Author's Note: This is a present to all of the wonderful people who read my first fic: your encouragement means more to me than I can express in a few words - so here's a thousand. I figured some of you might like to read a bit of wedding fluff after the season six finale!

Handwritten
"The Locks To Fit My Keys"

Every moment of their wedding day outshines the last.

They stand facing each other, watery eyes locked and unblinking, hands desperately entwined to keep one another from just absolutely losing it. They're quaking with a strange combination of laughter and tears as Alexis delivers a reading about locks and keys. There, between two towering walls of books, their audience watching raptly, every tributary of hope in Kate opens, flooding her with tingling, transcendent emotion.

When Rick slides the platinum band onto her trembling finger, she has to press her right hand over her mouth to control her jagged breathing. He seals her to him with a kiss that resurrects wishes she didn't even know she was still suppressing. She'd always longed for a marriage as strong as her parents', and now, only seconds into her own, she realizes by exactly how much she's exceeded her own expectations.

For a moment she's lost in the undertow of the abundant love of this man, who has the lion's share of her respect and every last shred of her trust. It doesn't hurt that he is the object of every salacious thought in her head (and there are quite a few of them these days).

Their first kiss as a married couple is tender, sweet and perfect. That is, until Castle refuses to let go. He dips her almost to the floor, pressing exaggerated smacking kisses against her now firmly pursed lips. Her veil falls off and she has to twist his ear and smack his shoulder to make him stop, much to the amusement of their family and friends. But maybe that's perfect too.

When the officiant announces them as Mr. and Mrs. Castle, for just a moment she's her 20-year old self again, caught off guard by the surreality of the fact that she's just married her favorite author. The dashing, loaded, chart-topping novelist that also happens to be her sweet, brilliant, silly and fiercely loyal husband. Not for the first time, Kate marvels at their story.

But the peak of elation comes later, when they're alone, snatching a moment for themselves between the cocktail hour and the receiving line before dinner, pressed close together in the shadows between the B and C shelves of section 813.

Castle's mouth is hot on her neck as his hands combat the lace of her dress, trying to find some way in, but no matter how hard he tries, he just can't get to her boobs.

"Cool it, Ricky, before you rip my dress."

"It's impenetrable," he huffs. "I'm more likely to break a finger."

"Well, it was specially designed to safeguard my virtue."

"Hah. You, pretending to have any virtue left when I'm fairly sure I've - "

"Don't even finish that sentence. You'd think you could behave on your wedding day," she admonishes, but her radiant smile gives her away.

Castle pulls back for a moment, and she instantly misses the heat of his chest against hers. He fumbles in his pocket and draws her letter out, and she's pleased to see that the creases are deeper now, the edges worn. He leans his forehead against hers.

"I loved this, Kate," he whispers. His voice cracks and she can almost see the ghosts of the tears he must have cried when he read it this morning. She'd tried to keep it light, but she'd been close to sobbing as she wrote it.

And then Castle's hand dives back into his jacket and he pulls out an almost identical sheet of paper. "I wrote this a while ago. I wasn't planning to give it to you, but after I read yours I sent Mother back to the loft to get it."

"How long is a while?"

"Couple of years," he shrugs. "When I got cleared after Tyson framed me. That night."

She certainly remembers that night. Every night they've spent together has been amazing, but that one stands out. He'd done a very thorough job of thanking her for believing in him.

"Can I read it now?"

"Yeah - but - "

"I know. Come here."

He buries his face in her neck and she loops her arms around him, holding the letter out over his shoulder. She loves this about him. That he can't stand to watch people (especially her) read the things he writes. She drops a kiss to the shell of his ear and begins to read.

Kate,

Tonight I realized just how irrevocably in love with you I am.

You finally let me in four months ago, but I can't help feeling that even though I've stormed your keep, there are still a few locked chambers inside. The metaphor doesn't hold, though, because I somehow feel as though I'm already in those rooms, and that opening the doors will just reveal something we both already know, something we're both afraid to put a voice to.

We've got something different, Kate. Something that goes deeper than any of the love stories I've ever read. We've worked hard to have this, and it feels more genuine, more intoxicating than any happiness I've experienced before.

Everyone thinks that I've been the persistent one, but you've been forcing your way into my life too, giving me no choice but to fall for you. You did it quietly, so slowly that I didn't notice at first, but you wound me up into your heart just as I was hoping to wind you into mine.

The first time it occurred to me that I might be in love with you was when I got the offer to write Bond. What kind of idiot turns that down? A besotted, devoted idiot, it turns out.

The first time I was absolutely sure I loved you was the moment I saw Demming kiss you in the hallway after the shaving cream magnate case. It tore me apart, seeing that. I was desperate to be the one you wanted touching you, even then. I'm still a little jealous of Will and Tom and Josh for the time they got to spend with you. My only consolation is that maybe I'm the only one who's gotten under your skin.

So thank you for that, for letting me in. I'm glad we were relentless, because you're here now, sleeping next to me, and it causes physical pain when I let myself think about how beautiful you are. And I'm not just talking about how incredible you look wearing your birthday suit (insert leering eyebrow waggle here) or how perfect you feel under my hands. Or how I am still astounded by your expressive eyes and your gorgeous cheekbones and your lips and outrageous legs and dammit, I'm really veering off-topic.

I know I don't tell you how beautiful you are every day anymore (you could use some work on how to take a compliment) (hint: it's not supposed to involve threats), but I hope you realize that I have to play down how stunning you are or I'd be completely unable to function.

But what really makes me ache is the beauty of your soul, that which drives you to excellence, and the moral fortitude that I've had the privilege to learn from and hopefully am starting to share.

I'll be with you until the wheels fall off, Kate, if you'll have me. I know we've been using a certain three-word combination sparingly, but what I feel for you has gone so far beyond that. I can hardly remember who I was before I met you. I can't really fathom being that person again, and I never want to be.

What I want to be is your husband. Hopefully one day soon we'll get there.

All my love,

Castle

P.S. Please don't kill me, but I bought the ring already.

Tears are slipping down her cheeks by the time she's finished reading, dropping unchecked into Castle's hair and onto the shoulder of his tux jacket. She folds the letter, sweeping her thumb reverently over the ink of her name, other arm firmly clutching his body to hers.

"Wow, Castle, that was really sappy," she teases, but her hard edges are soggy with sniffles. It doesn't escape his notice.

"What did you expect? I'm a writer." He lifts her chin. "Are you crying, Katherine Castle?"

"Shut up."

"Well, I'll let you off the hook, seeing as today's the only wedding day you're ever going to have. Wanna go make out on the dance floor?"

"Yeah, that sounds good."

He lets her lead him back to the lights, back to their story and their life, and this time there are two Castles instead of one.

Author's Note: Here's an excerpt of the reading I alluded to. It's sort of perfect for our lovebirds.

"A soulmate is someone who has the locks that fit our keys, and the keys to fit our locks. When we feel safe enough to open the locks, our truest selves step out and we can be completely and honestly who we are; we can be loved for who we are and not for who we're pretending to be. Each unveils the best part of the other. No matter what else goes wrong around us, with that one person we're safe in our own paradise." - Richard Bach

Beta services provided by the lovely Dmarx again, thank you thank you!

Hope that cheered you up. Any thoughts would be greatly appreciated!

- Bri x