.
charge me your daily rate
I'll turn you out in kind
when the moon is round and full
gonna teach you tricks that'll blow your mind
lera lynn, wolf like me
Ygritte stumbled into his room, her clear laughter echoing loudly through the small space. He rushed in after her, laughing himself at the small puddles they were trailing behind them. The rain had started just when they had walked away from her car, and had hit with such force that they were soaked to the bone by the time they had ran down the street to his apartment building.
Ghost was jumping up her legs, quiet as he always was but his tail waving excitedly. Ygritte knelt down, stroking deftly behind his ears, drops of rain running down her face and clothes, the floor smeared with muddy water. Jon just stood in his doorway, and could not stop laughing as Ghost licked across Ygritte's cheek. She chuckled, standing back up and combing her fingers though her soaked hair.
Good boy, Jon murmured as Ghost padded over towards him, nuzzling his head between his knees. He patted him softly on the head before ushering him out of his room and closing the door. Sam was gone for the weekend, his brothers dreaded birthday dinner forcing him out of town, so Jon knew Ghost would make himself comfortable on Sam's bed.
His eyes fell back on Ygritte, standing in the middle of his room. He had not cleaned for a few days, but still it was not nearly as chaotic as her flat. His bed was shoved underneath the only window, next to his desk, the bookshelf fitting just so between his closet and the door to his bathroom. She walked over to the row of pictures on his desk, a soft smile dancing on her face. Jon shrugged out of his soaked jacket, hanging it over the back of a chair.
Are you fucking kidding me? Ygritte's raised voice when she pushed open the door to his bathroom made him chuckle. You've your own bathroom?
After that, he had a hard time convincing her that having his own bathroom did not prove her theory of him being a 'spoiled brat'. But not even the fact that Sam's toilet flush only worked twice in one day so he had to use his bathroom - which was not weird at all, no – convinced her. Her cheeks were flushed as she waved her hands, splashing water everywhere, and the picture of him and Arya in front of Winterfell only made her speak louder. In the end, they both started laughing, holding their stomachs when they took in the large puddle that had formed on the floor around them.
Ygritte shrugged out of her own jacket, dropping it on top of his own. She was kicking off her shoes when Jon's eyes fell on her chest, her soaked shirt clinging to her skin. He swallowed, looking down at his own shoes. Water was still dripping from his hair, some strands plastered to his face.
We've ruined your floor. He looked up when she spoke, voice raspy from yelling through the rain and laughing so heartily for so long. When her fingers curled around the hem of her soaked shirt, Jon's eyes widened, and all thoughts of the stains on the floor were forgotten. In one quick movement, she pulled her shirt over her head, revealing a blue bra and planes of pale, freckled skin. She dropped the shirt on the chair, as well.
When her fingers skimmed over her flat stomach to the button of her jeans, Jon finally found his voice again. What are you doing?
What does it look like I'm doing? She asked, voice strained as she tried to push the soaked jeans down her thighs. Jon tried not to look, but his eyes were glued to each inch of skin that she revealed and he could not believe this was happening.
Ygritte- His voice trembled and broke when she stepped out of her jeans, not bothering to lift them but merely kicking them to the side. There she stood in nothing but her underwear, hair plastered to her shoulders and collarbones. In his room. Jon suddenly felt hot and cold at the same time, fingers curling into fists.
Do you want me freezing to death? She laughed, actually laughed - clearly and innocently, as if getting undressed in his room was the most normal thing in the world. A small part of his brain - one that was still functioning and not busy trying not to look at the curve of her legs or where the fabric of her bra stopped and skin began – whispered wickedly into his ears that this was in fact normal to most people. In this moment, though, it was the most surreal thing. We survived that fucking trip, I don't intend to catch a cold and die cause you're scared of naked girls.
He swallowed as she grinned and began to walk over towards him, bare feet stepping through the splashes of water on the floor. I'm not scared-
You look scared. Her voice was suddenly quiet, just above a raspy whisper, and she came to a halt mere inches from him. He could see the freckles that were scattered from her face down over her shoulders and arms, the shadows cast by her collarbones. She was so close he would barely have to move to touch her.
I'm not. The voice that spoke was not his, it sounded foreign, terrified and overwhelmed. Ygritte smiled gently, her hands disappearing behind her back, and before Jon had figured out what she was doing, she shrugged out of her bra, throwing it off to the side.
Yes, you are. The last thing he wanted was to stare, but the last thing possible was to look away. She was beautiful and perfect and the urge to reach out and touch her nearly killed him. But there's no need.
Her cold fingers danced down his arm until they found his hand, curling around it and gently lifting it. Nothing but their breathing broke the silence when she pressed his palm between her breasts, soft skin against his scarred palm, the beating of her heart even and comforting beneath his touch.
Ygritte- Her lips silenced him, the gap between them closed suddenly when she pressed them softly against his. It was a whisper more than a kiss, but enough to reassure him. Parting, they looked deeply into each other's eyes, all the words Jon could not say pouring out silently when he breathed raggedly. Her lips found his again, more firmly this time, her gentle sigh disappearing in the small space between them.
His hand moved, cupping her breast in his palm, and the shaky, breathy moan when he trailed his thumb over her nipple gave him courage. She buried her hands in his hair, clever fingers scraping gently against his scalp, pulling him deeper into the kiss. Every part of her was pressed against him, cold and soft and trying to crawl beneath his skin.
Everything that happened after that was a vivid blur in Jon's memory. How she peeled off his wet clothes, dumping them on the floor as they stumbled towards his bathroom. The different sighs and breathy moans she made when he kissed his way up her jaw and behind her ear, down her neck to the point where it met her shoulder. Whispers of him name when his lips trailed further south, leaving a trail between her breast. The shudders it sent down his spine when she pulled him in for another kiss urgently, tongues meeting in a battle he was unwilling to win or lose.
It seemed a miracle that they made it into the shower without breaking anything, lips sealed, hands roaming. Now that he had started, Jon never wanted to stop touching her. As the hot water poured down over them, he ran his hands down over her shoulders and past her breasts, over the flat plane of her stomach, circling her thighs, groaning when she sucked his bottom lip into her mouth.
Her own hands pulled gently at his hair, pressing his lips further into her skin when he knelt down in front of her, lips skimming across her stomach and further down. Even over the rushing of the shower he could hear her breath hitching, the husky moan of his name, and it spurred him on. He did not have the slightest clue what to do, but her every breath was a hint if he was doing something right, and when he looked up at her, she smiled, taking his hand and gently guiding it between her legs. There. Her legs quivered when he touched her there, warm and wet, different from the water pouring over them, his own hands trembling.
When his lips replaced his fingers, she clutched his shoulders, digging her fingertips into his skin almost to the point of pain until she fell apart, his name falling from her lips in a chant so husky that he wanted to drown in her. Instead, he rose to his feet, swallowing the last of her sighs with his mouth.
Later, everything was a colourful swirl, how she had kissed him almost desperately, how her hand had brushed down his chest, tickling his stomach until his breath had hitched when her fingers had curled around him.
He could not have told anyone how they made it out of the shower and to his bed. But he remembered how warm her skin had been under his touch, how she had sighed when he kissed her softly, how she had smiled and cupped his cheek and whispered his name. How everything had faded away until only she remained, how she had kissed him when she had finally guided him inside of her, the world blackening out. How her fingers had danced through his hair and her lips had painted whispers into the side of his neck. How she had moved against him, clung to him.
The sound of his name on her lips, the heat of her, the tenderness. The look in her eyes when it was all over, the world shattering around them both.
Now, she was asleep in his arms, naked and warm and perfect, her even breathing and the steady beating of her heart lulling him to sleep, as well.
The only light was the ugly white shine that flooded in through the open bathroom door, but Jon could not bring himself to move to switch it off. Ygritte's wet hair was still plastered against her back and shoulder, the darkest shade of auburn now. Only when she stirred did the light allow for a shimmer of bright red, dancing across her hair like tiny scattered rubies. He ran his fingers through the slowly drying strands, curling softly beneath his touch.
Jon could still feel his heart rate picking up at the sight of her, the shape of her legs where they lay tangled with his own, the flat plane of her stomach pressed against his side, the swell of her breasts against his chest. The slope of her neck that he had kissed so often tonight and the smile that tickled her lips every now and again.
The need to be close to her, to touch her and never let her go again was almost painfully overwhelming.
A part of him - the part that was proud and stubborn more than it should be - told him it was only because he had just seen a naked woman up close for the first time less than two hours ago. But a different part of him knew that that was not all. It was the part of him that saw her crooked front teeth and smiled. The part that longed to reach out and trail his finger across the thick scar on the back of her thigh. That wanted to listen to her ramblings all day. That laughed when she called him names and mocked him. That listened to her music in the car and did not mind sharing his seat with piles of clothes she had worn three weeks ago.
It was not the fact that she was sleeping peacefully in his arms now, an act of trust and tenderness he would never have expected from her. It was more than that and Jon knew it.
The strange feeling spread warmly through his chest and clung to his heart as he pulled her a little closer. But he felt the dark side of it, too. Cold and unknown, flowing through him like a cold whisper of wind in the winter. It was dangerous and he knew it already, pressed his lips against the top of her head a little too urgently and intertwined their fingers a little too tightly. But she only sighed into the side of his neck, curling herself closer into him, and so he did not stop, never wanted to stop.
Ever.
.:.
It was all so different than Jon had always thought. None of it was difficult. It was easy, comfortable, like breathing. It was him and Ygritte, and everything else seemed to fade away when he was with her. There was no rich and poor, high and low, good and bad.
Pyp and Grenn stared at him with their mouth gaping when he told them about her, and Sam only smiled.
.:.
It was the second time Jon had brought Sam to the coffee shop. The relief of finally having a name for what was between him and Ygritte – he had a girlfriend and there was no need to keep that secret - was freeing.
Her shift was long over, and she sat on his lap in his usual window seat, her apron flung across the chair. Jon had his hands entangled with hers, every now and then dropping a kiss on her cheek, her jaw or whenever she turned, her lips. She tasted like hot chocolate, her empty cup on the table next to his drained tea cup. Over were the days when he had to force down coffee.
His eyes fell back towards the counter for the hundredth time in the last hour. I can't believe it. Sam sat there, heaved on one of the bar stools next to Orell (who had been side-eyeing Jon ever since Ygritte had greeted him with a kiss the other day), deep in conversation with Gilly. Jon could not see his friend's face, but he knew the deep tint of his cheeks and how stuttering his voice must sound. Still, he was proud.
Ygritte ran a finger along his cheekbone. What?
Sam. He kissed her, softly, just a feather-light brush of skin, but it caused his blood to boil nonetheless. I can't believe he's talking to her.
Ygritte stayed close when they parted, her blue eyes digging deeply into his own as a grin tickled her lips. He could feel the movement, the change of texture, the warmth of her breath, and he wrapped his arms around her waist. Why do I get the feeling Sam did not say 'woah, I can't believe Jon finally got laid' when you told him about us? His fingers drew mindless patterns on her back, felt the ridges of her spine and dipped just a breath beneath the waistline of her jeans.
Cause he wouldn't say stuff like that. Jon smiled broadly at her, feeling her move closer into their embrace. You say stuff like that. Pyp and Grenn had said similar things, but from her mouth, the words sounded all the more special – it was the same mouth he had kissed countless times by now. The same mouth that had felt so warm and soft against his own skin.
Yeah, but you like it. Her whisper turned to silence when she pressed her lips against his once more, much more firmly, and Jon had to bite back the groan when she pushed her hips into his.
As difficult as it was, he untangled their limbs, putting a safe distance between them. Looking back to Sam and Gilly, who was smiling broadly and laughing at something Sam had said, Jon suddenly felt worry rising inside of him. She's not going to break his heart, is she?
Who knows.
.:.
Summer was breaking through the clouds, flickers of pale blue sky peeking through the tufts of white. The air smelled of flowers and damp grass. Jon ran his fingers through it, cold drops left by the downpour coating his skin.
As the sunlight tickled his skin – his sleeves rolled up, hairs rising at the soft breeze – he turned to look at Ygritte. She was barefoot, her shoes lost somewhere in the high grass, not minding the cold dampness. Her laughter rang clearly across the deserted park. Her hair shone gloriously in the sunlight, yet not as brightly as her smile. The pale skin of her arms was exposed, her jacket folded on Jon's lap, and when she threw the heavy stick Ghost kept bringing back to her across the plane of grass, her freckles seemed to form a delicate pattern.
She nearly fell over when Ghost jumped up at her, wiggling his tail, and she buried her pale fingers deeply in his white fur. Jon felt a heavy weight lifting off his chest in that moment, all the shouting from earlier that morning forgotten as the peaceful moment stretched on.
It had not been the first time they had fought, and not even the worst. Just last week, she had thrown the remote control at his head, storming out of his room, and he did not see her again for two days after that (she had not actually aimed at his head, but fortunate as he was, he had turned just in time to get hit).
Growing up, his father had made a point of teaching him and his siblings what it meant to grow up the way they did, privileged and lucky. He also made sure they all understood that not everyone was as lucky, but just as worthy. All his life, Jon had considered himself tolerant.
Ygritte thought him ignorant.
You know nothing. She had yelled and whispered and thrown it at his face many times now. And when she told him about growing up without her parents, or the poorly stocked labs in her college, the struggles to get an access card for Castle Black's filled-to-the-brim library, the time she had to spend two weeks on the streets because she could not pay her rent, Jon began to think that maybe she was right. That he knew nothing about the real world.
But it's not justified for you to march on our campus! She had twisted his words in his mouth that morning, storming through his room, a smear of Nutella still on her upper lip. Jon wanted to kiss it away, but she would have bitten off his tongue had he even dared to try.
Some of the students from her college had marched on Castle Black's campus the day before – wildlings, some of his classmates called them just as they called them crows – and had smeared the walls with angry red paint, shouted and yelled. Jon did not know the two guys who had gotten into a fight, but the police had come to take them away. It had not been the first time, and with each invasion, the tension grew.
Jon had only seen the commotion from one of the windows, and all the while, he had been nervous to spot a mane of red hair in the masses that were crowding below. He knew Ygritte supported her fellow students. Again and again, he tried to tell her that what they were doing was wrong. It's not the right way! But she would silence him every time. You know nothing. And truly, perhaps he did not. But he knew that the tension was building up to something bigger, and he was afraid that the axe was going to drop eventually.
Don't do anything stupid, Ygritte. Please. She was smart, much smarter than him, but what made him worry so much was her anger. It burned as brightly as her hair, and how she could look past the luring flame to even let him in, Jon did not know.
I can get you a library card.
And who will get one for all the others?
She was right. He knew nothing. Not about these things.
He was pulled out of his thoughts when a pair of soft lips pressed against the top of his head, cold hands ruffling through his hair. Why are you looking so miserable?
I'm not. His hands wrapped around her waist, pulling her down. Ygritte laughed as he pushed her onto the cold grass, burying his head in the crook of her neck where her skin was warmed by the sun, scattered with freckles and smelling so much like her. Just thinking, that's all.
Her fingers curled around the hemline of his shirt, the tips slipping underneath to craze against his back. Sighing into her skin, he pushed her more firmly into the ground, lips peppering kisses up her neck and towards her ear where strands of hair tickled his cheeks. Thinking about what?
They had fought enough for one day, so the last thought on Jon's mind was to bring it all up again. He leaned back to look at her, at the smile on her lips as she reached up to cup his cheek. About you. The words were quiet, for her ears only, and in return, Ygritte pulled him down to her again, slipping her tongue into his mouth. You and me, he breathed into her mouth.
In the way she always did – crawling under his skin to read his thoughts and tear apart his worries – she parted, looking deeply into his eyes. Stop worrying about that now, Jon Stark. A cold fingertip smoothed out the lines on his forehead. It's you and me that matters to me and you.
.:.
Anything you want to tell me? The phone reception was terrible, as usual, and Jon crawled off his bed with a yawn, phone pinned between his shoulder and chin as his hands ruffled Ghost's ears. Jon knew the tone of his brother's voice very well. There was an edge to it, a hint of worry hidden beneath casual teasing. Robb had always known him well, almost as well as Arya.
Walking over the the door, shut now because Gilly was visiting for the third time this week and while he was happy for Sam... They already shared toilets, that was as far as he was willing to take their friendship. What? By the door, the reception was better, but the view of his unmade bed was tempting. The pillow smelled like Ygritte, and the sweater she had worn last night was still flung over his sheets.
You haven't called in weeks. Guess you're... busy. He could practically hear Robb's grin.
School ends next week, lots to do. It was true. Most of his time was now spent at the coffee shop studying while Ygritte worked, and when her shifts ended, they'd usually go to her flat. It was his turn to cook every night while she studied. Not distracting her turned out to be a difficult task.
That's all?
What do you mean? Jon knew exactly where this was going. He had not meant to keep his relationship with Ygritte a secret – his friends knew, and he had met a few of hers (although why she was friends with Orell he would never understand). But there had never been the right moment to tell his brother. Ygritte was his first real girlfriend, Jon was clueless how Robb would even react to the news.
School has never once stopped you from calling. The sound of footsteps against stone echoed from the other end of the line, and for a brief moment Jon could see the halls of Winterfell, smell the ancient stones and worn wood, hear the fire crackling and the leafs of the Wolfswood bristling in the wind.
There's something... he muttered, sinking down on the floor. Ghost padded towards him, resting his heavy head on Jon's knees. The memory of the day him, Robb, Bran and Theon had found the whole litter of pups abandoned by the side of the road was sharp in his mind, despite the years that had passed since then. Even though they were scattered in the wind now – him here, Sansa in the capital, Arya across the sea on her exchange program – it was the dogs that tied them all together. The day they had to put down Lady had been a miserable one. Jon was still haunted sometimes by the look of despair on Sansa's gentle face. He shuddered, gently petting Ghost between his red eyes.
The silence was loaded with the crackling of the phone connection. For a second Jon thought he had lost Robb, but then his brother spoke again. Who is she?
How do you-
I'm your brother. I know. Now tell me about her.
And he did. Gods was there a lot to tell. Ghost was fast asleep on his lap as Jon talked and talked, about the trip North – you nearly die and don't bother to tell me? - and the weeks spent talking to Ygritte, how smart and funny she was, how she made him laugh and shout and drove him as crazy as she made him happy. I think you'd really like her, he ended, finally, eyes hooded with fatigue.
Robb laughed. I think you really like her.
For the first time, Jon imagined taking Ygritte to Winterfell, showing her his old room, the ancient Weirwood tree, the stables, where he'd played as a kid, the great hall and the hidden corners nobody else had found in hundreds of years. She'd call him spoiled and they'd stumble upon another reason to fight, but he wanted to take her there anyway. Take her home. I really do.
.:.
It was in that moment she turned away from him that Jon regretted his suggestion. Her naked back stretched on, the orange glow of her bedside lamp casting warm shadows on her pale skin. His eyes were glued to the freckles scattered at the bottom of her spine, a constellation he had kissed a hundred times by now.
She walked over towards the large mirror propped against her bedroom wall, a bra and a damp towel flung over the wooden frame. And what would I do at that castle of yours, Jon Stark? Her tone was mocking. With a playful smile, she reached for one of the sheets stacked on top of her dresser. Wrapping the white linen around her naked body, Ygritte swirled in a large circle. Dance in a silk dress at a ball and drink champagne from crystal glasses?
For a moment, Jon did nothing but take in the sight of her. How her skinny legs peeked out from underneath the sheet, how dangerously close it was to slipping and exposing her breasts, how the light illuminated the shades cast by her collarbones and the way her hair swirled as she danced softly through the room, humming a random tune.
Nobody wears silk dresses, you know. He pushed himself up on his elbows, every inch of his naked skin still tingling. There are no balls. And champagne is for special occasions. It was what most people assumed when they found out he had grown up in an actual castle. The disappointment when he explained that it was nothing like the movies painted it out to be was usually written plainly across their faces.
Ygritte stopped her movements. Well, that's a let down. It was the sharp edge to her words that told Jon that she was not really disappointed at all, and the sheer fact was more painful to accept than he had thought.
So, what do you think? He asked, still slightly hopeful that she might agree. Ever since his conversation with Robb, Jon had played with the idea of inviting Ygritte to Winterfell. Summer was glowing outside, and they had more time on their hands than they could spend. But he knew it would not be an easy mission, which was why it had taken him so long to actually ask the question.
Ygritte's grin turned into a soft smile, and when she dropped the sheet onto the floor, Jon's eyes briefly flickered down the length of her body. Her steps were slow as she walked back towards the bed. The mattress dipped slightly when she crawled onto the rumpled blanket, and Jon reached out to brush her hair behind her ear.
Softly pressing her lips against his, the taste of her making Jon dizzy, she straddled his bare legs. The feel of her warm skin pressed against his own had his mind spinning, distracting him for a moment, everything fading away until only the softness of her remained.
Jon, it's sweet that this means so much to you. He could barely hear her words, but he felt the gentle tug of her lips against his neck. Her hands roamed his chest, pushing herself closer against him, not a breath of air between them. But can we just... take things slowly?
Jon's eyes shot open at her words, only now realizing they had fallen shut. All he saw was the mane of red that was sprawled across his chest. The colour was that of soft flames – a candle in the darkness, the glow of the fireplace at Christmas – and not that of angry fire lashing at skin and turning it to ash. You don't want to go.
Ygritte looked up to meet his gaze, and he could see her struggle not to look away. It's not that I don't want to meet your family. She cupped his cheek, soft fingers against dark stubble, a tender motion that only made Jon feel the heavy weight of her refusal more. I mean, your step mom sounds like someone I'd rather avoid, but that's not it. It's just... Vulnerability was not a trait he associated with her. She always kept her walls up, just as he did. In this moment, however, Jon began to see it crumble. Think about how ridiculous it is. Me in a bleeding castle.
Cold took over when she crawled out of his lap, sitting down on the cold edge of the bed furthest away from him. I don't think it's ridiculous at all. He reached out to touch his palm against her back, feeling her gentle shudder in response. You'd like it.
Silence took over as his whisper was taken by the ticking of the clock. Softly, his fingers toyed with a strand of hair curling down her back, until Ygritte turned to look at him. Grasping his hand in hers, she tugged him towards her. I like you.
Her words lightened his heart aflame, and Jon smiled sadly as he leaned in to press a kiss against her temple. When his lips parted from her warm skin, he remained there, unwilling to move away, hearing her sharp inhale of breath. It's a part of me, Ygritte.
With a sigh, she turned away from him, ending their embrace but never letting go of his hand. They fall asleep that way, an empty, cold space between them, but their fingers entwined to cross the distance.
.:.
The matter of visiting Winterfell did not come up again. Jon kept it locked away, afraid of pushing Ygritte too close to the precipice he knew they were dancing around. That last inch before the void that would take them somewhere else. Somewhere deeper. That would tie them to each other in ways neither of them were ready for.
Ygritte, he knew, hoped that keeping silent on the matter might cause the idea to wilt an dry up in his mind until it was forgotten. But she was fooling herself, because the more times she kissed him, the more times he watched her sleep peacefully in his arms, the deeper did the idea lodge itself into his heart.
His heart grew heavier by the minute, even when it was not burdened by the memory of her face when she had refused him. A week later, as he was laying on the floor in front of her sofa, she suddenly asked about his mother.
Jon looked at her with furrowed brows, the way she stood there with a dish towel in her hand and foam glistening on her black shirt. It was a topic that had come up only a handful of times in the months they had known each other, and a topic that threatened to crack the shell he had built around his heart whenever he wandered down that path.
But when she cocked her head curiously and sat down next to him, bare knees bumping into his side, he told her everything. Everything he did not know about the woman who had given birth to him – her name, what she looked like, what kind of a person she was. Everything he had always wanted her to be – kind and warm and proud of who he was. Everything that made him smile, and all the things that made him sad. He told her of a young boy watching his siblings in their mother's lap as he sat by the fireplace alone, unwrapping Christmas gifts with tears in his young eyes. Tales of a boy who roamed the hidden corners of Winterfell, wishing for his mother to walk through the gates, to wrap him in her arms and tell him how very much she loved him.
All the stories that were doomed to be just that. Stories.
He could not cry about the faceless woman who had haunted his dreams for so long, not any more. But there were tears in Ygritte's eyes, and when he kissed them away, she wrapped her hands around his shoulders, clinging to him until there was nothing left between them.
Jon wondered if she was trying to prove to him that she did care, that she was only afraid, not ready for the step he had made, the path he was willing to blaze for them. Her fingers curled softly around his hair, a gentle tug strong enough for him to meet her gaze.
He asked her then. Asked her about her mother, and the sadness in her eyes almost tore him apart.
Later, as she slept with her head on his chest, Jon's eyes fell upon the black and white photograph on the wall, the woman who smiled at them wearily now. In her tired eyes, he saw a similar sadness to the one he had kissed away just now, step by step as each word had poured out of Ygritte's mouth.
Perhaps blazing their path was the wrong way to go. Perhaps he needed to take her hand, and together they might find the way.
.:.
Ygritte's hand was clasped tightly around his. He felt the bare skin of her arm against the exposed skin of his own, the dry heat trapped at the crowded train station. Around them, people were bustling about, yelling and groaning, wiping the sweat off their foreheads.
More than once, Jon felt the sharp pain of someone's suitcase bumping against his leg or rolling over his feet, but Ygritte laughed it off. She seemed to be in a strangely good mood, all the tension of the last weeks forgotten. That morning, she had woken him with a trail of kisses along the side of his neck, had tried and failed to make pancakes in his kitchen – Jon had laughed more at the utter terror in Sam's eyes than the hilarity of Ygritte cursing loudly, pancake batter all over the place (though he suspected Sam might have been slightly intimidated by the fact that Ygritte had only worn one of Jon's old shirts, long white legs peeking out beneath the grey flannel).
There was the dim sound of a bell, but over all the commotion, Jon could not understand a single word that was announced over the ancient looking speakers. He looked down towards where the rails turned around a corner, where his sight was blocked by the red brick building of the train station. It was Ygritte who actually understood what had been said – how she could hear over the noise of arguing couples and crying children, he could not phantom – and within the minute, the tell-tale gust of wind danced around their legs.
Arya squealed when she spotted him through some poor woman's legs, speeding forward on light feet. She nearly tripped over a sour-looking man in a grey suit, but did not even turn to apologize before knocking the wind out of Jon. He hugged her to his chest tightly, lifting her off her feet.
She had grown, and the feel of her in his arms – soon too tall to be swept off her feet like this – tugged at his heart. Her skin was at least three shades darker than when he had last seen her, the heat of Bravos having left its mark on her. Through the curls of her dark hair, Jon saw Robb walking towards them, shaking his head as he flung a large bag over his shoulder.
The sight of his brother, the comfort of having Arya back safely and with a smile so bright on her lips – he remembered when she had hugged him goodbye months ago with tears in her eyes, and not even his reassuring words had calmed her down – it all flooded Jon with an overwhelming sense of home. A sensation he rarely ever felt.
Next to him, Ygritte watched the tender exchange curiously, and Jon felt relieved that he only spotted a hint of nervousness in her blue eyes before she directed her warm smile at Robb.
The ride back into town turned into the most effortless twenty minutes of Jon's life. It did not matter that Arya barely breathed in between talking or that she and Robb had to squeeze into the back seat in between a card box full of books and the usual array of clothes Ygritte never bothered to put away (I can try not swear too much around your sister, but if you think I'll clean my damn car just cause your brother is used to limousines and shit, you don't know anything, Jon Stark. He could have told her about the absolute mess Robb's room had always been, but she had looked adorably proud of herself, and so he had stayed quiet, forcefully scrubbing a plate she should have cleaned days ago).
Arya insisted that it was the perfect day for ice cream in the park, and so they abandoned the car in the only shady spot they could find – parking would cost a fortune, and Jon knew he needed to find a quiet moment to remind Robb not to offer to pay for anything. With Arya jumping ahead of them, they made their way through a line of people on their way to the museum's Mammoth exhibition (We have to go see that, Jon!), and as Robb asked her about her studies, Jon reached out for Ygritte's hand, the heavy iron gates of the park coming into view.
In the end, he ate most of Arya's abandoned ice cream, sitting in the shade under a large tree with Robb. For once, it was easy not to talk about their dead father, their sister's engagement or duties to the family. All they did was sit there on the grass, catching up on this and that as they watched Ygritte and Arya fight with sticks until they were both red-faced and out of breath. It was Arya who won, and while Jon was slightly impressed by how well Ygritte had fought, he kissed her cheek and murmured a quiet thank you for her ears only. I didn't let her win, she giggled, the whisper warm against the shell of his ear.
That rest of the afternoon passed in a blur, the four of them sprawled across the warm grass as the sun tickled their skin.
Later, Robb took them to a tucked away restaurant he had googled (Ygritte scoffed at that, but ended up eating most of Jon's lasagne while he went to the toilet). They argued over the consistency of the panna cotta and ordered every flavour of juice on the menu when Arya tried to prove that nothing had ever tasted better than apple juice (she was the only one to think that, but they all agreed that the carrot juice was vile and so the night was saved).
When they took Arya to the hotel, Ygritte rolled her eyes at the chandeliers in the lobby, the golden buttons on the elevator, the red carpet lining the white marble staircase. But she walked along anyway, ignoring the heads that turned after them. They did make an odd group.
Arya insisted on having Jon for herself, and as he sat down on her bed chuckling, he threw a glance in Ygritte's direction. There, by the door, she smiled softly at the two of them until Robb gently steered her out the door.
I like her, Arya said with a grin, and Jon kissed his sister's forehead.
I like her, too.
Good. Keep her.
He found Robb and Ygritte in the hotel bar when Arya had finally let him go - he did not mind, though, could listen to her stories all night as long as he knew his little sister was happy and safe. After their father's death, the shooting she had witnessed, Jon had feared that the carefree little girl would be lost. But she was still here, jumping on her bed and showing him the latest karate move she had learned. Now, she was fast asleep, a brave child, but a child still.
You're driving, Ygritte proclaimed when he sat down on the plush black seat around a purple glass table. An empty glass stood in front of her, and her fingers were wrapped around another.
He drew his eyebrows up until they disappeared beneath the wild curls of his hair, looking at Robb. His brother was grinning mischievously, lifting the beer he was holding. Am I now?
Ygritte nodded, sipping on her drink. I'm trying to prove that a girl can take more than your lordling brother. Robb laughed so hard he snorted, beer spraying all across the surface of the table, and Jon quickly wiped it away with a napkin before the waiter could see - he had noticed the foul expression on his face on his way in.
She won. Of course she did. Jon could have warned Robb, but he figured his brother was man enough to take a challenge and stomach a loss. Midnight had long come and gone when they walked out of the hotel to the parking lot, the stars sparkling in the sky and a cool breeze whisking through the trees that lined the lot.
As Ygritte crawled into the passenger seat, Jon turned to say goodnight to Robb. There was still all weekend to spend with his siblings, but for tonight, he was glad to be one step closer to a soft bed. Robb smiled, his eyes a little glassy, but he could stomach a lot and Jon had seen him worse before (They never spoke about Theon's seventeenth birthday. Ever.).
Well done, Robb said quietly so that only Jon could hear, and with a reassuring clap on his shoulder, Jon followed his brother's eyes towards Ygritte. She was tapping her thumb against the bear that dangled from her rear view mirror, humming softly into the night.
Jon only nodded.
.:.
Ygritte was fuming when she threw her phone onto the sofa. Stupid idiot. Jon watched as the blood shot into her cheeks and spread down across her neck and collarbones. She marched up and down the room, muttering curses under her breath.
To say he was confused would have been an understatement. Jon put down the take-away noodles. What's wrong?
She stopped at his words, turning on the spot. The movement caused her hair to circle around her head, catching at her lips. Tormund. With trembling fingers, she tucked the strand of hair back behind her ear. The idiot's invited us to dinner. Says he wants to meet you. The groan that escaped her was much deeper than anything Jon had ever heard from her lips. Dinner. The idiot can't even make a sandwich that tastes decent.
Jon saw the anger mingling with despair in her eyes. Quietly, he stood up from the sofa, ignoring the prickling where his leg had gone numb under him. He gently put his hands on Ygritte's arms, left exposed by the sleeveless shirt she wore. Softly, his thumbs began to draw circles on her skin, and he felt her relax slightly under the soothing touch.
That's not what bothers you, is it? His voice was calm, quiet enough for a shiver to run through Ygritte. She sighed, resting her forehead against his chest.
You wanted me to meet your family and I said no. The warmth of her breath tickled his neck, and Jon pulled her more tightly into his arms. Gladly, she sank into the embrace, wrapping her hands around his stomach to curl into his shirt at his back. He had not realized how much her refusal to visit Winterfell had been eating at her.
We'll have dinner with him. He muttered the words into the thick softness of her hair, drawing his fingers up and down her spine. I don't mind bad sandwiches. Yours kind of suck, too.
In his arms, she broke out in laughter, but somewhere underneath it all, he could hear the tears she was trying to hold back.
The moment Tormund opened the door, Jon regretted his decision. Sure, he had seen pictures of the man – he remembered the one Ygritte kept in her wallet, the one of her sixth birthday, hair in pigtails, sitting on Tormund's lap with her small birthday cake in front of her. But nothing could have prepared him for the real sight.
The man was abnormally huge, more than a head taller than Jon, with broad shoulders and thick arms. His wild red hair stood in all directions, his beard reaching far beyond his chin. Ygritte stood on the threshold with her arms crossed in front of her chest, still not happy with the invitation.
Jon swallowed when Tormund looked down at him, the same penetrating gaze that Ygritte had mastered so well. So, you're that Stark kid.
I am, Jon responded with what he hoped was a polite smile. Ygritte pushed past Tormund into the house. Tormund turned to look after her, shaking his head.
She's a tough one.
Ultimately, Jon was surprised how easy it was to be around Tormund. He was a funny guy, bursting with stories he gladly told over the beer he kept pouring into Jon's tall glass, and very quickly, Jon figured where Ygritte had gotten her foul mouth from.
Whenever Tormund's laughter bellowed through the living room - tiny and filled to the brim with furniture, but oddly tidy compared to Ygritte's flat – she rolled her eyes, until finally, she seemed to bury the hatchet and began to smile herself. Under the table, she curled her fingers around Jon's, squeezing tightly. She even laughed when Tormund began to tell Jon stories about her – although she did slap him across the arm when he started a story about the time she was fifteen and...
Chewing on the steak, Jon felt himself calm down and feel a lot more comfortable than he had upon arriving. Tormund seemed genuinely interested, asked questions about his school and family - Nasty business with your father. Can't say I approved of everything he did, but that's not the way to go. Jon pretended not to notice the warning glare that Ygritte threw across the table, but he brushed his thumb over her knuckles under the table, wordlessly telling her that it was alright.
After they finished eating – Tormund clearing Ygritte's plate and the last of the potatoes – she rushed off to the kitchen to grab some ice cream. Need to wash down the taste of that steak, how much pepper did you put on it? Tormund laughed at that, loud and deep, grumbling like thunder. Slowly, he began to pile up the empty plates, and Jon stood to help. For a moment, they worked in silence, only the clinging of the dishes mingling with the music of the radio. But then Jon felt a large hand pressing against his shoulder.
Tormund was standing close, towering over him. His face seemed kind, or as kind as it ever would be, but there was a tension that sparked between them. I like you boy. The words were sincere. Still, Jon felt his breath coming in short pants, and he swallowed, forcing himself to look into the man's eyes. But if you hurt her, I'll rip your guts out through your throat.
Almost immediately after his words made room for silence, Tormund dropped his hand and went back to the dishes. Jon stood motionlessly for a while, staring at the back of Tormund's head. I won't. The words left a bitter taste on his tongue, and the sound of them was choked, the air struggling to flood down into his lungs.
Do you only have chocolate? Ygritte suddenly called from the kitchen, and both men turned to the open door at the other end of the room.
There's hazelnut somewhere in the back, Tormund replied, eyes turning back towards Jon. There was a softness there he would not have anticipated, but still he towered over him.
She's tough. She doesn't need me to protect her, and she don't need you neither. He spoke quietly enough for the words not to carry into the kitchen, but loud enough for Jon to hear both the warning and the advice in them. She's strong. But not as strong as she wants you to believe.
As Jon grabbed the empty beer bottles, he saw something in Tormund's eyes that reminded him of sadness. Ygritte had never really explained to him who exactly Tormund was, why he had raised her after her parents had died. But whatever his reasons were, Jon could see the genuine love for her in his eyes.
You've already had those peas when I still lived here. The words Jon had been about to say, the ones that still tickled his tongue – three words he had not even thought about before but that were now screaming at him inside his head – died when Ygritte walked back into the kitchen. In one hand, she carried two containers of ice cream, one stacked upon the other, while a bag of frozen peas dangled from the fingers of her other hand. You should dump them.
Tormund cast Jon a short glance, nodding so barely that Ygritte would never have noticed.
Jon heard little of the following argument over the expiration date of frozen goods. All he could do was take in Ygritte, the curve of her jaw, the red on her cheeks, the shadows of her lashes, the curls of her hair, the way she threw her hands in the air in frustration, the way her lips moved when she spoke, pink and soft and warm. He knew. He also knew that there was a large freckle just beneath her tail bone, or that she got goosebumps when he touched the palm of her hands. He knew that she drank tea when it was still boiling hot, or that she knew no mercy when it came to killing spiders. He knew that sometimes she trailed her finger across her mother's picture and that she sometimes stared in the mirror with a foreign sadness in her eyes. He knew she always fell asleep watching television and that she liked to bury her face in his chest at night.
He knew all those things. And now he knew one more thing, and it rested in his heart like a hot stone, heavy and burning.
He knew now. Or he started to think that he did.
.:.
Mance gave me next weekend off, did you have any plans?
Out of the two of us, you're usually the one who has plans.
Remember those caves I told you about?
.:.
On Friday morning, Jon cleared out Ygritte's car, making room for the dozen bags of groceries she had brought with her from the supermarket (how long exactly are we staying?). Every last inch of the trunk was crammed with clothes, food, sleeping bags and blankets. Jon could not hide the slight worry whether or not the car would even make it all the way north, but Ygritte only brushed it off with a smile and a deep kiss that left him breathless.
On Friday afternoon, Ygritte tore apart their third attempt at printing a map, Jon's printer only now deciding to give up on them. Sam and Gilly had shut the door to his room, and Ygritte had thrown out her own broken printer weeks ago. So, with sour expressions on their faces, they made their way down the road to the only copy shop nearby. They left with a shiny print of the needed map, hands entangled, roaring with laughter at the creepy customer in front of them who had tried to make copies of a magazine that made Jon's cheeks flush. I have more work to do, I see, Ygritte had whispered in his ear when she noticed the bright red of his cheeks, slipping her hand into the back pocket of his jeans.
Friday night, Jon lay awake for a long time, smoothing his fingers through Ygritte's curls as she slept soundly, cheek pressed against the place where his heart beat calmly.
On Saturday morning, so early the sun had not even broken through yet, only a dim orange glow present to illuminate the nearly empty parking lot behind Ygritte's apartment building, she ushered him into the passenger seat of her car. He wiped the sleep from his eyes, yawning as she climbed in beside him. She was wearing sweat pants and one of his shirts, hair pulled back into a pony tail and eyes still swollen with sleep. Just as she was about to turn the key in the ignition, Jon leaned over towards her, pressing his lips against her temple. Thanks for this, he whispered, nudging his nose against her cheek.
He saw the slight flush on her cheeks, and when her lips caught his, he pulled her as close to him as their seatbelts allowed. A few minutes later, they were on their way, the streets empty, even long after they left the city behind them.
On Saturday afternoon, Ygritte hit him deftly on the arm with the map. The map he had been reading wrong. How much brain do you have left under that pretty hair of yours? She shouted across the deserted parking lot, the harsh wind blowing around them, setting free strand after strand of her hair. In the end, she laughed, throwing him the key. You're driving. I'm reading the map.
Saturday night, just after the sun had set over the vast planes of untouched wilderness, Ygritte excitedly grabbed his hand and pulled him through a narrow slit between two rocks. His legs were tired from the long hike and the even longer ride in the car before that, but when he saw what lay hidden behind the rough rocks, he forgot about all of it.
The cave was much larger than he had thought, almost entirely blanketed in darkness. A waterfall rushed steadily on one side, falling in gentle rains down into a pool. The stone seemed smoothed by the constant contact with the water, and the place was sheltered from both the wind and the cold. Even in summer, these lands were rougher and less pleasant than any other further south.
Ygritte propped her backpack against a large boulder, kneeling down to unclasp the lamp they had brought from the side of the bag. Put up the other one, too. Don't want to break a leg. Jon heard her faintly, but his eyes were too taken by the hidden cave to really take notice of her words. Not until she called his name was he pulled out of his revelry, and he rummaged through his own backpack to find the other lamp.
Once they burned, the cave walls came alive with dances of flames and shadows.
What do you think? Ygritte asked, unzipping her coat. Jon watched her as she slipped out of the red fabric, hands grabbing the hemline of her shirt to pull it over her head.
It's amazing. Jon could not take his eyes off Ygritte, though, as she continued to undress, her clothes forming a small pile at her feet. He could feel his hands trembling, remembering a different time she had taken her clothes off like this. The memory made him smile to himself.
What are you waiting for? She asked as the last piece of fabric left her body. Turning away from him, she slowly walked over towards the pool, the sight of her in the dim light of the cave breathtaking. Jon swallowed, shrugging out of his own coat.
There was a splash when Ygritte jumped into the water, and her content laughter echoed through the cave a hundred times.
By the time he joined her, surprised by how warm the water was, Ygritte's hair was soaked and her skin soft beneath his touch. The pool was not very deep, but deep enough for them to disappear shoulder-deep into the water, and Ygritte swam into his arms, hands curling around his neck. Her kisses were fire on his skin as she scattered them along his jaw and down his neck.
But it wasn't what he wanted. His fingers curled under her chin, gently pulling her face towards his. The words he had longed to say since that night at Tormund's house lingered on the tip of his tongue, but he could not quite form them, was not quite sure they were right. So, instead, he closed the gap between them and kissed her lips, hands smoothing around her waist under water to pull her flush against him. In the water, everything was light, nothing between them but softness and warmth, and she curled herself around him more and more with each breath he swallowed.
On Sunday morning, Jon woke to soft lips peppering kisses down his chest. His eyes were foggy when he opened them, the darkness of the cave a welcome sight, yet not as welcome as the realization that Ygritte had pulled away the blanket he had thrown over them during the night, and was now straddling his thighs. Morning, he murmured, stretched his arms, fingers digging into the sleeping bag beneath him.
They had build a fort of blankets up against a boulder. It had been the soft rush of the waterfall and the steadiness of Ygritte's breath against his side that had lulled him into a deep sleep, and he felt more rested than he had in years.
Morning, Ygritte replied, her voice muffled as she pressed a kiss just above his belly button. The touch send ripples through his stomach, the muscles of his abdomen twitching, and he exhaled a shaky breath. You were snoring.
Jon scoffed, his fingers reaching down to run across Ygritte's shoulders. Above him, she trembled at the light touch, her hands plastered firmly on the sleeping bag to keep herself steady. I only snore when I have a cold.
Warm lips brushed from one side of his stomach to the other, the feel of her soft thighs pressing against his own sending a jolt up his spine. No, you don't. He could feel her grin against his skin, and was about to ruffle his hand through her hair - she hated that, and he loved how her cheeks would always flush and she'd clap his hands away – when she trailed her mouth even lower.
He said nothing after that, nothing but her name as it left his lips in a sharp exhale.
On Sunday afternoon, Jon nearly burned his bad hand again when Ygritte pushed him roughly out of the way. For someone so tiny, she possessed quite a lot of strength. Jon groaned as his back flatly hit the ground, and Ygritte looked away from the small bonfire he had tried to stir – you're doing it all wrong, let me. When she saw him there, flat on his back and his legs angled into the air, she broke out laughing, holding her stomach.
Not funny, he scoffed, crawling back into a sitting position. By the time the fire was finally big enough to heat up the soup they had brought, Ygritte was still laughing so hard she had tears streaming down her face. For a moment, Jon was worried she might suffocate, but decided that right now she deserved it.
She grasped his arm, her laughter turning into sob-like breaths, and he shook his head, unable to fight the grin any more that had tickled his lips for minutes now.
Above them, the sky was spotlessly blue, and the dry grass beneath them stretched on and on until the horizon swallowed it whole.
Ygritte's legs were thrown lazily across his lap, most of the milky skin exposed by the shorts she wore. Jon's fingers – warmed by the cup of soup he had been holding, now stacked mindlessly by the side of the crackling fire – trailed the goosebumps erupting on her skin. They sat there for a long time, under the sky and in utter silence, staring into the dancing flames of the fire. When the flames began to weaken, Ygritte took his hand in her own, drawing her thumb in circular patterns over the scarred skin of palm. The sensation was numbed by the thick scar tissue, but he felt it all the same.
Pulling her gently into his side, Jon kissed her forehead, never untangling their hands, and when the sun disappeared behind the horizon as one large red ball of fire, the utter peace almost overwhelmed him.
Sunday night, one of the lamps broke. The cave was almost entirely dark, but neither of them cared. Ygritte's arms were wrapped around his back, fingernails digging in deeply as she breathed into his neck, lips pressing against his rapidly beating carotid artery.
His own breathing was just as ragged. Fatigue spread through his arms, making it harder and harder to support his weight. The way Ygritte clung to him, he knew she probably would not mind if he crushed her right now. But still, he pressed his elbows deeper into the sleeping bag beneath her.
With a sigh, Ygritte brushed one of her hands down his back, pulling him gently but firmly closer to her. He was still inside her, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist, the taste of her still on his tongue.
The sound of her name fell from his lips in a husky whisper, his nose trailing up the side of her neck until she turned. Beneath him, her hair resting around her head like a crown, she smiled softly.
Let's not go back, she whispered softly, cupping his cheek in her hand. I don't ever want to leave this cave. Her lips were a mere inch away from his own, so close he could taste her words on his tongue, feel the warmth of her breath sending shivers throughout his body. Not ever. When he kissed her, he promised himself never to forget her words, longing to make them come true.
Here, far away from everyone else and from the world they lived in, nothing mattered but the two of them. There were no schools, no money, no fear and no fights. It was her and him. Just like she had told him that day in the park. It's you and me that matters to me and you, her words echoed in his memory as he swallowed her soft moan. He wanted to freeze this moment, trap the two of them in it until the world fell to dust around them.
On Monday morning, when Ygritte was asleep in the passenger seat, her lips slightly parted, hair dancing in the soft breeze that came in through the open window, Jon knew for sure.
He loved her.
.:.
He never found the right moment to tell her.
When she was happy, he did not want to burden her with it. When she was sad, he did not want her to connect the words with pain. When she was angry, he felt like she did not deserve to know. When she was brave, he felt like a coward.
No one had ever told him how this worked. How did you tell someone you love them? How could those three words even remotely describe how important she was to him? How much she had changed him. How much better his life was with her by his side. How deeply she had changed him. Was there ever a right moment to open up to her in such a way? To pour out the deepest of his feelings, to lay them out in the open. To expose himself?
He waited and waited, fear growing inside of him like a wildfire.