Jily oneshots

Waylaid (smutish)

by missgryffin on fanfiction.net
smut at the end

Crunch.

Though she'd seen him sliding in her mirror and had braced for impact, she still winces as his car crumples her rear fender.

Really, it was just the metaphorical icing on the disaster of the cake that was the day: an emergency motion hearing, two days before Christmas, in the heart of London; heels that had blistered her skin beneath her tights; an unexpectedly closed cafeteria in her building, due not to the holiday but the impending inclement weather; and a belated rush out of the office, already deserted because of said warnings of inclement weather, and onto the highway, with only the unwrapped gifts in her trunk and a weekender bag that she'd stuffed in haste on her passenger seat. She was going home to Cokeworth, and it was only going to be her and her parents, since Petunia was doing Christmas with Vernon's side this year. With a very white (as in, blizzard-causing-road-closures white) Christmas forecasted, Lily had fully expected to spend the next three days cozied up on her parents' couch, watching holiday movies, flipping through catalogues, and alternating sips between cocoa and mulled wine.

Only, she'd gotten a later start than intended because of work, the blizzard had hit harder and earlier than predicted because of course it did, and though she could generally bulldoze her way through most situations in life (she wasn't a barrister for nothing), even she knew when to yield to Mother Nature and make for the nearest inn.

Which, she had-made it, that is. She is grateful. She is relieved. She is lucky.

She knows these things.

But physically, she is also hungry, thirsty, cold, tired, and rear-ended.

It's fine. She's fine.

Hoisting her weekender bag and her purse onto her shoulder, Lily launches her strength against her car door, pushing through the snow drift that had already started accumulating in the brief minutes between her stopping in a make-shift parking spot and being hit. Cold wind slices her face and whips her ponytail as she steps out of the car, and freezing wetness wraps around toes, ankles, calves.

She winces again. There go the new Ferragamos, purchased as a holiday treat to herself when she'd done her gift shopping. Though, after the blisters they'd put her through that day, Lily thinks she's ready to bin them regardless.

A voice calls through the howling wind: "Hey, you alright?"

She waves absently at the figure-tall, male-exiting the vehicle behind hers and calls back, "Yeah!" but doesn't wait for a response, only climbs awkwardly through the snow around the front of her car, pulling up her fitted pencil skirt as high as it will go to try and gain some mobility.

Finally, air coming in haggard puffs that burns the back of her throat, Lily reaches the end of her trek and yanks open the front door of the inn. She is immediately blasted with warmth, and in the seconds it takes her to recover her breath, she also notices the constant brrring of a ringing phone, the hum of chatter against a backdrop of a news channel coming from somewhere down the hall, and then vague shouting just before footsteps thump heavily from a staircase she can't see.

A gust of cold wind sweeps over her body before the door slams shut again, bell still tinkling softly as a gruff swear sounds behind her.

Turning, Lily sees a man much taller than her shaking snow out of his black hair and off his stylish gray coat. "Fucking hell," he mutters, and Lily notices that his glasses have fogged with his sudden entry into the warmth of the inn.

She can't help it; she giggles.

The man stops, looks at her over the tops of the frames. "Funny, am I?"