Champagne Problems | Jon Snow
Pairing: Jon Snow x Reader
Genre: Angst
Warnings: Slight canon divergence (mainly Season 8)
Words: ~1.6k
Prompt: Inspired by Champagne Problems by Taylor Swift from her new album.
Note: Want to be tagged in my future works when I post?? Link is in my Bio! ♡ Also, I like -- love Jon a lot...?? And I want more content, so feel free to request more Jon content.
The ballroom looked absolutely beautiful that night, like something straight out of a fairytale. Hundreds - maybe even thousands - of candles bathed the room in their warm glow. Some as sconces on the wall, some as chandeliers that hung from the vaulted ceilings, and some as part of the centerpiece on the High Table where Queen Daenerys and her closest advisors sat. The room was buzzing, everyone either dancing or standing in small clusters with ever full glasses of wine and champagne.
You moved through the room with the grace of a swan, dancing to the sweet music the musicians played. Jon had one hand on your waist and the other intertwined with your hand. His movements weren’t as smooth as your own, but he managed to keep up, allowing you to lead. You smiled at him, a beaming smile that made all the lights in the room seem nonexistent in comparison. Your silk dress moved like water as you danced through the room, so much lighter and less constricting than the heavy dresses of the North. You looked ethereal that night, the fairytale ballroom a perfect backdrop for your angelic appearance.
“Marry me,” the question -- no demand -- slipped from Jon’s mouth with ease, as if he’d practiced them a million times over. His hand on your waist tightened as he spun you around, much more confident in his movements the longer you danced. He looked at you as if you were the only person in the room; all the painted ladies and other distractions were invisible to his eyes. He even turned a blind eye to Queen Daenerys, who was languidly sitting in a chair, overwatching the ball with an easy smile on her fair face. She’d shown an interest in Jon, but he never paid it mind.
‘Why would I when I have you?’ he’d told you one night.
With a boyish smile on his face and shining eyes that were full of nothing but happy feelings and sappy stories, he looked at peace. And why wouldn’t he? You’d been by his side since you snuck into the Night’s Watch pretending to be a mute boy, and he’d been at yours since he figured out you were neither mute nor a boy. Every time Ser Alliser Thorne insulted him, you were at his defense. Every encounter with Slynt where he mocked Ned Stark, you were quick to put him in his place. When Jon went to Hardhome, you were at his back, fighting away the White Walkers before you all had to retreat. And when Thorne, Olly, and the others betrayed him, you found his cold body.
Leaving the Night’s Watch with him to take back Winterfell was a given, and coming to his defense against Northern Lords that opposed him making an alliance with Daenerys Targaryen was as easy as breathing. You never imagined ever leaving his side - nor living a life he wasn’t in. You always thought that when -- not if -- Jon proposed you'd instantly say yes. So why is it, when he finally asked the question you'd been waiting to hear since the Night King was defeated, you couldn't speak?
“What?” You managed to ask, but your voice was nothing but a whisper. Your throat felt raw like you’d been screaming into an abyss for hours on end, but you haven’t, so why did you feel like this? Why was dread filling your stomach rather than elation? Your eyes were wide like a deer, mouth slightly ajar. All the color left your face, leaving you as pale as a linen sheet. The grip on his hand and shoulder loosened until you were hardly holding onto him at all.
The music swelled, and he spun you again, but instead of gliding across the ballroom floor with the grace of an angel, you stumble and teeter. Jon’s grip on your waist kept you from falling to the floor. But perhaps the pain would shake the shock out of your system.
“Marry me, make me the happiest man in the world,” he said, a small sweet smile on his face, his brown eyes nearly glowing in the candlelit room. He leaned down, his forehead touching yours, soft breath fanning across your face. He was far too close to you for it to be proper, but Jon never cared for being “proper.”
“I -- don’t you think this is sudden?” The words clumsily fumbled from your mouth, like a baby learning how to walk. Your heart pounded against your chest, racing faster than it ever did in the heat of battle. Jon pulled back, just an inch. His brown eyes that only a second ago were brimming with child-like joy were swimming with confusion, his furrowed brows causing little creases to appear on his forehead. Normally, you’d reach a hand out, smoothing out all the lines along with the worries and fears that caused them. But your body felt frozen, you couldn’t move your arms from their spot if you wanted.
“We’ve been fighting for so many years, and now that there’s peace, the only thing I can think about is how much I want to make you my wife,” Jon said as if your apprehension and fear was the most outrageous thing he’d heard in his life. And maybe it was. You’d been lovers for years now, and logically, you knew that marriage would eventually be the next step. But you didn’t think eventually would come so quickly.
You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. All the words you wanted to say were gone, leaving your mind blank. The music swelled once more, a dramatic end to the beautiful ballad they played. Everyone around you stepped away from their partners, bowing or curtseying, shining a spotlight on the still forms of you and Jon. The words on the tip of your tongue twisted themselves together, vying to escape your mouth, leaving you choking on unspoken answers and questions.
“Y/N--” Jon begins, his soft lips downturned slightly, the light in his eyes dimming with every passing second you didn't respond. Your hands dropped from Jon’s and everyone in the room burst into applause. The timing feeling like your and Jon’s life was just a play to bring them entertainment. Although you don’t remember any play where they cheered for the maiden to reject the king’s marriage proposal. You could already hear their whispers behind your back once they got word of your rejection.
“Such a lovely bride she would’ve made, what a shame she’s fucked in the head,” they’d say.
“I- I need some air.” You turned, not at all graceful and poised, instead, you stumbled like a drunk walking into the dawn light. You ran as fast as you could, dodging anyone that may be in the way. Your heels bang against the marble floor, echoing in your ears like a hammer hitting a bell. A group of gossiping ladies were your only obstacle from getting out of the ballroom. You should smile politely, and move around them. A lady must always be polite and unassuming, but with your heart racing and your body shaking, logical thoughts were nowhere to be found. So you charge through them like a bull, hands creasing their gowns of velvet and silk as you shoved them aside. They shout and protest, calling you all sorts of insults, but you paid them no mind.
Finally, out the door, the quiet and isolation was divine but maddeningly lonely at the same time. Not a soul was in the hall, beyond the two Unsullied guards on both sides of the door, but they might as well not be there. You let out a sigh, stumbling towards the stairs, eager to feel the cool night air against your hot skin. With your clammy hands tightly gripping the railing, you all but flew down the staircase. A choked sob left your throat, and then another, and another, and another. You're dizzy, and shaking, and erratic, and unable to focus on anything around you. Only once you reach the bottom do you turn around.
Jon stood at the landing of the staircase, watching you with sad eyes. If it were any other situation, you might find fascination in the way you could read every thought in his mind with a glance. You could see his heart shattering, the sense of dread that filled you was strangling him from the inside out. In the reflection of your glossy eyes, you saw the glimmer of a jewel originating from his hand, holding the object so tightly his skin was ghostly. His expression was crestfallen, but you were sure yours matched. Neither of you planned for the night to end this way.
But it did.
Your mouth was dry, your limbs froze up again. He doesn’t speak. But the silence says everything he doesn’t. A million questions linger in the air, but the most prominent one. The one that breaks your heart the most.
‘Why?’
And you didn’t have an answer, couldn’t explain to him why the thought of marrying him terrified you so much, shaking you to the core. Couldn’t put into words why you’d reacted so poorly to something that seemed obvious to him and everyone around, and even you at one point. Guess you don't know the answer to a question until someone asks it. But most importantly, you couldn’t give him the answer he so desperately wanted. And you wish you could. But you couldn’t. No matter how much it broke your heart to take his heart of glass and shatter it.
“I’m sorry,” you managed to choke out, tears welling up in your eyes, making everything in your vision hazy and unfocused. “I’m so sorry.”
And before he could respond, you turned around, and disappeared down the long winding halls, leaving Jon and everything you had with him behind.
o0o0o
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