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lis-likes-fics · 2 years

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Sweet as Sugar

Pairings: Agent Whiskey x Reader Word Count: 11.3k Warnings: NSFW, smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, pining, cunnilingus, blowjob, slight dirty talk, slight praise kink, cowboy rule, swearing (this is basic smut, I think), Whiskey’s a little confused but he’s got the spirit... A/N: I have a writer’s block toward the end of writing this, so what should have only take about a week took, like, a month. Hopefully, I’m back to writing again but I will make no promises bc it’s too gloomy outside for any good serotonin boost to write with. Thank you and enjoy this peace offering bc Pedro Pascal had found a way into my brain!

The mall was bustling with people, men and women coming and going, passing through to look at all the booths and tables showing off all the different organizations to one another as the convention continued on through the day. It was not just any convention, either. Secret services from all over the world, interconnected and soon-to-be, gathered that day to listen and learn and hopefully form closer partnerships to other companies. The entire building was rented out for this function.

Agents continued to pass by the big booth decorated with rhinestones and flowers, which advocated an elegant simplicity to represent the business they ran. Displayed on either side of the booth were two dresses: one a simple, yet fashionable wedding dress with intricate detailing sewed into every stitch, the other, a woman’s business suit with a flower pin carved from what looked like sapphires. Along the table were pieces of jewelry—watches, bracelets, rings, necklaces, just samples of what the company had to offer—and pamphlets of what exactly it was the business they were running.

And displayed proudly on the sign over their booth was a symbol, a renaissance style ‘Q’ that twisted and curved in classic cursive.

You sighed as you ran your hands along the sleeves of your blazer, your fingers grazing the cufflink on your wrist that matched the symbol of your agency. You had been standing behind your booth with one of three of your coworkers for about an hour now, waning the daylight in shifts between handling the booth and exploring the convention for food or company that was not the women running your station.

You looked over your watch as you awaited the return of your colleagues so you could switch off again, so you could leave the confines of advertising your business. Your outfit—a delicate gold satin button down that loosely tucked into your perfectly tailored white dress pants, which flowed along your legs and matched with white blazer to create your formal attire suit—was a perfect representation of your agency: distinguished and efficient. Your partner, though she wore silver and blue, stood beside you to match.

You smiled and shifted the clubmaster frames sitting at the edge of your nose as Pearl and Jasper returned, both women sending you nods and smiles as they took your places behind the booth for your switch. “We found the Kings just that way,” Jasper said, pointing in the direction they’d just come from before shifting the cloud of coiled black hair away from her face and securing it in a poofy ponytail. She then slipped her hands back into the pockets of her dark red suit, glancing back at Pearl as she spoke.

“They’ve got a nice booth. We might have some competition,” she quipped, smirking as smoothed her fingers over the thin chain of her necklace.

Opal, your own partner, laughed and shook her head. “Don’t we always have competition with the Kings?” she retorted, playful as she turned to walk with you. You agreed with her joke and headed in the direction Jasper had pointed in.

On the way, a pair of eyes spotted you and you offered a large grin. One of the agencies you partner with were the Amadoda Amafulege, the Flagsmen. They were a company set in Africa who you counted on for certain resources: information, jewels or gemstones, fabrics. They were reliable friends.

You and Opal approached them with wide grins, pointing them in the direction of your own booths to greet Jasper and Pearl. The interaction was short but warm hearted, and you were off again before you could be sidetracked by some other business you happen to work with. You both continued on walking, greeting physical bodies and holographic forms with waves and nods.

The large sign of the Kingsman symbol sat atop a booth as two well-dressed gentlemen with glasses stood behind their booth. One of them spotted the both of you, recognizing the likewise fashion choices as you came closer. Opal grinned, a mix of amusement and adoration in her tone at the company which both allied and competed with your own. “The famed Kingsman.”

The younger one smiled, offering a nod to you both. “Hello,” he greeted. When you finally stood in front of their booth, he reached out and handed each of you a pamphlet. You glanced over it, disinterested in absorbing information you already know. Both agents held their hands out for you. “Agent Galahad. This is Agent Merlin.”

The older man, Merlin, gave a courteous nod, “Pleasure to meet you.”

You nodded, shaking his hand confidently. “Back at you,” you responded. “We didn’t know if you’d be coming.”

Merlin gave a nod, smiling with a slight chuckle at your words. The Kingsman had not shown up to the last convention, business had gotten in the way and they were greatly missed. “We pulled some strings.”

You looked over their table at a few gadgets, some disguised as ties or watches, and then looked over at the two suits they chose to display similarly to your own booth. “Good to have the famous Galahad and Merlin,” you said, “and with a good booth.”

Your tone offered your impressed attitude toward their well-decorated station. Some of the booths here had not offered a lot of effort, simply their symbols on a sign and some pamphlets and gadgets on their tables. Plain. Boring.

“Some of these are severely lacking,” Opal said, practically reading your mind. She ran a hand through her hair, pushing the black curls out of her face so she could see as she offered her smile. “You’d think a secret service could put together a decent booth.”

Galahad extended a hand with his suggestion, "You should stop by the Statesman. You'd probably be impressed."

"We'll keep it in mind," you agreed, picking up one of the fancy watches on display. You examined it, the Kingsman symbol hiding under the glass, the gold lining on the band, the knobs and secret accesses embedded inside.

Merlin smiled, "In the meantime, we shall take a stop by yours."

Opal nodded, "Down by the Krispy Kreme. Can't miss it."

Your thumb pressed against the button on the side meant to wind the hour hand. It obeyed, pushing down and revealing a hologram of the Kingsman symbol once more.

"Very nice toy," you commented, pushing the button again to make the symbol retreat.

Merlin hummed, "You haven't found the kill button yet."

You shook your head, still examining the watch. "No, I have. You've got the poison dart here–" you tapped the near-invisible button on the side, "and the tranq dart here," you tapped the button next to it.

They raised their brows at you, impressed. "You've got them too close together, you should separate them a little more," you suggested. "Wouldn't want someone trying to knock an important target out and end up killing them instead."

The agents glanced at each other under Opal's watching gaze and your diverted one as you set the watch back down. Galahad nodded, "Right."

"Opal," you said as you turned to your partner. She hummed and you held your hand out.

"Oh, yes," she mumbled, lifting the lapel of her jacket to reach into a pocket. She handed it to you for you to present to both Kingsman. The box was lengthwise, a thin, golden thing housing a watch made by your agency.

"This is for Galahad—Harry—sent by our boss. She was hoping for us to run into you today. You'll give it?" You said, handing it over to the two.

"Of course," Merlin said, peeking inside of the box with a nod.

The two of you left again to go look at some other booths, or to find food. They sent you off with the directions to the Statesman, waving and wishing you farewell.

As you walked next to Opal, you recounted the booths you'd seen and the ones you hadn't on the way. You motioned toward the restaurant in the distance, smiling at the waft of good food as you got closer to it. You would all have to stop and eat there later today.

Your thoughts came to a halt when you heard someone's voice speaking to you, an unfamiliar voice that had you turning your head at the two figures approaching you.

"Hey there, sugar."

The voice had a Southern twang, smiling and confident as the owner slowed to stand in front of you. "Here we go," Opal mumbled beside you with an amused grin.

He was a handsome man, charming in the right ways. The black hat on his head accompanied his accent and his outfit, a suit that screamed professional cowboy. The mustache above his lip was kept and clean, and he wore it well, along with the glasses on the bridge of his nose.

He looked at you with his dark eyes, his tongue poking out to lick his bottom lip as he smirked. "How lucky am I to see a beauty like you in a place like this?"

There was a woman next to him with short dark brown hair mostly shielded by her own western hat, her skin shades lighter as her own glasses sat at the bridge of her nose. She held her hand out, "Hi, I'm Ginger Ale. This is Whiskey."

"Nice to meet you," you greeted her warmly, taking in the sight of her with a look that could only be described as an evaluation.

You turned to Whiskey, raising an amused brow as you held your hand to shake his. He grabbed it gingerly, bending at the waist to press a kiss to your knuckles.

"How do you do?" he winked, holding onto your hand a little longer before letting you go.

Opal chuckled, "He's cute."

He smiled at her, satisfied with her assessment as he grinned at her like some excited pup.

You tilted your head, nodding slowly. "Yeah… In a flirty toddler kind of way." His demeanor did not shift, your words were no dagger to his ego. "Just want to pinch his cheeks and pat his head," you chuckled, half-reaching like you would actually do it.

You might, his skin looked soft and you want to see his hair underneath his hat.

He winked again, licking his bottom lip, "You can do whatever you want, sugar," he quipped.

You chuckled. Cute.

"You think so?" you asked, tilting your head as you pitched your voice a few octaves to sound as sweet as the nickname he kept calling you.

He shifted so he was standing beside you, careful with his arm in case you didn't want to be touched. Thoughtful. He walked a little with you, leaving Opal and Ginger to stand next to one another and watch him guide you a few feet away.

"I know so," he chuckled. "What's your name?" He said "your" in that way only cowboys can say it: that slurred 'u' that made the 'r' slightly bleed into the last word.

You licked your bottom lip, offering a teasing gaze as you looked at him through your lashes. "Why don't you guess it?" You turned to him, setting your hands on his chest and playing with his tie.

He seemed charmed, entranced by your little gestures and looks. "Probably something pretty like that necklace," he smirked, motioning to your chest as his fingers brushed the golden locket around your neck, resting just between your breasts.

You took it in your hands, stroking the sides. "You like my necklace?"

"It's beautiful," he agreed, staring back at you with a gaze that matched the lovestruck puppy vibe he'd given you earlier. "Just like you," he grabbed your hand and kissed your knuckles once more.

"You wanna take a look inside?"

"I'd be delighted," he breathed, leaning forward just a little as his face huddled closer to you. You offered a tiny giggle as you undid the clasp, slowly opening the locket as you built the suspense of what could possibly be presented inside.

A bright light flashed quickly into Whiskey's eyes, there one second and gone before a full one could pass. Whiskey's hands rushed to his face as he made a slight groan, and he stumbled backward. You reached forward, pressing a hand to his chest, and watched him fall to the ground.

He made little sounds of discomfort, laying on his back as he brought his hands away and blinked rapidly. He stared in no clear direction, looking around blankly for…something.

Opal chuckled from her spot, Ginger stared with a mix of amusement and concern, and you just looked down at him with a smile as he tried to see.

You approached him, bending at the hips and looking down at him with a smile. You brushed some hair out of your face.

"This is my partner, Opal," you gestured toward her, though you knew he could not see. Your necklace had a device within it that temporarily blinded those on the unfortunate end of it—temporarily.

You pressed a hand to your chest, "My name is Diamond," you reached out and picked up his hat, which had fallen off his head. "Agents of the Queensmaiden."

You brushed the fabric of the hat, setting it over his face before straightening your back. You looked at Ginger Ale as you rejoined Opal's side. "Nice to meet you, Ginger."

She smiled and dipped her hat at you once, waving. "You, too. Feel free to stop by the Statesman."

You nodded, looping your arm with your partner's, paying the blind agent no mind as he struggled to his feet. "We were just headed there!" you smiled, amazed at the turn of events as you pointed it out. "We'll stop by later…when he can see again."

You turned with Opal, looking over your shoulder and grinning gently. "Bye, Whiskey," you giggled before taking your leave.

Whiskey reached out hastily, grabbing a hold of Ginger, just to make sure she was still there. The way she could have rolled her eyes and shook her head as a dopey smile spread over his lips. He motioned in the direction he thought you walked out in, sighing dreamily.

"I need her."

This time, Ginger did roll her eyes and shake her head. She took his outstretched hand and started pulling him back to the booth. "Come on, lover boy."

You did visit the Statesman’s booth—where you met Scotch and Tequila—but did so while Whiskey was away. You wanted to tease him, make him anticipate your arrival for you not to appear and leave him wanting more.

As the night waned, the booths were taken down to make room for the afterparty that had already begun. You were standing at one of the tall, narrow tables with Opal and Tequila, enjoying the music playing in the background as people mingled through the night.

As you laughed at a sarcastic comment made by Tequila, you heard the familiarly smooth voice of his colleague fill the space between you and couldn’t fight your smile.

“I see you’ve met my associate,” he announced himself, sidling up next to you as he leaned on the table. The look on his face held no defeat or upset, he was just as smiling as before as he took in the sight of you, once again entranced.

You chuckled, looking him up and down as you watched each other. “Oh,” you smiled, “so you can see again…”

He laughed heartily at that, amusement seeping into the sound and painting your stomach with butterflies, a light, airy feeling that bounced off the bones of your ribcage. He clasped his hands together, motioning with his head toward your chest, where your golden locket still lay idly by.

“Very nifty gadget, that necklace of yours,” Whiskey smiled, his eyes never leaving yours for long.

You picked it up, tracing your thumb along it like you had done before in a slight tease. “I’d like to think so. I designed it,” you confessed, setting it back down and looking at him, your head tilted up as you straightened your spine with pride. He tilted his head to the side, his grin deepening at your clear genius.

Tequila and Opal shared a look as they took in the interaction, chuckling lightly. “I’ll go ahead and step away now,” he said, doing just that and glancing back at your partner standing by his side.

She nodded her agreement, holding her hand out to the offered crook of his arm. “And I’ll join you.” She walked away with him, shaking her head and smiling as she left to go hang out with her own new plaything—of sorts.

Whiskey’s eyes looked you up and down as he thought over something for a moment before he simply spoke again. “Can I buy you a drink, sweetness?” he offered, holding his own arm out for you as Tequila had done.

You considered him, raising a brow. “I’m still sweet, huh?”

He flashed his teeth with his next grin, dipping his head down in a nod as a gesture with his hat. “Like sugar,” he hummed.

You sighed. “Okay.” Your arm looped through his own, and he smiled triumphantly as he gently tucked you into his side. You gave him a similar gaze to the one you’d given him before he ended up walking around blindly for an hour: your head tilted down as you looked up at him through your lashes, your smile soft, and your eyes teasing—the perfect demonstration of the less eloquently put “fuck me eyes”. “Lead the way, Whiskey.”

He walked you to the bar that had opened earlier on for the convention. The liquor was all top shelf stuff—they wouldn’t dare give low-quality alcohol to these highly respectable representatives of these agencies. He made sure you were sitting comfortably on your stool before he took his seat next to you—a true gentleman.

A bartender came down to the pair of you and smiled, waiting for your orders. “Scotch, neat,” you nodded, adding a “thank you” on the end as you looked away, anywhere but Whiskey while your eyes examined the many options behind the bartender.

“Actually,” Whiskey held his finger up, “I want you to try something.” You looked at him, narrowing your eyes teasingly at what he could be doing now. He turned to the bartender, pulling his hat off and setting it to the side to reveal the neatly kept hair underneath it. “Kentucky Statesman, whiskey,” he nodded.

They nodded back before stepping away to grab the bottle. You looked at him with a smirk as he gazed back at you, self-satisfied before you’d even tried the liquor he’d suggested. The bartender returned with the bottle of the amber liquid, showing off the label to ensure it was the correct one. When Whiskey nodded, they grabbed two glasses from under the bar and set it on the table, pouring the appropriate amount into each one.

You picked up the glass as it was given to you, swishing it around and examining it. You picked up the bottle in your other hand and looked at the label as you brought the lip of the glass to your nose to smell the heady scent of liquor. “Whiskey from Whiskey, huh?” you quipped, still only sampling the scent.

He laughed, sitting back with his glass in his hand, refusing to take a sip until you had. “Give it a taste.”

You smiled suspiciously, bringing the glass to your lips and sniffing it once more before finally tasting it. A sigh escaped you as whiskey lingered on your tongue before burning delightfully down your throat. It was magnificent, like liquid gold.

"Oh my god," you whispered under your breath, closing your eyes and shaking your head.

He smiled proudly, "Good, right?"

You looked at him, composing yourself once more as you straightened your back and too-slowly set your glass back down. You let out a long, calculated breath and just nodded too hard. "It's…It's good, yeah."

He finally drank from his own glass, hiding his chuckle as he beamed. "Go on," he said as he set his glass back down. "Have some more. On the house."

You looked at him, raising a brow. "I thought you were buying me a drink," you pointed out, taking another generous gulp.

He leaned back, motioning widely to the large selection of fine liquor. "Be my guest, get whatever you want."

You inhaled the intoxicating scent of the drink already in hand, your eyelids fluttering for a split second before you just shook your head. "I suppose I'll settle for this," you told him, sipping your drink and setting it down again.

Whiskey grabbed the bottle and refilled your glass. You looked up at him, narrowing your eyes playfully and smirking. "Are you trying to get me drunk?"

He shook his head, "Of course not. Just tryna show you the plus side of a Statesman." He set the bottle down and winked at you.

You scoffed, anything but annoyed. "What, think I'll find you?" you swirled your drink around. "We'll hook up over some good liquor?"

His laugh was nearly explosive as he shook his head, seemingly amused in the deepest degree. "Oh, no," he said. "I intend to do more than simply 'hookin' up' with you."

You hummed your response, examining him for far too long and looking away before his dark gaze could override your self-restraint. You crossed your legs, turning your body to face away from him again.

"So," he breathed, "tell me about the Queensmaiden."

You took in a long breath and blew it out to think, reaching out and grabbing his hat discarded on the table. Feeling the fabric under your fingers, you tilted your head. "What do you want to know?"

He shrugged, "Where did it come from?"

"Well," you began, "It was formed some time after Kingsman, 1952, by a man named Bobby Gold." They way you said it, with reverence and sass, Whiskey's lips twitched in a smile. "He's like… in his late eighties now, looking good." You shook your head to get back on track. "He founded the Queensmaiden to be an all-women agency, picked a protégé to take his place and run it after he stepped down."

You turned to him with a boastful smirk, "She's the first Diamond—was the first Diamond, she retired. I knew her, worked with her when I first joined. I got her name, promoted from Quartz."

He nodded, deeply invested in the way you spoke as you played with his hat, made of sturdy, soft fabric. "Fascinatin'," he smiled.

You nodded. "Gold ran a really popular jewelry business of the same name, had a younger sister who ran a tailor shop for women's clothing with her husband. He founded it, she later partnered as co-founder. Now we're a boutique found in most countries…all over the world." You shrugged your shoulder so nonchalantly, like your boast wasn't a real boast. "It's very efficient, dare I say, more efficient than the Kingsman itself."

He snorted, "Don't tell them that."

You leaned forward, too close within his space, "They probably already know." You sidled up closer to him, a clear flirt as you smiled. You raised his hat to him and set it atop your own head.

Whiskey's eyes darkened as he watched you down his nose. "You know…" he said slowly, "there's this rule where I come from… Wear the hat, ride the cowboy."

You licked your bottom lip as your eyes flicked up and down his face. "Oh, I'm well aware." His hand reached out and grazed your arm, daring to bring you closer before you pulled away from him again with a sweet smile. "What about Statesman?"

It took a beat for him to recover before he was shaking his head. "Not as glamorous," he sighed thickly. "Agency in the south full of cowboys and rascals."

You traced the rim of your glass with your finger, picking it up again and bringing it to your lips. "Well, I love me a nice cowboy," you said as you looked at him over your cup.

"Lucky for me, huh?"

"We'll see." You took a sip from your glass.

Suddenly, the music which had been in the background shifted into something else. Country music blared through the speakers and caught the attention of everyone in the area. Some excitedly stood to go join the small group ready who may have recognized the music, but one look at the jukebox provided by one of the agencies here proved that it was, indeed, a southerner who'd started the music.

Tequila stood there with his hat on his head as he smiled, one hand held out and grasping Opal's hand as he spun her into his chest. He glanced up at Whiskey and nodded once before hopping off to the large space cleared to dance.

He was the one to determine what dance was being done as he twirled Opal around into a half amateur-half professional swing dance. People joined in with their partners and allowed themselves to be swept away into more amateur dancing—a dance Whiskey suddenly seemed confident to prove himself in.

"C'mon, I've never missed a swing," he smiled excitedly.

He took your hand and pulled you to the floor before you could protest. He swung you, making you stumble into his chest as you breathed quickly. "I've never swing danced before," you confessed.

He looked you dead in the eye, his own sparkling with excitement and hints of giddiness. "Just follow me," he breathed, his kissable lips forming the words in a way that made it impossible to deny him this.

You sighed, "You better know what you're doing."

He smirked, this one more sly than the last. "Trust me, sugar," he leaned in. "I know what I'm doin'."

You tilted your head, standing up a little more and placing your hands in his. Once you were situated, you smiled and let out a breath of courage. "Well," you whispered, "show me how a real cowboy does it."

Whiskey beamed before he pulled you into the music, quick steps and swinging arm making it impossible to keep up. He twirled you out, he twirled you back in, he switched you to one side and swung you to the other. He spun you under his arm and into his chest. Just when you thought he might slow down, he dipped and held you in his arms with heavy breaths.

He caught the hat as it fell from your head, lingering there and staring at your lips. You stared into the depths of his gaze, catching your breath as they mingled between you in soft puffs of air. He slowly straightened his spine, standing you up and setting the hat atop your head once more, admiring its place there.

You smiled, leaning forward oh-so slowly. His eyes fluttered until they were closed. He looked so calm, so gentle and pretty. You pulled his hat from your head and put it back on him, lingering there a moment before pulling out of his arms and missing his warmth.

He felt you leave and refused to watch you leave him behind. When he opened his eyes again, you were gone. When he turned his head to a mystified Tequila, Opal was gone.

A breath poured from his lips as he couldn't help but smile. He smiled at your charm, at the way you left him starstruck, at the way he'd slipped his number in your pocket in the hopes you called him, finding him again and leaving him with a little more closure as he looked down at his boots and shook his head.

"Fuck me," he cursed, chuckling to himself.

That was the last he saw of you for months, the last you saw of him for months.

You hated how much you thought about him—his puppy-like flirtations, his darkened gaze, his fascination, and the way he moved you like a tornado on the dance floor. You stared at the crumpled up piece of paper with his number scrawled on it all the time, considering, thinking, wanting to call.

But you never did. Never once did you pick up the phone and dial his number. Never once did you talk about him to your colleagues or your partners—not even with Opal, who was totally smitten with her own cowboy.

You missed him, but you were determined not to.

But that didn't mean a crossing of paths would hinder a good reunion.

You smiled at the receptionist at the front desk, who granted you a smile of his own with the tilt of his head. Walking up to the desk, you adjusted the purse on your arm and spoke. “Hello, I’m here for an appointment with Mr. Sullivan. I’m his three o’clock.”

He hummed, “I wasn’t aware Mr. Sullivan was taking appointments today. Name?” he asked, turning to his computer.

“Davis. We made an appointment together over the phone,” you stated in a sickly sweet voice. “Oh, I hope I marked the right day.”

He looked at you and just smiled, shaking his head. “No worries. I don’t see you in the database, but I’ll just give him a quick call to confirm. Alright?”

You nodded, thanking him kindly as you wiped your hands down your light suit. He picked up the phone and dialed the number to his boss’ office, giving you another large grin. When the phone was picked up, he began to explain the situation, and his reaction was full of wide eyes and stutters. “Yes, sir,” he answered, setting the phone back down.

He looked back at you regretfully. “I’m sorry, but Mr. Sullivan will not be taking any appointments today. You are welcome to reschedule, if you’d like.”

“Of course,” you nodded.

“Great.” He reached down under the desk to grab some papers before wincing. “I’ll have to go make some copies. If you’ll excuse me.”

“Not a problem.”

He disappeared behind a door behind the desk and you sighed, turning anyway to go up to the elevator on your right. As you were walking, you noticed a group of men walking down the hall, dressed in black with shades over their eyes. Security guards. You straightened your spine and merely kept walking. You were just at the elevator when you heard shots firing behind you. You groaned loudly and ducked for cover. Their gunfire was loud and thunderous, making couch stuffing and wood splinters fly through the air as you hid behind a desk behind a sofa in the cushy lobby.

You cursed under your breath as you dug through your purse. “No, no, no,” you mumbled as you selected which weapon you would use. You dug out a little silver disc and smiled. “Yes,” you declared as you pulled a little pin out of the side.

You threw it behind you where the guards were still shooting, and ducked down, waiting for a blow that never came as the gunshots continued. “Talc!” you yelled, shaking your head at the newbie in the weapons department and one of her faulty weapons making its way into your arsenal.

You huffed as you looked behind you before you suddenly heard a body drop. You looked over and your eyes widened in shock and surprise. Hiding behind a couch a little farther away from your own was a person who definitely was not on their side. He locked eyes with you, and your expressions became mirrors of the other.

“Diamond?” “Whiskey?”

The simultaneous ringing of your names only escalated the confusion as you stared at one another. “What are you doing here?” he questioned in as low a whisper he could manage to ensure you still heard him, holding a sleek, golden gun tight in his grip as he paid no mind to the small cavalry currently shooting at you.

“I’m on a fucking mission. What are you doing here?” you countered.

He shrugged, “On a fuckin’ mission.”

Shit. “Shit,” you huffed. You thought for a moment, your heart pounding in your chest. “What’s your objective?”

Whiskey pressed his gun to his temple, tilting it up as a gesture of his assassination attempt. You let out a breath of relief, pulling a drive with the Queensmaiden symbol on the side from out of your bra and showing it off to him. He sighed as well.

“Cover me?” you asked.

He smiled and nodded, sending you a flirty wink. “You got it, sugar.”

You grinned and counted down for him before ducking out of your cover and rushing to the elevator closest to you. Whiskey stood, grasping his gun as he shot. You pressed the elevator door button and glanced over your shoulder, gripping your gun tight as you waited impatiently for the elevator to open.

When you heard the ding, you had half a second to celebrate as a loud shot came too close to you. You looked down at the elevator button, flashing and sparking as it sat destroyed in the wall.

You pried the door open and shouted Whiskey's name over your shoulder as he retreated back. You got inside, jamming the button closed without missing a beat or waiting for him to get through.

The doors were already closing when he finally slipped through, a bullet missing him by an inch. In the safety of the elevator, you let out a breath and calmed.

There was silence, besides the breaths blowing through the space of the elevator. Whiskey looked at you as you raised your hand, looking at the clock face of your watch.

"You never called," he accused, looking at you with a raised brow and a look on his face that wasn't mad, but not entirely giddy with joy.

You shrugged, still not looking at him. "Been busy."

He chuckled, "With what?"

You missed his voice, that smooth Southern lilt that could lull you to gentle sleep or drive you insane with desire. With the adrenaline pumping through your veins, it was the latter.

"My job," you laughed, pressing a button on your watch as a hologram arose from it, circling the Queensmaiden symbol.

You turned to him, granting him a smile. You were more happy to see him than you should have been. "Did you miss me, lover boy?" you winked. "Tequila says you did."

He scoffed, shaking his head. "You've been talking with Tequila?"

You smirked, nodding. "Of course," you told him, swiping the hologram aside to pull up some files off of some computer. "He's with Opal. They hooked up after the convention."

He sighed longingly, leaning on one leg as he set his gun back in his holster. "And to think," he breathed. "That coulda been us."

You snorted, "Don't get ahead of yourself, cowboy."

You tapped away from the files you'd been scrolling through, pulling up some surveillance footage. There was a hall through the camera, one full of guards with more numbers than the ones downstairs.

"Aww," you muttered. "We have a whole welcome party waiting for us." You turned him with a grin, swiping away the hologram and returning your hand to your side.

He reached behind his back as he smiled. "How sweet."

Whipping his jacket to the side, he grabbed some sort of fancy handle, intricately detailed with gold and silver. You nodded, impressed as you looked at its design.

"Nice," you commented. You opened your jacket, sliding it off your arms and reaching behind you to grab a hold of a handle of your own. It was blue, a shining color that sparkled as Whiskey's eyes scanned over it.

The elevator dinged and you stood beside Whiskey with a smile. The sea of guards on the other side watched you with stern faces, ready for the inevitable fight as they stared down two people who didn't stand a chance.

"Well, howdy, fellas," Whiskey greeted, tipping his hat.

You tilted your head and smiled, "How do you do?" You pressed a small button on one end and the handle began to unfold, expanding into a dagger on one end of a strong rope and a heavy hammer-like weapon on the other.

At the sight of the weapon, the fight began. With drawn guns and angry glares, the guards were quick with their guns as they cornered you in the elevator.

The handle in Whiskey's hand extended into a lasso—a silver whip that he swung out into the small army. It wrapped around the gun of the man in the front of the group, holding on tight as he pulled it taut and sent him falling forward.

You took your rope dart and began swinging it, smacking a bullet out of the way as it hurdled toward you. You threw it and Whiskey watched, amazed, as it wrapped around some man's neck and the dagger embedded itself into his chest. You pulled it, and he spun around to the floor.

The other guards were distracted long enough for the both of you to retreat from the elevator and into the fight.

Ropes flew through the air, daggers pierced bodies, and electricity had them writhing in pain before dropping to the floor. Whiskey's rope wrapped around someone's neck as he pulled him in, punching him hard in the face and sending him to the floor.

He heard a pained yell behind him and turned to see some man falling to the floor with a blue knife in his back. You stepped forward, setting your foot on his back and pulling the dart out.

"That's cool," he said, admiring your weapon of choice.

You smiled, pulling a gun and shooting someone coming toward Whiskey from behind. "Thank you. It's made of sapphires."

"Oo," he smiled. "Duck." You did so, dipping down as he raised his own gun and shot another man aiming his gun at you.

He looked down at you, knelt on one knee in front of him, tightly gripping your rope tight. "What an interestin' position we've found ourselves in."

You scoffed, standing up too close to him. "Keep it in your pants, hotshot."

You turned on your heel, returning to the fight as the few guards who were left brandished their guns. The last of them were easy to take out, and you did. As you swung your rope at the last man standing you noticed a different rope do the same.

You turned your head to Whiskey as he smiled at you. "Looks like we made a connection."

You rolled your eyes. "Shut up." You grabbed your gun and raised it to the man, shooting him instantly and collecting your rope as he dropped to the floor.

You walked over to the body, bending down and wiping the blood from your blade before stepping over him and toward the grand office door down the hall. Whiskey was more than happy to follow you.

You take a card you'd snatched from one of the bodies and swipe it along the reader, the door sliding open to allow you inside. As soon as you crossed the threshold, you heard the sound of a gun click.

You both looked up at Mr. Sullivan pointing his gun at you, dressed in an expensive suit with hands that trembled only slightly with fear for his life. You sighed, looking back at him. "Well, you caught us," you said as you stood beside Whiskey. "Props."

"Question is…" Whiskey added, "who're you gonna shoot?"

Sullivan tilted his head. There was no amusement in his face, but he gave you a look that said "really?". He motioned between the two of you and raised a brow. "You've got some rope. I've got a gun. I can shoot both of you."

Whiskey nodded, agreeing with his logic. "Well, you caught us fair and square," he sighed dramatically. Then he smirked, "Pull the trigger."

Sullivan didn't like how calm you both were. He was holding a gun to your face, and you were telling him to pull the trigger. Why the fuck would you tell him to pull the trigger if he had the upper hand? Were you suicidal?

"There's just one little thing," you spoke, shifting on your side. "You brought a gun to a knife fight."

Sullivan missed the way you passed your rope dart to Whiskey, who took it with too much excitement and, with a few mighty swings, threw it at the unsuspecting boss. The rope wrapped around his neck, and he dropped his gun to grab it and force it away to no avail. The dagger came back around after its loops, and he had no time to process as it lodged in his chest.

Whiskey smirked before he pulled roughly on the rope, spinning the man round, unwinding him like a yo-yo. The dagger yanked from his chest and Whiskey caught it as it flung back. Mr. Sullivan dropped to the floor, choking on his own blood as it spilled from his wound.

You walked past him dismissively, stepping up to his desk and grabbing your drive. Sticking it in the computer, you began typing away as Whiskey admired your weapon.

"I needa get me one of these," he muttered.

"I've got plenty. I'll send you one," you suggested.

He looked up at you, his eyes glittering, "Really?"

"Why not?" You shrugged your shoulders. Leaned over the desk, you watched the loading bar slowly climb toward completion before you were able to withdraw the drive and stuff it in your pocket.

You grabbed a butterscotch from the bowl on his desk, helping yourself as you walked back over to Whiskey. You smiled at him and tilted your head. You hold your hand out to him, making a grabby motion.

"Can I have it back?" you asked.

He tilted his head up, smiling down at you with narrowed eyes. "Maybe."

"Maybe?" you questioned.

"Can I get something in return?"

You sighed and thought for a moment, continuing to smile at him as you returned your hand to your hip. "What do you want?"

He shrugged, pretending to think. "How about a pretty please?" he smirked, his eyes dark and inviting, his voice quiet and deep.

"You want me to say please?" you asked, standing too close as your eyes flickered to his lips for half a second.

Again, he shrugged, but his smile became more wicked. "A kiss on the cheek might suffice."

You chuckled deeply, standing on your toes as you leaned forward. You got closer, closer, and closer still until your breaths mingled. You shifted to his cheek, turning your head just enough so your lips nearly brushed his ear as you whispered to him. "You're going to have to try harder than that."

You took the rope from his grip and backed away from him, watching him watch you with lidded eyes. You backed toward a private elevator in the office, pressing a button on the wall as the doors opened. You looked toward the door you came in and smiled. "You've got company."

You stepped back into the elevator and the doors closed, shielding you from him as you waved.

Whiskey stood in the office, looking toward the door that was currently being beaten against by his visitors. Smiling and shaking his head, he laughed heartily. "Clever."

You stepped out onto the roof, taking the drive from your pocket and tossing it to the ground. You pulled your gun and shot at it once, destroying it entirely as you made your way to the jet waiting for you. You boarded it, climbing into the pilot's seat as you started it up and left.

As you flew away from the building, you glanced back at it and smiled when you saw a figure climbing up the side of the building to the roof. He looked over his shoulder at you, and you could make out the distinct sight of him waving his arm at you. Not to grab your attention, but to say hello.

You saluted him before departing for a second time.

Your next encounter with him was not so far in the future. In fact, it was later on that night.

You walked into the large house you were staying in after a long day out. Between your mission, your flights, and everything in between, you were about ready to pour yourself a drink and go to sleep early.

The house was owned by the Queensmaiden, a mission house for meetings or get-togethers or just a place for agents to crash after long days on missions. Since your trip today was done alone, your partner back at home serving as your tech that day, you were in this big empty home alone. You didn't mind much, it was a lot of space, you could turn on the stereo as loud as you want, there was plenty of expensive booze. You were all set for the night.

As you walked through the loud house, which was filled with the classic voice of Frank Sinatra, you made your way to the open bar. As you poured yourself a drink, you glanced at the label with a smile. Statesman whiskey.

"So you did like it."

You didn't turn around, but you smiled at the smooth tone of your cowboy behind you. You grabbed a second glass and poured him his own. You set the bottle down, picked up both cups, and walked over to him with a smile.

"It's alright."

You stopped in front of him, making a bad habit of standing too close. Passing the glass over, you looked up at him through your lashes. He wasn't wearing his hat, giving you a view of his tousled hair. Likewise, he was stripped down to a white button down with the sleeves rolled up, his shirt still tucked in his pants fastened with his belt. His tie was gone, and the top buttons of the shirt were undone. He saluted his glass to you, and you gladly clinked them together in a quiet cheer before taking a sip, your eyes never parting from his.

"You know," he sighed. "This disappearing act of yours is starting to get a little old, Diamond."

You shrugged a shoulder, "I can spice it up if you want."

He simply shook his head, "I think I'd rather pick a different act. It would put us in much different positions."

"Oh?" You smiled, reluctantly turning on your heel and stepping away from him. "What positions did you have in mind?"

You lounged on the couch, kicking off your shoes. You looked back at him with one hand on your glass and the other under your chin as you rested your head on the back of the couch.

He sighed once again, his whole body moving with him as he looked at you in that way that reminded you of a lovesick pup. He set his hands on his hips, leaning on the side as he contemplated.

"You never called."

His words from earlier pricked your heart in a special kind of way this time. You sighed and just shook your head, "No, I didn't."

The song playing through the speakers in the house faded out to welcome another. Sinatra's "I'm a Fool to Want You" was sharp in your mind.

You set your glass down and looked up at Whiskey again. You reached your hand out to him, wiggling your fingers in the hope that he'll hold your hand.

He did, and you smiled.

"I did miss you," you confessed.

That offered him some solace. "Honest?"

"Honest." He sighed, stepping closer. You sat up, settling on your knees as he still towered over you. He looked at you for a long time before suddenly smiling. He bent down, wrapping his arms around your body and surprising you as he hoisted you up, spinning you over the couch and setting you on your feet. You held onto him, laughing as he pulled you close to his chest. He slid his hand into your own, entwining your fingers as his other hand rested on the small of your back.

"Dance with me?" he asked.

You tilted your head, "Do I have a choice?"

He laughed and just shook his head. "No."

You laughed. He took a side step, swaying you in time with the gentle rock of the music. It was slow and steady, filled with too much emotion than should have been allowed for a couple who had only met once a few months prior. You rested your head on his chest, your eyes closed as you blew out a long breath.

His voice rumbled in his chest as he spoke, low and quiet. "How lucky am I to see a beauty like you in a place like this?" he smiled.

You chuckled, recalling those words from when you first met. "Am I still allowed to do whatever I want?" you asked, looking up at him.

He spun you out, twirling you before spinning you back in, your back pressing against his chest. He leaned down to your ear. "Never revoked the privilege."

You twisted your neck to see him, smiling at his face so close to yours. You leaned forward, your lips ghosting over his own as you considered it. For a moment, you considered it.

You swerved to hover your lips near his ear, "Catch me."

You stepped away from him, walking backwards as your eyes stayed glued to his. You watched him with the same dark, teasing eyes as you had used before. The naughty look on your face, the proximity at which you once stood, the tingling of your lips never grazing his but teasing him with the possibility of such a sacred union…the thought of never sealing that fate with you and leaving once again for another wild goose chase where he never knew if he would see you again due to the dangers of the lives you both lived. They were possibilities that made his heart ache in ways it shouldn't have.

He just shook his head, deciding then and there that he wouldn't let you have another swift get away, wouldn't let you slip through his fingers with nothing to remember you by but the ghost breaths against the shell of his ear where you exhaled your secrets. "Not this time."

He took a few long strides toward you, taking you in his arms and crashing his lips down upon yours. You gasped into his mouth, melting instantly into him as your legs turned to jelly. He held you close to him, supporting your neck with one large hand as he consumed you in a passionate embrace.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down and swaying gently as you finally kissed the cowboy you'd been craving for months. He bent down, wrapping his arms under you and lifting you to wrap your legs around his waist. He held you up with strong arms, walking you back until he was pushing you up against a wall.

When he pulled from the kiss, heavy, hot breaths were exchanged between the two of you. His hands roamed your body, drinking you in desperately. His mouth pressed against your neck, his tongue darting out to lick along your thumping pulse. You moaned, feeling the heat between your legs igniting with a fire.

His name fell from your lips as he nibbled on your neck. Your fingers tangled in his hair and you pulled on his messy strands.

He rolled his hips into yours, pulling a shaky breath out of you. Your leg tightened around him, bringing him closer as you mirrored his own movement from before, drawing out your pleasure with grinding hips and breathless sighs. He groaned as one of his hands gripped your waist to stop you.

Whiskey unwrapped your legs from him as he set you back down on your feet. When he sank to his knees, it was with a maddening amount of eye contact that he didn’t dare break. His hands smoothed along your sides, rounding to the front to undo the clasp of your slacks. He moved torturously slow as he pulled the slacks down your legs, revealing more and more skin to him as he went along. Your eyes fluttered when you felt his lips on your thigh.

You stepped out of the pant legs when they finally pooled around your ankle. Whiskey leaned forward to press a kiss to the inside of your thigh, his tongue darting out to taste the skin before taking it between his teeth in a gentle nibble. You stifled a moan at the feeling, watching his dark eyes drink you in.

When he finally fingered the waistband of your panties, he pulled them down in one swift tug to reveal yourself to him. He licked his lips and you bit down on your own. “Look at that,” he praised. “So pretty.” He looked up at you with a cocky smirk, holding the back of your leg up and setting it atop his shoulder.

He leaned forward and your lips parted so delicately when his tongue darted out to lick you. Your breath hitched, halting in your throat as his hot tongue delved between your folds. Like a fire, the warmth spread through your body as you melted into him. Your hips jerked, seeking his mouth.

His lips wrapped around your pussy, tasting you with an intoxicated moan. When he sucked on your clit, your breath trembled and a whimper managed to weave its way through your vocal chords. His talented tongue glided through your folds before retreating as he pulled back from you to look at your pretty face.

You looked down, whining lightly at him as he stared at you with eyes that glittered with praise. His hand trickled up your side before dipping between your thighs and into your warmth. “You taste sweet as sugar, sugar.”

You had to fight through your eye roll as you enjoyed the sweet stretch of his thick fingers inside of you. “You have very skilled hands,” you nearly stuttered. Your eyes fluttered as he curled the length of his fingers.

“Why, thank you, sweetheart,” he dipped his head as though he was still wearing his hat. He pushed his fingers in deeper, adding a third as he coaxed you toward a sweeter release. He was a lot gentler than you expected, treating you like a fragile lover. It warmed your heart, so used to the less patient lovers of one-night stands long since.

The sharp dig of dull nails into the flesh of your thigh contrasted with the prior feathery fingertips on your sides. You were breathless and needy, aching for him all over. With those same fingers still buried deep inside of you, he leaned forward and sucked on your throbbing clit.

The shocks of pleasure creeping up on you sparked along your skin—your fingertips, the very ends of prickly flesh. Your fingers gripped and tangled in his hair. Your hips stuttered forward, searching for his mouth in a desperate attempt to push yourself over the edge.

But he was doing it first, crooking his fingers in the perfect way here and digging the tip of his tongue into that sensitive bundle of nerves there as your pitch climbed higher and higher with the anticipation of a climbing buildup. The rubber band inside your belly snapped and your mouth dropped. What were supposed to be rises of whiny moans were just a symphony of shuddering breaths, arrhythmic and impassioned.

He was right there to ease you through the shocks, encouraging you with his tongue back down to the tingles that covered the expanse of exposed skin.

When he pulled away, his lips were still occupied with your body, pressing hungry kisses to your thighs and lower belly with a fervor that made you tug harder on his curling locks of hair.

He looked up at you with kiss-swollen lips, smiling like an idiot in love—no, not love. This was just lust. That's all. That was it. It didn't matter if that spark in your chest only pumped through your veins when he looked at you like that.

You smiled at him, breathless. "Take me to bed."

"Don't have to tell me twice."

He tightened his grip around your waist before he stood, tossing you over his shoulder and holding you with one arm. You yelped, dissolving into giggles as he carried you through the house and through the winding halls toward the bedroom.

On the way, you smiled as you passed by his hat sitting on a table along the walls. Reaching you, you had just barely grabbed it with your fingertips as you held it to your head.

He pushed the door open to reveal the room: a king-sized bed with golden sheets, a mini chandelier reflecting diamonds all over the expensive room, paintings and frames and shelves probably hiding more tools and gadgets than there are choices of liquor behind the bar in the main room.

He kicked the door closed behind him, admiring the room with a hum and a nod of his head before plopping you down onto the bed. You fell with a bounce, chuckling again as you held onto his hat. He smiled, watching you put it on your head and look at him with eyes that expressed far too much to be an innocent one-night stand.

Part of Whiskey hoped it was more than an innocent one-night stand.

So did you.

But if it was, he would rock your world. He stared down at you with darkened eyes, undoing his shirt and tossing it somewhere in the room. The rest of his clothes followed after until he was in nothing but his boxers. Then he did the same to you, except he didn't stop until you were bare before him, left in nothing but your expensive necklace and earrings to admire the way you still looked like the perfect reflection of the woman of his dreams. He left the hat. You looked perfect in it.

"Not fair," you complained with a grin. "I'm stripped bare, and you're still dressed."

You leaned up on your elbows, sitting up until you were situated on your knees as you leaned forward. You smiled up at him, hooking your finger in the band of his boxers to pull him forward. "Your turn."

He set his hand on your cheeks and nearly melted at the way you leaned into his warm palm, your eyes fluttering shut as a gentle breath blew through you. He shifted his hand so he pinched your chin, lifting your face to see better. "You're so fuckin' beautiful, sweetness."

"Oh, yeah?" you chuckled. "Prove it to me."

He leaned forward, bending down to your face and connecting your lips again. He licked into your mouth, tasting the remnants of whiskey on your tongue. You moaned, melting against him. You pulled away, your hand still hooked around his waistband. You tugged them down, ridding him of the meaningless article of clothing to reveal him to you.

Fuck, he was beautiful. Flushed tipped, thick, and throbbing. As you reached out and stroked your fist over his cock, he twitched in your hand and groaned. You bit your lip, leaning forward and giggling when his hat on your head bumped into his stomach.

He chuckled at you, tilting it up so he could see your face and you could move. You smiled at him before going back to his leaking slit. You leaned forward and licked him, flattening your tongue along his head to taste him. You moaned again, leaning forward to take a longer lick along the length of him. He breathed a curse under his breath, watching you lick him up as you worked your tongue along him.

His hand came to rest on the back of your neck, easing you forward without actually moving you. Your lips wrapped around him, slick and warm as you took him in your mouth. His head tilted back before he looked down again to see you, not wanting to miss a second of it.

"Fuck," he breathed, hips twitching. You smiled around him, working him deeper in your throat with the intent of taking the whole of him. "Fuck, you're amazing. How did I get so lucky?"

You whimpered, laving your tongue along the underside of his cock where the vein was throbbing. "You like that?" he asked. "You like when I tell you how fuckin' perfect you are?"

You nodded as best you could, wrapping a hand on the back of his thigh to pull him in some more. "You're so goddamn perfect," he promised. "Makin' me feel special like this. D'you feel special?"

You just moaned your response, suckling around him and pulling a rough moan from him. After a moment, he pulled you away, setting his hands on either side of your neck as he caught his breath. He looked down at you, smiling and pulling you forward to kiss you again. The way he kissed you this time was so much different than before, so much softer, slower, with more meaning behind it than there ever should have been. Fuck, you were drunk on it, craving his lips more and more with an impossible desperation, even while he was still kissing you.

He eased forward, moving you until you were laying on your back. His lips slipped on and off of yours, down to your neck as he buried his face there and suckled on the skin.

He settled himself between your legs, grinding down on you as you moaned into each other's mouths. You grasped his bicep, squeezing it tight as you stopped him. "Wait," you breathed.

He stopped immediately, looking down at you with a face etched in concern. "What? What's wrong?"

You smiled, "Wear the hat, ride the cowboy." Your hands flattened on his chest and you pushed him back with a huff, flipping him around so he lay on his back as you straddled him.

He smiled at you, setting his hands on your hips. "You scared me for a second there," he said, his thumbs stroking circles along your skin.

You hovered over him with shaky thighs. "Scared you weren't gonna get your cock wet tonight?" you chuckled.

He just shook his head, "Scared I hurt you."

Your breaths filled the rooms as your body slowed to a stop, staring at him. Your heart leapt and you allowed yourself, just for a moment, to succumb to its calling to him.

"You could never hurt me, Whiskey," you promised.

You only allowed him a moment to let it sink in before you were grabbing his cock in your warm palm, stroking him a couple times before guiding him to your soaked pussy. Sinking down on him, both your eyes shut as your breaths puffed into the air.

"Fuck," you moaned. You braced yourself on his shoulders, helping them guide you as you slowly rolled your hips atop his. His hands gripped your waist, blunt nails digging into skin and creating little crescent dents.

The sensations were amazing. His cock stroked along your velvet walls and sparked a desperate pleasure within you that had you forgetting about the little tingles of pain at adjusting to his length. You brought him deeper, your bodies connected indefinitely as you began your slow movements.

Your breath caught in your throat as you felt the blossom of pleasure deep within you. You leaned back, placing a hand on the hat to keep it there as you rolled your hips, faster and faster, chasing the euphoria you craved.

"Look at you," he groaned. "Fuckin' ridin' me like a true cowgirl."

"Lucky for you, huh?" you smirked, breaking off into a whimper as the blunt head of his cock brushed against a sweet spot inside you.

He nodded, "Lucky for me."

You rode him, and you rode him hard, ignoring the ache in your hips and your legs from the continuous motion, ignoring the breathlessness shocking your throat at all the air you were taking in, ignoring the pounding in your chest at the way he stared at you: lips kiss-swollen, eyes sparkling, hands gripping. It was so much, too much, you craved this man more than you'd ever craved anything before in your life.

"Whiskey," you moaned, stifled moans tearing from your throat as his name spilled from your lips. "Fuck, Whiskey, you feel so good."

He hummed. "Take what you need from me, sugar. Take what you want." You leaned forward, holding yourself up with your hands on his shoulders. You were desperate, fucking yourself on him like it was your last time. When his thumb brushed your clit, a guttural moan ripped at your throat and your hips jerked. "That's it, sweetness. That's it."

He was just as breathless as you, guiding your hips with one hand and circling your clit with the other. "Shit," you sighed. "More. Fuck, Whiskey, I'm almost there."

"C'mon, sugar," he urged you. "Cum for me, Diamond."

You didn't care to hold back, you couldn't. You came with a shout, dropping forward onto him and burying your face in his neck. You moaned into his neck, pitchy and breathless as you came apart on top of him. Your hand tangled in his hair, he held tightly to your hips.

Your cunt clenched around him, squeezing and spasming and bringing him to the edge as his release tumbled after yours. One of his hands flew to your hair, holding you there as his fingers carded through.

Your hips canted a couple more times, milking the last ounces of pleasure you could get before you fell against his chest. He held you as you both slowly floated down from your highs, falling into the other's embrace as you came to.

The stillness that followed was like something out of a dream. The air was heavy with the smell of sex, but light with the breaths blowing from the both of you. Every inch of your body tingled, your fingertips felt like pop rocks, your skin prickled with a mix of warm and cold. Whiskey's heartbeat resounded through you, grounding you as you traced your fingers over his chest.

You could feel his hand stroking through your hair, rubbing gently into the back of your neck and making you feel like putty. You could stay like this forever, resting atop him and feeling the life he breathed into you from his chest.

"Jack."

You took in a small breath, leaning up and shifting yourself so he slipped out of you. You sighed a little before looking up at him with a lovesick grin. "Hmm?"

He looked at you, smiling right back as he chuckled lightly. "My real name is Jack."

You smiled and shook your head, burying your face in his chest as you chuckled. "Jack Daniels?" you joked, recalling the name brand Whiskey.

The way he chuckled made you look up at him. "Yes, actually."

You looked at him, smiling so wide your face hurt. "Seriously? Your name is Jack Daniels?"

He nodded, "Yep."

You shook your head, laying your head back on his chest and reaching clumsily over to grab his hat, which had fallen off your head. You set it over your face, shielding you from the light shining from the chandelier.

You sighed slowly, tracing patterns into his skin. You whispered your own name to him, glancing up at him and then back out to the little lion figurine on the small stand against the wall on the other side of the room. It was bronze, standing proudly with one paw perched up and his mouth dropped in a mighty roar.

Whiskey smiled, stroking his hand down your back and then back up to your hair. "You've got a beautiful name, sugar."

You smiled slowly. "Sweet as sugar?"

He nodded, "Sweeter."

You leaned up, your face inches apart. "You're gonna get a cavity if you have any more of me," you kissed his lips, long and slow and wanting more.

"The sacrifices we make…" he replied, chuckling deep in his chest as he kissed you again.

Pedro Pascal taglist: ... Tag yourself here...

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spongeaddict · 6 months

Text

My SINCEREST apologies that I’ve been MIA, here are some headcanons to hopefully tide you over until I can get my GD crap together!

Fraphne engagement/wedding headcanons!

Fred proposes with a trap, of course

Shaggy, Velma, and Scooby are all in on the proposal

Fred doesn’t have a ring when he proposes because he was afraid of getting the wrong one (even though Daphne promised she’d love anything he picked out)

Instead he tells her they’ll go ring shopping together, which delights her to no end

Daphne is anti-diamond, so she chooses something more unique, like an opal or a sapphire

While both Daphne and Fred would have been happy with a small wedding with just the gang and close family in attendance, both sets of their parents insist on throwing them a huge wedding

They can afford it after all

It’s definitely a spring wedding; sometime in late April or early May

Daphne’s wedding dress is practical but gorgeous; a classy ivory strapless mermaid style gown with a short train, if any

Her something old is a string of pearls that all the women in her family have worn an their wedding days

Her something new is her dress/veil

Her something borrowed is her mother’s best pearl earrings

Her something blue is the insoles of her shoes

She’s got two pairs of shoes by the way; heels for the ceremony, comfortable white sneakers for the reception

Fred doesn’t wear a tuxedo; instead he wears a classic dark gray suit

But instead of a tie, he wears his ascot

Shaggy’s the best man, Velma’s the maid of honor, Scooby is the ring bearer (but you knew that!)

The wedding is outdoors, somewhere like a winery; the tent for the reception is set up next to the vineyard

Daphne’s bouquet has lilacs, orchids, white roses, and plenty of greenery

Fred and Daphne don’t have a First Look; the first time Fred sees her on their wedding day is when she’s walking down the aisle

Daphne is worried about crying during the ceremony, but when the day arrives she’s so happy she just smiles the whole time

Fred, however, goes through the whole ceremony with tears of joy in his eyes

So do Shaggy, Velma, and Scooby for that matter

Open bar at the reception because again; the Blake family can afford it

Fred and Daphne’s first dance is to something classic and romantic like “Something” by The Beatles or “At Last” by Etta James

In a move that surprises everyone, Velma gives a funny maid of honor speech, and Shaggy gives a serious best man speech

Both speeches are perfect

There’s no bouquet toss because Daphne thinks it’s tacky

There’s also no garter toss because Fred thinks it’s weird

The biggest drama of the evening occurs when Scooby disappears halfway through the reception and no one can find him for an hour

It turns out he just ate so much food he passed out behind the DJ booth

The song that closes out the night is “Time of My Life” from Dirty Dancing

Fred and Daphne do the lift 😊

They discussed for a long time about what to do about last names; whether Daphne should take Fred’s or keep her own

What they end up doing is both hyphenating

So their full names after they get married are Frederick Blake-Jones and Daphne Blake-Jones

#scooby doo headcanon #fraphne #spongeaddict writes

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radiantgeminiwares · 2 days

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I'm so excited to show off a pair of wedding rings I was commissioned to make for a good friend! Both people picked their favorite color and I set the opal into a light weight but durable titanium band.

Check out more ring designs at my Etsy shop or contact me for any commissions questions!

#handmade #handmade jewelry #jewelry #crushed opal rings #wedding rings #commission #small business

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cityandking · 6 months

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glance, informal, bling, change for dai, minah and narayani!

thanks dear! // oc asks: character design edition

glance: At first glance, what stands out most about your OC's appearance? What's their distinguishing feature?

DAI — probably the scars 😬 boy's got a bunch of golden kintsugi-style scars sneaking out from under his armor/clothes from that one time he blew himself up and spent a couple years in the abyss #justclericthings MINAH & NARAYANI — answered!

informal: What's your OC's lazy-day look? How do they like to dress when they're winding down?

DAI — shirt + pants [this or this depending on the weather] (+ maybe a jacket if it's cold). very loose, very comfy/casual. pretty much the only time he dresses like this is when he's winding down for the evening or in private at home (if he's really really lazy and winding down he'll leave the shirt unlaced, but that's only for the privacy of his own room and/or zaref) MINAH & NARAYANI — also answered!

bling: What jewelry does your OC wear? Does it have any meaning?

DAI — wears his holy symbol on a necklace (it's got the same kintsugi thing going on as he does). he's also got a ring of telepathy made from his father's (unused) wedding rings and also I think? a necklace from scratch?? he doesn't wear a lot of jewelry outside the utility stuff (and party gifts) MINAH — minah wears a fair bit of jewelry; mostly it's stuff she's stolen. she has a nose piercing and her ears are pierced and she wears rings sometimes when she's not on the job (and the fire opal ring she got from alesso and the orchestra). of her useful gear, she has a necklace of disguise (currently with rhydian) and also a necklace of [redacted] which has recently seen some unexpected wear. it's all either utility or for funsies; none of it has any specific sentimental value. NARAYANI — she'd wear a necklace and probably some bracelets, and she also has a few ear piercings (and maaaaybe a nose piercing?). no rings though—she favors a set of slim leather gloves

change: Has your OC ever drastically changed their appearance? Significant haircuts, big tattoos, complete wardrobe swap, etc? Why? How do they feel about the change?

DAI — the biggest change he made to his own appearance was when he shaved his head (badly, roughly, with a drugstore razor and his own dagger) after he died the first time. there was just a Lot going on and he needed a physical outlet. since coming back from the dead (take two) he's got a bunch of new scars and his hair coloring has changed slightly, which is...... it's a little hard to see himself in a mirror, these days. he's getting through it (is he though? is he really?) MINAH — yeah, she started dying her hair and wearing whatever she could get her hands on for cheap. leaving home was rough, particularly with the death of her parents. at the time it was horrid, but she's grown into the changes, and now they feel like her. recently, the shift to the warden uniform has been the biggest change. (I cannot for the life of me decide if she has tattoos or not. schrodinger's tats; until a party member sees her naked it's TBD) NARAYANI — getting her vallaslin was a big change. since then, there really hasn't been anything except for a couple of scars from bad fights. she gets nicer armor and gear as the inquisitor, but her wardrobe is more or less the same besides that.

#I know inquisition has acessory slots for necklace + belt + 2 rings but narayani would have like. ear piercing + necklace + gloves #anyway #thanks my dear!!#minah #narayani #daichi #memery

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songofsaraneth · 6 months

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have to retire one of my daily wear rings because it’s just too banged up now—opal is just such a soft stone alas (and this is why that post about opal wedding rings is kinda silly, if you plan to wear a wedding ring daily). There used to be little silver bars between the sections but they fell out and now the edges are all chipping.

i got a couple options as replacements and the one i was most excited for came today, a moonstone with branch/leaf setting!

it has such pretty blue flash. it’s higher profile than i usually wear (and i am pretty rough on my hands) so probably won’t be an every-single-day ring. But I’ve been eying this shop for a while and am really happy with the quality. The other rings i ordered from a different shop haven’t put any shipping info out yet but will just be plant/branch sterling bands with no stones.

#ramblings #i just love jewelry so much #whenever i take my rings off to lotion my hands or swim i feel so naked

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ghostwise · 2 years

Text

ironbark, opal, and gold

words: 1.6k tags: zevran arainai, mahariel, zevran/m!warden, wedding rings, antiva, original characters, fluff

The jeweler’s shop is smaller than expected. Every surface is cluttered with tools, and there is a layer of grime along the wall but not the floor, indicating the type of person who only bothers to clean when the mess is actively interfering with their work. Nor does the jeweler have a proper storefront; just his counter, from which he greets Zevran with a nod before remembering he ought to speak to the customers.

This all means one of two things: either the jeweler is a hack, or a genius. But does it matter?

“Buenas, compadre,” the man tells him. He produces from behind the counter a small case of necklaces and bracelets. “Bonifacio, at your service. What can I help you find today?”

Zevran greets him. He glances over the jewelry, noting the traditional hammered Antivan style, the little swirls of silver, all requiring a steady hand.

“Tell me,” he says, “do you make all these yourself?”

“But of course! Finest silver and gold in Antiva, and anything not to your liking, I can alter.”

“Wonderful!” Zevran says, not really looking at any of the items in the case. “How much could I pay you to make use of your workshop for the day?”

The jeweler sets the case down and scowls.

Zevran smiles at him. He’s already been turned away at two other shops and has a few more to go. This time, he tries a bit of coaxing.

“I am getting married,” he confides, and it’s thrilling to share the news, even with a stranger.

“Ah,” Bonifacio says with a sigh. Holding up a finger he walks away from the counter. Moments later he returns with another case, this one full of sparkling rings.

“I see what you are getting at, young man,” he says, “but for something so important, why leave it to chance? Look at this. White gold and diamonds. Amethysts, rubies. Tell me about this girl. What does she like?”

“He is not so gaudy,” Zevran laughs. “My man is not one for gems. What else do you have?”

“Of course, of course! I have such a variety. Let me bring out the men’s rings. Of course.”

He hasn’t been thrown out yet, and that is encouraging. Instead, case after case of rings is brought out for his perusal. Zevran looks at them all, declining every one, and when the last case has been rejected, Bonifacio sighs again.

“Ten andris for the use of the shop,” he says finally. “Plus materials.”

“Thief,” Zevran scoffs. “I come here with my heart bared and you say ten andris?”

“Nine, then.”

“Has anyone even come in before me today? I very much doubt it. Look at the state of this place—you need to mop your baseboards and clean your windows—”

“Alright you bastard, how’s eight andris and you do the cleaning yourself?”

“Deal,” Zevran quickly agrees and thrusts out his hand. It is midday, and he needs this to work.

Haggling concluded, Bonifacio shakes his hand firmly, like a merchant or a noble.

“Now if you could show me to the work room—”

“Not yet,” Bonifacio says. “Tidy up first. Then you pay, then you use the workshop out back.”

“A fair agreement,” Zevran says, unable to keep the grin off his face.

He gets started right away. Organizing as he goes, he cleans efficiently, the way he grew up knowing one speck of dust could mean retaliation. All the while Bonifacio tinkers at the counter, peering through a lens at the broken links in an old necklace. Nobody comes into the shop. But Bonifacio interrogates him, leaving lengthy gaps between each question.

“So when are you getting married?” he asks.

“Ah,” Zevran says, wringing out a washcloth by the window. “Soon.”

“You don’t have a date?”

“We are traveling, and we need to first find a Chantry willing to marry us,” Zevran says.

“Willing?” Bonifacio asks.

“My fiancé,” Zevran says, and the word glimmers like a big ruby, “is Dalish.”

Bonifacio lets out a low whistle. Few Chantries will bless unions with non-Andrastians.

He’s quiet for a while before speaking again.

“Congratulations. And good luck with, uh, all that.”

Zevran pauses, looking up at the man. “Thank you,” he says, not sure what he means exactly.

Bonifacio grunts. A quarter of an hour passes before he speaks up again.

“My wife was Dalish,” he says, unbidden.

Zevran glances over.

“Lovely woman, but not for the city. Always felt like I was keeping a bird caged. We were happy enough. She called me Bon-Bon,” Bonifacio says with a smile. “It’s just different. That’s all I mean. Parents had their opinion, half the town did. It is what it is. Worth it, though. Right?”

It comes out in a rush, as if he’s been dying to talk about it. Zevran watches him, this middle-aged man with fine tools in his hands, still tinkering on the broken necklace. He thinks about the state of the shop, and the lack of clientele.

“What happened to her?” he asks.

“She passed,” Bonifacio says gruffly. “Last year.”

“My condolences,” Zevran offers. “She must have meant a lot to you.”

“Mmh. Yes.”

The jeweler holds up the necklace, now mended. Every broken link has been repaired. Zevran returns to his sweeping, but Bonifacio pushes himself up off the counter.

“Finish up,” he tells him. “Let’s get started on that ring of yours.”

Zevran leaves the city with his pockets twenty andris lighter, and a velvet pouch clutched in his hands. He’s worked through the day, and the sun has set when he reaches the campsite far past the outskirts of town.

Hamal is there, stoking the fire, singing to it as he does every night. Zevran pauses just out of sight, listening.

He’s thinking, also, of the old jeweler, and his advice.

By Dalish and Chantry law alike, only Death can undo the vow you’re about to take. Cherish the time you have, my friend.

Zevran wastes no time. He walks directly into the light.

“Ma vhenan,” Hamal says, “there you are.”

Zevran drops to one knee before him and kisses him. Hamal hooks a finger into the collar of his shirt, tugging him closer. It’s good that they tend to agree on these things. Zevran is the one to finally pull away, only because he can’t rightly give him the ring while attached to his face, can he?

“Hamal,” he says. He holds out the pouch, takes his hand.

“Wait,” Hamal exclaims, and scrambles to his feet.

Zevran blinks, watching him dash off into the tent. He emerges with a rucksack, tearing through it, tugging out pouches and bowstrings and a hat—

“I am not familiar with these customs—I thought we did this at the Chantry, not before—where is it? Oh!”

Whatever he was searching for, he rushes back to Zevran’s side, a wide grin on his face, hair unbraided and eyes dancing.

“Whatever are you doing, love?” Zevran asks. He starts a laugh, and before he knows it he’s overcome by it, enamorado, muy risueño. And Hamal laughs too.

“I thought—well, aren’t we exchanging rings now?”

“You have a ring?”

Hamal nods eagerly, holding it up in the light. It is a little thing of carved ironbark and gold, mottled in brassy colors only a Dalish craftsman could create. Zevran feels like he’s wanted this precise ring his whole life, and only realized it just now.

“It’s beautiful,” he says.

“I traded Master Varathorn for it,” Hamal says, and Zevran stares.

“Varathorn. That was months ago,” he tells him.

“Yes.” Hamal smiles. “The moment I saw it, I knew I wanted it for you. I just wasn’t sure… the Archdemon…” He pauses, unsure how to say this. “I planned to leave it to you. After… In case…”

He can’t say it and Zevran doesn’t want him to.

Zevran quickly takes the ring he’d crafted out of its velvet pouch. “I made this for you,” he says.

It is a simple band of gold inlaid with opal. Zevran turns it and points to the inside of the band, where the words vhenan and corazon are carved, a tiny opal set between them.

Hamal takes a long look at it.

“Here,” Zevran says, taking his hand. “Listen, because I am not sure that I will get it right in the Chantry, and it is more for you, anyway. You are my home. All my life, I never had one or even thought I could find one; yet I have never felt an orphan since meeting you. So there is no alternative for me, you understand? There is nowhere else for me to go, other than wherever you are. I mean that, amor… more than allegiance to any country or creed. Let me declare myself, then, a citizen of You, municipality of a country called Us, of which we two are the sole happy inhabitants.”

Hamal watches him place the ring onto his finger with what can only be described as sincere adoration, the words filling his thoughts like honey.

“I didn’t have a speech prepared,” he says softly. He gives Zevran his ring and kisses it, which suits Zevran just fine.

“Creators! But I cannot fucking wait to marry you, Zevran! Can we do it right now? Quick! Where is the nearest clergy?”

It is lovely to be understood so thoroughly. Zevran could laugh, or kiss him again, or ravish him right then and there. In the absence of a revered mother, and thus forced to wait, he opts for all three.

#rinnywrites #dragon age #dao #zevran arainai #zevran x warden #mahariel #oc: hamal mahariel #valentine's day piece :-)#i wrote this during the week and had a rough day so i decided to try and edit it after work #polished it up but it still feels like it's missing something; feels like two fics instead of one #but one thing i will always do is highlight like um community and the support ppl show each other and um #sappiness #this also feels like it's bridging 'four little crows off to meet the maker' with 'picture our wedding itd be summer sour and summer sweet'#and i'm gonna try to do less one-shots and more actual writing of qdt lmao or i'll never finish #ok now i sleep zzz zzzz zzz

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101flavoursofweird · 1 month

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3 for any PL character for the Angsty Sentence Starters?

((I’m sorry this took FOREVER, but thanks for the prompt…))

Spoilers: For Miracle Mask and light spoiler for Azran Legacy

Title: Rewritten

Description: Randall proposes. Angela gets cold feet.

Set: Two years after MM.

Warnings: Rejected marriage proposal, Angela’s controlling parents, Randall’s disapproving father, referenced character death… but a hopeful ending?

Inspiration: The prompt “We just don’t work anymore.” —With Randall/Angela (The winners of the ‘Which ship should almost break up?’ Poll) Also, Rewrite the Stars from the Greatest Showman

Two years since Randall’s return, Angela had been wearing her pendant less and less often, leaving it safely locked inside her jewellery box.

It wasn’t as though she no longer cared for Randall’s gift… but she had kept that coin close to her heart every single day that she and Randall had been separated.

After her wedding with Henry, she had strung the coin into a pendant and hidden it beneath her pearl necklace if she went out in public.

The pendant was like a secret promise— Angela would look after Randall’s treasure, while Henry looked after her, and they would wait for Randall together.

Marriage had never truly been part of the arrangement— merely a show to appease Angela’s parents— but now…

Now that Randall was back, Angela really needed to return that treasure or do… something to complete her promise.

When she finally went to retrieve the pendant from her jewellery box, however, Angela released a distraught gasp.

Her pendant— Randall’s gift— was gone!

She hunted high and low around the mansion. Henry assured her the pendant would turn up soon and no, he hadn’t moved it while he was cleaning…

Retracing her steps around town with Alphonse and his dogs’ aid didn’t yield any success either.

Angela doubted she would have just dropped her most precious keepsake…

It was possible someone had pinched it— but why Angela’s pendant, of all things?

There were far more valuable treasures in the mansion or Henry’s study at the Reunion Inn…

Though, the pendant did hold sentimental value, if only to Angela, Henry and Randall.

Randall… Angela feared he would be devastated when he learned that the pendant was lost— after all those years she had taken care of it— but much to her surprise, Randall winked at her and told her not to worry.

Then… the very next evening at dinner, Randall presented her with a small black box.

They were eating a meal at home— not out in Monte d’Or— but Angela suddenly felt like the eyes of the world were fixed upon her.

A proud, expectant smile transformed Mrs. Ascot’s face. Henry, who had stood up from the table to gather their plates, stopped to watch with bated breath— as if every move he’d made since leaving Stansbury had led to this moment.

As Angela opened the box with trembling fingers, she pondered (prayed) if this could be another treasure from Randall, or a magic trick…

Her stomach roiled with dread, though, when she saw the ring.

It was beautiful; with an opal set in its centre ( Her brother’s birth stone …) and a gold band fashioned from the coin Randall had given her twenty years ago.

Angela’s breath hitched.

She could picture her parents’ reactions— How pleased they would be to hear about Angela’s proper marriage, at long last!—and Mr. Ascot’s frown; disapproving, as he had been with most of Randall’s choices.

If Mr. Ascot was still with them, maybe he would have forbidden any nuptials from proceeding. Secretly, Angela would have been grateful to him.

There was no need to restrain her tears— at leastthose could be written off as joy— but she needed to work past the knot in her throat. She needed to say something to Randall.

He was watching her with wide dark eyes, his mouth slightly open in question, his hands still frozen where he had offered her the box.

“I…” Angela spluttered. She picked the treasure out of the box— maybe she was wrong, maybe it was another piece of jewellery— and she nearly dropped it, her hands were so slick with sweat.

“Whoa!” Randall chuckled as he caught the ring— it was definitely a ring.

When Angela stared at him, he had to ask:

“Angela… Will you marry me?”

“…Yes.” She pushed the answer from her throat like a stone. A stone that fell into a river that swept Angela up in the wave of applause from Mrs. Ascot and Henry.

Angela clung to Randall as he kissed her passionately, lovingly, with tender relief.

“May I…?” he breathed, lifting her hand. Dizzily, Angela nodded. He slipped the ring onto her fourth finger, where it fit perfectly…

Like a manacle.

After dessert and champagne and a toast from Mrs. Ascot, Angela excused herself and retreated up to her… her and Randalls’ bedroom.

Angela gently removed the ring and placed it on the windowsill, where it glittered in the distant lights of Monte d’Or.

Inside the ring was an engraving which, according to Randall, roughly translated to: ‘My heart will beat for you until the stars burn out’…

A romantic notion— or a morbid one, especially with the true nature of the Azran legacy in mind.

When Hershel had grudgingly informed them about his globe-trotting expedition, Angela had hoped Randall would renounce everything related to the Azran, but… no.

Archaeology would always be a pastime to Randall, even if he had sworn off dangerous adventures and dedicated himself to rebuilding/running Monte d’Or.

Angela was still destined to be an archaeologist’s wife, to some degree…

“Angie?” Randall’s call at her— their— bedroom door was soft, hesitant.

Whirling away from the window, Angela shoved the ring back on her finger. “Y-you can come in!” Would he hear the reluctance in her voice?

Just to be safe, Angela put on bright smile as Randall poked his head into the room. His hair looked rumpled (Another haircut was due soon— Henry could help with that…) and his cheeks were flushed.

“You okay?” Randall checked, with a wide grin.

Angela nodded. “Yes, I just… needed a minute.”

“Were you blown away by my ring-crafting skills?”

“A little…” Angela felt her smile flicker.

Noticing the tiredness in her voice, Randall started to retract his head. “I can… come back later if you want?”

The opportunity was there; he was willing to give her time and space to process this. Angela could head to bed early, Randall would join her later, she would pretend to be asleep, and they could discuss this tomorrow...

Or Angela could stop waiting, for once in her life.

“No, it… it’s fine.” Angela reached out to him. “I need to talk to you…”

Away from your mother and Henry, she added silently.

Randall got the message. He shut the door, shuffled towards her and took her hands.

“Randall…” Angela sighed. His palms were warm and calloused in hers, concealing the ring between them. “I’m not… sure if I’m ready for this…”

Randall hesitated for a second, before he squeezed her hands. “That’s alright! I’m nervous too!” He glanced out the window, probably towards the register office. “It’ll take us a while to organise everything— maybe over a year…”

(Not if Henry had anything to do with it.)

“No—“ Angela swallowed as Randall looked back at her. She stammered, “I mean, I’m… I’m not ready to be engaged yet. I can’t accept your proposal.”

Twenty years ago, when she had turned down Alphonse Dalston in favour of Henry, Alphonse had met with her afterwards.

This whole marriage thing had been his family’s idea, Alphonse had snorted. No offence to Angela, but he wanted to go to uni to study hotel management, and he’d rather not be dragging a Mrs around with him!

For the first time since Randall’s departure, Angela had laughed.

Alphonse had known she was still grieving and he’d accepted her rejection with grace— far more grace than anyone had ever given him credit for.

It had been such a relief for Angela in her darkest hour. She may have lost Randall, but she’d still had (some) friends left.

Although Alphonse and Henry hadn’t seen eye to eye, they had put her feelings first.

Surely the man she loved would do the same? Now that they were all safely home, the Azran were history, and there wasn’t an urgent incentive to get hitched…

These past few moments, Randall had been peering at Angela with shock. Sadness, disappointment and a touch of anger soon followed across his face.

Earlier, he must have felt like he was on cloud nine… only for Angela to bring him crashing down.

“But…” Randall exhaled slowly. “I thought… when you changed your name—“

“Back to Redoll.” Her maiden name, even if she was no longer a maiden.

At thirty-seven, she should have been thrilled that the person she had cherished since childhood had proposed to her…

“—When you called your parents,” Randall recalled, with difficulty. “Didn’t you tell them…?”

“I told them… you were home,” Angela admitted, “and I told them I was ‘divorcing’ Henry, so they assumed—“

“Like I assumed,” Randall muttered. He dropped her hands.

“I’m sorry! I know— I should have been clearer with you…”

“You should have —“ Randall cut off whatever he had been about to say. Clenching his jaw, shaking his head, he surged around the room.

Angela watched as he slumped onto the bed.

Perhaps, if Angela had just kept quiet, if she had been jubilant like a normal bride-to-be, they could have been lying together right now…

Randall chucked off his glasses. He groaned. “Maybe… I should have asked you… before I went and proposed.” He blinked up at Angela. “I just… I thought we were on the same page?”

Actually, it was more like he had skipped a hundred pages— years of tedium and heartache— to reach the happy ending.

Everyone was still bringing Randall up to speed… but Angela hadn’t quite caught up either.

Randall had written his own a book— casting himself as a brave king, Henry as a traitorous minister, and Angela as a mournful princess/queen who had been tricked.

It turned out, however, that the minister and the princess/queen had remained loyal to the king… even after the king had tried to destroy their city.

In the end— and in Randall’s mind— the princess/queen was still expected to marry the king, no questions asked.

How could Angela explain that?

She silently shrugged to Randall.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Randall exclaimed,

“It’s been two years since… since I tried to…” When he opened his eyes again, Angela saw tears. “Is it because of what I did?”

“Of course not—!”

“Don’t lie to me, Angela— please…”

“It is… partly,” Angela conceded with a sigh. “But it’s not just—“

“What can I do?” Randall begged, stumbling away from the bed. “How can I make it up to you?”

He looked ready to climb a mountain or capture the stars, all for her.

Already, he had done so much. She had forgiven him within the first year.

But this wasn’t about forgiveness.

Angela shook her head.

“Tell me!” Randall returned to her side. Grabbed her hands once again. “Whatever it takes to redeem myself—“

“I’m not a reward for your redemption, Randall,” she pointed out, quietly.

“I know that— now…” Randall’s voice broke.

Angela squeezed his hands. “It’s not fair of me to hold you to that standard,” Angela intoned, “and it’s not fair of you to expect that of me— to live with the prospect of marriage looming over my head…”

Since the day her brother had left, she had lived with nothing but expectations.

When are you going to find a boyfriend?

When are you going to get married?

When are you going to have children?

Never ending. Never enough. Never, for a moment, asking what Angela wanted.

She had found some reprieve when Henry asked for her hand in marriage— she had staved off her parents’ demands for a few years— but now it was starting again.

Henry hadn’t had her best interests at heart when he offered her that choice— well, he had, but not Angela’s alone. He had made that proposal with the intention that he and Angela would wait for Randall together…

And, when the time came, Angela would return to Randall. Like the fortune from Akbadain, or the rights to the city.

Like nothing had changed since Angela was a teenager.

She was her brother’s bereaved little sister. Her parents’ precious daughter. Randall’s kind, boring girlfriend. Henry’s beautiful, reserved wife. Randall’s reluctant fiancé…

She could never just be Angela, could she?

“Do you understand, Randall?” Angela whispered, gazing into his eyes.

Randall sniffed, nodding slightly. Then he nodded again, stronger.

Sighing, Angela let him go. “It’s time I gave this back to you…” She removed the ring— his coin, his gift she had carried for twenty years— and placed it in Randall’s palm.

Randall stared at it for a moment. “If… If I had asked you before I left for the ruins,” Randall mumbled, “would you have said yes— back then?”

“Yes…”

After her brother’s disappearance, after their family nearly went bankrupt searching for him, Angela’s parents had been determined to marry her off as soon as she came of age.

If she had to marry, then she would have made the choice herself. She would have chosen the bright-eyed boy who treated everyone as an equal, who could take Angela far away from Stansbury, who could talk her ear off about archaeology…

Even if her parents didn’t agree. Even if Mr. Ascot didn’t approve of the girl whose brother had perished in the Akbadain ruins…

“Yes,” Angela said again. “I would have chosen you, because I grew up with you and I loved you—“

“You did,” Randall choked out.

“I do,” she amended. “But I’m… still getting to know this version of you, who I’ve only known for two years…”

She let out a tearful sigh. “And I’m… still finding things out about myself… I suppose, what I need is more time.”

“I owe you that time, after everything…” Randall slipped the ring into his pocket. Angela wondered if he would save it for her, or if he would give it to someone else…

“You don’t owe me anything,” Angela assured him. “And you mustn’t wait for me… ”

“Will you let me know,” Randall murmured, “if you change your mind?”

“Of course.”

Then, she embraced him not as her fiancé, but as her first love.

Angela wasn’t sure if Randall Ascot would be her last love — for as long as they both should live— but she would always love him.

She would love what they had been… what could have been… and, perhaps someday, what they had become.

But first, there was someone she had to find.

“Good afternoon, this is Hershel Layton speaking. How might I be of assistance?”

Gentlemanly as ever…

Angela smiled down the phone. “Ciao, Hershel!”

“Oh, Angela…! ” Hershel’s formal voice filled with warmth. “Are you, per chance, in Italy?”

“Correct!” (No doubt, Randall had contacted him already…) “Right now I’m staying with my parents…”

When she trailed off, Hershel asked, “I hope you’re having a good time?”

“It’s been— good to catch up with them, and straighten some things out, but…” Angela glanced over her shoulder, even though she doubted her parents would hear.

Hershel prompted. “But?”

“…I won’t be staying for much longer,” Angela murmured. “I’ll be leaving soon— on my own…”

“ I see,” Hershel said, with understanding. “Are Randall and Henry aware?”

“They might suspect, but they don’t know where I’m going.” (She wasn’t sure yet either.) Angela sighed. “I just… wanted to give you a heads-up, before they asked for your help tracking me down…”

There was no judgement in Hershel’s tone. “Do you know how long you’ll be gone for?”

“Not forever— a couple of months, maybe.” How ever long it took to rediscover oneself. “But I will come back… ”

For a few moments, Hershel was quiet, considering.

Angela thought she heard a baby babbling somewhere in the background. Right— hadn’t he taken in a little girl, along with Flora and Alfendi?

(She really hoped he was happy, after everything …)

Then Hershel breathed, “If you ever find yourself in a spot of trouble— or simply need a listening ear— you will call, won’t you?”

“I will,” Angela promised, just as she had promised Randall and Henry. She brushed away a tear. “Goodbye, Hershel…”

Goodbye, Angela Redoll.

Hello… Angela.

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justallihere · 8 months

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Why did you pick Emerald for the gemstones? Was it because Suri wore an Emerald? Or was it because it’s the most beautiful gemstone? Are the wedding rings set with black diamonds or some other stone? I know it’s weird but I love gemstones and think about this a lot. I also think about your fic way more than I probably should too.

Yeah honestly I just think emeralds are so beautiful! And I always associate Tyrrendor/Aretia with the color green in my mind, so it just kind of fit. Plus no one ever wears any color and I wanted Violet to not be in black for once!

I’m not great with gemstones but I picture her wedding rings to be slightly closer to a black opal? Something with a little bit of iridescence to it but obviously not nearly as soft as opal so if there’s something that fits that description better let me know or it can just be some made up thing because this is fantasy 😂

#fourth wing #fourth wing fanfic #storm in the quiet

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chocoblep · 2 days

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#23: The Jeweler

Prompt: On Cloud Nine

Illian strolled through the Jeweled Crozier, heading for a shop that he liked to frequent whenever he was in Ishgard proper. It was a jeweler, and they dealt not only in cut stones and settings, but also raw gems for foci and other uses. Today he was on an errand; he’d been contacted by the shop’s owner, and he needed to stop in to take a look at a stone that had come into their possession. This one was important; he’d been asking for a blue opal of sufficient quality for a project that he was working on, and if this one was sufficient, he’d likely be able to make the sentinel earrings he’d been working on a reality.

He’d heard of a ring that someone had developed that put a shield around a person that fit like a second skin. They employed blue opals, which was not surprising given that those stones were often used in protective spells to begin with, and he wanted to see if he could duplicate that effect with an earring. If he could, then M’rath would be much better protected, even without a bodyguard, though having one was usually very effective in preventing attacks from occurring in the first place. Still, when one dealt in money, one made enemies, and Illian was determined to keep his friend safe.

He walked into the shop, pausing with the door still open to tap some of the snow from the bottoms of his shoes before wiping them on the mat. His ears twitched as he caught snippets of the conversation that was happening between a couple and the shopkeep. Settling himself near the other end of the counter, he waited for his turn.

“I really had my heart set on the mythril,” the Elezen lady said, and looked at the man standing beside her. “Are you certain we couldn’t afford this pair?”

“Not if we’d still like to get them enchanted,” the man replied. Our budget wouldn’t cover both…”

“Perhaps if we waited on the enchantment?” she asked, her brown eyes hopeful.

“Ah, I was hoping we could do that before the ceremony, so that our oaths and the enchantment went hand in hand. But with the price that enchanter quoted us, we wouldn’t be able to afford both.”

The woman turned to look longingly at a set of wedding bands. Illian’s brow furrowed, and he slid closer along the counter.

“Excuse me,” he said softly, and the trio turned to look at him. “I happen to be an enchanter as well. Perhaps I could give a second opinion?”

“Oh,” the shopkeep said, brightening. “Yes! Master Runetide is not just an enchanter, he is also an inventor, and very knowledgeable besides! He would be a good one to ask about enchantments.”

“Ah, you flatter me, Rinelle,” he said, waving off her compliment. “I simply overheard and couldn’t help but wonder if you were given a fair price. What kind of enchantments were you wanting, and what were you quoted?”

The man looked Illian up and down, and he was suddenly glad that he’d chosen one of his fancier jackets. Idly he wondered if his ears were poking out of his hair–he typically arranged it when he was in Ishgard to hide the pointed tips to avoid racists. Apparently he was satisfied with what he saw, because when he spoke, it wasn’t to tell Illian to buzz off. Instead, it was to inform him that they were looking for two simple enchantments–a resize enchant that was coded to its owner only, and a warming enchant for the cold weather. When he rattled off the price he’d been quoted, Illian arched his brows.

“I hate to inform you, but for two simple enchants such as those–even on two pieces instead of one–you are being swindled. Depending on the starting material, enchantments can be complicated, but mythril is highly conductive, and so the materials you would not need to use nearly as much in the way of spellcasting components to attach the enchantments. It’s part of why mythril is so expensive. Have you signed a contract with this other enchanter already for the work?”

“Ah, no,” the man replied. “We were going to do that today, after picking out the rings.”

“All right, then. I have a proposal for you.” Illian fixed them both with a smile and pulled out a business card, and then turned it over and pulled a self-inking quill from his pocket. Uncapping it, he beckoned it to life, and it scrawled out a series of numbers for different enchantment options. When he set it down on the counter, he capped the pen and stowed it again. “I will offer you a safety net. If you wish to stay with the enchanter you’ve met already, show this to them. With mythril rings specifically, you could easily enchant them with a resizing spell with a single keyed host or about this much,” he began, tapping his finger next to the first number. They all huddled around it. “If you wanted just a simple warming spell, tack on this much,” he said, tapping the second number, and then pointed his finger at the third. “But if you wanted a temperature regulation spell that would also keep you cool in warmer climes, tack on this much instead. That is how much I would charge you for this job, and that includes both rings. If they will not match my price, or at least give you something more fair…” He picked up the card, turned it over, and held it out to them. “Then I will do it for that quoted price.”

The pair stared at him, and then the man took the card. “That’s…. That’s a little over half the other’s price,” the man breathed, relief relaxing his shoulders a bit. “Thank you…” he squinted down at the card, and then smiled. “Illian Runetide. What a fortuitous name.” Then he turned to his wife-to-be. “I think, with this, we can get the mythril rings and the enchants.”

The squeal that left the woman before she brought her hands up to cover her mouth was one of pure delight, and she looked to Rinelle and then pointed to the pair of rings she’d been lamenting over before. “We’ll take those, then!”

Rinelle looked over to Illian gratefully before pulling the pair of rings out. “And if you are getting the resizing enchant put on them, then I could knock off the resizing fee that is typically included in the price.”

“Oh! Wonderful!” the man said, and then turned again to beam over at Illian. “Thank you, ser. We will contact you, most likely. You seem a much more trustworthy sort, and you have truly made both of us so very happy.” He held out his hand for a shake, which Illian took with a smile.

“I do not typically advertise my services, as I work directly for a man in the Shroud, but I do offer my services from time to time,” he replied. “I just couldn’t stand to see you pay more than you needed to on such simple things. Weddings are expensive enough.”

When the couple had left the shop, Rinelle ducked into her storage room and came out with a parcel, which she unwrapped on the counter to display about six blue opals. “I ended up with more than I thought I would, so you've got your pick this go ‘round,” she said, giving him a smile. “I know you said you only needed two, but pick four. I’ll give them to you for the same price.”

Illian looked up at Rinelle, his lips curling into a lopsided grin. “Really, now? Why, Rinelle, you’d better be careful, someone might get to thinking you’re sweet on me.”

The shopkeep scoffed, but her cheeks gained a bit of color. “Oh, come on, Illian, we both know I’m sweet on what good you do for business.”

He leaned in, lowering his voice to something almost sultry as he asked, “is that why you told me to come by at four bells? Because you knew I’d get you an upsell?”

Rinelle gasped, an almost affronted look on her face. “No, no! It wasn’t the upsell! It was because I know them, and I know that enchanter, and I was hoping I might be able to bring you both together to spare them from being overcharged.”

“And the upsell,” Illian said, waggling his blonde brows.

“Well, I’m not made of money, you know! Best get to picking before I change my mind, you miscreant!”

“Yes, Ma’am,” he said with a little salute, which only made her laugh. They chattered about his most recent innovations as he figured out which opals to take with him, and then headed for the door. When he twisted to wave at her on his way out, he was surprised to see that her entire face was red. Oh. Well, he wouldn’t comment on that.

This time.

#Wriitng #FFXIVWrite2024 #FFXIVWrite #Illian Runetide #Prompt 23 #On Cloud Nine

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your-dandy-king · 5 months

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Kitting Out (a handy dandy list)

Choosing from the list provided by @rapports-de-combat in this post, Murat would pack these items:

Rations for one meal

Water filled waterskin

Change of clothes

Lantern & oil

Pistol and smallsword

However, there are other little treasures from the Lost & Found vault he keeps in his domain. Lost and discarded things from the living world make their way into his domain all the time. Keys, wedding rings, umbrellas, clothes, and wallets and passports end up in his domain. And socks, lots of mismatched socks missing their mate.

Not all of them potentially have use. What good is a smartphone to him, when electricity doesn't work in his domain? No, these are simple things, things that do not require batteries or electricity, or complicated parts to work.

So, in addition to the above things, there are:

A travel-size sewing kit - self-explanatory, if you're Murat.

A blackjack - the smallsword and pistol are preferred, but not necessarily practical, especially if you're in a cramped space. A blackjack is a close-quarters weapon of the last resort.

A folding penknife - the sewing kit scissors won't do in every instance, but neither will a dagger.

Valuables - A small pouch of loose gemstones fallen out of their settings and lost by their original owners and now in Murat's possession. Diamonds, emeralds, sapphire, opals. Some gold and silver jewelry that he came by the same way. A few gold coins left behind by a helpful Roman centurion centuries ago, and maybe even a few coins bearing the profile of the King of Naples himself. These things might come in handy if they need to trade for goods.

A small camp mirror and a small bar of soap - Again self-explanatory, if you're Murat.

One of those really nice travel coffee mugs that keeps drinks cold/hot with a lid and a rubberized bottom - Now this is an indulgence, and Murat would admit as such. A lot of inventions from the times long after he died can leave him baffled, but this is one he can get behind.

A pack of playing cards - at the very least, he can keep himself and others entertained. And if he needs to gamble out of necessity, he's got the tools at hand.

A folding umbrella, but in a completely impractical color. What's the problem with fuchsia? He likes it!

Sunglasses - This may seem like an odd choice, but Murat remembers the road to Moscow, when the dust was thick and choking. Men would cut makeshift goggles and fashion protective eyewear for themselves out of stained glass windows looted from churches. He remembers the endless, killing glare of the sun on Egyptian dunes. Murat remembers all this and he snags a pair of wrap-around sport sunglasses for himself. Even if he doesn't end up needing it for practical reasons, he can look nice. There's plenty of pairs, however, and he ends up packing one for each man in the party.

Finding a pair for Davout is a bit of a challenge though. Murat personally doesn't care, but it also wouldn't do to have the Iron Marshal out of action. The man can't see without his spectacles and finding sunglasses that fit over them isn't easy. Among his piles of knickknacks and lost treasures, Murat finds ski goggles for Davout with a baby pink mirror finish.

When it comes to choosing a wardrobe, Murat not the most practical dresser. He never has been. Who needs to be when one needs to look good? He digs around in his Lost & Found vault, and settles for flared, pinstripe pants, a green and red floral shirt in a pattern he's been told is called "Hawaiian," a wide belt with a sliver and turquoise buckle, and a couple of layered beaded statement necklaces. Knee high leather boots, good for walking and riding. This is all topped off with a white cowboy hat and a leopard print coat. And feathers. Can't forget the feathers.

He is, as an outside observer might comment, a vision in psychedelic boho acid punk. Because he is Murat, and he will not go into battle dressed as a plain peasant. Nope, that just won't do.

#event: ney's painted paradise #Murat's gear #kit list

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rosecjewelsshop · 5 months

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Ethiopian Opal Designer Trio Wedding Ring Set with Diamond

Radiate elegance with this exquisitely beautiful Ethiopian Opal Wedding Ring Set. The 6 MM Round Shape Ethiopian Opal is adorned with uniquely set Round Shape and Baguette Cut Diamond, making this ring a truly regal piece. This Designer Ring Set has a classic appeal that will take your breath away. Crafted in Solid Gold, this Ring Set will be a perfect choice for your wedding.

#jewelry #finejewelry #diamond #ethiopian opal

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maid-with-sunset-in-her-hair · 2 years

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Sansa was wearing silver and purple at Joffery wedding. She also wore that silver hairnet of black amethyst. Dany was shown to wore silver collar with purple amethyst st Qarth and her eyes were compared with amethyst. Sansa was carrying poison which was used for killing Joffery who was her nephew and king. Could be foreshadowing for Dany killing her nephew Aegon who will be king. Plus the rumors about Sansa turning into winged wolf after killing Joffery fits more Dany flying over Drogon.

Hello Dot! You’re probably right that it’s partially foreshadowing about Daenerys killing her nephew like Sansa killed hers. But I also wanted to add that the symbolism for amethysts is slightly different in Daenerys’ chapters and much more prominent than in Sansa's chapters.

Daenerys wore a purple dress and amethyst bracelets together with a gold slave collar to meet with Khal Drogo, who ended raping her until she wanted to die:

The girl slid the gilded sandals onto her feet, while the old woman fixed the tiara in her hair, and slid golden bracelets crusted with amethysts around her wrists. Last of all came the collar, a heavy golden torc emblazoned with ancient Valyrian glyphs. (AGOT Daenerys I)

The scene of Daenrys getting ready to meet him is actually very similar to the scene of Sansa unwittingly getting ready for her wedding with Tyrion. A golden child bride with amethysts and a silver child bride with moonstones, foils and parallels. Like Sansa, Daenerys is also being trapped in an abusive situation.

Her ancestors are described as having amethyst eyes during her wake the dragon dream, and they're encouraging her to pursue a doomed legacy of fire and blood under the belief she’ll find a home and a place to belong:

Ghosts lined the hallway, dressed in the faded raiment of kings. In their hands were swords of pale fire. They had hair of silver and hair of gold and hair of platinum white, and their eyes were opal and amethyst, tourmaline and jade. (AGOT Daenerys IX)

Xaro gifted her an amethyst collar top ward off poisons, but it's implied he's sabbotaging her attempts to gain the support from others in Qarth and trying to get her killed so he can steal her dragons:

"A dream delayed, no more." Dany's tight silver collar was chafing against her throat. She unfastened it and flung it aside. The collar was set with an enchanted amethyst that Xaro swore would ward her against all poisons. The Pureborn were notorious for offering poisoned wine to those they thought dangerous, but they had not given Dany so much as a cup of water. (ACOK Daenerys III)

For Sansa amethysts are poison, for Daenerys they’re supposed to protect her from poisons, but are a poison of another kind. She paid for the Unsullied with a box of black amethysts:

Jars of saffron, jars of myrrh, jars of pepper and curry and cardamom, an onyx mask, twelve jade monkeys, casks of ink in red and black and green, a box of rare black amethysts, a box of pearls, a cask of pitted olives stuffed with maggots, a dozen casks of pickled cave fish, a great brass gong and a hammer to beat it with, seventeen ivory eyes, and a huge chest full of books written in tongues that Dany could not read. And more, and more, and more. Her people stacked it all before the slavers. (ASOS Daenerys II)

We don’t know if those are actually black amethysts or if it’s just a slang for the Strangler, but during the whole transaction, Kraznys is telling Denerys to sack the small cities and bring the captives back to be sold in Astapor, tempting her to participate more deeply in the slave trade.

Hizdahr is probably working with The Harpy to undermine Daenerys and bring slavery back to Meereen, guess what he’s wearing the first time he appears on page?

The nobleman had wings of wiry red-black hair sprouting from his temples. They made him look as if his head were about to take flight. His long face was made even longer by a beard bound with rings of gold. His purple tokar was fringed with amethysts and pearls. (ADWD Daenerys I)

And finally Xaro was wearing an amethyst nose ring when he threatened Daenerys after he failed to convince her to sail to Westeros and abandon Meereen to the slavers:

Tears welled from his eyes, creeping down his nose, past emeralds, amethysts, and black diamonds. "I told the Thirteen that you would heed my wisdom. It grieves me to learn that I was wrong. Take these ships and sail away, or you will surely die screaming. You cannot know how many enemies you have made." (ADWD Daenerys III)

The central symbolism of amethysts in Daenerys’ chapters seems to be about slavery. Being sold to Drogo like a slave, her family’s legacy of fire and blood that can be traced back to Valyria, buying slaves, Xaro and Hizdahr who are supporting slavery in a way or another.

#asoiaf #my meta #valyrianscrolls #anti daenerys targaryen #sansa stark

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dulcewrites · 2 years

Note

I love hearing about the fmo world! Do you have any little hcs about reader, aemond or anyone really that you haven't mentioned 😊

Random fmo headcanons/thoughts

- reader, while pregnant with daella, water breaks in the middle of the night (depending on the poll results this could be expanded on). She has to literally scream at Aemond to wake up bc he sleeps like the dead 😭. And of course bby girl had to come into the world in the most dramatic fashion

- Aemond is an Aries sun/Scorpio moon while reader is a Pisces sun/libra moon (can do the kids if y’all want)

- when their betrothal was set in stone, Aemond gave reader an blue opal ring. Reader wore is everyday for years till he found out he cheated

- daeron writes all his siblings regularly. When reader and Aemond get married, daeron starts to send reader little gifts from oldtown. Alaric’s egg comes from tessarion. A pretty green and blue egg

- criston actually gives a gift to reader before the wedding. He gives her armor and she just sits there like “thank you….” *cue it’s an avocado thanksssss video*

- tyland lannister tried to marry reader. It’s kind of awkward whenever they see each other at the castle 💀. I think she would’ve slayed as a lady of casterly rock

- everyone spends a lot of time in Alicent’s room. The kids LOVE their grandmother’s room.

- this is soooo random but reader was an animal she’d be a red panda

- Rhaenyra and Aegon HATE bugs while Aemond tolerates them for Helaena’s sake. Reader helps hel look for bugs

- reader has walked on Aegon have sex multiple times.

- Aemond has a vigorous hair routine while reader is anal about her skincare. Both kids pick up in and implement it. Speaking of which daella has curly hair very much from her grandmother

- Quinton’s mom sends him jams and reader hand knitted shawls. She fully thinks that is her daughter in law poor thing 😭

#fmo headcanons #fool me once asks

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thecapturedafrique · 1 year

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HLAW: Day 5—Hana(ra)’s Perfect Wedding!

Like several members of the fandom, I too ship Hana and Kiara together, and though I have yet to write the fic where they fall in love, I’ve long since come up list of head canons about their wedding. I originally meant to share this for Kiara’s first appreciation week, but I wasn’t able to finish on time. Fortunately, one of the benefits to being a Hanara shipper is that their romantic content can work for both characters’ weeks! 😆

Tagging @hanaleeappreciationweek and the stupendous hosts @lizzybeth1986 and @sazanes!

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

This moodboard was designed to reflect the Pinboard that Hana would 100% make for her wedding to Kiara given the numerous ones she’s crafted in canon.

Bridal Ring Sets

The ring on the left is the one Hana chooses for Kiara; I initially searched for a ring similar to Hana's ring for MC in canon but didn't want a one-to-one match, and then I diverged further by selecting one with a vine design to reference Castelsareillan (aka Rowan’s tattoos which I head canon were tribal in nature and design). The side stones are diamonds since they’re both the ducal stone and Kiki’s birthstone, but Hana went with moissanite for the central stone since it's not as hard and refracts more multi-colored light, representing how there's more to Kiara than what the surface may show and that she is a lot more kind and sweet and thoughtful than her tough facade leads people to expect.

For the ring Kiara gives to Hana*, resetting a family heirloom is very popular in France, especially with traditional affluent families. The ruby was originally from her late maternal grandmother’s engagement ring, and Kiara had it reset in a rose gold band to match her own since Hana proposed first. Due to the canonical Cordonian tradition of lovers throwing a copper, a silver, and a gold coin into a well to guarantee that they stay together for eternity, I head canon that rose gold—which is made of those three metals—is a popular choice in Cordonia for engagement/anniversary jewelry. The wedding band is inlaid with opals since they're the ducal stone of Hana’s duchy, Chrysopolis.

*I was also partly inspired by @masked-alien-lesbian’s beautiful pick to find a more floral design than my original choice, and when I found one with embellishments that mirrored butterflies as well, I knew it was the one.

Bridal Party

In Chinese numerology, 8 is considered one of the most auspicious numbers, with 2, 3, and 6 also being lucky in general. As such, the bridal party is a total of 6 people (3 for each side) who combined with the 2 brides equal 8 in total.

Hana's Bridesmaids: Ally (MOH), Olivia, and Ganga

In my version of events, Olivia actually does offer a genuine apology to Hana in the beer garden scene at the end of TRR2, and so by the time Hana’s planning her wedding, the two have grown close enough for her to ask Liv to be her bridesmaid.

The name Ganga may be familiar to anyone who read Hana’s character page, as she’s one of Hana’s second cousins on her mother’s side. They meet and bond over the course of my reimagined TRH series Silver Spoons.

Kiara's Témoins: Penelope (MOH), Zeke, and Savannah

Instead of bridesmaids and groomsmen, French couples have témoins (witnesses) of any gender/age that stand next to them during the ceremonies. While Penelope is still courteously given the MOH title, Ally is the one who provides the most support in regard to the planning/corralling.

Wedding

Following Moroccan and Chinese traditions, the wedding celebration is several days long. I also head canon that many western regions of Cordonia outside of the five major duchies have three-day-length celebrations, including the regality from which Hana’s maternal family hails. The negafa (wedding planner) is Kiki’s paternal aunt Leïla, who is assisted by Hana’s own aunt Yawen.

Day 1: Castelsareillan

Hammam

In Morocco on the first day of a wedding celebration, the bride spends a day in the hammam (a type of steam bath or place of public bathing akin to a spa) with her companions, treating themselves with multiple body masks, scrubs, and massages as part of a bridal ritual of purification and beauty. Hanara chooses the baths and spa in Applewood visited in TRR2 and attend with their bridal party sans Zeke.

Bachelorette Party

Their joint party is thrown in Côte d'Or, the Cordonian gambling district visited in RoE which in my verse is located in one of Castelsareillan’s vassalages off the coast. Aside from the standard night on the town events, Ally also arranges a series of chuangmen (Chinese door games) for the couple to play: an alcoholic version of the Four Flavors of Life, Q&A Tests, and a Sweet Serenade karaoke session.

The theme is a rainbow, with everyone wearing a different colored dress: Ally in red, Ganga in orange, Kiara in yellow gold, Olivia in green, Penelope in blue, Savannah in purple, and Hana in pink. All of the bridesmaids wear the same cap-sleeved sequined style, while the brides’ outfits are pictured below:

Day 2: Samsara

Henna Party

Both Morocco and India have wedding traditions involving decorating the bride’s hands and feet with henna (mehndi being the South Asian term for the body art itself). Lorelai’s cousin Aparna offers her estate in Samsara (a western regality in Cordonia) as the venue, and the party is a long affair filled with food and music.

Hana wears a pink sari while Kiki dons a green kaftan. Since the brides plan to walk down the aisle the next day, they’re carried to their seats in the amaria (an elegant roofed platform) by four men: Zeke, Drake, Bertrand, and the male cousin Kiara mentions in TRR3 who I named Patrice and head canon is Joëlle’s nephew.

Having forgone a wedding shower, the brides open their gifts during the party, some of which revolve around the traditional “something old” rhyme (with the givers corresponding to whose side they walk on):

Something Old: received during the tea ceremony

Something New: white lotus hair stick (Ally), silver and onyx Berber necklace (Zeke)

Something Borrowed: Scarlet Handkerchief (Liv), Golden Tiara* (Penelope)

Something Blue: garter set (Savannah), nagapadam mala (Ganga)

*The Golden Tiara is the House treasure that was granted to the Amaranth’s when they were elevated in 1600 C.E. It was rumored that while donned, the makeup of any who wore it would remain flawless.

Rehearsal Dinner

The ribbons and bows from unwrapping the gifts are turned into two giant bouquets that the brides use for the following wedding rehearsal in place of the garlands they’ll be using for the real ceremony. They also incorporate some elements of the nischayam, an Indian Malayalee engagement ceremony generally held to formally announce the marriage, which includes exchanging horoscopes as well as the mothiram maattal (ring exchange). Since pigs are favored animals in Chinese culture, Kiara’s pet teacup pig Tambour acts as the ring bearer. At the end of the rehearsal dinner, the couple signs their marriage license following both French and Moroccan tradition (the latter of which call this ceremony Drib Sdak).

Day 3: Chrysopolis

Shutou & Jing Cha

The morning of the third and final wedding day begins in Hana’s manor in Chrysopolis with the Chinese shutou or hair combing ceremony performed by their mothers Lorelai and Joëlle. Immediately afterwards, the two change into their traditional formal wear (Hana in a qungua and Kiara in a takshita) before heading downstairs for the jing cha or tea ceremony, where their aunts have built an ancestral altar for the occasion.

The ceremony is done with both families at the same time, and in return for the tea that the couple offer, their families offer them golden jewelry and red envelopes filled with money called hongbao. They also receive from their fathers the “something old” gift that’s been passed down by their late grandmothers: a set of golden phoenix & dragon bangles for Hana and silver Berber bracelets for Kiara.

Vow Exchange

The exchanging of vows takes place outside in the sunflower garden. Kiki’s four-year-old cousin mentioned in TRH2 serves as the flower girl, and the bridal party are all dressed in a reddish mulberry and adorned with golden jewelry*. The brides change into their white outfits (Hana wearing the same dress as in canon and a veil, while Kiara dons a jumpsuit with a cape) and walk down the T-shaped aisle on the arms of their fathers to meet each other.

Hakim place Kiara’s hand in Hana’s and Xinghai hands them a pair of scissors before leaving the two to continue their march together. In a slightly altered French tradition, they must cut through the rows of white ribbons stretched across the aisle to reach the dais, where they exchange a set of garlands made from roses, fire lilies, jasmine, sunflowers, and Vescovi (magic) flowers in the Hindi jayamala ceremony, a pledge which substitutes their “I Do’s.”

Liam acts as the officiant and joins the couple’s hands together following the Agni Hito tradition of using a red string to represent their fates being bound. He hands them each a lambatha (Greek taper candle) to hold as the brides recite their individual customized vows to one another. They then use the lambathes to light a brazier filled with Heartoak wood which is placed before them.

This functions as the sacred fire for the saat phere, a Hindu wedding ritual continued by the Agni Hito where the couple walks around the fire seven times while reciting specific vows. Each circuit holds a certain meaning. Once the seventh one has been completed, Liam pronounces the two wives, and butterflies are released as they share their first kiss as a married couple.

*One of the bridal party’s statement pieces is a golden pin in the design of Hanara’s onnamon, pictured below. Mon are Japanese emblems that function similar to heraldic charges, and onnamon specifically are created by women after marriage through modifying her original family kamon. The Agni Hito, being of Japanese lineage, continued to use them within Cordonia. After becoming the Duchess of Chrysopolis, Hana adopted a new mon by turning her mother’s kamon/charge (the cherry blossom) into a butterfly-shape.

Reception

The rice toss is performed while the newlyweds exit down the aisle before everyone heads inside, where the vin d’honour (the French equivalent of a cocktail hour) is held. Kir Royale cocktails made with Cristal champagne and chocolate-coated almonds called les dragées are served, and both mahjong and mancala are played. Once all of the ~200 attendees have been greeted, they drive to the banquet hall with a liberal use of horns preceding the “just married” limo.

Each guest upon their arrival signs the livre des visiteurs (guestbook), delivers their hongbao, touches a set of oranges for good luck, and washes their hands in the orange blossom water. Ouzo and Moroccan mint tea are offered until everyone has been seated for the grand entrance, where under a shower of petals and sparklers, the newlyweds perform a TRR 2.0 Olivia-style change into their reception dresses pictured below (Hana on the left and Kiara on the right):

Thanks to @lizzybeth1986 for sharing the tumblr post with these lovely designs!

They step onto the floor with their fathers for the first dance, which they finish as a couple following French tradition. The song is one that Hana composed titled Le jardin de l'amour and performed by Kaitlyn Liao. The feast itself is a ten-course affair that contains a vast variety of cultural dishes, including drunken shrimp, butter chicken, Peking duck, pork jiaozi, tangine, bird’s nest soup, and seffa. Maxwell serves as the emcee, and toasts are given in between the various acts.

Friends provide most of the entertainment, including a ballad sung by the Cordonian Quartet, but there are also lion dancers and firecrackers following Chinese tradition. Halfway through, the couple changes into their final outfits for the night (a red qipao for Hana and a kaftan jumpsuit for Kiara). Once the last course has been served, the croquembouche (a French dessert that serves as the wedding cake) is wheeled out along with a Cordonian Ruby for the apple-cutting ceremony.

After feeding each other a slice of both, the dancing begins. The party lasts long into the night, but just before the newlyweds retire for the evening, they take part in another French tradition: eating a dish from a brand new pot de chambre (chamber pot). The bottom is lined by bananas and covered with melted chocolate before the leftover alcohol from the wedding is poured in. After the couple’s takes a drink and eats a spoonful of the gooey contents, the rest is left to be finished off by the bridal party.

Honeymoon

Lorelai’s wedding gift is the most expensive home in China, and it is here in Shanghai where Hana and Kiara spend the first week of their honeymoon, which ends with the Mid-Autumn Festival. The second week is spent in Tours, France where they go cycling and visit the famous châteaus before returning to Cordonia just in time for the Last Apple Ball.

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Sources

#the royal romance #trr #hana lee #kiara theron #hanaleeappreciationweek #hlaw 2.0 #hlaw day 5 #head canons #had the whole thing written out but putting this post together took much longer than expected #but got it finished nevertheless and by the deadline!#now i am going to pass out for the 3 hours i have left before work

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