashed the view of her knickers at him whenever they went swinging in the park or climbing trees out by the industrial mill? He’d banked up years worth of stolen moments like those, each one as precious as the last and he hadn’t even been able to touch her. Now, Potter sits back on his heels and takes for granted the gift he’s been given and it boils his blood deep into every artery. 

january is for lovers (completed, 13.6k) by @ohhevans. Rated T.

“James?” “Lily.” Snow is falling between them and half obscuring his face, but she would know this face in any weather, in any place. Nine years ago she closed a door and left this face, and she has thought of it ever since. She has thought about how the contours changed from eleven to twelve to thirteen to fourteen to fifteen to sixteen to seventeen, the jaw sharpening and the stubble growing on his cheeks. She has tried to accelerate him forward in time, from seventeen to twenty-six, and see how his face looks now. The answer is: as she expected, comforting, familiar, glowing even in the weak January light and the snow. “Is it you?” Lily whispers. “Is it really you?” “It’s me,” James says, “it’s really me.” -or- A series of people places things and moments from Lily Evans' life, and a love(r) story.

Waiting Is A Horrible Game To Play (completed, 1.4k) by @tedwardremus. Rated G.

Lily wants to smash the clock on the mantle—anything to silence its relentless ticking, counting down every minute James is late returning from an Order mission.

i don’t know why i like you (but i do) (WIP, 43k as of 30 June 2025) by @firefeufuego. Rated E.

‘You are so exactly the person I thought you were, James Potter.’ That’s his girl, still so condescending even when she’s put down. ‘Yeah,’ he says, not looking back, ‘I guess I am.’ Lily and James read History together at Balliol College at Oxford. Unfortunately, they just can’t seem to read each other for shit.

Magnolia (WIP, 9.1k as of 30 June 2025) by @theesteemedladydebourgh. Rated E.

Exploding Ministry memos and one or two requisite dragons and cursed magical objects. Old school romances with a dash of new workplace flirtation. James Potter and Lily Evans may have missed each other the first time around…but not this time, if Ministry regulations have anything to say about it.

there's a war going on out there (completed, 2.6k) by @ohhevans. Rated G.

It’s a wedding ring. James Potter is married. James Potter is married and pressing a kiss to Lily Evans’ cheek, and she is tipping her face up to look at him, to accept a kiss on her lips, because James Potter is married to her, to Lily Evans, to Lily Evans who swore up and down when they were fifteen years old that she detested Potter, that Potter’s stupid crush didn’t mean anything to her, that he meant nothing to her, and yes she’d thrown all that out the window for a bit in their seventh year, but that was proximity, wasn’t it? Head Girl and Head Boy, it was bound to happen, surely she would come to her senses. Instead, she got married. Instead, she married James Potter.

another way of saying "i love you" (completed, 10.6k) by @ohhevans. Rated E.

His internal alarm clock is usually impeccable, has him up and gently disentangling himself from her to go on his morning run and then to get ready for work long before what most people would consider a decent hour, but every now and then it fails him, as it has today: It’s his birthday, but the universe has granted her the gift of waking up first.

a picture is worth a thousand words (completed, 765 words) by @emeralddoeadeer. Rated G.

James puts his time to creative uses while in hiding...

one more time now, with feeling (WIP, 136.8k as of 30 June 2025) by @gigglesandfreckles-hp. Rated M.

“Why us?” “If memory serves,” Dumbledore says, with a gentle, knowing smile, “you two were once rather good friends.” Lily feels something twist painfully in her stomach. Dumbledore’s gaze moves pointedly toward James. “And forgive an old man’s nostalgia, James, but I seem to recall you having quite a profound affection for Miss Evans at some point during your time at Hogwarts.” His blue eyes twinkle slightly, corners crinkling behind his half-moon glasses. “Whether that holds true today, I cannot say—but I find that such history can be remarkably persuasive when circumstances require...believability.”

Fever for Her (completed, 1.7k) by starlitscribr. Not rated.

as James Potter leaned against the brick. His hazel eyes, usually glinting with mischief, were fixed on the sliding glass doors, searching for her. Lily Evans. It had been six months since she’d left for her study abroad program in Florence. Six months since he’d last seen her fiery red hair, her sharp green eyes, her smile that could stop traffic. Six months of torturous longing, James Potter was obsessed.

Choose Your Own (sexy) Adventure (WIP, 360k as of 30 June 2025) by @ghostofbambifanfiction. Rated E.

Too many cooks can occasionally write a story.

When Flowers Bloom (WIP, 42.6k as of 30 June 2025) by @number1abbasupporter. Rated T.

lily evans and james potter are both tired of their best friends’ nonsense about their obvious like for each other. the only logical thing for them to do is to take it into their own hands. However, neither of them think about what all the time they spend together will do. or, jily falling for each other while setting up wolfstar!!

Roman Candle of the Wild (completed, 4.4k) by @secretlanguage. Rated G.

James couldn’t figure out what had suddenly changed. One moment, his chin was slumped on his hand, his elbow resting atop the sticky wooden table, as his eyes followed Sirius and Peter, who were attempting to get Madam Rosmerta's attention and fetch their group a round of butterbeers. The next, he was looking right at her, irrevocably enthralled by every single detail enveloping Lily Evans.

Until the Very End: Preparing to Fall (completed, 70.2k) by @thejilyship. Rated T.

The past Victors are all gearing up for the 74th Hunger Games. Lily Evans won the 66th games when she was only 14 years old. She's been doing this for almost ten years now and she just wants to get this years games over with. In the years since she's won, she's alienated herself from her sister and she's started fighting with her childhood friend. But she'll paste a smile on her face for the Capital and pretend like all is well. Having won the 70th games at 17 years old, James is still considered a new comer. It's his first time being a mentor. He knows there's not much he can do to help his District's tributes, everyone knows it. He won his games but with each passing year, it feels more like he lost. The Capital citizens love Sirius Black. He's from District 4 and they are fascinated by him. He won his games at 13, the youngest ever! He's all over billboards and he's invited to all the parties when he's in the Capital. If they're lucky, they can snag him for a date. Everything about his life looks so glamorous, and he hates all of it. All of their lives take a dramatic turn when Mary MacDonald throws a wrench, into how the games always play out.

Just enough shades of messed up (completed, 6.3k) by octaviajeune1544. Rated E.

Lily gets stood up, caught in the rain, and found walking home in a soaking-wet dress by her best friend's godfather. James Potter really shouldn’t stop for her. He definitely shouldn’t offer her his jacket. And under no circumstances should he pull over on a quiet street and let her crawl into his lap. Gratuitous car smut to satisfy my, and anyone else's, need for James Potter with DILF vibes.

you can hear it in the silence (completed, 2.7k) by @oakheartedmuse. Rated T.

"When Lily accepted Mary’s invitation to that damned college party, she couldn't have been more disheartened. She would likely end the night more stressed than when she had arrived. But she had never been so happy to be so wrong." Or, Lily has the best night of her life. And she wants more.

do the hustle! (completed, 1.1k) by @theyonlytoldthemoon. Rated G.

sometimes i listen to music and all i can do is think about them. this is pre-relationship jily, first kiss, all that good stuff. if you want to (and please do, it really sets the mood), listen to The Hustle by Van McCoy & The Soul City Symphony!

December's Valentine (WIP, 34.6k as of 30 June 2025) by @stonecoldhedwig. Rated E.

Sometimes, a one-night-stand with a guy off Tinder is just that: a one-night-stand. No lasting feelings, no strings attached. It's the kind of thing that's easy to get your head around when you're trying to get your heart around the end of a relationship. Sometimes, it's not that simple. Sometimes, you're a journalist, and you get assigned to write a piece on an up-and-coming restaurateur, who just might be that one-night-stand from Tinder that you can't stop thinking about. And sometimes, to make matters worse, the two of you get snowed in... **** Or: Lily shags James, and thinks she'll never see him again. Right? Wrong.

Find the previous months' recs: November & December | January | February | March | April | May

[min-blogg]

The haunting ancient Celtic carnyx being played for an audience. This is the sound Roman soldiers would have heard their Celtic enemies make.

[min-blogg]

Read on A03

She loved closing shifts. 

They were always quiet, devoid of the demanding patrons that the morning shift had. It was also the perks of being a small surfer town outside of Monterey, most people only came down for the beach on the weekends. But the best thing about the tiny drive-thru coffee shop on Vista Drive was its location for night shifts. 

It stood alone at the far edge of Venta’s old downtown, the very last building on the very last block. From the east-facing sides of the shop, Lily Evans could stand outside and see the snow-dusted Sierra Nevadas, still clinging to a late Spring snowfall and glowing at golden hour. To the west stretched the endless blue of the Pacific Ocean, which she loved to stare at as the sun set because the colours would often turn red or orange. 

She missed England, but the sunsets there just couldn’t compare to California majesty. Right now, though, she was stuck inside the shop’s cramped one-room kitchen, ready for the closing shift to end. She’d have to lean out the drive thru window to see any more of the lessening daylight. 

The radio had already cycled through Taylor Swift, Olivia Rodrigo, and Sabrina Carpenter six times in a row. The drive-thru had been quiet since noon, and now it was five minutes to closing. Lily had already checked off every task on the nightly list. All she had to do was make it to 5:30, and she’d be free to jog down the beach as the stars covered the endless black sky, before heading back to her dorm for the night.

“ I’ve got a blank space baby, and I’ll write your name. ” The radio crooned. 

Lily yawned and flipped the radio off, then reached her arms overhead in a long, aching stretch. Her muscles still burned from yesterday’s snorkel down near Santa Barbara. She’d spent over three hours in the water collecting algae samples with Professor Kettleburn. The rougher California waters made her miss her chill tropical dives in the Caribbean from her last summer study abroad. 

A sudden chime in her headset startled her upright. Someone had just pulled into the drive-thru, three minutes to closing. That was weird. All her regulars had come and gone. 

She pressed the speaker button, cleared her throat, and slipped into her usual cheerful tone. “Welcome to Bluefin Café. What can I get started for you?”

There was a brief crackle of static, then a hesitant voice replied, “Hi, erm… could I get a brown sugar and cinnamon latte?”

Lily blinked. The accent hit her like a wave. It was unmistakably Scottish, thick and musical in that charming, clipped way that carried memories of damp stone streets and secondhand book stores tucked beside cozy cafes. She hadn’t heard anything like it in months .

“Sorry—wait, are you from Scotland?” she blurted, leaning instinctively toward the speaker.

A warm chuckle filtered through the headset, and when he answered, she could hear the grin in his voice. “Aye. Am I meeting another UK transplant, then?”

Lily nodded even though he couldn’t even see her. “You are. Midlands, technically. But I spent a summer in the Isle of Skye during my first year studying the seal population. That accent's unmistakable.”

“Well, I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said, still amused. “It’s not every day I meet someone who doesn’t mistake me for being Irish.”

“I can only imagine,” she said with a soft smile, already reaching for the syrup bottle. The scent of brown sugar drifted up as she measured out the flavour into a measuring cup. “One brown sugar and cinnamon latte coming right up. What’s the name for the order?”

“James.”

The name slipped off her tongue like muscle memory. “James,” she repeated, loving it. “I’m Lily.”

“Nice to meet you, Lily,” he replied, still smiling. She could hear it, plain as day,  the warmth behind his words.

"It's lovely to meet you, too." She said. 

And just like that, something loosened in her shoulders. She hadn’t realized how tightly she’d been holding herself until she heard her name spoken without the flat, nasal vowels she’d grown used to in California. No harsh American twang. No lame American British jokes. Just Lily so gentle and familiar, like home.

She leaned a little on the counter. Was he a student too? Maybe around her age? There was a brief, comfortable pause. There was no rush, no honking cars behind him, no impatient orders queued up so she could take the second to day dream…and then she blinked, remembering where she was.

“Right, um—five-fifty at the window,” she said quickly, brushing a loose strand of hair out of her face as she reached for the to-go cup. Grabbing a sharpie, she wrote his name with a curving flourish, looping the J a little more than necessary, her handwriting softer and slower than usual. She even drew a smiley face next to the name, the smile on her face hard to replicate with a sharpie. 

She didn’t normally bother, but this felt like seeing a long-distance friend. 

“See you up here,” she said, doing her best to keep her voice steady as she slid the cup onto the bar.

“Thanks!” came his cheerful reply through the headset.

Lily turned toward the brewer, grateful she hadn’t dumped the last pot of coffee yet so she could take some home. She grabbed it with one hand, balancing the cup in the other, and began to pour. The rich, dark liquid flowed smoothly, but her focus drifted. She couldn’t help it. She glanced toward the drive-thru window, curious to catch her first glimpse of the mysterious voice. She saw him drive up, and promptly turned away quickly from shock.

He's hot. 

And that’s right when it happened.

The cup slipped from her hand.

Hot coffee splashed down the front of her light blue sweatshirt in a wave, soaking the fabric and searing her skin beneath. “Shit—!” she hissed, recoiling instinctively. She yanked the sweatshirt away from her stomach, the sudden heat biting at her like a slap. Her breath caught as she staggered back a step.

Of course. 

Of course this would happen now…minutes before closing, and the only remotely interesting customer she’d spoken to all week was watching. She blew out a shaky breath, trying to ignore the rising heat in her cheeks.

“Perfect,” she muttered, grabbing a towel from under the counter and pressing it against her damp sweatshirt. The coffee had already soaked through the front, clinging to her like second skin. No use—she’d have to take it off once he left. She’d do it now, but under the sweatshirt was just her navy blue bikini top, ready for her run along the beach. 

With a grimace, she tossed the ruined drink in the sink and grabbed a new cup, forcing her hands to steady as she remade the latte. Brown sugar, cinnamon, espresso, steamed milk. Easy. She’d done this hundreds of times. But now each motion felt too loud, too deliberate, like her hands didn’t quite belong to her anymore.

She could feel his stare. It burned the back of her neck. She was acutely aware that she’d not washed her hair since her swim that morning and her red hair was a whirl of swirling red instead of nicely brushed. And she was wearing jogger shorts, nothing nice, not like the other girls who worked here. Lily didn’t even own a pair of jeans. 

When she finally turned to the window, latte in hand, she braced herself. And there he was, and she once again almost dropped the cup over how cute he was.

Leaning slightly out of the driver’s side window of a beat-up, sun-faded Jeep, with wind-tousled black hair that curled around the tops of his ears and square glasses perched on his nose. He looked amazing in the California light. He had olive skin, freckled cheeks, and a slightly crooked grin. He wore scrubs, a stethoscope, and had black lined tattoos up one arm. 

She opened the window and handed him the drink with a sheepish smile. “Sorry for the wait. I, um… had a bit of a coffee-related accident.”

James blinked, and for a moment his gaze flicked to the faint brown stain on her sweatshirt as he handed over his money. “I—oh. Sorry.”

She laughed, flustered. “No, no. That was entirely me getting distracted.”

He took the cup from her, his fingers brushing against hers for the briefest second, and it sent an embarrassing jolt through her spine as she placed the cash on the register. “Well,” he said, cheeks slightly pink behind his glasses, “then I’ll try not to be too distracting next time.”

Oh, so he was arrogant. She loved a good laugh and this man seemed like he’d offer some if she just played along. 

She beamed mindlessly at him, “I hate to disappoint, but the distraction wasn’t you.” 

“Damn,” god, his accent was so attractive. “Knocked my ego right down a peg.”

“Next time, don’t be so presumptuous about why I spill coffee on myself,” she teased and leaned against the window sill. 

"Presumptuous is my middle name."

'Is it really?"

"No," he grinned, "It's Fleamont."

"Your parents must hate you."

"Adore me, actually." James tasted the coffee and then lifted the cup at her. “Just what I needed, cheers.” 

“Cheers,” she said lightly, then added, “Enjoy the latte, James Fleamont.”

He chuckled deeply, that grin still lingering. “See you around, Lily.”

And then he was gone, the Jeep easing forward into the golden haze of early evening. Lily shut the drive-thru window slowly, the soft click of it locking sounding louder in the sudden stillness. She leaned her forehead against the cool metal frame, letting out a long breath.

All she could think about were his square glasses, the way his messy black hair caught the breeze, and the way he’d said her name—like it was his to say. Like they were old friends who’d just rediscovered each other, instead of strangers trading cash and lattes through a old drive-thru window.

She glanced down at her sweatshirt, the light blue fabric now stained with a fan of coffee. She sighed. “Yeah. That’s coming off.”

Moving on autopilot, she locked the register, tucked the night’s cash into the safe, and shut off the lights. The tiny shop settled into a soft quiet, the soft hum of the fridge the only sound as she grabbed her bike helmet from its hook by the back door.

As Lily stepped outside into the warm, salt-laced air, the scent of the ocean wrapped around her like a familiar hug. Her mind lingered on James.

Would he come back?

Ugh, she smelled like coffee now. It overpowered the salt laced air, bitter and familiar. Lily had grown accustomed to the smell after weeks of working the tiny window shop, but she still didn't love smelling like it after every shift. Her poor sweatshirt was probably doomed to smell like coffee forever now. 

She tugged at the hem of her soaked sweatshirt, fingers curling into the fabric. With a swift motion, she peeled it upward, the damp cotton sticking to her skin before finally giving way. The summer air kissed her bare stomach as she wrestled the sweatshirt over her neck and head, the tag catching on a lock of her red hair and yanking a little too hard.

“Bloody hell,” she muttered, trying to untangle it as she shook her hair free. She flipped upright, ready to toss the sweatshirt into her bike basket—

And froze.

James was standing two feet away, leaning casually against his Jeep, arms crossed like he’d been there long enough to see… everything .

The golden light of the setting sun poured over him, catching the edges of his messy black hair and haloing him in amber. His glasses glinted just enough to hide the full intensity of his gaze, but not enough to hide the way his eyes traveled, slowly, from her flushed face down to the curve of her shoulder blades and the navy bikini top that did little to hide her curves. Then, the hazel eyes traveled back up, meeting her stare like a cat who’d caught the cream. 

They just stared at each other. Lily's heart slammed against her ribs. Her skin burned hotter than the spilled coffee ever had. He was so fucking attractive, that arm sleeve of tattoos swirling up his skin in ways she’d love to trace. She spotted tattoos of a stag, a dog, and a rat. There was a swirling galaxy and a soft section of waves. She could spend hours looking at the way the black lines swirled on his skin. 

“Well,” she said, voice higher than usual. “If I’d known you were waiting out here, I’d have put on a show.”

James blinked, clearly caught off guard—then laughed, the sound low and sheepish, with a flicker of nerves hiding behind it. “I swear I wasn’t creeping,” he said quickly, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I was just... watching the sunset. Trying to get one last bit of peace in before I’m stuck in my apartment all night studying.”

Lily arched a brow, then ran her fingers through her red waves, gathering them over one shoulder as she tried to slow her pulse. “Right. And I was just… finishing up. Didn’t expect an audience.”

“Didn’t expect to be one,” he said with a half-smile, glancing away for a second like he didn’t trust himself to keep looking at her. “You, uh… startled me.”

She laughed lightly, grateful for the flicker of awkward charm between them. “Trust me, the feeling’s mutual.”

James glanced at his watch, then back toward the darkened shop. “Makes sense why it was so quiet. I was wondering why no one else was desperate enough to beg for caffeine this late.”

“It’s a little late for anyone this time of night,” Lily said, nodding solemnly.

“You mean I’m the only crazy one to grab coffee at six?”

 “You’re currently drinking the coffee I was going to drink on my way to the beach,” she shrugged, “so, not so crazy.”

He grinned. “I feel like if you hadn’t spilled the first cup, there would be enough for both of us.”

She smirked, the corner of her mouth lifting playfully. “I’m choosing to ignore that jab.”

“Smart,” James said. His eyes drifted to her surf shorts, the sun-kissed curve of her freckled chest, then back to her knowing face. “I can always share, if you want a sip.”

She wrinkled her nose, “no thanks.”

He laughed, “do you not share drinks?”

“Not with strangers.”

“Damn,” he whistled, “I am a stranger, aren’t I?” He grinned even wider. “Guess we’ll just have to change that. What’s your favorite color?”

“Green.” She said. “And you?”

James’ hazel eyes crinkled, “fancy that, mine's green too.”

Lily laced her hands behind her back, the movement casual, but deliberate. It pulled her posture straight, her shoulders back—just enough to make it obvious that she knew his eyes were drifting, knew exactly what kind of effect she was having. She dipped her chin slightly, teasing.

“So,” she asked, watching as his gaze slowly climbed back up from her bare feet, “what are you studying?”

James blinked like he’d forgotten words existed for a second. Then, clearing his throat, he replied, “Medicine. Pediatrics, actually.”

She raised her eyebrows, clearly impressed. “So, you’re smart.”

He chuckled. “I guess that depends on the day. Most of the time, I’m just tired and trying not to fall asleep on my notes.”

“Relatable,” she said with a grin. “Marine bio. Grad student. Summer session.”

He gave a low whistle. “So we’re both willingly drowning in higher education.”

“Speak for yourself,” Lily shot back, a playful glint in her eye. “I’m knee-deep in actual seawater half the time. Marine science specifically requires you to be able to swim, not drown.”

James laughed a warm, full sound that echoed slightly in the open space between them. He reached out, bracing one hand against the side of his Jeep like the moment caught him off balance. It made that tattoo arm flex and she traced the way it swirled up past the sleeve of his green scrubs.

“Nice tattoos,” she flirted so easily with him. “I really like the rat.”

He chuckled, flexing his arm. “My mate Peter chose that one for me. I prefer the stag.”

“Is it highland stag?” She enquired, “like in Cairngorms National Park? They’re so gorgeous.” 

“God,” he said, rolling his hazel eyes back, “I forgot what it was like to hear someone talk about home with a proper accent.”

“Yeah,” she murmured, eyes meeting him. “Me too. It’s weird, isn’t it? How you don’t even realize what you’ve been missing until someone says your name or home, the way it’s meant to sound.”

His smile stayed, but it changed, touched by something more wistful, like he felt the same ache she did. He nodded slowly. “It’s the little things, right?” he said. “The way people say things. The way they see you.”

“Well currently you’re seeing all of me,” she joked, motioning down at her body. 

Then his gaze flicked downward again—not with the slow, stunned awe of earlier, but with a flicker of sheepish concern. He scratched the back of his neck and motioned vaguely toward her.

“Hey, uh—I’ve got a shirt in the backseat. If you want to borrow it,” he added quickly, “no pressure. Not that I’m complaining about my coffee barista in a bikini,” he said with a crooked grin, “but I figured I’d offer. Y’know. In case you’re cold or something.”

Lily blinked, then let out a soft laugh, part surprise, part gratitude. “That’s... gentlemanly of you.”

He smirked. “I can be semi-respectable in a crisis.”

She tilted her head, eyes shining with amusement. “Are you calling me a crisis?”

His grin deepened. “You did spill coffee and then start undressing in front of a customer.”

A breeze stirred between them, brushing against her bare shoulders and carrying the faint scent of salt, ocean wind, and lingering coffee grounds. The sun was lower now, edging toward the horizon. It would be colder by the water. And if she took his shirt... Well, that meant she’d have a reason to return it. A reason to see him again.

“I’ll take the shirt,” she said at last. “But only because I try to stick to two crises a day. Any more and I start to lose my edge.”

“Right,” James said, already turning toward his Jeep as he opened the back passenger door. “The crisis-avoiding marine biologist slash coffee shop barista.”

“You forgot mermaid princess,” she replied, crossing her arms loosely as she watched him rummage through a duffel bag. 

He snorted, “is that so?”

“It’s a delicate reputation to maintain,” Lily said with a mock-serious tilt of her head. “Can’t have the locals thinking I’m a boring brit.”

James chuckled over his shoulder as he bent into the backseat. “Wouldn’t dream of calling you boring, love,” he called back, the affectionate lilt in his voice making her stomach flutter.

When he turned around, a soft, tie-dye shirt in hand—swirls of blue and faded pink like saltwater taffy—the sun caught the edges of his hair, setting his unruly curls aglow with hints of copper and gold. He looked like he belonged in the fading light, like it had been waiting just for him. A spotlight to remind her just how touch starved she was. 

She hadn’t been in a relationship in over two years. 

This felt like it could be something. 

Something more. 

He stepped forward, the shirt dangling loosely from his fingers as he held it out to her. The fabric hovered in the small space between them, and then, with the subtlest shift, he nudged it gently into her personal orbit, his knuckles brushing against the inside of her wrist. The touch was light, but it sent a flicker of warmth up her arm.

She took the shirt slowly, her fingers brushing across his, lingering just long enough that it couldn’t be mistaken for an accident. Her skin hummed where they touched. “Thanks,” she said, her voice a little quieter than before.

James’ softening smile made her go weak in the knees. “Anytime.”

Lily took the shirt from him with a quiet nod and slipped it over her head in one fluid motion, the fabric cool against her sun-warmed skin. As the collar passed over her face, she inhaled instinctively…scones and clean cotton, with the faintest trace of something like cedar and sea air. It smelled like comfort. Like a Sunday morning in the redwoods up North.

When her face emerged again, framed by waves of tousled red hair, James was still standing there, watching her like the world had narrowed down to just her. The shirt hung loose over her body, the hem landing just above her thighs, sleeves nearly swallowing her elbows. She didn’t bother adjusting it. Somehow, it felt more like hers than anything she’d worn all day.

James let out a breath, almost a laugh, low and under his breath. “Well… you’ve done it now.”

She raised a brow. “Done what?”

He ran a hand through his already-messy hair and gave her a look that was part awe, part surrender. “You’ve somehow managed to get even prettier—in my ugly old t-shirt....”

A flush crept up her neck, but she didn’t look away. Instead, she smiled as she straightened the fabric and saw she had LA JOLLA BEACH spread across her chest. “I just look like a tourist.”

“I hate to break it to you,” he said, “but the moment you open your mouth everyone knows you don’t belong here in California.”

“And where do I belong?”

“Isle of Skye seems proper,” he said. “It seems like the place where a siren like yourself would flourish.” 

“Careful,” she said, a teasing edge in her voice as she tilted her head, eyes steady on his. “You keep saying things like that, and I might start thinking you fancy me.”

James grinned, wide and unguarded now.  “You know,” he said, pushing his hands into his pockets, “I should probably eat something before I lock myself in with a stack of med school notes.”

“Yeah,” Lily replied, smiling back at him knowingly. “And I should probably unwind after a whole day of pretending coffee is a personality.”

They stood there for a beat, the fading sun casting long shadows across the pavement, the soft hush of the ocean not far off. Then James tilted his head like a golden retriever, a glint of boldness sparking in his eyes. 

“What would you say,” he began, stepping just a little closer, “to letting me take you—and your bike—down to the beach for fish tacos and churros?”

“I’d say…” she drew out the words, her gaze flicking from his eyes to the soft curve of his smile and back again, “that you’re dangerously close to becoming my favorite customer.”

“Oh no,” he said, mock-serious. “Not the top spot?”

“You haven’t bought me a churro yet,” she said, folding her arms across her chest in mock defiance, eyes gleaming.

James held out his hand, palm up like he was making a solemn vow. “Then let’s fix that. Immediately.”

“Only if you give me a five-star rating on Yelp for the coffee shop,” she replied, slipping her fingers into his with an easy grin. "It might entice the owner to give me a raise."

He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Five stars wouldn’t do you justice,” he said as he turned toward his Jeep, glancing over his shoulder. “I’ve neverbeen to a café with a bikini-clad barista before and I’ve gotta say, it’s been a life-changing experience.”

Lily snorted. “Glad to know I’ve raised the standard for drive-thru customer service.”

“You really have,” James said, popping open the back of the Jeep with a grin. “Now go grab that bike so I can impress you even more over dinner."

"How?"

"By naming more species of shark than you, Miss Biologist.”

Lily let out a laugh, raising an eyebrow as she turned to unlock her bike. “Oh, is that the plan? Should’ve majored in marine biology then, huh?”

She wheeled the bike over toward him, the tires clicking softly over the pavement.

"Oh, I can't even swim." James took the handlebars from her with a dramatic flourish. “I’m not trying to steal your mermaid princess status—just respectfully want to challenge your shark knowledge with my highly refined Animal Planet education.”

She grinned, shaking her head. “Let me guess—every Shark Week since 2002?”

He placed her bike carefully into the back of the Jeep and dusted his hands off like it was a sacred task. “Since 2001, thank you very much. I was six and emotionally bonded with a great white named Mathilda. Changed my life.”

Lily laughed again. “You can’t swim, but you have a favorite great white?”

“Exactly,” he said proudly, closing the hatch. “I’m a land-based shark enthusiast. It’s a niche community.”

“Very niche,” she teased as he opened the passenger side door for her and offered a hand to help her in. “Especially coming from a Scot.”

James smirked but didn’t reply right away. He closed the door with a satisfying thud, and she turned to buckle her seatbelt—only to jump slightly as he leaned in through the open window a second later, catching her off guard. He was close. Closer than before. The golden light slanted across his face, highlighting the light dusting of freckles that trailed like constellations across his cheekbones. His eyes, hazel and steady, met hers with a spark of something she was feeling herself. 

Was there a chance? 

A fragment of hope in his eyes as she felt her lips curve up? 

“You’ve clearly forgotten,” he murmured, voice low and warm, “just how passionate Scots can be.”

Lily blinked, her breath catching, just for a second longer than she meant to let it. Her pulse thudded in her ears, the space between them electric and impossibly still. Then, slowly, she fluttered her eyelashes at him. A 'yes please' if there ever was one. 

“I guess I’m about to get a reminder,” she murmured.

James’s gaze flicked downward to her mouth and lingered. That was all the confirmation she needed. Her heart gave a stuttering kick, and somewhere in the back of her mind, a voice whispered just go for it . No overthinking, no hesitation, no playing it cool. It'd not everyday a Scottish bloke rolled up to her work and flirted with her. 

Fuck it, she thought.

And she leaned in, her nose brushing against his playfully. 

“You know,” she murmured, her voice low and teasing as she fluttered her lashes at him, “you forgot to tip me in the drive-thru.”

The corner of his mouth twitched upward. “Want me to pay you now?”

"With tax." 

He laughed and then he leaned in, closing the gap between them with no hesitation, his lips meeting hers in a kiss that was warm, certain, and just rough enough to make her heart skip. Lily’s fingers instinctively tangled in his curls. His hair was as soft and wild and just as glorious as she’d known it would be. She closed her eyes, letting herself melt into the moment, her breath catching through her nose as a smile bloomed across her lips.

That made James smile, too and in their shared grin, their teeth bumped together with a soft, surprised laugh between kisses. She twisted in her seat, angling closer, deepening the kiss with an eager pull of his hair. The world outside the Jeep seemed to fall away as James practically climbed up the door to grab her chin while his tongue tasted the roof of her mouth with a flourish. 

Passionate, indeed. 

He pulled back then, boots hitting the blacktop with a solid thump. His fingers were still curled beneath her chin, so even though her grip on his hair had slipped, her hand slid down, curling tightly around his tattooed arm, refusing to let her touch disappear entirely. She felt like she’d taken a shot of espresso, but in the best way possible. 

“Let’s go grab dinner,” he said, voice unmistakably rough. “I have a feeling we’ll close the restaurant down–just like we closed your shop down.” 

“I’ve always loved a closing shift.” 

And it wasn’t a lie. 

This was the best closing shift ever. 

[min-blogg]

Drabble suggestion:

Can we get a classic "there was only 1 bed" shirtless james?

I do enjoy the classic tropes endlessly!

Shirtless James Potter May - Drabble 11

Shirtless One Bed Only James

“Right,” Potter said, looking deeply uncomfortable as he stood at the foot of the bed. “Just one bed, that’s...” “Classic,” she supplied, throwing her bag down on top of the covers. She hoped her cheeks were not as bright pink as she imagined they might be. It would clash horribly with her hair. Potter ran a hand through his hair. “Sure, yeah,” he swallowed. “All right, we just need to be adults about this –” “Who are you convincing?” She asked, one of her eyebrows arched as she looked at him. “Me or yourself? Because we’re just going to be sleeping side by side, Potter. It’s not as if being in the same space as you for the night is going to make me want to ravage you.” Liar, she thought. She was extremely aware of him after spending the entire day in the car with him already. She had watched his hands on the steering wheel and gear shift rather obsessively. Potter coughed. “No, yeah, of course, I –” he shuffled on his feet. “You know what? I’m just going to go down and try again. Surely, we got the one room with the single bed due to some language barrier –” Read the whole thing HERE!

[min-blogg]

Bedtime Story.

Short story by Jeffery Whitmore! Wanted to make this into a comic for a while :] just in a girl boss sorta mood hehe

thumbs + bonus :^))