In 7x07 Castle mentioned him and Beckett were planning to have a wedding reception could you write this? And maybe even include a cake cutting scene? Pleeease
Hi Anon! First, I want to apologize for taking so long to write this for you. Second, I hope you enjoy it in spite of the time it took!
Happy CastleFanficMonday! Just one more week of this crazy hiatus!
A post 7x10 ficlet
Just like everything else in their relationship thus far, their wedding reception is less than traditional.
With the holiday season approaching, they’d run out of options for venues, and neither of them had been willing to wait until the spring or later to make good on their promise of a celebration. Then, in a fit of late night genius, he’d had the idea to have the reception here, at home. At first they’d considered the rooftop of the building, but the weather hadn’t been cooperative and they’d decided to move the party into the loft. He doesn’t think his wife minds, though.
If anything, she probably prefers being in the comfort of their home, surrounded by their things, the proof of their life together. The life they’ve made for themselves, in spite of all the obstacles and mishaps they’ve experienced in the past year.
Plus, it’s a damn good party, if he’s allowed to say that about their joint hosting skills. Their friends and family seem to be having fun; conversation is flowing easily, never dropping below a dull roar he can hear from anywhere in the house. He hasn’t spoken to his wife in nearly an hour – which he considers the only negative – but it’s because she’s been going from guest to guest, thanking them for coming, kissing cheeks and asking how they’ve been.
Kate Beckett is a natural at times like this. She puts people at ease, welcomes them with open arms, and makes them feel so damn important. He loves to watch her, revels in the gentleness of her smile as she listens to whatever their guests might be telling her.
She’s extraordinary, she really is.
And she’s making her way through the living room toward him.
“Hey.” The joy of the evening has made her voice delicate, soft, and it’s all he can do not to pull her against him and press his mouth to the rosy flush of her cheeks. “Brought you a drink,” she adds, ducking her head to hide from his adoration.
“Thanks. Having fun?” he asks, taking the champagne flute from her fingers and giving in to the urge to hold her. His hand skims the delicate cream lace of her cocktail dress, curling around her hip to draw her near.
His wife – that’ll never get old, he’s sure – comes to him without protest, wrapping her free arm around his shoulders. Her lips lift upward, inviting him to trace their gentle curve with his own.
“Mhmm, you?” she whispers against his mouth, thumbing the back of his head.
“More fun now,” he says, taking another taste of her lips as someone nearby taps their glass. Like he needs to be told twice to kiss his wife.