I do not own this series.
The uniforms of the diner were so damn hideous she's surprised anything actually came of them (except maybe pictures for guests to snigger at as they shuffled around awkwardly at her funeral). She remembers the first time she put it on- a little felt thing, a shade of green that lurked somewhere between emerald and vomit, with a season synthetic fur trim around the sleeves and distant neckline.
She used to think it looked more like an ice skating costume than anything else, but with her knee-high cherry wood coloured leather boots, she doesn't look quite so comical.
After a few weeks, she ends up digging out her old push up bra and makes the middle school boys who hang out at the counter after school uncomfortable- Mance is livid, but he can't bloody well tell her to stick them back in.
So she's surprised when the waitress frock proves to be fruitful.
She, Val and Gilly are leaning over the green marble linoleum of the counter, bored stupid. Gilly's been neatening the sugar packets for the last twenty minutes, upending the dish and organizing the sachets in order of size and sweeteners, while Val moans about how awful the holiday season is (and who the fuck thought up a pumpkin latte without being bashed to death as a civil courtesy) when the bell above the door chimes and a suit walks in.
Their eyes meet briefly as he enters- he's not overly impressive- pretty in a quiet sort of way, and she thoughtfully plays with the end of her long ginger plait as she observes him.
He seems stressed and moody, but as soon as he sits down in a booth, he takes out a black hardcover sketchbook and a Progresso pencil and begins sketching, hunched over so to hide all of its secrets, while his dark curls shield his masterpiece from the world.
Val snorts with laughter, and after a little while, she flips her long blonde curls and informs Ygritte loudly that "that freaky sketcher bloke keeps looking at you".
At this, she turns in time only to see the man's head dart back down to the book, and she laughs.
"Probably wondering why he don't have food." Mance snapped from the office, and Ygritte rolls her eyes as the other waitresses push her forward giggling. The whole diner is shiny white and emerald tiles and something that's supposed to be nineteen thirties New York, but she doesn't really care as she listens to the clomp of her heels on the wooden floorboards.
"What're you having?" she asks, not looking at him, as she's too busy looking over her shoulder and sticking her tongue out at Gilly.
When she looks back, he's looking up at her like a deer caught in the headlights.
"No way!" she exclaims, her hand swooping down to pick up the book. He reacts as he tries to retain it, but she's too fast and when she looks back up at him, speechless, he's staring intently down at the table, embarrassment flushing his cheeks.
Because on the fancy paper, it's her.
She's leaning over the counter, her plait caught between her two fingers as she's thinking, breasts all but exploding out of her dress, and she grins as she realises that this crow's drawn a bloody portrait of her.
"What's your name?" she asks, still holding his book, and he looks up sheepishly.
"Jon Snow."
She smirks and carefully hands his possession back to him, and he takes it gently as if it's made of glass.
"And why did you decide to draw me, then?" she asks, in amusement.
"You looked nice, with the dress and everything…" He reasons quietly, and she smirks.
"Excuse me," Mance shouts from his office door, "but this is not When Harry Met Sally- Ygritte, take the damn order!"
He stumbles over what he wants, and she's chuckling as she writes it down.
"I looked nice- you know nothing, Jon Snow."
He leaves with a sheepish smile, into the pouring rain, and she smirks to herself as Mance locks the door.
He's back the next day, marking something in a manila folder with a green felt tip pen. She takes his order and he smiles widely at her, and he leaves again without a goodbye.
This happens for another week, and when he walks out on the Thursday afternoon, she gives a groan of irritation, leaves the family she's waiting on and stomps outside, dangling from the doorframe with one booted foot hovering over the street pavement, to shout at his retreating figure,
"You going to ask me out or not, Jon Snow?"
He laughs and she barks back her number- he writes it on his arm and walks away.
When she returns inside, Mance is glaring pointedly at her, and tells her that he doesn't care for her pointless teenaged melodrama in his establishment. She tells him to get knotted.
She's not the richest of people- she works six days a week, but Mance pays pittance and she's struggling desperately with the rent. Every dress she owns goes with her boots- they were worth every penny and she wears them every day outside of summer, as she has for the last six years. She'd wear trousers like she usually does, but the fact that she'd seen him in nothing but suits probably meant that they'd be going to some fancy place.
Why, oh why did she say yes to dinner?
As long as she had her boots, it ought to be fine. She'd go butt naked, if she had her boots.
They meet up by an underground train station- he takes her to a posh place with lamps on all the tables and a birdy old man who takes their coats.
He's so innocent, it's amusing, and every time she makes a lewd joke he blushes, and she laughs even harder. And while he's trying so hard not to seem obviously mature and not naïve, his determination gives his voice a hint of huskiness.
She likes it.
The restaurant is so fancy; she's resolute not to be self-conscious. She crosses her legs in an attempt to fit in, but only ends up kicking him in the shin with her boot and he laughs hysterically.
She openly criticises everything, from the small servings of food to the dinky little chains that dangle off the light switches to extinguish the pointless glow of the lamps- he meets everything with an argument, and while he seems annoyed, she can tell he's trying not to smile.
They eat so little that they stop for burgers from a counter that leans into the street. He gets tomato sauce above his lip, and she uses it for a poor and clichéd excuse to lean up and kiss him.
Somehow, on the fifth time they see each other outside of the diner, they make it back to her apartment. She doesn't even care that he's seen nicer (and more expensive).
They've snogged plenty, but he felt awkward and inexperienced. He'd learned quickly, but when they stumble in through her apartment doorway he confides blushingly "I actually don't know what I'm doing."
"Well I can see that, Jon Snow." She tells him, and kisses him again, "A boy who's never been with a girl…"
They share a wolfish grin, and tumble unceremoniously onto the bed.
And all of the gods and the seven hells, and every other deity in between, she'd never even know he's a first timer, because she's screaming the walls down three times that night.
She's never been one to depend on a man, because she's been alone for such a long time that she's never had cause to depend on anybody, but if she doesn't see Jon Snow for a number of days, she's liable to kill and when Tormund cuts up the day's leftover pie, she punches it in frustration and then wipes her now purple hand on a napkin.
"Shit! What did I tell you about soppy fucking love stories?" Mance snaps, eyeing the berry mess in distain.
Mance is becoming more and more irritated as their relationship unfurls in his diner.
When she ignores waiting customers to greet him with a kiss as he enters, smiling broadly at her and his curls messy from the wind, Mance sits behind the counter and throws marshmallows at them until she breaks away from her lover and begins throwing them back.
That night, she and Jon fall back on the mattress again, and they shag desperately. She smiles herself in contentment as they sleep afterward in a tangled mess of limbs.
She won't stop teasing him about his job and his suits- calling him a crow, and when he defends himself in amusement, she just tells him that he knows nothing.
He determinedly tells her that his father's company isn't so bad to work at- he likes sharing an office with his brother, and his father sometimes lets them off early.
She laughs so hard at that, and she rolls off the bed. He's like an easily mollified child, thrilled at the prospect of being let out of the classroom before the bell rings.
He exclaims in distress as she hits the ground, but she's not hurt and when he offers a hand to help her up, she rolls her eyes and pulls him down too, before standing up without his help and strolling naked into the kitchen.
In the morning, he suggests that she comes see him at work later that day.
"Why would I do that?" she riddles him. He chuckles, and pulls her into him, spinning her around and pushing her into the kitchen bench.
"Because work is boring and you're not." He tells her, and she smiles as he kisses her.
She strolls into Stark Incorporated at lunchtime, as she's not rostered at the diner that day, she appears proclaiming her curiosity regarding this magical office he shares with his brother.
When she gets there, she watches them through the doorway for a moment.
The brother's facing the wall with the door, but he's focused on his work and he doesn't look up at her. He's handsome, and she can see the resemblance to Jon, but he seems far too serious- too set in his ways, too conservative.
She can see over Jon's shoulder, and he's drawing something involving a swirling mass of colour, felt tip pens and colourful lids discarded all over his desk.
Robb notices her and says hello- Jon spins around in his chair and grins, leaping up to kiss her.
She twirls around in his chair a few times, her boots hitting the carpeted floor and manoeuvring the seat around, before shaking her head dismissively. She doesn't get what the hype is all about- they seem like an oversold product for those with no energy to get up and fetch something without assistance from the furniture.
As they leave to go to lunch, she hears Robb tell Jon that he likes her- and she calls over her shoulder to not mention anything to their parents.
He seems troubled over lunch, but does not admit to it. She talks enthusiastically about soccer and how excited she is for the next match, and he nods and agrees and listens, but he doesn't seem entirely attentive and it makes her curious.
"What's got your knickers in a bunch, Jon Snow?"
He looks at her for a long moment, before smiling, and the distraction in his eye seems to fade, before he shakes his head.
"Nothing… nothing."
She pursed her lips, and made a harsh 'hmm' noise.
"Well as long as it is nothing. Because if you're holding out on me, I'll kill you."
He finally laughs, and they ease into a conversation about Harry Potter.
After a while they lapse into silence. She studies him, and he draws her, their eyes occasionally meeting as they go about doing this.
It happens again, and he smiles at her, his hair windswept and messy, felt tip pen stains on his hands, tie askew and grey eyes dancing with something magical, and it's then that she realises that she might be in love with him.
Of course, she's never loved a man before and she doesn't intent to start being weak and stupid now, so she denies it and blames the sentimentality of the holiday season.
So… I hope you guys enjoyed reading my stuff. I'm experimenting with styles and stuff, so if it's awful, let me know.
Most of this is crappy modern day parallels to their relationship, and I've tried to stay as true to the books as I can, but the TV show might have (probably has) messed stuff up.
Much love, RIJJ Xx