Prompt: Two miserable people meeting at a wedding AU


broken rules

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Jon is just about to catch a stray piece of pie crust when a fork that is not his suddenly appears and dives right in. He looks up in surprise at the woman who has plopped down on the empty chair next to his. Her hair is flaming red and cascading over her shoulders in loose curls, and his eyes follow the flowing silk of her blue dress, the freckles scattered across her pale skin and - he is pulled out of his thoughts when she stuffs his pie into her mouth. Ehm... Excuse me? he asks, holding his own fork in mid-air just above the plain white plate.

The woman has a deadly serious frown on her face, but doesn't even bother to swallow the pie completely before speaking. I was behind you in line at the buffet, she starts, and Jon looks away from her mouth to avoid the sight of his pie disappearing there. It's a terrible idea, he realizes too late, because now his eyes are transfixed on hers, and they are the deepest shade of blue he has ever seen, and for the first time in his life he understands why some people care so much about what colour their clothes are. Her dress brings out the blue in her eyes, the tiny speckles of gold around the middle, and he swallows, almost visibly shaking his head. You're an arse and took the last slice of pie. She swallows then, and the bobbing of her throat pulls Jon's eyes down there. To her smooth neck, almost hidden by the length of her hair. Didn't anyone teach you not to eat the last bits?

She is grinning now, a pretty grin despite her slightly crooked teeth. Sorry, Jon mutters, catching himself wondering if her lips really are that deep shade of pink or if she is wearing lipstick.

Quick as lightening, she reaches out for more pie. The movement brings her closer, a shiver running up his spine when her silk-covered knee bumps into his thigh. She keeps it there, not bothered by it at all, it seems, chewing away on his pie. Jon feels a little lost, unsure where to look, so he fixes his eyes on the pie on his plate, the crust looking as inviting as any food ever has. I was just going to let you eat it, cause you looked really miserable, the woman suddenly says, and he furrows his brows when their gazes meet. But then I thought, why does he get to be miserable and eat pie when I have to be just miserable? She shrugs her shoulders, another fork full of pie disappearing in her mouth.

Jon ignores the remark about his own state of mind - but it does make him wonder if he truly looks as miserable as he feels, or if she's just especially gifted at reading strangers expression. You're miserable? he asks instead, searching for any clue on her face, but all he can see when she smiles a crooked smile is the curve of her lips, the straight bridge of her nose, her sharp jawline, her pale freckled skin against burning hair and those eyes he fears he might get lost in.

You're the best man, right? Jon smiles to himself when she changes the topic, and the movement feels different. All day, he has forced out smile after smile, his cheeks burning from the exertion. Now, it seems natural and fluid, and he looks down at his lap, dull black trousers a stark contrast to her blue dress were her knee still presses into his thigh. Nice speech earlier.

Thanks, he mutters, feeling the blush that's tinting his cheeks, and he quickly tries to steer them away from the subject. You're one of the bridesmaids? He can't quite remember her, but all the bridesmaids are wearing this shade of blue. In this moment, as she stuffs more of his pie in her mouth, he curses himself for not paying more attention earlier during the ceremony. Had he actually opened his eyes and not been so lost in his own misery, he surely would have noticed her earlier.

Not really something you can say no to, she shrugs, licking apple sauce from the edge of her fork, and Jon swallows hard when her tongue peeks out. What's your name again? Jon?

He nods, nervously kneading his suddenly sweaty hands. Jon Snow.

She licks her fork clean and dumps it on his now empty plate with a noisy clutter that is drowned by the crowded room, dancing people and annoying music. I'm Ygritte. With a wide grin she reaches out her hand, and Jon feels his stomach clench nervously as he takes it. Her grip is surprisingly strong for someone with such small hands, and her fingers feel strangely cold compared to her fiery hair and character.

You ate all my pie, Jon notes, eyes flickering between Ygritte's pleased expression and the empty plate, left only with stray crumbs. His stomach grumbles when he drops her hand, but not loud enough for her to hear. He's glad for it, because he gets the feeling it would earn him one hell of a remark.

You stole it, she quips, crossing her bare arms in front of her chest. Jon tries hard not look at what it does to the neckline of her dress, but the way her eyebrow rises when he quickly looks back at her face tells him enough to know he has been caught. I stole it back. It seems odd that she doesn't give a sly remark on the path of his eyes, but there is a mischievous glint in her eyes that is bursting with promises. So, Jon Snow. Why are you so grim?

Nervously running his fingers through his messy hair, Jon is quite sure that Ygritte has little to no idea that her question is of a much for fundamental nature than she intended it to be. He wonders how she does it, anyway. Talk to a random stranger like this, let alone steal his pie. She seems utterly at ease with the situation, sinking down comfortably in the chair, while his own heart is pounding restlessly against his ribs and he has to run his clammy palms across his thighs over and over. I just don't like weddings, he eventually replies, avoiding her gaze. Those deep blue eyes give him the feeling as if she could look straight into his soul and detect any lie, any omitted truth.

Same. Suddenly her hand is on his shoulder, fingertips digging in gently, but enough so that he can feel it through the layers of his suit. It brings her so much closer to him, and when she speaks again - just a whisper really, husky and secretive, he can feel her warm breath against his neck. How about we're miserable together?

The heat that flows through his veins is too much, and so Jon quickly stands up. Too quickly. He feels himself swaying, sees stars bursting brightly in front of his eyes as he stands, and without really thinking, he grabs his empty plate for leverage. I'm just going to get more pie.

Ygritte laughs heartily at that, looking up at him with a soft but cheeky grin. You running away from me, Jon Snow?

No. Yes. Maybe. He suddenly feels like a complete and utter fool, scrambling for words, unable to tear his eyes away from Ygritte's. They are turning bigger with each of his stuttered words, and she does that thing with her arms again, crosses them in front of her chest, and the heat wanders from his body to his cheeks. No.

Now you're blushing. How sweet, she says, lifting herself off the chair and smoothing out her long dress with pale fingers. I best come with you.

Jon isn't quite sure if he really had tried to run away from her, but one way or the other, she would not let him. He can still feel the burning of his blush, and is suddenly all the more glad he did not decide to shave, or he would have made an even bigger fool of himself. With determined steps, they fight their way through the crowd towards the buffet, and every now and then, their arms would brush, or his eyes fall down towards her, catching her looking up at him with a wide grin.

Too bad I'm not the maid of honour, Ygritte finally says when the buffet comes into sight, almost deserted now. He looks at her, feeling his brows disappearing beneath his curls. We could've hooked up.

She says it as though she had just told him that the sun is shining outside, or that her dress is blue, like the most normal conversation two strangers at a wedding could have. But the blush on Jon's cheeks only deepens another shade, his heart beating violently as he watches her, her own eyes innocently scanning the array of cakes and pies.

Are there rules? he suddenly hears himself asking, and before the words have even passed his lips, Jon wants to step on his own foot. Swallowing, he has no idea where they have even come from, but the implications of them are buzzing between him and Ygritte like electricity when she looks up. She seems just as surprised as he feels, the buffet forgotten.

A few silent moments pass between them, heavy and loaded, the tension so thick that Jon wants to grab one of the knives and slice right through it. But then Ygritte's face lights up, her eyes coming to life and her pink lips - he is sure now that she's not wearing lipstick, and it makes it all the more difficult to look away - stretch into the most devious smile.

Her hand reaches out to press into his lower back, and suddenly she is so much closer, too close, as close as before, but this time Jon stands his ground. He has started this - well, not really, she has been the one to steal his pie, but those words have slipped past his tongue, and he's going to stand by them, no point in denying them now. Ygritte moves even closer, until her lips are back at his throat, and he can feel her hand reaching for a plate next to him to give them an excuse for this position. But he can't hide the shudder than rips through his body when she murmurs into his neck once more. None that can't be broken, Jon Snow.