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Gold Saucer Wedding

Chapter Text

Aymeric stirred awake and instantly felt Regret.

He moaned in quiet misery, a monstrous headache thudding dully behind his eyes as his body reluctantly heaved itself out of sleep. He was hungover, something in his brain grumbled, but he didn’t allow himself to think beyond that because he was fairly certain he was going to vomit up the entirety of his digestive system if he strained himself any further. So, he lay there for a moment, trying to will himself out of existence, eyes squeezed firmly shut as his stomach tried its damnest to turn itself inside out.

Ugh. He was getting too old to endure this.

Something kicked the back of his legs, pulling him back to horrible reality. He groaned again, squinting his eyes open to be dazzled by bright, garish gold. After a moment where he wrestled with the nauseous migraine that all but drop-kicked him in the head, he gingerly propped himself up on his elbow, pushing his fingers through his messy hair to see…

… a room he did not recognise.

It was large and opulent in a way that reminded Aymeric of the designer sense of a tasteless lord obsessed with gold. The walls were painted bright gold, the curtains were a thick, heavy cloth that were an off-yellow, a large chandelier dangled from the ceiling, its crystals shaped into top-hat wearing Cactuars – and the bed he was lying on was an enormous, Queen-sized bed shaped like a heart with, you guessed it, gold sheets. Terribly rumpled gold sheets, with suspicious stains on them and what looked like spilled wine and… hm.

Aymeric leaned over the edge of his side of the bed. There were a few wine bottles scattered about.

The mystery of the hangover was solved.

It didn’t explain the room though. Distantly, he could hear music, a cheery, invigorating tempo that just made him feel tired. He stared blankly at the horrible walls for a moment before carefully looking over his shoulder.

As expected, Aza was sprawled out on his side of the bed completely dead to the world. For some reason he was wearing a very tight… bodice thing, that squeezed his pecs together in some semblance of a cleavage, and the scanty fabric stopping just short of his navel. That was the only thing he was wearing, though Aymeric spotted some discarded, tangled fishnet stockings at the foot of the bed with one lone, stiletto heel resting close to the very edge, in danger of toppling off.

They had fun last night, it seemed. Drunken fun that… Aymeric couldn’t recall at all, Fury damn it.

Huffing quietly, Aymeric sluggishly rolled over, his free hand cradling his head when everything spun a little. He felt like he had wine in his skull sloshing about, and it took a lot more concentration than he liked to blearily clutch at Aza’s shoulder, shaking him awake.

“Aza…” he mumbled, “Wake up.”

“Nnmphgh…” Came Aza’s intelligent reply, his partner’s ear twitching and his entire face scrunching up in discomfort. Yeah. He sympathised, “Oh… fuck.”

“Seconded,” Aymeric half-slurred. He must still be a bit drunk, he thought, because he found Aza’s cutely scrunched nose a little funny. He snorted before he could stop himself, and winced when that made his headache throb angrily, “Ow…”

Aza cracked an eye open, peering up at him fuzzily, “Aym… are you still drunk?”

“Kind of,” he admitted, and tried to sit up. Everything wobbled, so he quickly lied down again, letting out a low, disorientated noise, “Yes,” he amended dizzily, “M’drunk.”

Aza made a breathless, husky noise that sounded like pained laughter, and Aymeric enviously noted that he seemed a bit soberer than himself as he sat up. Aza’s hair was undone, spilling over his shoulders in a wavy mess, and his golden eyes were squinted in pain as he took in their surroundings like Aymeric did only minutes before.

“Why’re we… in the honeymoon suite?” Aza asked slowly, clumsily raking his fingers through his hair to make himself more presentable.

Oh, was that where they were? “Huh?”

“Gold Saucer, hotel thing…” Aza muffled a yawn behind his hand, giving a slow, cautious shake of his head, “Ugh, fuck, I’m hungover. What’d we do last night?”

Aymeric had no idea. His brain felt like useless putty, and any attempt to think beyond ‘Aza’s chest looks nice in that bodice’ sort of stalled. He vaguely remembered… an invitation from… Lord Manderville and, trade, and, something – then wines, lots of wine, and Aza looking terribly inviting and nice, and something about an ‘on the house’ suite and… oh, Aza looked very nice in that bodice…

Aza looked back down at him, the corner of his mouth curling up into a smile.

“You are fucked,” he laughed at him, and gently booped his nose. Aymeric scrunched it, “Adorable. Hey, just stay here for a second. I’ll… huh, what am I wearing…?”

Aza looked down, hooking his fingers into the front of his bodice and pulling at it.

Aymeric shamelessly stared, entranced by how the fabric clung to the curves of Aza’s torso, how it squeezed his firm chest, flared to a stop above his stomach, the buttons on the front straining just a little…

Aza glanced at him, caught him staring, and smiled wryly, “My eyes are up here, Aym.”

“But your chest is down there,” Aymeric replied shamelessly, his gaze lingering on where Aza’s fingers were hooked where his pecs squeezed together into a slight cleavage. If he didn’t feel so awful, he may’ve tried something. As it was, he burned the image into memory and said, “It’s a very nice chest.”

Aza laughed – then winced, pressing a hand to his forehead briefly, “Oof, ow, Aym, don’t make me laugh.”


Aza unbuttoned the bodice, letting out a relieved sigh when it was off. He rubbed a hand over his now bare chest, heel pressing against the thick scar Zenos left behind at Rhalgr’s Reach, and – a glint of gold caught Aymeric’s eye. A ring, plain gold, sat on Aza’s ring finger.

Aza noticed the same time as he did, pausing and lifting his hand with a frown. They stared at the ring.

“What’s…” Aza looked over at him, and faster than he could react, snatched up his hand. He had a ring sitting snugly on his finger as well. They stared at that too.

“Um,” Aza looked between their hands, their matching rings, and Aymeric was too drunk to really follow what was happening so he just blinked in open bewilderment, “Um.”

“We have rings,” Aymeric said, finally processing what he was seeing, “Huh.”

“Oh fuck,” Aza said, and promptly scrambled out of bed.


So, this was what happened:

Aymeric and Aza had been attending a grandiose party Lord Manderville had been throwing for his son, Hildibrand Manderville, at the Gold Saucer. Aza, being considered close friends to the man, was invited and encouraged to bring a plus one. Aymeric, who had never been to the Gold Saucer and was always eager to travel anywhere with Aza, leapt at the chance. Lord Manderville, after all, was a very important relationship to maintain to sustain Ishgard’s fledging economy – or that was the excuse he flung at his counterpart at least.

Long story short, Aymeric fell foul of the infamously potent and bottomless wine that circled the party, Aza ended up in a Bunny boy suit somehow, they very nearly got kicked out of the Gold Saucer by the security staff for public indecency, and they also got married in the Gold Saucer chapel.


They got married.

Whilst drunk.

In the Gold Saucer Chapel.

That sobered Aymeric up very quickly.

“Is this legal?” he asked blankly, staring at the marriage papers Aza had thrust into his hands. They had been lying on the floor near the door to the hotel room, rumpled and wine-stained. They looked official enough, though cute little Cactuars in suits and bridal gowns patterned the edges of it, and it had been stamped by Lord Manderville himself, coupled with a personalised note at the bottom detailing how honoured he was to preside over his son’s best friend’s wedding and how he wished them a happy marriage like he with his own beloved wife, he hoped they enjoyed the honeymoon suite and the rings on the house, etc, etc, etc.

Aymeric felt like he’d entered some kind of fever dream. There was no way this could be legal. Aza’s signature was just a scribble and Aymeric’s… was just a very loopy, unsteady circle that might’ve been a capital ‘A’ if he squinted and tilted his head. That wasn’t even getting into the fact that they were both so drunk they didn’t remember this.

“I-I don’t know,” Aza said. He looked frazzled, pacing next to the bed. He kept glancing at the ring on his hand like he wasn’t sure what to make of it, and Aymeric was avoiding looking at his too, “I think it might be.”

“Fuck,” Aymeric swore, pressing a hand over his eyes and squeezing them shut, “Lucia’s is going to murder me.”

Aza froze.

“What?” Aymeric dropped his hand when Aza was staring at him in despairing realisation, feeling rapidly discomforted, “Aza? Is something wro-”

Mom is going to kill me,” Aza whispered suddenly, practically going white in realised horror, “She hasn’t even met you yet and I marry you on a drunken night out… oh fuck. Aymeric. My Mom is going to kill us both.”

Aymeric stared at him.

“…there is a sea between us,” was literally all he could think to say.

“That won’t stop her,” Aza groaned, flopping onto the edge of the bed and burying his face in his hands, “Fuck.”

There was a long moment of silence between them.

Aymeric looked down at the paper again, the ring on his finger glinting attractively. It wasn’t that this was such a horrible thing. He had been considering, for a while now, proposing to Aza once everything had been settled in Ishgard and the threat Garlemald posed was stopped. He had planned and plotted the most romantic scenarios, even floated them by Lucia to make sure they would be fine, contacted Hien to ask him what the proposing rituals were for Aza’s specific tribe and… a drunken night just threw a wrench into that.

Aza didn’t seem all that happy with it, either. Aymeric felt something twist in his stomach at the thought, trying not to feel to hurt at Aza’s extreme aversion to their accidental marriage. He was hurt though. He knew it was irrational – Aza was just upset over the unexpectedness of it, like he himself was – but… still, a part of his mind couldn’t help but worry that Aza was upset over the prospect of being married, in general, to himself.  


He stirred out of his worries, looking up to see his partner staring at him in worry. It was clear he’d been saying his name a few times now.

“Are you okay, handsome?” Aza asked him, “You spaced out for a second there.”

Was he okay? Yes. No. He didn’t know. He set the papers aside on the bed, feeling too hungover and ill and confused to properly process this- this mess. His original proposal plans were ruined. Aza didn’t even seem all that enthused about being married, accidentally or no. This whole thing was… a drunken mistake and Aymeric was stupidly upset about it. He knew it was stupid. He was still upset though. He felt devastated for reasons that went beyond him.

“I don’t know,” he finally said.

Aza studied him for a moment, something in his expression softening.

“Mom won’t really kill us,” he said a bit awkwardly, “She might yell at us for a bit though. It’ll be okay, Aym, I was just joking.”

I wasn’t worried about that, Aymeric thought, but he didn’t say it. He rubbed his thumb over the ring that sat on his finger – it fit perfectly. Well, if Lord Manderville supposedly crafted these himself, it shouldn’t come as a surprise, but, already he didn’t want to remove it. He didn’t understand what he was feeling right now.

He had dreamed, for the longest time, of marrying Aza…

…and now he had, and he couldn’t bloody remember it.

Chapter Text

It was a little past mid-morning when they begun their walk of shame.

Walk of shame because neither of them had planned to stay the night, so after washing up in the en-suite bathroom, they had no choice but to crawl into their clothes from last night. Aymeric’s suit was rumpled and had a faint smell of alcohol and wine, and Aza… well, Aza had no idea where his gambeson and leather, padded trousers had vanished to, so he was forced to squeeze into that bunny boy outfit the Gold Saucer employees wore. Where did he even get this? Did he rob some poor employee of their clothing? Or did he buy it? He had no idea. Gods, he hoped his original clothes were in the lost and found.

The only consolation was that his outfit came with shorts instead of those criminally tiny underwear things the other men wore. Still had fishnet stockings, though, still had the stiletto heels that Aza was banking on using as a lethal weapon if required but were absolute killer on his ankles. How did Crisp run in these fucking things?


Made Aza feel self-conscious as fuck to be walking out in public in, though.

When they first stumbled out of the honeymoon suite, there had been a Hyur maid a few rooms down. She had looked up, saw Aymeric in his rumpled suit and Aza in his bunny boy outfit, clearly hung over and recovering from a night of drunken sex, and had given Aza a judging look. It rubbed him all wrong.

It made him feel… he buried the thought before he let it sour his mood. No. He worked hard to reclaim his confidence to look sexy and lovely for Aymeric. He wasn’t letting some judgemental maid change that for him.

But as they moved from the hotel area of the Gold Saucer to the Casino itself, the looks kept coming. People just saw some Miqo’te Bunny Boy employee limping next to some rich looking Elezen, clearly having spent the night spreading his legs for him, and rolled their eyes with knowing sneers. He wasn’t the dangerous, untouchable Warrior of Light here. He was just a random, stereotypical manwhore Miqo’te, and it rankled.

Just as Aza felt his temper beginning to reach boiling point, Aymeric abruptly nudged them into a tiny alcove. Aza almost growled at him, he felt that frazzled, but he bit off the noise before it became audible, and huddled unhappily close to the wall, staring at the passing foot traffic. They were close to the entrance hall, and his head was aching from the trilling of the Gold Saucer ditty blasting out from a nearby speaker.

“Aza,” Aymeric murmured, “Are you alright?”

“No, I’m not fucking alright,” Aza snapped. Aymeric looked startled and hurt at his aggressive tone, and he felt horrible about it. Great, just great, Aza. You fucking moron. “I mean- no, I’m… people keep staring and… fuck’s sake…”

There was a bit of an awkward pause.

“Here, let’s see if this helps,” Aymeric finally said. He unbuttoned his dark jacket and before Aza could protest, shrugged it off his shoulders and slipped it over Aza’s. It was long enough that it came up to where his shorts ended, but it covered up his arms, the fucking cleavage window on his chest, and his bare stomach. Aza pulled it around him, feeling a bit better at the extra layer.

“…thanks,” Aza mumbled, feeling like an absolute heel, “I’m sorry for snapping. I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s fine,” Aymeric sighed, rubbing at his forehead with his hand, the ring glinting as it caught the light. His white shirt had a pinkish splotch near its hem – spilled wine – and was horrifically creased. Aymeric didn’t seem to care, “We’re both a little… off, this morning. Its fine.”

That was true. That adorable, playful affection Aymeric had woke up was completely gone with the revelation of their drunken mistake. He had become quiet and… upset. Aza could tell he was upset, no matter how hard he tried to hide it, but he didn’t know at what specifically. The situation in general? At being married? At the thought of being ridiculed the moment he went back to Ishgard? The potential damage this could have for his political career? Because, oh, this will have damage. Marriage was considered sacred in Ishgardian society, and Aymeric just took a big ol’ piss all over that by having a whirlwind, drunken marriage in the Gold Saucer of all places. Another layer of nasty rumours waited for Aymeric, who already shouldered the terms “kinslayer”, “catfucker” and “dragonfucker” with stoic dignity.  

He had every right to be upset. It… made Aza feel awful, though, because this whole thing was his fault. Aymeric wouldn’t be the sort, drunk or not, to suggest getting married here. It was probably him, in a fit of drunken stupidity, that coerced a disorientated and heavily compromised Aymeric up on that altar and it made him feel like a selfish, awful person. Aza may’ve… thought about marriage, once or twice, but he didn’t want to do it like this. He had wanted to do it properly, had even read up on how Ishgardians did it and… couldn’t do that anymore. He ruined it.

But the Chocobo had bolted from the stall. They had to deal with what they had now and… agree on how to deal with it, because they hadn’t really discussed that yet.

“Aym,” Aza mumbled, feeling oddly clammy as he forced himself to confront the Oliphant they both had been avoiding, “What… when we see Godbert, what… what do you want to do?”

Aymeric didn’t immediately reply. He fiddled with his ring, twisting it over his finger, thumb rubbing over the gold band. Aza noticed he’d been doing that a lot since noticing the ring.

“…what do you want to do?” he eventually asked.

“I asked first.”

Aymeric sighed, “I… I’m not sure. If I was to get married, I didn’t expect it to be here, like this, and with no recollection of it. It… I’m not sure how to feel about it.”

Aza lowered his gaze, feeling queasy.

“Are you-” he paused, briefly losing courage. Aymeric waited though, patiently looking at him, and Aza mustered his strength to ask, albeit timidly; “Are you, um, u-unhappy with us… with us being married?”

Aymeric didn’t immediately reply, and the longer the silence stretched, the more nervous Aza felt. It meant he was trying to think up of a diplomatic response, something that wouldn’t upset him, and he pulled Aymeric’s jacket a bit tighter around him, hunching his shoulders as if bracing himself for a staggering blow.

“Aza,” Aymeric finally murmured, and he shifted a bit closer to him, lifting his hand – and pausing before his fingers touched Aza’s jaw, “May I…?”

Aza hesitated, but leaned into the touch. Aymeric cupped his jaw, rubbing his thumb along his sharp cheekbone and studied his face. Aza didn’t maintain eye contact. He looked down, at Aymeric’s throat, could see the dark bruising from last night, though he didn’t remember doing that, and he felt queasy about that too.

“I love you,” Aymeric murmured to him, “This situation hasn’t changed that. My only regret about this is that I don’t remember the moment I married you, because I’m sure that would have been the happiest time of my life.”

Aza’s throat felt suspiciously tight, and his eyes stung, but he took a deep breath and managed to croak, “Happiest...?”

Aymeric nodded, and there was a moment, a very brief moment, where he appeared nervous, before he bravely forged on, “I-I would have liked to, have our lives tied together like this eventually. In better circumstances but, what I mean is… I’m not unhappy with you. Not about this, and never about you. I’m sorry if I came across that way.”

Aza didn’t trust himself to speak.

“In fact, I thought you were unhappy…” Aymeric continued, definitely nervous now – probably from Aza’s silence, “You didn’t seem very enthused or happy, so I assumed… that you didn’t want to, and, ah, worried you were upset…”

“No,” Aza finally pushed out, “No, I wanted to but- I… I wanted to do it properly.”

Aymeric blinked in open surprise, and Aza felt himself redden when he realised what he just confessed, “You… you wanted to marry me?”

Well, in for a gil…

“Y-Yeah,” Aza’s face felt like it was on fire and he twisted his fingers into the jacket sitting snugly over his shoulders, sort of wishing for a world crisis to come crashing through the ceiling anytime now please and thank you, “I… I asked… I asked Lucia how, um, how Ishgardians do it…”

“I have been asking Hien how it’s done on the Steppes, so I could do it your way,” Aymeric blurted.

There was a pause where they both looked at each other in equal bewildered embarrassment. Had they both really…?

“You’ve been asking Hien?” Aza said stupidly, “Why not Bluebird?”

“She would’ve told you within the day,” Aymeric muttered, “Why didn’t Lucia tell me…?”

Aza felt very emotionally confused right now. So, Aymeric had wanted to… and Aza wanted to, so… this whole thing was, what they wanted, just gone about in a terrible way – and they couldn’t remember it. They couldn’t remember the one thing they both always wanted, because they got disgustingly drunk and became absolute morons and…

“Aza?” Aymeric sounded worried, “Love, what’s the matter?”

“We’re…” Aza began roughly, very rapidly realising where his emotions were tipping towards, “We’re such idiots!”

And for reasons he couldn’t even begin to rationalise – he burst into tears.

Well, how embarrassing.

It wasn’t even noon and already this day was emotionally exhausting.

Once Aza managed to wrestle his crazy, spontaneous crying fit under some semblance of control, Aymeric managed to usher them both to the closest public bathroom without someone pouncing on them and interrogating Aymeric on why he had a crying Miqo’te bunny boy in hand. Thankfully the Gold Saucer didn’t really ‘pick up’ until the late afternoon, so when they reached the wide, spacious and disgustingly opulent bathroom, it was just them.

“I-I’m sorry,” he sniffled, accepting the tissue Aymeric handed him to clean up his face, “I don’t know why I did that. Ugh, I’m such an idiot.”

“Shhh, you’re not,” Aymeric chided him gently, even if he looked a bit frazzled around the edges. He had admittedly panicked a little when Aza had just burst into tears. He felt bad for scaring him, “It’s – it’s been an emotionally trying da-”

“You’re not crying,” Aza mumbled sulkily into his tissue, pausing to blow his nose. He felt so gross. Even after the shower, he just felt… off. In the bathroom mirror he looked pale, with bags under his red-rimmed eyes, his hair damp and messy like a bird’s nest with the fur on his tail all tangled and knotted. He felt so unattractive and he wondered why the fuck Aymeric would even want to marry someone like him. He looked so stupid in this outfit too.

“Oh, trust me, I’ll be shedding tears once Lucia gets her hands on me,” Aymeric muttered. He held out another tissue, one Aza took dutifully, “Love, it’s fine. You’re allowed to be upset about this.”

“But it’s what we both wanted,” Aza sniffed, tossing the tissues into the bin and turning fully to the sink. He ran the tap, “We both wanted to be married.”

“But on our own terms, and actually remember it,” Aymeric said, “Now we’ve both ruined that for ourselves.”

Aza didn’t reply. He leaned down and splashed cold water on his face. It made him feel a lot less grotty from snivelling like a damn child. He hated crying. He was sick of it after spending most of his childhood being a pathetic crybaby. He was still a crybaby, but… Gods, of all the things to blubber over.

“Now the question is, what do you want to do?” Aymeric asked once Aza finished washing his face.

Aza leaned over the sink, avoiding eye contact. They were back to confronting the Oliphant now, but Aza didn’t feel up to it now, “I don’t know.”

“Do you want to annul it?” Aymeric asked him gently, and when Aza glanced at him his expression was difficult to read. He had no idea if Aymeric wanted it annulled or not.

“What, to… do it properly?”


Aza thought about it, pushing up off the sink and rubbing at his face, “…no. No, I… it wouldn’t be the same.”

Aymeric nodded slightly, and something in Aza relaxed at his partner’s subtle agreement. They were of one mind on that, at least.

A silence fell on them. It wasn’t awkward, but it wasn’t fully comfortable either. Aza distracted himself by trying to fix his frightful appearance, raking his fingers through his hair and cursing his lost hair tie. It spilled, wavy and slightly frizzed from moisture, over his shoulders, softening the otherwise sharp features of his face. He used to have his hair undone, before Bluebird, and it used to be straightened everyday, since the wavy, natural half-curls had been too…

Aza looked away from the mirror, mercilessly beating down those unwanted memories. Aymeric was nervously fidgeting with his shirt cuffs, and Aza braced himself.

“I want us to stay married,” he said quietly, “If that’s okay with you.”

Aymeric relaxed, smiling wanly a him, “More than anything. Perhaps our memories of it will come to us later…”

Probably not, but Aza didn’t see the point in crushing Aymeric’s hope. He adjusted his partner’s jacket around him, and reached out, taking Aymeric’s hand.

“Let’s find Godbert,” Aza said, “He might have a picture or something that might jog our memories.”

“And know where your clothes are.”

“Gods, I hope he does. I am not returning to Ishgard in this. I’d freeze.”

They slipped out of the bathroom hand-in-hand. As they went on their hunt for Lord Manderville in the brightly lit Gold Saucer, Aza still drew stares, but they didn’t bother him as much now. They looked more curious or idle, with Aymeric’s jacket covering most of him up, and Aza breathed much easier.

He could feel the warm, hard press of Aymeric’s ring too. That was… weirdly nice too.

They really were idiots. They both wanted to marry each other and were scared that the other wasn’t interested. The Twelve must be laughing themselves sick at all their pointless morning angst over the whole thing. Aza himself felt a bit stupid about it. Except, that was one issue solved. There was still the knock on effect of Aymeric being ridiculed for the method of his marriage, of what the Scions and the Domans and all that were going to say, and, more importantly…


She was going to snitch about this to Mom and Dad. He felt it in his bones. And when she did…

Aza shivered, and not from his scanty dress.


Bluebird paused in mid-throw, her card lingering on her very fingertips as she turned her head towards the wall of their FC’s living room wall.

“Aza’s done something dumb,” she declared.

Papaya’s expression didn’t change from where he was sprawled on his side on the sofa, the coffee table just close enough to let him reach the Triple Triad board, “When isn’t Aza doing something dumb.”

Bluebird didn’t answer, squinting at the wall as if it would start scrawling Aza’s sins on its wooden panelled surface. No such luck. But still, her ‘Aza Is Being A Fucking Idiot’ senses never failed her once, and right now they were wailing. Her little brother had done something worthy of her teleporting to the Steppes to race to Mommy’s side. She could feel it in her bones.

“Didn’t he say he was taking that man of his to Gold Saucer?” Papaya yawned, fanning himself with his three remaining Triad cards, “Maybe he lost him in a game of cards.”

“Or maybe they had a drunken Gold Saucer wedding,” Bluebird drawled.

They both exchanged looks – and snorted.

“Nah,” Papaya said, “They’re not that dumb.”

Bluebird tossed her card down, flipping Papaya’s, “Yeah. You’re right.”

Tomorrow, she was going to look back on this moment and laugh at herself.