for that AU prompt, one night stand before the first day of your new job and oops that was your boss you were sleeping with. I don’t know if this makes sense. I shouldn’t write after midnight.
It all happened so fast.
At the time it seemed like a good idea. She’d had nothing else to do except stay at home feeling nervous all evening, probably not sleeping on top of it (of course, she still didn’t end up getting much sleep, but –) and Mary’s suggestion that they go out, to take her mind off the next day, had been so much more appealing. “Let’s drink like we’re twenty again,” she said, and bundled them off to that new club on the other side of the city.
That was only the beginning.
The Tube’s jam-packed, and Lily squeezes herself into a miniscule space by the doors, clinging onto her coffee for dear life and desperately trying not to breathe in the tobacco haze wafting from her neighbour, because her stomach is already churning and there’s a thumping pain in her head and it’s only half past eight in the sodding morning. She closes her eyes and leans back as the train starts to move. A wave of regret washes over her with every throb to her temple; it’s her own stupid fault that she’s feeling so utterly crap, and she’s sure she looks awful too because she only had time for a ten-second shower once she got back to her place, and if this isn’t the worst way to start a new job then -
Fuck. Fucking hell. She grinds a fist against her forehead, screwing up her eyes: she can still hear the music from the club, remembers having to shout over it, and then there was no music, but instead the hysterical laughter of the very drunk, and then there was just heavy breathing and … fuck.
The worst thing is that if she wasn’t on the way to the first day of her new job, a really big fucking deal, then she’s pretty sure she wouldn’t regret it. Drunk she might have been, but she remembers it being fun, fumbly and messy and probably really awkward but still fun and – she remembers laughing a lot, both at the club and then afterwards. He had a big laugh. And he wore glasses; she remembers tossing them aside, just before he tripped over her shoes …
Lily’s got a summer job, and James is suddenly a keen potioneer. No war AU.
Lily has her back to the door when the bell jingles, chiming someone into the shop, but she doesn’t need to turn around to know who it is. That question is answered by the force with which the door was opened, the scent wafting in - too much aftershave, she thinks, as she always does - and the fact that - well, it’s always him.
"Go away, I’m working," she calls without turning around.
"I should hope so," her boss’ voice replies, deep and brusque and utterly unimpressed, and Lily gapes, horrified, then pivots wildly on the spot, apologies spilling from her mouth -
"Oh, you bastard!"
James laughs like he’s the funniest person to ever walk the earth, leaning against the wall for support. His cackle is so ridiculous that Lily can’t help laughing too – at him, not the bloody impression, why did he have to learn how to imitate Mr. Slug? - though she forces a straight face when he looks up, gasping for breath.
“Sorry,” he says wheezily.
"No, you’re not," Lily chides, hiding a smile, and he tilts his head consideringly.
"Nah, you’re right. That’s unfortunate. Oh well, enough about me, how’s it going, Evans?"
"What, doing my job? Swimmingly, until now."
Unedited, late-night ramblings before school starts.
When Lily finds him, he is sitting on the floor, laughing so hard that tears are leaking out of the corners of his eyes.
The sight makes her lips lift into a smile. “Alright, Potter?”
James Potter’s eyes flicker to her, and she sees something in them that she doesn’t quite recognize. They have the same manic glint that they always do, but they are wide and seem to not quite be focused on anything. “Evans,” he says breathlessly. “Hi.”
I love coffee. I sometimes get excited at night thinking of the coffee I’ll get to drink in the morning. Coffee is reason to wake up. There are other reasons, of course. But coffee is the incentive, at the very least.
prompt 12 | writer/editor AU
By the time he’s reached her office, he’s already exhausted his mind trying to think of the things she might say. Already bummed out, too, and nervous, but he had it coming, didn’t he? His head’s still pounding, goddamnit, and his fingers feel sluggish as he knocks on the open door. He feels stupid—he never knocked before. No wonder she looks weirded out when she looks up from her desk.
He shuffles to the seat across her and slumps down. Never again, he thinks, trying to ignore the hard, heavy whatever-the-fuck-it-is drumming angrily on the walls of his brain. The hangover is exceptionally grueling this time, but maybe it’s just the nerves. It’s so unfair, though. Sirius is back home snoring on the living room floor, the git, while James is here, probably for the last time, feeling (even looking) like hell.
“So,” Lily begins, leaning back on her seat and crossing her arms. “That story you sent me last night.”
“I’m really sorry,” he dives right in, staring at the floor.
They were not expecting wonders. When it came to the latest Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher (some wondered if Dumbledore had a stash of them in a cupboard), low expectations were advised. Knowing, as all everyone did, that the job was jinxed, students never made much effort to keep a teacher around, unless they particularly liked them, which was rare. Some had been actively driven out: though nothing had been proven, and no punishment served, rumour had it that James Potter and Sirius Black had been the reason Professor Chapman had left so suddenly in their third year. All that anyone could really hope for, particularly the older years, was a professor who would get them ably through their exams.
Professor Percival Phillips, when he arrived to take up the post at the beginning of the 1977 school year, was a revelation.
James disliked him immediately, which had everything to do with his ridiculous embroidered robes and hat and nothing to do with the way the girls started fanning themselves and pretending to swoon as soon as he stood up. Phillips acknowledged the fervent applause with a nod of his dark head and sat down gracefully, a little smile playing on his lips, as if he was used to this kind of reception.
"So how long will I be doing this for?"
Lily turns from side to side, admiring her uniform from all angles. She could take or leave the pom-poms, honestly, but she has to admit that she does look nice.
"Just until Laura’s leg is better," Ellie, the cheer captain (and her best friend) tells her brightly. "It was a pretty bad break, so maybe a few months."
Lily whips around, privately enjoying the way her skirt swings as she does. “You know I can’t do it for that long. You said two games maximum.”
"I know I did," Ellie begins, looking at her pleadingly. "But you’re so good. All the girls want you to stay on, they all love you.”
Lily quickly turns away from Ellie’s pout, smoothing out the fabric of her uniform. “I just don’t have the time, you know that.”
Ellie sighs. “I know. You’re too busy.”
Lily nods her head. That’s no lie; she likes cheerleading well enough, but even if she loved it, she’s still too busy. If Ellie wasn’t her best friend and in desperate need of a reliable replacement for one of her cheerleaders, Lily wouldn’t even be here.
Lily is a gymnast, not a cheerleader, and that’s really why Ellie asked her to step in. She knows that Lily can do the routines. Cheerleading is okay, but she still prefers gymnastics. She definitely prefers to compete herself, rather than cheer on someone else. Although, she admits to herself as they begin their routine and the players make their entrance, there are a few members of that team worth cheering for.
On the other side of the pitch, two boys are jogging to their positions. One wears glasses and pushes his hand through his black hair, glancing over towards the stands, where the cheerleaders are lined up along the side of the pitch.
He feels his ears heat up, and his gaze lingers on the girls for a few moments too long, until a sharp voice calling his name jerks him awake.
"James!" Sirius barks. "What are you doing?"
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Rating: M. Definitely M.
Summary: James and Lily, exhausted and forced on a 72 respite, retreat to Lily’s old stomping grounds—the farm, belong to family friends, where her parents used to take her camping. (Wartime Jily—some angst. Camping fun. Fluff, and shenanigans, and smut.)
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He might’ve been asleep, actually, when she asked where he thought they should go.
“Here with you, James…it’s the best I’ve got.”
“Somewhere comfortable, then.”
“Any patronus memories come to mind?”
She paused, and then: “How do you feel about camping?”
“Camping? “Sounds brilliant.”
He kissed her nose, or tried to, but got her brow instead, and she sniggered at him. “Can we go muggle camping?”
“As in—no magic?” He wasn’t opposed, but after the doxies, sixth year, he’d learned that it was prudent to clarify terms before agreeing to any potential Mad Lily Plan.
“No. It’s just that I’ve seen wizarding tents…hardly roughing it with an actual stove and sofa and loo.”
“I’m not sure I see the merit in roughing it.” He was being contrary for the sake of being contrary, to tease her, and they both knew it.
“Being a pansy, Potter?” She tickled his ribs lightly, causing him to squirm.
He clamped down her hand with his own. “Insulting my manliness, Evans?”
“Oh, absolutely. Also: your sense of adventure, and your marauder honor.”
“That’s how I operate,” she said, a full, cheeky grin on her face. It was, and he adored her for it. He kissed the corner of her mouth, just where her dimple was showing.
“It could be an adventure,” she prodded. He could tell she was more excited about the prospect than she was willing to let on. “I’ve got all the equipment—remember those lumpy boxes I made you lot rescue from the garage after—“
She dropped off, unwilling to finish her sentence, but she didn’t have to; it was settled for him. “Sounds fun. Fuck knows we could use an adventure.”