#jily micro oops

[eastwindmlk]

Welp, this turned into a @jilymicro-oops! Not that we mind those!

Prompt: Touched, March 11. Word count: 1337 Content Warning: Negative self speech, a little angsty I guess.

The graceful swish of the A at the top of her Transfiguration essay seemed to laugh at Lily from where it lay among her many notes, scattering the library table she’d claimed for herself. 

She had hoped to use the despicable grade as motivation to finish the extra credit work she had practically begged Professor McGonagall for. The professor had looked at her with concern but riffled through her desk for a moment before producing another essay for her to do. “You are under a lot of pressure. There is no need to worry about one A. Everyone misses one everyone once in a while.” 

Her impulses had got the better of her then, and Lily had snapped back. “Everyone, really?” She bit her tongue before she mentioned the two people that she was certain never got a grade as pathetic as an A. Her jaw clenched to keep the flood of words from rolling off her tongue. 

She was tired. Tired of always feeling like she had something to prove. Tired of the news that flashed before her eyes whenever she tried to sleep. Tired of the shudder that ran down her spine when she caught some of her fellow students looking at her with disgust. Of it happening more and more often. 

She almost longed for a time when the word mudblood would phase her. Where it elicited more than just a tired sigh. 

It wasn’t like it did not bother him anymore, but it no longer stung. Rather, is stuck to her like pitch. Making her feel dirty, stuck somehow. Like a bird trapped in an oil spill.

Her spiral of thoughts was interrupted by the strong gasp of her head of house. Her hands, though frail looking, were soft and capable, a surprising amount of strength still lingering in the ageing bones. 

Minerva McGonagall offered her a parchment with questions for her to research and answer. The look on her face was reluctant. “Comparison is the thief of joy, Miss Evans,” she said with a warm smile she reserved for special occasions. 

The words still echoed in her head, and she wished she’d had scoffed at them then. They always felt so disingenuous when there were things like class rankings to be considered. But she did not want to fight with the professor, not when the heat was already building behind her eyes, the threat of tears so much worse than seeming indignant or ungrateful.

Lily had pushed down these feelings as best she could, being snappy and short with people over dinner. The voice in the back of her head, the one that sounded an awful lot like Petunia, kept up a constant string of doubts and insults. 

You’re useless. Can’t even do this right. Maybe they’re right about you, just pretending to belong. 

Words that got louder and louder and louder every time she looked at the glaring A. 

Worthless freak.

It was now, in the quiet of the library, that Lily finally allowed the mounting sadness that she’d battled from the moment she’d talked to Professor McGonagall to overwhelm her. Quiet sobs shook her shoulder, the corners of her lips down-turned like a Greek tragedy mask.

She folded her arms over her stomach protectively, rocking forward with the sheer force of her bereavement. All the while, that little voice still nagging her. 

You’re crying over this? Really? Don’t you have actual problems? People are dying, you know? You’ve always been selfish like that. 

Lily sat and shook quietly, her jaw clenched tight enough to make her ears ring and drown the world around her. 

Maybe that was why she did not hear the footsteps coming closer. Not noticing that someone had come close enough to touch her when a hand landed on her shoulder. The sudden weight made her jolt, frantically wiping at her tear-stained cheeks. 

She quickly tucked the failed paper under her stack of books, blinking furiously in the hopes of stopping the flow of tears. She did not want to look as pathetic as she felt, as the voice told her she was. 

“You alright, Evans?” 

Lily almost laughed at the cruel fate of James Potter being the one to find her in this remote corner, crying to herself. Just as she started to like him, too. The normal flutter his soft tone conjured in her stomach seemed to twist itself around like it wanted to wring out the rest of the tears. 

Drawing in a deep, shaky breath, she nodded, not turning around to look at James. “Perfectly peachy. Thank you, Potter,” she lied, her voice strained. 

She did not need to turn around to know his shoulders sagged. She did not want to see the disappointed look on his face. Barely able to bear the thought of having someone else’s disappointment weighing down on her already crushed mood. 

Lily flipped open one of the many books she’d compiled on her topic, pretending to get on with things in the hopes he would just move on. Why would he care, after all? He was only nice to her because they were supposed to work together. 

At least, that is what her inner Petunia told her. A sentiment she would usually fight. When she wasn’t already fighting, the weight of all the expectations she placed on herself collapsed in on her. 

Her eyes lifted from the page at the sound of wood scraping against stone, a chair being pulled back. “What are you doing, Potter?” She could not summon the usual bite, though, nor the flirty quips that had permeated their conversations as of late. 

“I am catching up on potions,” he replied simply, dumping half the contents of his bag onto the table.

The messiness irked Lily. She reached out to place a chocolate frog card, which had slipped onto her notes, back on his side of the table. When she was about to let go, his hand met hers, a not-so-subtle attempt to touch her. 

James’ hand was warm and surprisingly soft, his thumb trailing along the side of her hand. The small gesture sparked something in her chest. A glow that she usually only associated with the people she held closest. 

That had never been him, though. James had always been in her orbit. He had been nice. But there were degrees of separation. Apprehension and walls that kept his warmth at arm’s length. Lily wasn’t sure when that had changed. 

“Look, James, I am touched that you want to… Help?” she swallowed, hoping that her voice would sound less thick with tears after. “I-” she started to say when he cut her off. 

“Don’t. People only say that before a but. You don’t need to push me away, Lils. I am not here to check on you.” 

Lies. “Then why are you here?” She watched as he pulled up his shoulder nonchalantly and motioned to the book in front of him. Right, potions. She had to admit, though, that the casualness of his motion was soothing somehow. Like the restless ocean in her was learning from his calm waves. 

“I didn’t know we had homework,” Lily admitted sheepishly, leaning a little closer to look at what section he was working on. Eyebrows drew together in confusion when she noticed a chapter they’d covered nearly a month ago. “Personal reasons?” 

James chuckled, the shake of his head causing his glasses to slip down even further and now balanced precariously on the tip of his nose. “I might not have handed in this particular essay. Sluggy finally caught on.” 

She watched as his hand carded through his hair and could not help but roll her eyes at the motion, the smallest of smiles tugging at her lips. “You’ll be fine. Valerian Root is pretty straightforward,” she offered, turning back to her own assignment. 

Lily paused for a moment, massaging her lower lip between her teeth before offering. “If you need help, I’m here.” 

There was a pause, the silence between them blooming with promise. 

“Likewise.”

[ohmygodshesinsane]

Unlicensed | A Jily Micro-Oops

Lily Evans begrudgingly agrees to get in the car with classmate and sometime-foe James Potter and his not-quite-earned P-plates after a particularly rubbish day.

words: 1438 | for @jilymicro-oops | april prompt 14: ridiculous

read on ao3 or under the cut

Lily’s buckle clicked as Potter nudged the gearstick into ‘R’. He tossed his gaze back over his shoulder, one hand on the wheel, dark hair curling around the round rims of his overlarge specs. It was getting long, by school standards; she was surprised McGonagall hadn’t tapped him on the shoulder to send him for a cut. It softened him, though. The contours of his straight nose and the hard ridge of his forehead seemed friendlier, somehow. Or maybe she was just growing accustomed to the crinkles that came with one of his genuine smiles.

All the same, it was ridiculous that she would be sitting in his car, bag tucked between her ankles, all patches with its broken zip in the footwell of his beamer. Heated leather melted against her back, sanding the edges off the mid-July chill. She had pegged him as the sportscar sort, truth be told; but he wasn’t seventeen yet. Hand sanitiser sat in the drinkholder, and the car was empty, save for him and her and his bags in the boot. It was too clean for a bloke - especially one with red P-plates pinned to the windscreen. Plates he hadn’t earned.

“Is this your Mum’s?” Lily asked lightly. The car lurched. She grabbed the handle hanging above. Potter swore, running his fingers through his hair, and twisted his body to look out the back window.

“Yeah,” he admitted, never looking at her. “If you wouldn’t mind keeping - er, mum, about it, though —”

“Much cooler to let everyone think your parents got you a car for your birthday,” Lily smiled. He was doing her a favour, really, but she couldn’t resist. He was the only one in their year with any kind of access to independent transport as yet; the only one whose parents were permissive enough to let him zoom around in their car with a big fat ‘L’ stamped on his license. Lily had passed the theoretical with flying colours, but the only person in her family to hold a full license was her sister’s stupid boyfriend, and she would beg for rides before she’d condemn herself to listening to him boast for hours on end.

Potter lifted his foot off the brake, and the car hesitantly jerked back into the carpark. With a swing of the wheel he righted them, and so the navy BMW hopped its way out of the school gates. Potter’s brows knitted in concentration as he straightened in his seat, knuckles white.

“Er,” he said, checking his mirrors, “could you put the heat on? The whole driving and fiddling thing —”

“Don’t worry.” Lily leaned down. The car’s interface was impossibly flash, with a shiny touch-screen and a dozen different lights. It could make phone calls, skip songs, even - “It has a reverse camera, you know.”

Potter flicked the indicator on. “Yeah,” he said, a little distracted. “I wanted to learn the old-fashioned way.”

Lily’s eyebrows arched. “Nothing about this is old-fashioned. It’s an auto. It has Spotify.” She jabbed an accusing finger at the little black-and-green app on the car’s menu.

“I’m an old soul, Evans.” Lily winced as he accelerated into a tiny gap, earning a blast on the horn. “Ah, fuckwit, I was fine!” Lily snorted. Potter flashed her a look, but his eyes quickly returned to the road, sitting a smidgeon too close to the car in front. Kids spilled out of the school in the distinctive black-and-grey Hogwarts uniforms, backpacks bouncing, heading for cars in the line-up or swinging their legs over bikes. Lily ducked her head. The last thing she needed was for someone to dob her in - ‘a prefect in a car with an unlicensed driver, Miss, really!’ Potter had a reputation, too. The last thing she needed was for the girl-of-the-week to come after her. She tilted her head, wondering what, exactly, Potter would tell the current one, a clingy blonde who always glared at Lily if she dared to enter Glassons. Lily didn’t think they’d ever spoken, but she clearly held a grudge.

“Come on,” Potter said, drumming his fingers as they waited for the traffic lights to change. His eyes hung heavy on her skin, and she grimaced, knowing she looked like a loon. “I’m not that embarrassing, am I? I’m a bloody good football player. Got the winning try when we played Durmstrang the other week, you know.”

Lily’s foot tapped; as soon as she noticed it, she stopped, scared somehow that the worn toes would mark the car. She folded her hands in her lap and unfolded them, picking at her nails.

“I just… shouldn’t really be in here,” she said, guilt seeping through every word. “After everything with Sev…”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Potter said, frowning. “Snape’s a dick.”

“People will think I was in on it, though,” Lily said, eyes falling to the lock on the glovebox, shining in the afternoon sun. “I mean, I - you know, I do… what you did was… but if Sev’s mum calls the school or something, or one of his mates makes a fuss - it’s…” How could she explain? James Potter had had his name down for Hogwarts since his birth, and his parents donated generously and notoriously to the school. What did he know of scholarships and monthly meetings, the sneers of the Slytherins’ parents when she spoke at assembly? “Never mind,” she shrugged. “Thank you for the ride. You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to,” Potter answered. Lily froze. His jaw worked, a flush creeping up his neck. “You’ll sign it off for me, right?” he added quickly, laughing, flexing the veins in his hands. “I need all the hours I can get.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s illegal.”

“Mm… But?”

“You’re dreaming.”

“You’re facilitating.” Potter grinned cheekily. It was endearing, in its own strange way, and Lily’s stomach swooped. He’s such a tosser. They took off, cruising now that they’d escaped the speed-limited school zone. Lily gazed out the window, through the maze of low brick homes to the rippling ocean beyond, blue and brilliant. Why had Potter agreed to drive her? They’d been partnered up for their English project, sure, but they’d never exactly got along. Was it just because of lunch? Did he pity her?

“It’s a left,” she said, when they made it over the bridge. Potter shoulder-checked - good job - and slipped into the turning lane.

“Evans,” he said, braking.

“Yeah?”

“It’s not on you, you know.” His voice lowered. Lily swallowed. His hazel eyes landed on hers, round and sincere, with an intensity that made her heart race. “What happened’s not your fault.”

She couldn’t stand it, with that mole on his cheek and the press of his mouth.

“I don’t know,” Lily said.

“I’m telling you it isn’t,” Potter insisted. “I chose to do it. I’ll tell them all that. I don’t,” and he inhaled deep, hauling in the breath like a fishing net, fingers splayed in his nest of black hair, “I don’t want you dealing with the consequences of my actions.” His features firmed, resolved. “I won’t let that happen.”

Lily’s mouth dried. She tried to play it off with a chuckle, folding her arms across her chest.

“I don’t think it’s really up to you, whether they blame me. They will. It doesn’t matter.” It mattered more than anything, but only for someone like Lily. The holes in her socks seemed to gape over her feet.

“No, Evans,” Potter said, guiding the car shakily around the corner now. Had he ever been down this road before? Tufts of grass moped amongst the brown dustbowls of the front yards, tacky gnomes and old bicycles decorating the paths to the front doors. A picket sign warned off doorknockers and Jehovah’s; a collarless dog lifted its leg on the slender wood. Lily shifted in her seat, conscious of the leather and the new-car air freshener and the little sticker on the inside of the glass windscreen that noted the car as being one of regular, reliable services. “You’re my project partner,” he said. “It matters. You know, now, I guess, you - well, yeah. You matter to me.”

They hit the speedbump too quick, and Lily’s body jolted over the seatbelt, straps digging into her body, bag slamming against her leg. The brakes screeched. Potter hurriedly spun the wheel, bringing them back onto their route. Lily’s pulse pounded. Why would he say that? It didn’t make sense. Nothing about today made sense.

“Sure,” she said, face knitting in thought. “I’ll believe it when you stop trying to kill me.”

“Come on, Evans,” Potter smiled, eyes glittering. “The fear is half the fun.”

[sophie-hatter-jenkins]

New Chapter - The Loyal Companion

Lily Evans endures a series of disastrous first dates at her new favourite bar, The Loyal Companion. Still, at least the whiskey is good. And the bartender is cute. Not her type though. Nope, definitely not.

Chapter 5 - Not James

After her last, disastrous visit to The Loyal Companion, Lily's attempts to move on don't quite go according to plan.

Read it on AO3: From the Beginning // Latest Chapter

Snippet below the cut.

If Lily had to describe Sunday morning in a single word, she’d probably have gone for ‘horrific’. 

Her inevitable hangover was as vicious as it was thoroughly deserved; her throat was raw, her head felt as though it might split open and had something actually crawled into her mouth and died? It certainly tasted as though it might have done. Tequila leached from her skin, infusing her bedroom with an alcoholic stench that didn’t help ease the nausea rolling in her stomach one bit—and neither did the mortifying flashbacks that kept slipping into her mind no matter how hard she tried to suppress them. 

It seemed incredible that fewer than twenty-four hours earlier, she’d been looking forward to going back to The Loyal Companion and opening up to James about her feelings. 

What a difference a day makes.

She’d been such an idiot, making assumptions about him and misunderstanding his intentions. Not only had she made a complete fool of herself over him, she’d then proceeded to embarrass herself in front of the entire bar. Lily wasn’t sure she’d ever felt more humiliated in her entire life.

Cringing, she rolled over and buried her head in her pillow, using it to muffle her strangled, shameful groan, and stayed that way for an age, until her phone pinged with a message. 

The sound struck fear deep into her chest. What if it was someone reminding her of yet another awful thing she’d said or done after several-too-many margaritas? But, whether it was simple curiosity or a complete lack of self preservation, she couldn’t resist for long and reached for her phone. 

The message she saw was like a life ring thrown to her in the middle of a storm.

Continue reading on AO3

[practicecourts]

@jilychallenge I've struggled with my January challenge but it clearly needed some additional prompts, so thank you @jilymicrofics for the Moody March list. So here it finally is @petals2fish.

I loved your Hungergame AU Catching Fire so I hope you will like this Medieval Jily fic. JilyChallenge January 2024 Theme: Love in Tough Times. Prompt: oh lord, o lord what have I done? I’ve fallen in love with a man on the run, Oh Lord, Oh lord, I’m begging you please, Don’t take this sinner away from me (The devil’s backbone / civil wars) / TS Don’t blame me (Oh lord, save me, my drug is my baby, I’ll be using for the rest of my life @jilymicro-oops || Moody March day 4 || despondent || ca 1250 wrds. Read Chapter one: To Hang... on ao3 thanks @tinyluminaryzombie for last minute beta reading (Chapter 2 will be up sometime tomorrow) ! please check the warnings in the notes !

To Hang...

People enter the city through the guarded gates, most are on foot, some on horseback. A few heavy carts, pulled by oxen with laboured breaths, make their way to the heart of town. The smells of baked goods mingle with earth and mud and unwashed clothes.

Lily has escaped her sister's nagging and moves through the throngs of people who have come to watch the procession later today. Unlike others who have come to their wares at the market or in the hopes of making a good bargain, Lily has come on a fanciful whim. She has met someone, a stranger. Rationally she knows he will be long gone. He’s a man of adventures, a sword for hire, who does not linger in a place like this. Still, she's come today on the off-chance she might catch a glimpse of him.

The sun still hangs low in the sky but she can already tell it will be another hot day.

read on...

[startanewdream]

trace, for @jilymicro-oops (I should have posted this yesterday AND it should have been fewer words, so double oops). Titanic AU. Rated M for 'draw me like one of your french girls' mention. 1697 words.

She finds him in the third class deck, sitting by one of the benches that face the ocean, his face all wrinkled not because of the sun rising right in front of him, but because he seems concentrated. For a moment, Lily just watches his profile, all the details she noticed the night before but only now she can fully absorb: his dark hair, sticking out at the back of his neck and messy in the strong cold wind; his tanned skin, glistening under the sun; the muscles of his arm, visible through his white cotton shirt; the shape of his full brown lips, spotting dimples at the corner as if he has just thought about something amusing; and the power of his hazel eyes, framed by his glasses, now favouring more green spots than brown, as he turns his face to find her admiring at him.

No, not admiring, that would be improper.

Lily is just… curious. This stranger who saved her life the day before sparked curiosity, the first thing that Lily remembers feeling in a long time.

“Mr. Potter,” she says, nodding her head in a small bow, for once as gracefully courteous as her sister always tells her to be — except Petunia would never approve of her current company, but that’s a thought that Lily pushes to a forgotten corner of her mind.

“It’s James,” he corrects her, and then he bows as well, a smirk on his lips that displays his dimples. “Miss Evans.”

“Lily,” she says at once; someway, properness seems dispensable near him. 

“Lily,” repeats James slowly. She likes the sound of her name on his voice, which seems as dangerous as the ocean below them — that’s also a thought that she pushes away, though not for a place that she will forget easily. “Should you be here?”

A fair question, but James doesn’t sound accusing nor does he seem unfavorable to her presence. Perhaps he is just as curious about her as she feels about him.

“Probably not,” she admits. “But I’ve been known for doing things I shouldn’t.”

His gaze sweeps upon her for a moment and Lily is suddenly aware of how well-tailored her dress is, embroidered with tiny gold pieces; her skin seems too ivory, too soft compared to his — she remembers very well how calloused and strong his hands had felt the night before when he was holding her.

But James doesn’t look repelled. “I don’t think anyone could force you to do anything,” he says. 

Her heart skips a beat; everyone always seemed to look through her, seeing what they wanted her to be, not who she truly was. 

That’s not a feeling she has with James. Not after what he did last night — and that's the reason she sought him that morning, in the first place.

“Thank you,” she whispers, sitting next to him. His eyes widen. “For… yesterday. For saving me.”

“That was nothing,” he answers, a carefree smile on his lips. “You wouldn’t have jumped.” As Lily opens her mouth to discuss this, James shakes his head. “You wouldn’t—I told you, no one could force you to do anything.”

“Still. I might have slipped, though, so I am still thankful.”

He snorts, eyes shining for a moment. Lily likes it: there are wrinkles at the corner of his eyes now that tell her he laughs a lot. Is this the reason she feels so attracted to him?

But attraction is a dangerous thought, one that borders to close to things that Lily shouldn't be feeling — she’s already taking a large risk by seeking him in person, even though it could be reasonably explained as a show of gratitude —, so she finds herself lowering her gaze to the notebook on his lap.

“Wow.”

She’d thought he had been staring at the ocean, but now she realises that James had been watching a group of kids in the lower deck, playing with a ball; the drawing seems too vivid, as if she is reliving the moment rather than seeing a reproduction of the scene in chalk. There’s movement in the children’s faces, their silent laughs echoing through the doodle.

“This is amazing,” she says, lifting her eyes to find James strangely abashed for the first time since she has met him. His hand grabs his hair.

“It’s just a pastime. I am not a professional artist or anything.”

She extends her hand. “May I?”

He hesitates for a moment, but when his eyes meet hers, James offers her the notebook.

“I think you lied to me, Mr. Potter,” she says as she turns the page carefully, admiring each scene he drew—they all have the power to drag her inside as if she can be with whatever inspired him. “These are professional.”

He chuckles. “It’s not if I’m not being paid.”

“Well, but you are an artist. I had never seen anything like—oh.”

She pauses for a moment, fighting her sudden instinct of closing the notebook. It’s just a drawing, don’t be silly, she tells herself. A drawing of a naked woman, sure, but you have seen other paintings—naked female bodies were a common theme, loved by artists, so there was nothing improper in it, and still—

It was the way James drew that woman—as if he could capture the details that made the painting alive, not exactly perfect, but a body so real that she could almost touch it. The softness of the skin; the muscles and the fat layer of the body; every strand of hair; the secrets in her smile and the openess of her eyes; the curves of the woman. 

“I am sorry,” James said, pulling her away from the drawing. “You shouldn’t have seen this—”

“This is art,” Lily says, grateful that her voice sounds calm.

“Still—”

“You are an artist,” she repeats. “So whatever inspires you—” And then a thought crosses her mind, something unpleasant. “Who is she?”

“Just a friend.”

“Hum.” She tries pursing her lips but finds herself asking anyway. “And is your friend aboard the ship?”

His eyebrows raise, pupils widening as he understands what she is asking. “No, no, she is in France—I mean, she is French, so I think she is in France, I don’t really—this is just a drawing, we were never—I’m not paid, but I am very professional when it comes to drawing, except—”

“Except?”

He flushes, carefully avoiding her gaze now.

“I should go,” he says, standing up. “Find my friends. And you—you should go back.”

“Ah, yes, but—” She isn’t sure of what to say, but finding words seems unnecessary. As James rushes to grab his briefcase, he drops it open; with the wind, a piece of paper flies away, and Lily catches it easily, only to find her own face staring back.

It could be a mirror, only she is not sure she has ever seen her reflection standing so strong, so fierce. James captured all the details that Lily fears she has given up showing to the world a long time ago — no one was ever interested in her curiosity, in her spark, in her desire to face the world. Snape wanted the perfect bride, Petunia wanted her to save their family income, and Lily had hidden herself so well in a seashell form of herself that she had almost thrown herself into the sea the night before, only James had seen her.

Almost as she could see him now, could picture him all focused, his eyes watching her profile carefully from afar as he perfected his drawing.

“When did you paint this?”

He takes a moment to answer her. “Yesterday morning. I saw you in the deck and I—I’m sorry if you didn’t like it, I just—”

“Liked it? James, I am in awe. It looks as if you could trace me. Not just draw, as if you were outlining every detail, and this is—nobody has ever looked at me the way you do.”

“Perhaps they should be paying more attention then,” he whispers, and there is a light in his hazel eyes that draws her in. You are beautiful, he seems to say, and Lily feels so, for all the right reasons.

Her heart jumps inside her chest; she has never been this alive. “Maybe I could pose for you someday—hire your services.”

“I wouldn’t take any money—”

“It would be very professional,” she assures, standing up to join him by the rail. “Like it was with your French friend.”

“Then—oh.” His eyes move over her face as if he is trying to figure a difficult puzzle. “So you—ah—”

Lily blinks, suddenly aware of what she just proposed—she hadn’t considered the particularities of that drawing, and she is just about to tell him that, maybe brush it off with an embarrassed laugh, only…

Only she imagines herself walking into her room and finding James there, sitting patiently with his notebook and holding the chalk carefully as he waits for her; she lets her night robe fall on the floor, hears his breath cutting short, and walks naked to the bed, laying over the pillows and then lifting her gaze to meet James’ eyes.

He would be looking at her. Not through her. 

The sound of the ship’s horn makes her jump.

“I should go,” she says weakly. Her face is burning; it’s not because of the morning sun, she knows. James nods, though he doesn’t move and neither does she. Lily forces herself to breathe. “Maybe we could meet this afternoon? I would like to know more about my saviour.”

This sounds innocent; it doesn’t add any meaning, though Lily can feel the tension in the air, can feel the goosebumps on her skin at the idea of James seeing her bare—drawing every curve, rejoicing in the intimacy of being so close to her—

“It would be my pleasure,” he whispers, and Lily wonders if he was picturing the same images.

But that’s a dangerous thought, one that she should only entertain in the depths of her heart — especially considering James is invited to join her sister and her fiance for dinner tonight—, so she forces herself to bow slightly at him and turn away.

[wearingaberetinparis]

32/45 - Love Is A Lie - A Jily Micro-Oops

Good morning! I was impatient and needed to post. So, HERE is Chapter 32 of my @jilymicro-oops!

[athenasparrow]

Ch 7 | Dancing With Our Hands Tied

Eeeek! This chapter put me over 100,000 words of Jily written since I joined the fandom in January! I did not think that would happen when I signed up for one little gift exchange by @jilymicrofics.

Shout out to @charmsandtealeaves for being my fandom bestie - without her encouragement I wouldn't have committed to a month of micros, which is really what got the writing flowing.

A @jilymicro-oops fic.

So have a read of Chapter Six "I Bet You Think About Me" on AO3.

Start from the beginning here.

Summary:

But despite his best efforts, he couldn’t take his eyes off her figure as she moved effortlessly in rhythm with whatever song she had playing. He learned she was wearing more than a t-shirt when she slid across the kitchen on her socks, throwing her head back to sing words James wished he could hear.

OR: In a world where social distancing reigns supreme, two strangers find themselves confined to their apartments with love only a window away.

[jilymicro-oops]

Naughty egg!

Bad Egg

a @jilymicro-oops for @nena-96

The day had dawned with the promise of perfection. A chilly but bright morning — ideal winter break weather — and a house all to himself and his wonderful girlfriend, who had spent the night with him. His parents were away for the holiday weekend, content with the thought that they were leaving their son in good hands — and truly, Lily Evans’s hands had proved nimble and attentive beyond his wildest imagination, although he intended to leave that particular detail out upon recounting. James had woken up cheery and energised, early as was his wont, and while the prospect of cuddling with said girlfriend was deliciously tempting, he had decided to show himself a worthy boyfriend by making breakfast for the both of them.  So there he was in the kitchen, eggs boiling in a small pan as he set the table with half the contents of the refrigerator — cheese and ham to go with the freshly toasted bread, butter, milk, juice, yogurt — then Summoned his mother’s selection of jams and laid out an assortment of biscuits. He was just warming up the tea kettle when his eye caught Lily leaning against the door jamb, hair adorably dishevelled, dressed in one of his jumpers and little else — if anything — and watching him with a mischievous spark in her gorgeous green eyes.

Read the rest on AO3! Completed, 1.1k.

[ofseaandstarz]

Wilted Flowers ~ 451 words

James Potter should’ve died on a Saturday. Thrown across his cottage, slumped against a wall, his glasses cracked and askew on his face. He’d left his wand on the couch. It had been Peter at the door, so he figured he wouldn't need it. Who expects their childhood best friend to betray them?

He was okay with dying, and he had been for a while now. James would miss his friends, playing quidditch in the backyard with Sirius, cooking with Lily while Remus read to Harry…

Harry, oh his sweet little boy. James knew even when he died his son would be okay. He’d have his mother and his godparents, he would be safe.

James Potter was okay dying.

They say when you die the happiest seven minutes of your life replay in your mind. James closed his eyes, ready to accept that his time was up, but nothing happened.

No memories of pulling pranks as kids. No cheering crowds when he and Marlene won the quidditch cup in 5th year. No echoes of a room filled with laughter when he stumbled over Lily, dancing with her at the Yule Ball in 7th year. No late nights in the astronomy tower lying under the stars with the boy who loved him like the sun.

He heard a scream from upstairs and a flash of green light illuminated the house. Oh no, no no no no no. Not Lily, beautiful, smart, strong Lily. Harry’s mother, his best friend.

James didn't know how to live in a world without Lily Evans.

In their sixth year, they had started to grow closer, finding comfort in each other's company. They’d found trust in each other. Lily was the first person he came out to. She was the only one who knew about his relationship with Regulus. He and Lily were walking around the grounds when she told him about Mary. It was nice to know someone else understood how he felt.

When Regulus died, James had to hide his grief. No one else understood why he’d been distant and why his eyes were always red, but Lily did. The only place James could mourn was with her. When Mary left the war, ran away and married a muggle man, James had been the one to hold her. They’d found comfort in each other’s grief.

Everyone expected them to get together, he and Lily laughed along with the jokes but always denied when their friends asked. In some other world maybe James hadn't fallen in love with Regulus first, maybe Lily and Mary stayed friends. But James wouldn't change it, he and Lily had made their own little family and he wouldn't trade that for anything…

[jamesunderwater]

Coming of Age Era

rated G - 1.3k words - birthday fluff - written for @jilymicrofics January 30th prompt "narrative" (but then I went over 1k and also really only used the concept of a narrative 😁 @jilymicro-oops <3)

---

“What’s this?” Lily glanced between James and the card he’d just conspicuously dropped onto her Transfiguration essay. 

He seemed to be…dancing, almost, the tips of his shoes tapping softly against the library’s stone floor as he hopped from one foot to the other. She noticed the absence of his fingers, usually fidgeting in one way or another, and realized he was holding both hands behind his back. “Just open it,” James told her, but Lily huffed in reply.

“I’m not falling for whatever little scheme—”

James rolled his head so far backwards Lily spontaneously thought of Nearly-Headless Nick. “Evans, please, when was the last time—?”

She sat up straighter in her chair. “Five weeks and three days.”

“What?” His shoulders fell and he’d stopped his footwork altogether. 

“The last time you pulled one of your pranks. That’s what you were going to ask me, hm? Well, it’s been five weeks and three days, which isn’t nearly long enough to build any sort of confidence in your so-called ‘Coming of Age Era’ — which, by the way, I really don’t think Remus explained that genre to you well enough.”

James shoved something small into his pocket and folded his arms across his chest, his shoulder muscles stretching the fabric of his button down ever so slightly. “Five weeks is a century, Evans, and the whole point of a Coming of Age story is for the main character to…you know, falter here and there. If I don’t slip up then what am I even maturing out of?”

Lily stared at him blankly for a moment, lips fallen apart. “See,” she blinked and shook her head once, “this is what I mean about Remus having explained it wrong.”

“How?” James demanded, repositioning his stance as though to literally stand his ground and restating, “I’m in my Coming of Age Era — I’m…maturing, growing up, becoming—” He stopped himself short.

She lifted a brow at him. “What? A man?” Lily snorted at the thought, prompting a few nearby students to turn their way. “Right, Potter, that’s not a Coming of Age story.”

James rolled his hand in the air, prompting her to continue. “Enlighten me, then.”

The vague memory of her unfinished Transfiguration essay flitted across the back of Lily’s mind, but some things were more important — winning an argument with James Potter chief among them. “A Coming of Age story is about something that happens to the main character which forces them to grow up, sometimes before they should have had to, often in a way that is true for all people, yet still heartbreaking. It’s about the loss of innocence — something I’m not sure you ever had in the first place,” she added with a sideways glance. “And, sure, growth and maturity are a part of it, but it’s deeper than just…choosing not to play so many stupid pranks.”

He seemed to consider this for a moment. “Who says I’m not maturing in deeper ways than that?” he asked, holding her gaze with a sincerity Lily hadn’t expected. 

She tried to swallow, but her mouth had gone dry. “Well—”

“Open the card, Evans.”

Lily looked down at the envelope, of which she’d forgotten the existence. Her first and last name were written across the front in a font that parodied calligraphy and still managed to retain key features of James’s usual penmanship — the lack of a dot above the lowercase I; the lowercase A written in such a rush it better resembled an O; the end of the S slashing backwards in a flourishing underline. Her face heated, realizing what it must be.

She glanced up at him just once as she tore the seal open and pulled out a sparkling card. On the front was a stunning image of the night sky when all the stars could be seen, magic making each one glint and twinkle, so it seemed as though Lily were truly holding the glittering darkened sky in miniature. A constellation of stars stood out, shining brighter than the rest. Lily pulled her head back and squinted to find it was in the shape of a lily flower. 

When she tried to clear her throat it came out as more of a squeak. She licked her parched lips, distinctly avoided James’s gaze, and opened the card. 

Evans — 

I know this card is a few days late. I’m sorry for that. Though, I don’t think the date I give this to you matters all that much. The whole point of it was to say… 

You shine brighter than all the rest, Lily Evans. Every day of the year.

Happy belated birthday.

—James

Lily blinked at the message scrawled in James’s familiar text, tried rereading it through hazy vision. Her mind and everything around her seemed to be going fuzzy. 

“I had…something else,” she heard him say through the sound of her heart hammering in her ears. “But, I think—maybe another time.” 

“What?” Lily’s eyes flicked up to his face, discovering splotches of red on his neck, the closest to blushing his complexion allowed. The sight of it made her own face burn hotter than it already had been, and she knew her light skin must be blooming with a bright blush. “Well, wait,” she said, curiosity pulling her out of her fog. “You can’t do that.”

James chuckled, grinning brightly. “No?”

Lily huffed. “No. It’s…rude.”

“Rude? I’m simply extending your birthday celebration.” Something in his cheeky smile drew her to her feet, her chair scraping across the floor, and how his smile then widened had her stepping around the table and into his orbit. James blinked down at her. “Are you…threatening me, Evans? After I’ve just made you a birthday card and gotten you a gift?”

“And withheld said gift,” she said, crossing her arms.

“As is my right.”

“Your…your— Weren’t you just going on about maturing?”

His eyes danced over her face, a twinkle in them that reminded her of the card he’d made her from magic. She shuffled her feet to distract from the swirling in her stomach. “Seems to me you’re the one who needs growing up a bit here, Evans. Seventeen’s a good year for a Coming of Age story. I’ve faith in you.” He patted the side of her arm and Lily wanted to scream in a variety of ways.

“You’re sixteen,” she replied lamely.

“Eh, some of us start off earlier than others.”

She blinked at him, mind spinning between thoughts on the concept of fairness, comebacks that couldn't be turned against her, the current proximity of her face to his, and you shine brighter than all the rest. Mostly it was just that last one, playing like a melody on repeat, a jingle intent on driving her mad.

“You're really not going to give me my gift?” Lily crossed her arms, leaning her hips back against the desk. 

James stepped forward boldly, removing the space she'd created between them. “Alright, Evans.” He pulled a small box from his trousers pocket. “Since you haven't yet learned the virtue of patience.” He held out the box and, after staring at him a moment, Lily opened her palm. He placed the box carefully upon it. With the slightest smirk he learned toward her, bowing his head toward her cheek as though to kiss it. Lily stopped breathing. When he whispered, “Happy birthday, Evans,” she was sure she felt the brush of his lips on her skin.

In the next heartbeat he was gone, taking long backwards steps towards the library’s exit.

“What?” Lily gaped at him. His grin was touching the corners of his eyes, hands shoved in his pockets, a similar excitement to his energy as when he'd first approached her. Her eyes fell to the box and she called after him, “How do I know this isn't a trick?” 

James shrugged as his back hit the library door. “Guess you'll just have to believe in my growth.”

Also on AO3!

[eastwindmlk]

The Boy (in the Bedroom) Next Door - For the Jily Gift exchange 2024

@jilymicrofics (Or rather @jilymicro-oops) for @tinyluminaryzombie

1986 Lily Evans has to move in with her new potion's teacher to finish her apprenticeship. There is one small issue, said teacher? Fleamont Potter, father of infinitely annoying and frustratingly fit former rival James Potter. Who she has not seen after leaving Hogwarts after her third year.

Read on AO3 - 5/8 chapters posted

[petals2fish]

@jilymicrofics Day 1: 🌸Blossom🌸

“Lily-blossom!"

Fuck, she hated that nickname.

At the ear-piercing call, Lily pivoted to encounter a sixth-year named Donta, and she attempted to muster a smile that hid her inner despair. "What's up, Donta?"

The Ravenclaw prefect proudly proclaimed, "Guess who's doing rounds tonight with you?"

Lily silently begged for someone to take pity and push her down the staircase, sparing her from this impending catastrophe. Dealing with Donta was like navigating dueling club with a blindfold – bound to be chaotic, excessively painful, and with a high probability of an unwanted attempt at a mid-rounds snog.

Donta nudged Lily’s ankle with his foot. Lily half raised a hand to smack him for it, but a new voice intervened, "Actually, Lily forgot to cross out her name. I'm covering for her.”

Lily could’ve kissed Remus Lupin for stepping up to save her from Donta. She had never been more thrilled at the sight of her fellow Gryffindor prefect.

“What’d ya have to switch your name for?” Donta frowned, crossing his arms. “I heard you talking to your friends about how lonely you’d be doing solo rounds in Astronomy two days ago.”

She got chills knowing he eavesdropped so nonchalantly in class. She made a mental note to pass handwritten notes to her friends from now on.

“I—I got a last minute date.” Lily said, tossing her hair. “Really last minute.”

“A date?” James Potter looked tickled pink, especially because he knew she was lying. “Well aren’t you just the luckiest witch in all of Hogwarts.”

Lily shot James a glare, not needing his sarcasm or an off handed joke to make this anymore painful.

“With who?!” Donta looked outraged that he hadn’t been informed yet by the rumor mill. “I wanted to ask you to Hogsmede!”

“Well,” Lily spoke slowly, “I don’t date other prefects.”

“Yes,” Remus lied, “it’s in the handbook, we can’t date each other.”

Grateful, Lily sent Remus Lupin a small smile and a slight nod of the head, begging him to find a way to get her out of Donta’s sight.

Beside Remus, James, sensing Remus’ lie, stepped forward, casually putting an arm around Donta. "Say, mate, ever noticed your bludger hits leaning a bit too far right?"

“I don’t lean!”

Lily hid a smile as James winked at her over Donta's shoulder. He had succeeded in changing the subject, and moving all attention to his quip about Donta’s quidditch skills.

"Will you really cover the shift for me?" Lily asked Remus with a desperate tone.

"Absolutely," Remus grinned and wiggled his eyebrows, "Just brace yourself because James will calling you ‘Lily Blossom’ for a while; he thinks it’s funny."

Lily sighed, “of course he does.”

Remus chortled warmly at her lackluster response, “I’ll go change the schedule, you ought to hole up in the common room for your pretend date.”

Remus ended up being totally correct about James calling her ‘Lily Blossom’ every chance he got. To get him to finally stop after a week, she had to resort with a threat to paint his cherished broomstick purple. From then on, he only used it when he really wanted to push her buttons. Somehow though, it didn’t sound as bad when it was coming from him.

[sophie-hatter-jenkins]

Lily Evans endures a series of disastrous first dates at her new favourite bar, The Loyal Companion. Still, at least the whiskey is good. And the bartender is cute. Not her type though. Nope, definitely not.

Chapter 4 - Obnoxious

Lily’s back at The Loyal Companion and determined to talk to James. Surely nothing could possibly go wrong. She isn’t even on a date this time, so it’s going to be fine, right? Right??

Read it on AO3: From the Beginning // Latest Chapter

Snippet below the cut

The morning after Lily’s ill-fated date with Paul, he of the beige suit and lightbulb lecture, she sent him a message via the dating app, in which she apologised profusely for being called away. After some consideration, she blamed an entirely fictitious emergency involving her flatmate, a freak roller-blading accident and an extended visit to A&E. Lily was not a dishonest person, and so lying quite so blatantly did not come naturally, but, she felt, it had to be done. Paul was surprisingly understanding, and even more surprisingly keen to reschedule. The very idea so horrified Lily that she immediately blocked him, and assuaged her guilt by eating a family sized bar of Dairy Milk.

Marlene, not only Lily’s best friend, but also the flatmate in question, found the whole thing hilarious. She demanded several retellings of Lily’s date with Paul, and for days afterwards, she found any excuse to seek Lily’s opinion on lightbulbs, moustaches and new rollerblades.

She did not, however, enquire about her encounter with James in The Loyal Companion’s storeroom, because Lily hadn’t told Marlene anything about that. Well, she’d told her that Dora had helped her hide in there, and given her the all clear when Paul and his dodgy stomach had left, but not about… the other stuff.

That, Lily attempted to convince herself, was because there wasn’t anything to tell. She and James had shared a drink and a pleasant conversation. That was all. If there had been something of… an atmosphere, well, that was just the effects of the whiskey. She’d probably completely imagined that it was anything more than a convivial chat between friends. It wasn’t as though she’d actually kissed him was it?

But you would have done. You wanted to, countered her traitorous subconscious.

And unfortunately, Lily couldn’t deny that was true. As the days passed, her mind wandered back to that storeroom with increasing frequency. She replayed whatever had nearly happened with James, perched there on the desk, over and over, and every time she did, a fizzing sensation erupted in her stomach (and, if she was honest, a little lower down as well). 

It was all very disconcerting. James was about as far from her usual type as it was possible to get, and yet there was just something about him that seemed utterly compelling. No matter how hard she tried to tell herself it was just a silly little crush, and to bloody well get over it, it only seemed to get more intense. Eventually, Lily admitted defeat; she was going to have to go back to The Loyal Companion and talk to him. 

Now, though, she had a bit of a problem. It didn’t feel right to go there on yet another date, and she didn’t want to seem so desperate as to just randomly turn up on her own and make heart eyes at him over the bar. So what on earth was a girl with a monumental crush on the hot bartender supposed to do?

Continue Reading on AO3

[practicecourts]

You didn't really think I'd leave you hanging... @petals2fish consider this your medieval 911 😘 Chapter 2 || @jilymicro-oops || Moody March day 5 || joy || Jilychallenge January 2024 @jilychallenge Theme: Tough Times, prompt Devil's Backbone (Civil Wars)

Start at the beginning (Under the Gallows Chapter 1: To Hang) written for the lovely @petals2fish and chapter 2 starts under the cut;-) for spoilers... Many thanks to @tinyluminaryzombie for your last minute beta-read!

(if you rather read it in the jilymicrofic collection find this story as chapter 13 and chapter 14)

... Or to Wed (Under the Gallows prt 2)

Lily wrings her hands, ignores her urge to hide in the back of the crowd. At that moment, he opens his eyes and looks down at the scene before him. She might have been invisible to the men who guard the scaffold, but not to him. Her hair makes her stand out in any crowd and she knows he has seen her when his eyes lock with hers. A horrible thought pops in her head, what if he thinks she's here to enjoy this, that she wants to see him hang? That makes her feel even worse, she wants him to think well of her.

To her relief, he does not look at her with reproach or disapproval. Instead, he looks at her as if she’s the one who needs comforting. He smiles at her. 

Lily didn't think she could feel worse, but she does. 

A hush runs through the mass of people and she knows the priest and the executioner must be on their way. 

Continue on ao3

[neverenoughmarauders]

Changing the narrative

My first @jilymicro-oops - how fun! January 2025 Prompt #30: Narrative. Word count 1,736 (pre inevitable editing when I spot mistakes)

'Did you ever consider not coming back?' Lily asks James, watching his hazel eyes skim her conclusion.

It's just the two of them in the common room. The only source of light, the dying embers from the fireplace, the only source of sound, the scratching of quills, the occasional flutter of parchment being passed back and forth, and the odd question.

This question is different. It's not about Transfiguration.

They'd returned rather later than planned from a meeting with Dumbledore this first Sunday in September. As they had walked back to the common room, Lily had confessed that she had planned to spend the evening that she had watched slip through her fingers finishing her transfiguration homework for the following morning. 'I've not done it either,' James had said, 'we can help each other.'

James hadn't done the homework, if Lily knew the first thing about him, because he'd probably planned to do it after his morning run tomorrow, before breakfast. Give him a quill, parchment and thirty minutes to spare, and that boy would write an essay Professor McGonagall would grade to an Outstanding. Help each other - she could have laughed. But she didn't look a gift horse in the mouth. She could need the help, and it was an excuse to keep James to herself for a little longer.

'Many times,' James replies as he passes her the labour of the last two hours. Their hands touch briefly. James clears his throat: 'Sometimes I don't know why I returned. It's not like I need the grades. Dumbledore is happy enough to have me. He knows what I can do. What I want to do.' 

There's no false modesty with James Potter; there never has been. 

The dying light is reflected in his glasses, his hair impossibly messy the way it always is. He seems relaxed and yet Lily can sense the alertness in her friend. James sits tall, ready to fight, the way he has been since he first came to Hogwarts. Only now the enemies are no longer childhood antagonists, but cruel and deadly foes, who kill and torture for sports. Though some times, the two categories overlap. 

'Why did you return?' 

James shrugs. When he makes no further reply, Lily lets her eyes fall to her conclusion. He has made a couple of corrections on a spare bit of parchment, but overall, not bad from her! "You're in for an E, the question is do you want to settle for second best?" he has written at the top of the note. 

Lily doesn't want to settle for second best, yet she does not know how to tell him that. Looking up, she finds him staring out the window, though, in the darkness, there's nothing to see. The windows might as well have been painted with black ink.

'I sometimes worry it was fear,' James confesses. 'Avoiding the real war for one more year.'

His eyes drift back to her face. He looks so grown up, so serious, when he continues: 'Make no mistake, we're losing this war.' 

Lily shivers, despite the heat.

'I know.'

The war has destroyed any childish illusions she might have held that if she fought on the right side of history, she would be fighting on the winning side. Good families were ripped apart; innocent lives destroyed; and there was no end in sight. Nobody could promise them a happy ending. 

'Only idiots would want to join up.'

'And those of us who have no choice,' Lily adds. What is she meant to do? She can't very well go about pretending that the war doesn't exist. Muggle-borns are not afforded that luxury.

'Of course,' James nods, his eyes softening. 'Though it's not really any of our choices. We've all got to fight! It's all our war.'

For nearly a year, Lily has watched James Potter carefully, waiting for the other shoe to drop; waiting for the moment she can finally see the outlines of why he's bad for her. Just like Severus. Just like Petunia. But she's drawing a blank. 

The war brings out the best in some, and the worst in others. Maybe the other shoe had been discovering how pure James' heart is - despite everything. A former bully made man. Someone who needs action - the way humans need air - suddenly finding himself in a position to act.

'I don't think fear would ever have let you return to Hogwarts,' Lily says finally. 

'Maybe not,' James agrees. 

They're sitting in an armchair each. It feels impossibly far away. Too far to accidentally touch James. Yet, it's close enough that she feels the familiar pull; the need to gravitate towards him; be with him. She would gladly take on another essay for their Transfiguration professor just to delay the inevitable goodbye. 

'Maybe I needed to change the narrative,' James muses, scratching the back of his neck. 

Read the rest on AO3

[arianatwycross]

The Process of Wanting

Chapter 4: @jilymicro-oops prompt: Focused

A bit of a pivot on this chapter, so I hope you enjoy! (I've also changed the title of this fic)

James lingered in the doorway, his body taut.  “What’s up?” Remus asks from his desk, eyes focused on his laptop.  “It wasn’t a date.” Is all James can manage. Read more below or continue on A03

This makes Remus look up, his eyes comically wide, “But it was?” 

“No, it wasn’t.” 

“What makes you say that?” Remus asks seriously, abandoning his essay to turn his attention to James still standing in the doorway. 

“Would a date focus on the discussion of your lack of experiences with women?” James drawls. 

Remus furrows his brows. James doesn’t blame him for looking so confused, he was too just an hour ago. 

“What?” 

“Apparently, drunk James decided to let it slip that he had no idea what it was like to sleep with someone, and thus Lily put it upon herself to follow up on this lousy admission and see if I was ok…” 

Seeing how befuddled Remus looks, James continues, “I told Lily Evans that I was a lonely virgin…with the caveat that I had no trouble getting the opportunities to sleep with women but that I couldn't follow  through…” 

Remus’ eyes widen, his mouth creasing, and before James can snap at him, he’s laughing so hard it sounds like he can’t breathe. 

Waiting for Remus to compose himself, James settles himself on Remus’ nicely made bed. 

“You done?” He asks his mate, thoroughly unamused. 

“Why would she want to talk about that with you? And also Why did you tell her that!?” Remus asks, a grin so like Sirius’ it makes him think about what his best mate will say about this entire turn of events. 

“I was very drunk, I can’t even remember telling her!” James whines, “And as to why she wanted to talk about it…she said she couldn’t stop thinking about it, said it felt similar to her experiences.” 

“Oh?” 

“She…uh - she proposed we…” But James couldn’t say it aloud, the complete absurdity of the situation was still spinning in his head. 

“She proposed?” Remus prompted. 

“Please don’t laugh and please don’t tell anyone. But she proposed we help each other out.” 

James' heart, now at a hundred miles per hour, feels like it could easily run into overdrive and cause a heart attack. 

“Help each other out how?” Remus asks, scanning James face curiously. 

“We both struggle with intimacy…in different ways. She’s suggested that now that we both know that about each other, that maybe we could help each other work through those issues.”

Remus arches an eyebrow, waiting for James to carry on. 

With a deep breath James continues, “She said she’s attracted to me, and she feels comfortable enough around me - knowing what she knows now - that I wouldn’t take advantage of her…in that way. She wants us to ‘date’.” He says this with a grimace, waiting for Remus’ reaction, anything to confirm his feelings. 

“I’m so confused.” Is all Remus answers with. 

“Lily wants us to experiment with each other...physically.” 

“Lily wants to have sex with you?” 

James sighs, “Kind of. She wants us to be a sort of friends with benefits, but slowly and at our own pace. See what we both like and what we don’t like.”

Remus blinks, the two friends sit in silence for a few minutes, both of them staring at each other. 

“How do you always get yourself into these weird situations?” Is all Remus says. 

James groans.