Mav

Second reblog account: @marvelcriminalhoe2

AO3: MarvelCriminalHoe

Wattpad (where I have a few stories not posted here & have 35+ rec lists for characters and fandoms): SecondsOfReading

Rec List:

Steve Rogers Rec List - 2.0

Bucky Barnes Rec List - 2.0

Aaron Hotchner Rec List

More Characters coming soon

Fav Fics

My Stories:

Aaron Hotchner Masterlist

Steve Rogers Masterlist

If there was one thing worse than flying commercial, it was flying commercial with naval aviators. Specifically your naval aviators.

Because somewhere between San Diego and Las Vegas, every single member of the squad had collectively decided to forget how to behave in public.

Phoenix looked one delayed flight announcement away from committing a felony.Rooster was laughing at something Fanboy had said. Payback was trying to convince Bob to participate in a twenty-dollar airport slot machine challenge. Bob looked like he’d rather be deployed.

And Coyote? Coyote was encouraging all of it.

Naturally.

You adjusted the strap of your duffel bag and stepped off the escalator into baggage claim.

Immediately regretted it.

The airport was packed. People everywhere. Tourists. Families. Bachelor parties. Bachelorette parties. At least three Elvis impersonators. One man dressed entirely as a banana.

Vegas.

You hated it already.

“You’re smiling.”

You looked over to see Jake Seresin was walking beside you, sunglasses pushed up into his hair, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans.

You rolled your eyes, “I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m literally not.”

“You absolutely are.”

“I’m looking at a man dressed like a banana.”

Jake glanced over. The banana waved. Jake waved back. The banana looked delighted. You hated both of them, “See?” you said.

Jake grinned, “You’re smiling.”

“You are the worst.”

Jake’s infamous smile was etched in his face. The one that always infuriated you in ways no one else could. 

The group gathered around baggage claim while everyone waited for their luggage. Phoenix had somehow become the unofficial keeper of the itinerary. Which was impressive considering nobody had asked her to. Or voted on it. Or agreed to it.

She had simply seized control through force of personality. Honestly, it was probably for the best. Without Phoenix, there was a decent chance somebody would accidentally end up married before the weekend was over.

Which, In hindsight, Maybe should have been taken as a warning.

“Okay,” Phoenix announced, holding her phone. “Everyone listen up.”

Nobody listened.

“Everyone.”

Still nothing.

“Bradley.”

Rooster immediately looked up. “Yeah?”

Phoenix smiled sweetly. Everyone else looked terrified, “Tell them to shut up.”

“Shut up, guys.”

Miraculously, they did.

“Thank you,” Phoenix said.

Rooster beamed. Like a golden retriever receiving praise. Honestly, it was disgusting.

You caught yourself watching them. Like you’ve done plenty of times before. The easy smiles. The effortless way they gravitated toward each other. The way Phoenix reached over and fixed the collar of his shirt without even thinking about it. Rooster leaned down so she could. Like it was second nature.

Your chest tightened slightly. Then Jake shoulder-checked you.

Hard.

You stumbled sideways, “What the hell?”

“You were staring.”

“I was not.”

“You absolutely were.”

You glared at him.

Jake grinned.

There was something deeply wrong with him. A fact you had known for years. Unfortunately, years of exposure had done absolutely nothing to improve the situation.

Eventually the bags arrived And forty minutes later, the entire group was piling into rideshares headed toward the Strip. Vegas stretched out before you.

Bright lights. Massive hotels. Billboards. Tourists. The occasional person making choices they would definitely regret tomorrow morning.

The city practically vibrated with bad decisions.

Jake looked out the window, “You know—“ 

“No.”

“I haven’t said anything yet.”

“You were about to.” You sighed.

Jake smiled, “Vegas loves me.”

“There it is. I just knew you were going to say something stupid.”

Jake pointed at you, “That’s because you’re obsessed with me.”

You laughed. Actually laughed. The sound surprised both of you, “you wish Hangman.”

The hotel was absurd. Massive chandeliers. Marble floors. Waterfalls indoors for some reason. Everything smelled expensive. Everyone immediately stopped to stare.

Except Phoenix. Who marched straight toward the check-in desk like she had a mission. The rest of you followed. Luggage rolling behind. Jake ended up beside you.

Again.

Like always.

The woman behind the desk smiled professionally, “Checking in?”

“Please,” Phoenix said. “Before one of them gets arrested.” The woman blinked while Phoenix pointed toward Payback, “He’s currently trying to convince a security guard to arm wrestle him.”

The woman looked over. Payback was, in fact, attempting exactly that, “Ah.”

“Yeah.”

The check-in process took several minutes. Multiple room keys. Several confirmations. One incident involving Fanboy somehow losing his wallet despite having it thirty seconds earlier. Then the woman started reading assignments, “Lieutenant Trace and Lieutenant Bradshaw. Lieutenant Machado and Lieutenant Floyd.”

Then the woman glanced at her screen, “Lieutenant Seresin and Lieutenant—”

You froze. Jake looked up.

“So sorry,” the woman continued. “Due to availability, your suites are adjoining.”

Silence. Complete silence.

“What?” You and Jake said it simultaneously.

The woman smiled. Apparently believing she’d delivered good news.

She had not.

“Adjoining,” she repeated.

“Like hell they are,” you said.

“Absolutely not,” Jake agreed.

The woman blinked. Phoenix immediately started laughing. Rooster followed. Then Coyote.

Then everyone else.

The woman looked increasingly concerned, “We don’t need adjoining rooms,” you said.

“We really don’t,” Jake agreed.

“We’re capable adults.”

“Debatable.”

You glared at him.

Jake glared back.

The woman slowly looked between the two of you. Then back to her computer, “Unfortunately, we’re fully booked.”

Jake stepped forward, “Can you put me literally anywhere else?”

Rooster looked delighted, “This is the best wedding gift we’ve gotten.”

“It isn’t your wedding yet.”

“It is spiritually.”

“That’s not how weddings work.”

Coyote slung an arm around Jake’s shoulders “Oh, this is going to be fun.”

“No,” you and Jake said together, both groaning over the horrible situation.  Coyote laughed harder. Of course he did. 

Eventually the room keys were distributed. You snatched yours. Jake grabbed his. The woman wished everyone a pleasant stay.

Which felt wildly optimistic.

And as the group headed toward the elevators, Phoenix looked over her shoulder, A wicked smile spreading across her face, “Try not to kill each other.”

You looked at Jake.

Jake looked at you.

And Honestly?

You wake up feeling like you’ve been hit by an aircraft carrier.

Which, honestly, would have been preferable to whatever the hell was currently happening inside your skull.

Your head was pounding.

Not aching.

Not throbbing.

Pounding.

Like someone had taken a hammer, crawled inside your brain, and started renovating without a permit.

Your mouth was dry. Your stomach was rolling. There was a horrible taste on your tongue that you were pretty sure was tequila, regret, and possibly the cheapest champagne known to mankind.

The first thing you became aware of was the sunlight.

Bright, aggressive, offensive sunlight.

It poured through the hotel curtains in thin golden lines, landing directly across your face like the universe had decided to personally punish you for every poor decision you had made in the last forty-eight hours.

Which, to be fair, was a lot.

It was Vegas.

You were here for Phoenix’s bachelorette weekend.

And Rooster’s bachelor weekend.

Because apparently, when two naval aviators decided to get married, they didn’t believe in doing anything normally. No, they had to combine the bachelor and bachelorette party into one weekend-long disaster with the entire squad, too much alcohol, and absolutely no adult supervision.

That had been the first mistake.

The second mistake had been trusting Payback when he said he knew “a great place” for dinner Saturday night.

The third had been letting Fanboy order something called a Scorpion Bowl.

The fourth had been Coyote saying, “One more drink.”

The fifth had been believing him.

After that, things got blurry.

Not blacked out.

Not gone.

Just… soft around the edges.

A neon-colored mess of music and laughter and dancing and heat.

You groaned softly and tried to roll onto your stomach.

Your body immediately rejected the idea.

Every muscle protested.

Your legs were sore.

Your back ached.

Your neck felt stiff.

There was a tenderness in places you did not want to think about this early in the morning.

God, what time was it?

You blindly reached toward the nightstand, hoping for your phone, water, Advil, a priest, anything.

Your fingers found nothing but empty air.

You frowned.

That was wrong.

You always put your phone on the nightstand.

Always.

Even drunk, you had systems.

Drunk you was chaotic, but drunk you still understood that losing your phone in Las Vegas was how people ended up crying in a casino bathroom at three in the morning while their bank account got drained by someone named Crystal.

You reached again.

Still nothing.

With another miserable groan, you forced one eye open.

Big mistake.

The room tilted.

You immediately closed it again, “Nope,” you whispered hoarsely.

Your voice sounded like you had swallowed gravel.

You took a deep breath through your nose.

Regretted that too.

The room smelled like alcohol, sweat, expensive hotel sheets, and something vaguely floral.

Perfume.

Your perfume.

Also cologne.

His cologne.

Your eyes snapped open.

Well.

They attempted to.

Mostly they squinted in horror as your brain slowly, painfully, and reluctantly registered the very large problem in the bed beside you.

Jake Seresin.

On his stomach.

One arm shoved under a pillow.

Hair a complete disaster.

Back bare.

Sheet low on his waist.

Golden skin warm under the Vegas sunlight like he was some sort of unfairly attractive fever dream your hungover brain had conjured up to make your suffering worse.

For a moment, you just stared.

Because that was what a person did when they woke up next to Jake Seresin.

They stared.

It was biology.

A reflex.

A terrible, shameful, inconvenient reflex.

Then reality crept in.

Slowly.

Cruelly.

Jake was in your bed.

Or you were in his bed.

Honestly, that detail was not immediately clear.

The room looked like every other overpriced hotel room on the Strip. White sheets, dark furniture, floor-to-ceiling windows, evidence of terrible decisions scattered across every available surface.

A black heel near the bathroom door.

Your heel.

A discarded dress on the floor.

Also yours.

Jake’s button-down shirt hanging halfway off a lamp.

That was new.

A tiny plastic bride veil tossed over the back of a chair.

That was concerning.

A half-empty bottle of champagne sweating on the dresser.

That was worse.

Someone’s cowboy hat upside down on the floor with poker chips inside it.

That was probably Jake’s.

Unless Rooster had suffered a personality transplant sometime around midnight.

You stared at the room.

Then at Jake.

Then at the room again.

Your brain tried very hard to reboot.

Jake in bed with you was alarming, yes, but not impossible.

You had fallen asleep next to him before.

On couches.

In ready rooms.

On the beach after one too many Hard Deck nights.

Once, during a layover in Virginia, you had woken up with his arm across your stomach and your face smushed into his shoulder because the two of you had decided the airport chairs were a war crime and the floor was somehow better.

So, no waking up next to Jake Seresin was not the end of the world.

Waking up next to Jake Seresin while both of you appeared to be naked?

That was closer.

Your heart gave one hard, painful kick against your ribs.

You looked down at yourself. Sheet pulled up to your chest. Bare shoulders. No straps. No fabric.

No dignity.

“Oh, God,” you whispered.

Jake didn’t move.

Of course he didn’t.

The man slept like the dead when he wanted to. Bombs could go off, alarms could blare, Coyote could yell his name directly into his ear, and Jake would keep sleeping like the world simply had no right to disturb him.

You envied him. You envied him so much you considered smothering him with a pillow.

Not fatally.

Probably.

You sat up slowly, clutching the sheet to your chest like modesty mattered at this point.

The movement sent a violent wave of nausea through you.

You froze. Breathed. Swallowed hard. Made a silent promise to every god that had ever existed that if you survived this morning, you would never drink again.

Which was a lie.

But it felt sincere in the moment.

You glanced around for your phone again. Still nothing. You shifted, preparing to climb out of bed, when something caught the light. Something small. Something silver.

On your left hand. Your entire body went still.

No.

You lifted your hand slowly. Like if you moved too fast, it might somehow become more real. There, sitting neatly on your ring finger, was a wedding band. A simple silver band.

Shiny.

New.

Damning.

Your breath caught somewhere between your throat and your lungs.

For several seconds, you did nothing. You just stared at it.

Your brain, usually so helpful in times of crisis, offered absolutely nothing except a distant, high-pitched scream. Then, very slowly, you turned your head toward Jake. His left hand was half tucked under the pillow. You reached for it before you could talk yourself out of it.

Your fingers brushed his wrist. Warm skin. Steady pulse.

He shifted slightly, making a sleepy sound under his breath, but didn’t wake. You pulled his hand free anyway. There was a ring on his finger too. Matching yours.

Your stomach dropped so fast you were surprised it didn’t hit the floor.

“Oh,” you breathed.

Then, because apparently your vocabulary had abandoned you along with your common sense, you said it again, harder this time, “Oh.”

And that was when everything came back.

Not in pieces.

Not flashes.

Not the merciful little snapshots a person could dismiss as drunken imagination.

Everything.

The club. The music. Jake’s hands on your waist. Your back against his chest.

The way he had leaned down, mouth close to your ear, and asked if you were trying to kill him in that dress. The way you had laughed and told him not to flatter himself. The way he had looked at you like he wasn’t joking anymore.

The bathroom.

Or maybe the hallway outside the bathroom.

No. The hotel room. His room. Your room.

The adjoining door.

His mouth on yours. Your fingers in his hair. The way he had said your name like it meant something.

Like it meant everything.

Then the Strip. Warm night air. Neon lights. Your hand in his. Laughing so hard you could barely walk straight. His jacket around your shoulders. His thumb brushing over your knuckles. A chapel sign glowing pink and white in the distance. Someone saying, “Imagine if we did it.”

Jake laughing.

You laughing.

Both of you standing there, staring at the chapel for too long. Too long for it to be a joke. His voice softer when he said, “You wanna?” 

Your heart pounding.

Your whole body warm with alcohol and want and something so much worse than both.

You asking, “Do you?” 

Jake looking at you.

Really looking at you.

No smirk.

No performance.

No Hangman.

Just Jake.

“I’ve wanted a lot of things when it comes to you,” he had said.

And God help you, you remembered the way that had felt.

You remembered the ceremony. The tacky little chapel. The fake flowers. The officiant in a sparkly jacket. The cheap rings.

You remembered laughing through the vows until suddenly you weren’t laughing anymore. You remembered Jake’s hand shaking slightly when he slid the ring onto your finger. You remembered doing the same to him. You remembered kissing him after.

You remembered wanting it.

Every second of it.

Your heart twisted painfully.

Because that was the problem, wasn’t it? Not that you got married. Not that you slept with him. Not that you had managed to turn a weekend in Vegas into a legal and emotional catastrophe before checkout.

The problem was that you remembered it, that you remembered wanting it. That if someone asked you, right now, sitting hungover and half naked in a hotel bed beside Jake Seresin, if you wished it hadn’t happened You didn’t know if you could say yes.

Jake stirred beside you, making you freeze. His brows pulled together first, like even unconscious, he was annoyed to be awake.

Then he groaned, low and rough, burying his face deeper into the pillow, “Jesus Christ,” he muttered.

You didn’t move, didn’t speak. You just sat there, sheet clutched to your chest, ring heavy on your finger, watching the man you had accidentally married come back to life.

Jake turned his head slightly, one eye cracking open, slowly followed by the other. That furrow still heavy on his forehead. 

He blinked.

Once.

Twice.

His gaze found you and for a second, neither of you said anything, then his eyes dropped. To the sheet. To your bare shoulders. To the room. To his own bare chest.

His expression shifted.

Confusion first. Then realization. Then something dangerously close to panic.

“Morning,” you said, because apparently you had decided now was the perfect time to lose your mind politely.

Jake stared at you, “Morning?”

“I didn’t know what else to say.”

He pushed himself up onto one elbow, then immediately winced. “Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

“My head feels like Rooster played Great Balls of Fire inside my skull.”

“That would imply rhythm. This feels more like Payback with a wrench.”

Jake huffed something that might have been a laugh if either of you had been less close to death.

Then his eyes caught on your hand, the ring, and the room went silent. So silent you could hear the distant hum of traffic from the Strip below.

Jake stared at your hand then slowly looked down at his own.

You watched the exact moment he saw it. The exact moment he remembered.

His whole body went still. Not dramatic. Not loud.

Just still.

His jaw tightened and his eyes flicked back to yours.

And there it was.

The same thing you felt. The same horror. The same understanding. The same awful, unspoken question. 

What now?

Jake sat up fully, dragging a hand over his face, making the sheet slip dangerously low on his hips. You looked away so fast your neck hurt.

Not because you hadn’t already seen him. You had.

A lot of him.

Very recently.

In enthusiastic detail.

But morning made things different. Morning had sunlight. Morning had consequences. Morning had no tequila softening the edges of what you had done.

“Please tell me,” Jake said slowly, voice still rough with sleep, “that I’m hallucinating.”

You lifted your left hand making the ring shine as it hits the sunlight coming in through the window. 

Jake closed his eyes, “Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“How much do you remember?”

You swallowed.

All of it. 

You looked down at the ring, “Enough.”

Jake was quiet.

Too quiet.

Jake Seresin was never quiet unless something mattered.

“How much do you remember?” you asked.

He didn’t answer right away. Which was answer terrifying. Then he said, “Enough.”

Your stomach twisted. Great. Perfect. Wonderful. So you both remembered. There would be no easy out. No shared horrified laughter over missing pieces.

No pretending it had been some drunken mistake that neither of you had consciously participated in.

You remembered. He remembered.

You had both been there. You had both said yes. You had both meant it, at least for the length of one glitter-covered Vegas night.

You looked around the room again, desperate for something else to focus on. Anything else.

The champagne bottle.

The veil.

The dress.

The marriage certificate on the dresser.

Your gaze snapped back to it.

A white envelope sat underneath the bottle, half-crumpled, with both your names written across the front in a loopy font surrounded by tiny printed hearts.

Because apparently hell had stationery.

You slid out of bed, keeping the sheet wrapped around yourself, and immediately stumbled.

Jake’s hand shot out.

He caught your wrist before you could fall.

His fingers wrapped around your skin.

Warm. Familiar.

Too familiar.

For one terrible second, neither of you moved. Your pulse jumped beneath his thumb making Jake notice.

Of course he noticed.

Jake noticed everything when it came to you.

Then he let go like he had been burned, “You good?” he asked.

No.

Not even remotely.

“Fine,” you lied.

Your dress was on the floor, wrinkled beyond repair.

You grabbed it with one hand, still clutching the sheet with the other, and marched into the bathroom with as much dignity as a hungover newlywed disaster could manage.

Which was none.

Absolutely zero dignity.

You shut the bathroom door behind you and leaned back against it. The mirror across from you was cruel. You looked like Vegas had chewed you up, stolen your credit card, and left you for dead. Your makeup was smudged and Your hair was tangled.

There was a faint mark blooming near your collarbone that definitely had not been there yesterday afternoon.

You touched it with two fingers.

Remembered Jake’s mouth there.

Closed your eyes.

“Oh, you stupid, stupid girl,” you whispered to yourself.

Because what else was there to say? You had done a lot of dumb things in your life. Joining the Navy was debatable, depending on the day. Becoming a fighter pilot had certainly not been the safest career choice. Befriending Jake Seresin had been questionable from the beginning. Falling in love with him had been idiotic.

Marrying him in Vegas? That might have been your masterpiece.

A soft knock came at the door.

“You alive in there?”

Unfortunately.

“Debatable.”

“We have to check out in an hour.”

You opened your eyes.

Right.

The flight.

California.

Real life.

You weren’t just waking up married to Jake in some alternate universe where time stopped and nothing mattered. You had to get on a plane. With the squad. With Phoenix and Rooster and Coyote and everyone else.

You had to sit in an airport with a ring on your finger and act like you hadn’t married the one person everyone thought you could barely tolerate.

You looked down at your hand again. The ring looked wrong there.

No.

That wasn’t true.

That was the worst part.

It didn’t look wrong. It looked like it belonged and You hated that. You hated that more than anything.

“I know,” you called back.

Your voice sounded almost normal. A miracle, really.

You got dressed slowly, trying not to think about the fact that Jake was on the other side of the door doing the same thing.

Trying not to think about last night. Trying not to think about his hands. Trying not to think about the way he had looked at you beneath cheap chapel lights like you were the only thing in all of Las Vegas worth seeing.

By the time you stepped out of the bathroom, Jake was dressed. He was standing by the dresser, holding the marriage certificate.

Your heart dropped.

He looked up when you came out. Neither of you spoke.

“Well,” he said.

You crossed your arms over your chest. “Well?”

“We did it right.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

He lifted the certificate slightly. “License. Officiant. Witness. The whole thing.”

You stared at him, “Are you complimenting our drunk administrative skills?”

“I’m saying we were thorough.”

“That’s worse, Jake.”

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I know.”

Something in his voice made you stop. Not the words. The way he said them. Soft. Careful. Like he was waiting for you to shatter. Or maybe waiting for himself to. You looked away first.

Coward.

“So what do we do?” you asked.

Jake exhaled, “I don’t know.”

That scared you more than anything else had. Because Jake always knew. Even when he didn’t, he pretended he did. He always had a plan. A smirk. A stupid comeback.

Some infuriating piece of confidence tucked in his back pocket like he had been born with it.

But now he was standing in the middle of a trashed hotel room, holding proof that the two of you had done something wildly stupid and painfully honest, and he looked just as lost as you felt.

Your phone buzzed somewhere in the room making both of you flinch. You found it half-buried under Jake’s jacket near the chair. There were twelve missed texts.

Mostly from Phoenix.

A few from Coyote.

One from Rooster.

One from Fanboy that just said: are you dead or worse

You groaned.

Jake watched you closely, “What?”

“We’re supposed to meet them downstairs in thirty minutes.”

“Great.”

“Phoenix says if we miss the flight, she’s leaving us here.”

“She would.”

“She absolutely would.” Your thumb hovered over the keyboard.

You had no idea what to say.

Alive. Hungover. Accidentally married Hangman.

No.

Probably not that.

You typed back that you were awake and getting ready.

That was safe.

Technically true.

A lie by omission, sure, but those barely counted before noon.

Jake was packing in silence. Which was horrible. Not because you wanted to talk. You didn’t. Talking was dangerous. Talking meant questions and questions meant answers. Answers you didn’t have. Answers you didn’t want to hear. 

Still, the silence pressed against your skin.

You shoved your clothes into your bag with none of the careful organization you had arrived with. Your makeup bag went in upside down. One shoe was missing. Your charger was tangled around a hotel pen. Your entire life felt like it had been packed by someone fleeing a crime scene.

Maybe because you were.

Not legally. Probably.

Emotionally, definitely.

Jake found your other heel under the bed and held it out to you without looking.

You took it, “Thanks.”

“Yep.”

You wanted to laugh. You also wanted to cry. Jake zipped his bag and stood there for a second, staring at nothing. Then he looked at you.

Really looked.

Your breath caught. For one horrible moment, you thought he might say it.

That this was a mistake.

That you should fix it.

That you should forget last night.

That you should both laugh it off and go home and pretend he hadn’t kissed you like he had been waiting years to do it.

You braced yourself.

Jake’s mouth opened.

Then closed. His jaw flexed. “Ready?” he asked instead.

No, sweetheart, I’m not ready to leave this room because once we do, the real world gets to touch what happened between us, and I don’t know if it will survive that.

That would have been insane.

You nodded, “Yeah.”

Another lie. You weren’t ready. You didn’t think you would ever be ready.

Jake picked up the champagne bottle, then the veil, then the certificate.

He hesitated. “Do you want this?”

The certificate. You stared at it. The paper felt like a weapon. A memory. A promise. A mistake.

Maybe all of them.

You should have told him to throw it away. You should have said no. You should have laughed, rolled your eyes, made some joke about burning the evidence.

Instead, you held out your hand.

Jake gave it to you, his fingers brushed yours. Just barely, but enough  You slid the certificate carefully into the front pocket of your suitcase.

The walk to the elevator was humiliatingly normal.

People passed you in the hall with luggage and coffees and sunglasses hiding their own poor decisions. Somewhere, a child was crying. Somewhere else, someone laughed too loudly for the hour.

Vegas kept moving.

It did not care that your entire life had been split into before and after sometime around three in the morning inside a tiny chapel with pink neon lights.

At the elevator, you stood beside Jake with six inches of space between you and a marriage certificate in your bag.

For a second, it was just the two of you.

Your reflection stared back from the mirrored elevator wall.

You looked exhausted. Jake looked wrecked.

Both of you still had rings on. You noticed at the same time. His eyes dropped to your hand. Yours dropped to his.

Neither of you moved to take them off.

The elevator hummed softly as it began to descend. Your stomach twisted tighter with every floor.

Finally, because you couldn’t stand the silence anymore, you said, “We can’t tell them.”

Jake looked at you.

You kept your eyes on the doors.

“Not yet,” you added quickly. “I just—Phoenix and Rooster are getting married next week. This is their thing. Their weekend. Their wedding. We can’t just show up downstairs and say, surprise, we accidentally beat you to it.”

Jake was quiet. Too quiet. Then he nodded.

“Yeah,” he said. “You’re right.”

Of course you were right. You wished it felt better.

“Not until we figure out what we’re doing,” you said.

There it was.

The thing.

The terrible, unavoidable thing.

Jake’s gaze stayed on you, “What are we doing?”

Your throat tightened because You didn’t know.

You wanted him to know. You wanted him to say something first. You wanted him to tell you last night mattered. You wanted him to tell you it didn’t, so at least you could be humiliated in a clear direction.

You wanted too much.

That had always been your problem with Jake, wanting things you had no business wanting.

You forced a shrug, “I don’t know.”

Jake looked away while the elevator continued down.

Twenty-three.

Twenty-two.

Twenty-one.

The numbers changed slowly above the doors.

Your reflection didn’t.

Two pilots.

Two idiots.

Two people who had spent years pretending hatred was easier than wanting.

Now married.

Now silent.

Now terrified.

The elevator dinged.

Lobby.

You took a breath, Jake did too, and for one strange second, the two of you moved in sync.

Like you always had. Like nothing had changed.

The doors opened to chaos.

Phoenix was near the entrance with Rooster, sunglasses on, coffee in hand, looking every inch the woman who had survived her own bachelorette weekend through sheer force of will. Coyote stood beside her, scrolling through his phone.

Fanboy and Payback were arguing over something near the luggage cart. Bob looked pale and deeply traumatized by whatever he had consumed the night before.

Normal.

It all looked so painfully normal.

“Finally,” Phoenix called when she saw you. “I was about two minutes away from sending a search party.”

“Bad idea,” you said, forcing your face into something that resembled a smile. “Search party might not have survived.”

Rooster pointed at you. “You look like hell.”

“You look like a man who willingly sang karaoke last night.”

He lowered his hand. “That was a private moment.”

“It was on stage.”

“Emotionally private.”

You snorted despite yourself. For one brief, miraculous second, things almost felt okay. Then Coyote looked from you to Jake. Just once. Quick. Sharp.

Too knowing.

His gaze dropped. You realized too late that your left hand was visible.

The ring.

You curled your fingers inward.

Coyote’s eyes flicked back to your face. Then to Jake. Jake had noticed too. You could feel it in the way he went still beside you.

Coyote didn’t say anything.

Not there. Not in front of everyone. But his expression changed. Barely.

Just enough.

Oh, he knew something. Maybe not everything. But something.

Perfect.

Wonderful.

Add that to the growing list of disasters.

Phoenix clapped her hands. “Okay, come on. Cars are outside. If we miss this flight, I’m making all of you walk back to California.”

“You say that like the Navy wouldn’t call that training,” Payback muttered.

“Don’t tempt me.”

Everyone started moving.

Suitcases rolled. People groaned. Someone complained about coffee. Someone else complained about the sun.

You fell into step with the group, Jake beside you but not close enough to touch.

That was probably for the best. Touching him felt like a bad idea. Looking at him felt worse.

Not looking at him felt impossible.

As you stepped through the sliding hotel doors into the brutal Vegas morning, the heat hit you immediately.

Your sunglasses were in your bag, buried under evidence of your terrible life choices, so you squinted into the light and tried not to fall apart.

Jake walked beside you, still wearing the ring. You wondered if he had forgotten. You wondered if he was waiting until no one was looking to take it off.

Two black SUVs waited at the curb.

Phoenix and Rooster climbed into the first one. Fanboy, Payback, and Bob took the second.

Which left you, Jake, and Coyote for the third.

Because the universe was not done being funny.

Coyote opened the passenger door, then paused and looked back at the two of you.

His eyes flicked between your faces. Then, very slowly, he smiled. Not a nice smile. A “Coyote knows something and is choosing violence” later smile.

You narrowed your eyes, “Don’t.”

He lifted both hands innocently, “I didn’t say anything.”

“That’s never stopped you before.”

Jake muttered, “Javy.”

Coyote’s smile widened. Oh, he absolutely knew something. You climbed into the backseat before either of them could say anything else. Jake slid in after you.

Vegas blurred past the window. Hotels. Palm trees. Billboards.

Wedding chapels.

You looked away from those.

Bad idea.

Your hand rested in your lap, the ring catching in the sunlight. You covered it with your other hand.

Jake saw.

You knew he saw.

He didn’t say anything.

Neither did you.

And maybe that was the cruelest part of all. Because last night, you had said everything.

In kisses. In vows. In laughter.

In the way you had reached for each other like there had never been any other choice.

And now, in the cold light of morning, you couldn’t say a single honest thing. Not in front of Coyote. Not in front of the squad. Not even to each other. You leaned your head against the window and closed your eyes.

Your hangover pulsed behind your temples. Your chest ached worse. Beside you, Jake shifted and his knee brushed yours. Barely. Accidental, probably. Neither of you moved away. For the rest of the ride to the airport, that was the only part of him touching you.

One small point of contact. One quiet reminder. One more thing neither of you knew how to let go of.

The weekend was over. Vegas was behind you. California waited ahead. And on your left hand, hidden beneath your palm, was a ring you couldn’t bring yourself to take off.

You have no idea what happens next. You just knew one thing with sudden, terrifying clarity.

You didn’t want to take it back.

Chapters:

Chapter 1 - “devil rolls the dice, angels roll their eyes”

Chapter 2 - “they say looks can kill and I might try”

Chapter 3 - “and I’m highly suspicious that everyone who sees you wants you”

Chapter 4 - “there goes the last great american dynasty”

Chapter 5 - “and I don't dress for villains, or for innocents, I’m on my vigilante shit again”

Chapter 6 - “you search in every maidens bed for something greater”

Chapter 7 - "and I can't let you go, your handprint's on my soul."

Chapter 8 - “and I wouldn’t marry me either, a pathological people pleaser”

Chapter 9 - “friends break up, friends get married”

Chapter 10 - “darling, you’re the one I want, in paper rings, in picture frames, in dirty dreams”

Warm.

That’s the first thing you notice.

Not the sunlight peeking through the curtains. Not the sound of waves somewhere outside the villa. Not even the soft sheets that are definitely more expensive than anything you’ve ever slept in before.

Just warmth.

A lot of it.

Your brows furrow before your eyes even open, your still half-asleep brain trying to figure out why you feel so comfortable. Why your pillow feels firmer than it did when you fell asleep. Why there’s something heavy resting over your waist.

Then you feel a slow breath against the top of your head.

Your eyes open immediately.

Oh.

Oh no.

You’re cuddling Steve.

Or maybe Steve is cuddling you.

Either way, there is cuddling happening.

His arm is wrapped securely around your waist, one of your hands resting against his chest, your legs tangled beneath the blankets in a way that would be embarrassing if it wasn’t so comfortable.

Your brain takes approximately three seconds to start panicking.

Move.

Don’t move.

Definitely move.

What if you wake him?

What if he wakes up and thinks you did this on purpose?

What if he moved closer to you first?

What if you moved closer to him first?

What if this is just what married people do?

You close your eyes again. You have known this man for barely over a day. This is insane. Crazy. This is absolutely not something a normal person would be okay with.

Steve shifts slightly in his sleep, his arm tightening around you for half a second, pulling you just a bit closer.

You decide, very quickly, that maybe normal people are overrated.

Because this?

This is nice.

Too nice.

Dangerously nice.

You carefully tilt your head enough to look up at him. Steve is still asleep, his face softer than you’ve seen it so far. Less guarded. Less Captain America. Less like a man who carries the weight of the world around like it’s something he packed into his suitcase.

Like this, he just looks like Steve.

Your husband.

The thought makes warmth bloom in your chest, and you immediately look away.

Nope.

Absolutely not.

You are not about to start swooning first thing in the morning.

You stay like that for a few more minutes, telling yourself you’re only not moving because you don’t want to wake him. That’s all. It has nothing to do with the fact that you feel safe tucked against him. Nothing at all.

Then Steve hums softly, his chest rising under your hand as he starts to wake.

You freeze.

His fingers flex against your waist before his entire body goes still.

For a second, neither of you moves.

Then, very slowly, Steve lifts his head enough to look down at you.

His eyes are still heavy with sleep, hair slightly messy, cheek creased faintly from the pillow.

It should be illegal for someone to look that good first thing in the morning.

“Morning.” His voice is rough from sleep, and it does something absolutely terrible to your stomach.

“Morning.” You whisper back.

Steve glances down at the way he’s holding you, and his face goes red so fast you almost laugh.

“I— sorry.” He immediately starts to pull his arm away, “I didn’t mean to— I mean, I was asleep, I don’t—”

“Steve.” You cut him off softly, trying not to smile too much at how panicked he looks. “It’s okay.”

He stops moving, looking down at you like he’s not entirely sure he heard you right.

“It is?”

You nod, trying to ignore the way your face is probably just as warm as his. “Yeah. It’s okay.”

Steve’s shoulders relax slightly, though his hand still hovers awkwardly near your waist like he no longer knows where to put it.

You laugh quietly.

“What?” He asks, a shy smile tugging at his lips.

“You look like you’re trying to defuse a bomb.”

Steve huffs a laugh, dropping his head back onto the pillow. “Feels like it.”

You smile at that, and for a moment, neither of you says anything. The morning feels soft around you. Quiet. Like the world hasn’t fully started yet.

Then Steve looks over at you again.

“Did you sleep alright?”

“Surprisingly, yeah.” You admit. “Which is weird, considering I fell asleep next to a stranger in Tony Stark’s Greek vacation house.”

Steve laughs, the sound low and warm. “When you say it like that, it does sound a little concerning.”

“A little?”

“Alright, very.”

You grin, rolling onto your back and staring up at the ceiling. “But yeah. I slept good.”

“Good.” Steve says, and when you look over, he seems genuinely relieved by that. “I’m glad.”

Your heart does a stupid little flip.

He really does care about the smallest things.

That’s dangerous too.

Steve sits up slowly, rubbing a hand over his face before looking around the room like he’s remembering where he is.

“What time is it?” You ask.

He reaches for his phone on the nightstand. “Almost nine.”

You sit up quickly. “Nine?”

Steve raises a brow. “You got somewhere to be?”

“No.” You blink, then remember. “Oh. Right.”

You’re in Greece.

On your honeymoon.

With your husband.

A laugh bubbles out of you before you can stop it. Steve looks over at you with amusement, “What?”

“I just remembered my life.”

His smile grows. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s a little weird right now.”

“A little?”

You send him a look. He holds his hands up, still smiling, “Sorry. Very.”

You shake your head, but you’re smiling too.

It’s easy.

That’s the worst part.

It should not be this easy.

Steve throws the blankets off his side of the bed and stands, stretching his arms over his head. You very politely look away.

Mostly.

Okay, maybe not fast enough but in your defense, the man is huge.

“Breakfast?” He asks, either not noticing or politely pretending not to notice.

“Please.” You say quickly. “I’m starving.”

Steve smiles over his shoulder, “I can make something.”

“You cook?”

“A little.”

That should’ve been your first warning, because twenty minutes later, you find yourself standing in the kitchen, watching Steve Rogers cook enough food to feed at least six people.

There are eggs, Toast, Fruit, Pancakes, Some kind of potatoes, And bacon.

So much bacon.

You stare at the counter.

Steve turns from the stove, catching your expression. “What?”

“Steve.”

“Yeah?”

“There are two of us.”

He looks down at the food, then back at you. “I know.”

“Do you?”

His mouth quirks up. “I didn’t know what you liked.”

“So you made everything?”

“I wanted you to have options.”

You press your lips together, trying not to smile too wide. This man is going to be a problem. A serious one.

“You’re insane.” You tell him.

“Probably.” He agrees easily, turning back to the stove. “But there’s coffee.”

“Oh, well, in that case, you’re forgiven.”

Steve laughs, nodding toward the mugs. “Cream and sugar are out. I didn’t know how you take it.”

You move toward the coffee, fixing your cup while watching him over the rim. “How do you take yours?”

“Black.”

You make a face.

Steve catches it and laughs. “What?”

“That tells me everything I need to know about you.”

“That I’m practical?”

“That you hate joy.”

Steve’s laugh is louder that time, and you can’t help but feel a little proud of yourself for causing it. You sit at the island while he finishes plating the food. He sets your plate down first, because of course he does, and waits until you take a bite before making his own.

You try the pancakes first, Then pause.

Steve notices immediately. “Bad?”

You look up at him.

“These are really good.”

His face lights up in a way that makes your chest ache, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You take another bite. “Like, annoyingly good.”

“Well, I’m glad my annoying pancakes meet your standards.”

You point your fork at him. “Don’t get smug, Rogers.”

The name slips out without thought.

Steve stills for half a second, then smiles down at his plate.

“What?” You ask.

“Nothing.”

“No, what?”

He shakes his head, but there’s something shy in his expression, “I just like the way you say my name.”

Oh.

That’s unfair.

That is so unfair.

You suddenly become very interested in your pancakes.

Steve, thankfully, doesn’t tease you for it.

The two of you eat breakfast slowly, talking between bites. About nothing important at first. Favorite foods. Least favorite foods. Childhood breakfasts. The fact that Steve has apparently never had toaster waffles, which you tell him is both tragic and embarrassing.

“I was frozen for a while.” He defends.

“That excuse only works for some things.”

“I’ll make a note of that.”

“You should.”

He smiles into his coffee.

By the time breakfast is cleaned up, though Steve tried to do it all himself and you absolutely refused to let him, the sun is fully spilling through the windows.

You lean against the counter, drying the last plate while Steve puts it away.

“So…..” You start, “What’s the plan today, Mr. Honeymoon Planner?”

Steve smiles at the title, wiping his hands on a towel. “I thought we could explore a little. There’s a town not far from here. Shops, restaurants, beach close by. Nothing too crowded.”

“You remembered I don’t like crowds?”

His brows furrow like the answer is obvious, “Of course.”

Of course.

Like it’s nothing.

Like he doesn’t keep accidentally making your heart squeeze in the most inconvenient ways.

“That sounds perfect.” You say softly.

Steve smiles, pleased, “Good.”

An hour later, after both of you get ready and after you spend at least ten minutes trying to remind yourself not to be weird about Steve in sunglasses, the two of you make your way into town.

Skiathos is beautiful. Beautiful in a way that almost doesn’t feel real.

White buildings. Blue water. Bright flowers spilling over balconies. Sunlight catching on the sea like someone scattered diamonds across it.

You’ve seen places like this in pictures, but standing in the middle of it with warm air on your skin and Steve’s hand brushing yours every few steps feels like something else entirely.

“You okay?” Steve asks, looking down at you.

You nod, smiling, “Yeah. It’s just… beautiful.”

His eyes stay on you for a second too long, “Yeah.”

You look over at him, catching the way he quickly looks ahead.

The two of you walk through the market slowly. Steve keeps close without hovering, somehow managing to make you feel protected without making you feel watched. Every once in a while, your hands brush, and every time it happens, both of you pretend not to notice.

Which is ridiculous.

Because you both definitely notice.

You stop at a small outdoor stand filled with handmade jewelry and painted little trinkets. Steve watches as you pick up a tiny ceramic magnet shaped like a white and blue house.

“This is cute.” You say.

“It is.” Steve agrees.

“My best friend would love this.” You turn it over, checking the price.

“Then you should get it.”

You hum, setting it back. “Maybe later.”

Steve watches you for a moment but doesn’t say anything.

A few stands later, you stop again, this time in front of painted postcards. You’re looking at one of the beach when Steve quietly excuses himself, saying he saw something nearby. You don’t think much of it until he returns looking far too innocent.

“What did you do?” You narrow your eyes.

Steve blinks, “Nothing.”

“That is the face of a man who did something.”

“I have a very honest face.” Steve says only half offended.

“You have a very suspicious face.”

He smiles, but refuses to answer.

After more walking, Steve buys you both lemonades from a small shop, and the two of you sit outside under the shade. The table is small enough that his knees bump yours underneath it.

“Sorry.” He says automatically.

“You apologize a lot.”

Steve pauses, “Do I?”

You nod, sipping your drink. “Yeah. It’s cute.”

He looks away, and you swear his ears go pink.

Oh.

You like making him blush.

“I don’t mean to.” He says.

“Be cute?”

He gives you a look than makes You grin, “Sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“No, I’m not.”

Steve laughs, shaking his head.

The afternoon passes like that.

Easy.

Warm.

Full of little moments that don’t feel important until you realize you’re already saving them away in your mind. Steve telling you the history of a statue you pass, then stopping halfway through because he worries he’s boring you. You telling him he absolutely is not, because listening to Steve Rogers talk about history while standing in Greece is actually unfairly attractive.

Steve nearly tripping over his own feet after you say that, making you laugh so hard you have to grab his arm. He looks down at your hand on him, like he can feel in through his whole body.

And maybe he does.

You know you certainly do.

Eventually, the two of you find your way down to the beach.

It’s quieter than the main part of town, a stretch of sand with only a handful of people scattered around. The sun is lower now, turning the water gold. You slip your sandals off and hold them in one hand, letting the waves wash over your feet.

Steve stands beside you, shoes in his hand too, pants rolled slightly at the ankles.

“You look very proud of yourself.” You tell him.

He glances at you, “Do I?”

“Yes.”

“I planned a decent day?”

You smile over at him, “You planned a perfect day.”

Steve’s expression softens, and for a second, he looks almost overwhelmed by that, “Good.” He says quietly.

You look out at the water, feeling suddenly shy. The wind moves around you both, lifting your hair and carrying the salty air with it. Steve steps closer, his shoulder brushing yours.

You don’t move away.

Neither does he.

After a few quiet minutes, you break the comfortable silence, “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

That answer comes too quickly.

Like he means it.

You glance at him, “What did you imagine your life would look like?”

Steve looks out at the water, thoughtful, like he doesn’t know which truth to tell, “Before or now?”

“Both, I guess.”

He takes a breath, slow and steady, “Before, I wanted simple things. A home. A wife. Kids, maybe. Sunday dinners. Someone to come home to.” He smiles faintly, though it’s a little sad, “It never felt like a small dream to me.”

You shake your head, “It’s not.”

Steve looks at you then.

You keep your eyes on the water, “I think people act like wanting simple things means you’re not ambitious. But building a happy life with someone is… I don’t know. It’s a big thing. A hard thing.”

Steve is quiet for a moment.

When you glance over, he’s watching you with an expression you can’t quite name.

“What?” You ask softly.

He shakes his head, “Nothing. I just…” He trails off, looking back at the water, “I think I’ve been waiting a long time to hear someone say that.”

You both stand there, letting the waves touch your feet, “What about now?” You ask.

Steve looks down, dragging his thumb over his wedding ring, “I don’t know. I think I stopped letting myself picture it for a while.”

“Why?”

He shrugs slightly, “Because it hurt less not to.”

You don’t know what to say to that, So you don’t say anything. Instead, you reach over and take his hand. Steve looks down at your joined hands, then at you.

You squeeze gently.

He squeezes back.

Neither of you says anything for a long time. And somehow, it says enough.

Later, when the sun starts dipping lower, the two of you walk back through town. Steve insists on carrying the small bag with the few things you bought, despite your protests.

When you get back to the villa, you’re tired in the best way. Sun-warmed and happy, cheeks hurting from smiling too much.

You kick your sandals off by the door and wander into the kitchen while Steve sets the bag on the counter.

“I can make dinner.” He offers.

You turn to him slowly, “Steve.”

“What?”

“You made breakfast.”

“I don’t mind.”

“I know you don’t. That’s the problem.” You point toward one of the stools, “Sit.”

His brows rise, “Sit?”

“Yes. I am making dinner.”

“You don’t have to—”

“Steven.”

He closes his mouth.

Steve sits immediately.

You nod once, “Good husband.” The words leave your mouth before you can stop them.

Steve’s eyes widen slightly.

Your eyes widen too. For one horrifying second, silence stretches between you. Then Steve ducks his head, smiling so softly it makes your stomach twist, “Yes, ma’am.”

Oh, you are in trouble.

You turn toward the fridge quickly before he can see your expression.

Dinner ends up being pasta because it’s the first thing you find that doesn’t seem intimidating. Steve sits at the counter while you cook, talking to you about the places you passed that day. You ask him questions about history just to hear him talk, and he pretends not to notice.

He definitely notices.

After dinner, you sit outside together on the terrace, sharing a bowl of fruit and watching the sky turn darker over the water.

At some point, your feet end up tucked under his thigh, his arm resting along the back of your chair.

At some point after that, his arm ends up resting along the back of your chair. Steve clears his throat after a while, looking oddly nervous, “I got you something.”

You turn to him. “You did?”

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small wrapped package.

“Steve.”

“It’s small.” He says quickly, “Just something from earlier.”

You take it carefully, unwrapping it to find the little ceramic magnet from the market. The one you said your best friend would love. Your heart melts a little, “You bought it?”

“You said she’d like it.” He says, like that explains everything.

You stare down at it, smiling, “That was really sweet.”

“It wasn’t much.”

“It was thoughtful.” You correct, looking up at him, “There’s a difference.”

Steve’s expression softens.

“Thank you.” You say.

“You’re welcome.”

You look back down at the magnet, then laugh quietly.

“What?”

“She’s going to freak out when I tell her Captain America bought her a magnet.”

Steve groans, dropping his head back. “Please don’t introduce me like that.”

You grin. “What, as Captain America?”

“As the magnet guy.”

You laugh, and Steve smiles like that was all he wanted.

Later, when you both get ready for bed, the awkwardness is still there, but it’s softer than the night before. Less terrifying. More familiar. You brush your teeth side by side, bumping elbows twice and laughing quietly around toothbrushes.

Steve lets you use the bathroom first to change.

You come out in pajamas, trying not to feel shy under his gentle glance.

He smiles, “Comfortable?”

“Very.”

“Good.”

He changes after you, returning in a plain t-shirt and sweatpants, because apparently the universe wanted to test you personally. You climb into bed first, staying on your side. Steve turns off the lamp before settling in beside you, and For a few minutes, both of you lie there quietly, facing the ceiling.

Just like the night before.

Only this time, the space between you feels less like a boundary and more like a question. You turn your head slightly to find Steve is already looking at you.

Caught, he smiles sheepishly, “Sorry.”

“You apologize a lot.” You remind him.

“I know.”

You hesitate, then lift your hand, palm up between you, making Steve look down at it. Then, carefully, like he’s afraid you might change your mind, he slides his hand into yours.

Your fingers lace together beneath the blanket.

“Today was really nice.” You whisper.

Steve’s thumb brushes over your knuckles, “Yeah?”

You nod, “Yeah.”

His smile is barely visible in the dark. “I’m glad.”

You close your eyes, still holding his hand, And as sleep slowly pulls you both under, your hands stay linked between you.

“And here.” The lawyer points to another place for you and Steve to sign. Technically, it’s not an official marriage licenses, but it is a legal domestic partnership. You and Steve wont be legally married until after the experiment ends, when you decide if you want to stay together or go your separate ways. 

But aside from the legal aspect of saying I do’s, everything else is like you’re married, and you’re supposed to treat it as such. 

Steve sends a small smile towards you as he signs his name on the last line. 

“Great!” The lawyer clasps her hands together before gathering all the papers, “And I believe the honeymoon was planned by one of you? So the ticket should already be in your possession.”

“Yes ma’am.” Steve nods, “I have them.” “Then we will meet back up with you at the end of 30 days. Until then, have fun, and remember, this only works when you treat it like real life, because this is your real life.” With those parting words, the lawyer leaves the room. 

You look over to Steve, raising a brow, “Do I get to know where we’re going? Because I have two different bags packed for weather options.” 

“Warm weather.” Steve tells you, looking down at his watch before smirking up at you, “That’s all you’re getting out of me sweetheart.”

“Really?” You pout, but it turns to a laugh. 

Steve gestures to the door, placing one of his hands on the small of your back to lead you out, “We should get going though if we are to make our flight.” 

It’s weird, considering you’re technically going on your honeymoon and you met this man 12 hours ago. But it’s also exciting, and terrifying, and absolutely crazy. You honestly don't know how to feel. 

It’s not until you’re on the plane and the pilot announces the flight route, that you know where you're headed. 

“Greece!” You smile over at Steve, grabbing his hand in your excitement, “I’ve always wanted to go to Greece!”

Steve laughs softly at your excitement, finding it absolutely adorable, “I’m glad you’re excited Sweetheart.” 

You sit back facing forward in your seat, moving to let go of his hand, but Steve grabs it again, interlacing your fingers together. he smiles over at you shyly.

God, he is really cute.

The plane ride to Skiathos, Greece, from New York, is almost 11 hours, making it a little past dinner time when you land. You assumed you would be going to some sort of hotel, but a car is waiting for you at the airport and it takes you to a private villa, one that looks expensive. 

Steve grabs both of your bags, tipping the driver, before leading the way inside. You look around the place with wide eyes and your mouth open. 

Never have you been able to afford something like this on your teachers salary. Most of your vacations are spent at the lake, in a tent or someone else RV. Not that you don’t enjoy those trips, because you do. But this crazy and more than just a step up from those. 

“I ah— I hope this is alright.” Steve draws your attention to him, standing in the middle of the room with your bags at his feet, watching you, “I wanted somewhere we could be alone and get to know one another—“ “It’s great.” You assure him, watching as his shoulders drop some of their tension. 

“Good.” Steve sighs a breath of relief, “It’s one of Tony’s but he never uses it so, thought we could.” Now that makes since. 

It doesn't even register in your mind that this is one of Tony Starks houses. Just like it’s not registering that Steve Rogers, the man you are essentially married to for all intense and purposes, is Captain America.

“I think we can make do.” You smile teasingly, gesturing to how big the place is. 

Steve laughs, appreciating how easy it is to be around you. It’s something he noticed at dinner with you the night before, and something he continues to see with the more time he spends with you. You and Steve take a tour of the house, seeing that Tony stocked it fully for your stay. When it gets to the bedrooms, Steve gets a little bashful, rubbing the back of his neck as he stares anywhere but yours, “We don’t have to share if— uh— I don’t want you to think— I want you to be comfortable—“ “Steve.” You grab his shoulder, cutting him off softly, “They said we should treat this like a real marriage, right? I don’t mind sharing with you.” Steve, again, sighs a breath of relief at your words, his cheeks still a little red at the thought of sharing a bed with you. As much as people would like to think, considering the amount of female attention he gets, he can count on one hand the amount of women he has shared a bed with. But they did tell you both to treat this as a marriage for it to work, and the longer Steve is around you, he wants this to work. 

“Speaking of treating this as a marriage…” Steve trails off, walking back to where the bags sit in the entry way, “We never exchanged rings. 

“Right!” You follow his lead, grabbing the ring you have for him out of your side pocket in your carry on. You get a little nervous that he might not like the ring you bought for him, but you shake that feel off. 

It’s not a big deal, you can always exchange it if that happens. Its not a big deal. 

It will definitely hurt your feelings. 

But yeah, not a big deal.

You both are holding the ring boxes, not entirely sure how you’re supposed to go about this. You settle on awkwardly handing each other the boxes with soft laughs. 

Looking at the box Steve hands you, you forget all about the nerves that he might not like yours, and instead are replaced with the excitement in seeing yours for the first time. 

You open the box, gasping at the sight of it. It’s a simple gold band, but the stone is a shiny ruby. 

Is that real? Of course it’s real.

You look up to see Steve still watching you instead of opening the box in his hand. He has a small, bashful smile on his face, “It’s my birthstone. I know the traditional stone is a diamond but I just thought… I liked the idea of it being apart of me too…” He trails off at the shocked look on your face, thinking you don’t like it, but then your face breaks into a blinding smile, the biggest one he's seen yet. He wishes he could save this moment in his mind forever. How beautiful you look, how it’s directed at him. 

“Open yours.” You tell him, smile still bright. 

Steve huffs a breath of silent laughter, opening up the box to see the ring you picked out for him. It’s a gold band, with a ban of stones in the middle. He looks up to you as you laugh. 

“It’s my birthstone.” 

Steve’s face turns to the shocked one you had, and he understands why you got so delighted with your own ring. 

“That’s—“ Steve shakes his head, a smile of his own spreading on his face, “Wow.”

“Wow.” You nod, repeating his words. 

You slip your ring on your finger, looking up to see Steve do the same. You smile at each other as you make eye contact. 

You both picked rings with your birthstones on them?

What are the odds of that?

“—And then she goes, ‘This is for the frogs’, and jumps out the biology room window.” Steve laughs as you finish the story of your best friend, one of your favorite memories from high school, “She’s been a vegetarian since that class.” “That’s admirable.” Steve settles down, “I love steak too much, but a conviction like that is commendable.” 

You nod, agreeing, “I’m a chicken girl myself, but yeah, i respect her for it.” 

“It sounds lkie you two have always been close.” 

“Yeah.” You smile, “She’s been my best friend since we were kids on the playground.”

“That’s like me and Buck.” Steve grins, “That punk has been by my side since we were babies. I don't know what I would do without him.” 

“Is it weird, both of you being here now?” You find yourself asking. Neither of you have really brought up anything revolving his other persona’s life, sticking more to telling funny stories and getting comfortable with one another, but you’re curious. 

Steve thinks for a moment, “A little. When I first came out of the ice, when I thought he was gone still, it was like a part of me was missing. I didn't feel like I got that back until I saw Bucky again.” “I’m glad you have him.” You tell him. You can’t imagine what it was like, has been like, is like, for him, but you really are glad he has someone to help him through it. Someone that can relate to exactly what he is going through. 

Steve clears his throat, feeling a little emotional but not wanting to ruin the carefree atmosphere of the night. You’re going to be here for a whole week, and there is plenty of time to get into the deep stuff. 

The very first night, is not the time for it. 

“Are you finished?” Steve gestures to your now empty plate. You let him take it as you clear the rest of the table, cleaning up for the night. When you’re both done, you retire to the master bedroom, getting ready for bed. 

You both go through with your nightly routines, smiling bashfully as you pass by one another or bump into each other as you go about it. When you crawl under the covers, both of you are acutely aware of the amount of space between you. 

Your brain is screaming at you that you've only known this stranger for a little over 24 hours, but the other part of you, the romantic side of you, is telling you that this man is now, theoretically due to this experiment you both side up for, your husband. 

On the other side of the bed, Steve is going through a similar monologue. He feels like he should create more space between the two of you, while also feeling like he should cuddle you to sleep. It’s a strange dilemma, one he’s not sure how to go about. 

You both end up falling asleep anyway, staring up at the ceiling, wondering what you should do. 

Deep breaths in and out. 

In

Out

In

Out

How in the world did that make you more lightheaded? You were positive you were going to be sick. This was it, in less than 20 minutes, you were going to be meeting your husband. 

Packing up your suitcases and the few boxes of things you were taking to New York with you was bittersweet. Tears fell with your best friend, who happened to also be your roommate. You had your things shipped here via the address the site provided you with. A neutral ground to where they will then deliver your things to your husbands place while you’re on your honeymoon. Leaving you living out of a suitcase for the next 12 days, 10 of which will be spent on said honeymoon. 

You’re excited. And nervous. Probably more nervous than excited right now. Because you are meeting your husband. The man you will be married too. 

What were you thinking? 

You didn’t have anymore time to be questioning it as the car pulls into the parking lot, the driver telling you, you’d arrived. It was very high end, fancy type of place. Something that does not help settle your nerves. You tugged on the black dress you’re wearing, hoping it doesn't look too cheaply made for someplace like this, though, you know it definitely does. You just hope Steve doesn't care. 

You don’t have a lot of expensive dresses on a teachers salary, okay?

Breathing out deeply, you walk to the hostess desk, giving her your name. The site handled the reservations, since neither you nor Steve had each others last names, you were meant to give your own for the table. 

You tried to ignore the judgmental look the hostess gave your dress, or the smug way she smiled as she told you to follow her, as if she knew something you didn’t. Like she was waiting for you to be embarrassed or something. 

Is it too late to run?

She leads you through the restaurant, to one of the tables in the back. As you get closer, you see the back of Steve’s head, his blonde hair sticking out the top of the booth. 

As you reach the table, the hostess obviously giving way to your arrival. You watch as he hastily stands up, turning around to greet you, giving you your first look at your husband. 

Holy crap.

Steve showed up early, not wanting to have any chance of being late, nor making you wait for him. He would much rather wait for you. He hated the fact the meeting was in such a fancy place, adding a layer of nerves to the meeting. He hated even more how the hostess shamelessly flirted with him as she took him to the table. He hopes when he has a ring on his finger that will happen even less. He never knows what to do with the unwanted advances. 

And technically, soon to be married now, having someone flirt with him irks him even more. 

When the hostess returns, 10 minutes after he arrived, she shoots a glance to someone standing behind him, informing him that she has lead you to the table. He stands, turning around to greet you in a gentleman fashion. 

Or, that was the idea. But the moment his eyes met with yours, all thoughts left his mind. This was the first time he ever laid his eyes on you, and you were breathtaking. 

Truly, Steve stopped breathing all together. He doesn't know how long he was staring at you, just taking in your beauty, but it was long enough for the hostess to clear her throat, her smile she had greeted him with, more strained now. 

“Your waiter will be with you shortly.” She nods, taking one more fleeting glance at him and you, more of a glare really, before leaving. 

Steve’s gaze never leaves you. He doesn't know exactly what to do. Does he shake your hand? Hug you? Kiss you? 

You are to be officially married by morning, before you both jet off to your honeymoon, but Steve didn't think about this part. About how to handle it. 

Thankfully, you break the silence first, laughing awkwardly, “I’m not entirely sure how to greet you.” 

Your voice is sweet and honey like, wrapping around him like velvet. It puts him at so much ease, “Neither do I.” He laughs, deciding to stick out his hand, going with the simple answer, “Steve Rogers.” 

Shaking his hand, you offer your name. But Steve almost misses it by how soft your hand feels. How perfect it fits with his own. He wonders if you felt the spark he felt or if he was just overly romanticizing things in his head. Bucky told him he has a tendency to do that, but he truly felt a spark when your hand met his. 

Letting go, he moves to help you sit down at the other side of the booth, sitting down after you. Before he can say anything else, the waiter comes around, “Can I get you both anything to drink? Start you off with a wine.” 

“I’ll just take a water.” You say softly, looking to Steve who nods, “Same.” 

The next few minutes are spent awkwardly making glances at one another as you both look over the menu. You try to find something you might like, but this is a french restaurant, and everything is in French. 

Steve must notice the furrow in your brow, “Everything alright?” “Yes.” You squeak out, embarrassed, “I just, uh— Don’t really know what to order.” 

“Do you need help?” He questions. 

You laugh self consciously, “I’m more of a burgers and fries kind of girl and I don’t think any of this translates to that.” 

Steve smiles wide at that, “Me too. These fancy places aren't really my style.” 

“Glad we can agree with that.” You grin, some of the tension leaving the air around you. 

“I uh—“ He sets his menu down, “I know a place not far from here, if you’d rather…” He trails off as if he's waiting for you to turn him down, which was not going to happen, “I’d love to.” 

You earn another wide smile from him, and you can’t help but think he looks absolutely beautiful when he smiles. He leads you outside, hand on the small of your back the whole time. The small ma and pop diner thats a few blocks down reminds you of the places back home, and put you at even more ease. 

An older lady takes your order with a smile, leaving you alone with Steve again. 

You had recognized him when your brain caught up to you after the initial shock of meeting your soon to be husband for the first time, and immediately you thought you were being punked, numerous questions flooding your mind that you feel the need to ask before anything else. 

“So.” You start, “I have some questions.” Steve nods, “You know who I am.” It’s not said in any other way apart from a statement. 

“Did you expect me not to? I hate to break it to you, but I’m a fan of the 10 o clock news, and you happen to be on it a lot.” You joke, trying to break some of the tension that was back. 

It helps, making Steve laugh lightly, “I assumed I would be.”

You nod, “So…” Trailing off, not knowing how to ask the question without it sounding some type of way. 

Thankfully, Steve knew what you wanted to ask, “Why did I sign up?” At your confirming nod he answers, “Same reason as you I reckon. I wanted something real and I wasn't finding it anywhere else. Why did you sign up?” “I wanted something real.” You agree, repeating his words, “I come from a small town in the midwest, and I was positive my soulmate wasn’t there.”

“Any other questions?” Steve asks. 

“Tons.” You nod seriously, leaning forward with a smirk at his nervousness, “Strawberry or Chocolate milkshake?” 

Steve’s face was one of momentary shock, and you assume he expected more questions about his life, ones he's probably nervous about or gets a lot, which will come, later. Right now, you want to start off on a good and fun note. You both have plenty of time for the heavy later. 

“I love Chocolate, but Strawberry shakes scratch a type of craving that nothing else can.” He answers you with an appreciative smile, “What’s your choice?” 

“Vanilla.” You sit back, sending a similar smile back. 

Steve furrows his brows, “What? You didn’t tell me that was an option!” 

“You didn’t ask.” You shrug, smirking at his amused glare. 

“Alright, sweetheart.”Steve nods, “I’ll remember that.” 

Truthfully, Steve didn’t think a date could be better than this one. After spending all night in the diner, exchanging small stories and questions, he walked you back to the front steps of your hotel. 

There was some awkwardness when it came to how to give the goodbye, but Steve was once again shocked by your ability to remove the tension from between you both. You kissed his cheek, making an amusing comment about seeing him at the alter in the morning before walking into your hotel.

Steve watched you through the glass doors until you turned a corner and were out of his view. He felt like he was in a daze walking back to the tower, only coming out when Bucky appeared in front of him. 

“How’d it go?” The brunette man went straight to the point. 

Steve still feels a little breathless from your lips on his cheek, “Yeah, it uh— great.”

Bucky raises a brow at his friend, “That’s it? That’s all I get? Come on man tell me more. What’s she look like? Where’s she from?”

“Breathtaking.” Steve nods, a small smile on his face as he remembers seeing you for the first time, “She’s from a small town in the midwest. She’s real funny Buck. Real smart too.” 

Bucky can’t help mimicking his friends smile, not having seen him like this for a girl since back in the 40s. He knows how much of a romantic Steve can be, but he also knows how much his friend craves to have that type of love. 

Steve always talked about marriage and family in the 30s and 40s, wanting to be that basic family man. When they reunited in this time, Bucky noticed how much Steve had changed, never mentioning it. He admitted to him that he doesn't think that man exists anymore. 

But about a year ago, when things started settling down around the world, Steve started going on dates here or there. Slowly, Bucky saw that kid from the 30s coming back. The one that wanted marriage and a family. And now, Bucky hopes for his best friends sake that this works out, that his friend doesn't end up hurt and closing off again. 

And who knows, maybe you’ll becoming a friend and Bucky will have someone else on his side when he has to reprimand Steve for doing something stupid. 

It happened in the middle of the night. Steve was in peaceful sleep when his phone beeped with an email notification. He didn't get a lot of those, the majority having to do with work. He woke up, grabbing the phone and sliding it open, checking to see if it was something important or not. 

It had been two weeks since he sent in the questionnaire and he felt like he was holding his breath since. He found himself refreshing his email through the days, casually checking his spam folder to make sure it didn't end up there. He wouldn't admit it out loud, but Steve Rogers was hopeful that this would work. 

He really hopes it will work. 

He wasn’t expecting to get the email in the middle of the night though. So when he saw what the notification was for, he found himself sitting up straighter, taking a calming breath before opening it. 

Dear Steve, 

We’ve made a breakthrough and found your perfect match!

He would cringe at the obvious word play in their opening line if he wasn't so impatient in reading the rest of the email. They gave him your first name, your age, and very basic, general facts of your appearance like what your hair and skin color are. He assumes if someone was Tony level smart, they might be able to find you online somewhere. But he doubts anyone without Tony level technology to back up the smarts could do it. Steve doesn't care though, he doesn't want to look you up, wants to follow through with this experience the way its meant to be. 

The email also gives your ring size and informs him you chose the box, “Choose each others rings.” A box Steve also checked. He wasn't picky with a lot, but he did think it would be exciting to chose your ring for you, and vise versa. He’s happy you feel the same way. 

There is a very general description of your style that he reads over, so he can try to find a ring you would actually enjoy. 

Simple. Chic. Timeless. 

Steve finds himself smiling at the last word, finding some humor in his soon to be wife using that word to describe her ring style. He reads over the email a few more times, trying to absorb all of the information. 

He see’s he has the opportunity to plan the honeymoon, something else you left to him to do for you. He likes that. He really did want to plan the trip. 

Likes: Beaches, relaxing, and sightseeing. 

Dislikes: Heights and large crowds. 

Steve nods at that information. He can work with that and plans are already forming in his head. He’s scheduled to meet her in 3 days and that fact makes his heart beat a little faster. 

What if she sees him and changes her mind? Or worse, what if she's more excited about Captain America than Steve Rogers? 

His anxieties get the better of him for a moment, before he reals himself back in with the reminder that this is supposed to be his perfect match, and his perfect match wont be someone like that. She’ll only see him as Steve. Everything else will be secondary.

Steve locks his phone, setting it back on his nightstand and laying back down with a content sigh, making plans to go ring shopping tomorrow. 

Steve Rogers is actually getting married. 

You didn't check your email until your lunch break. You’re an elementary school teacher, but since it’s summer time, you take a lifeguarding job at the local pool. 

Sitting down at one of the picnic tables, you pull out your lunch, opening your bag of baby carrots, as you also pull out your phone, cheering your messages and email. 

Your breath hitches when you see one from Marriage Breakthrough. You quickly open it, reading through everything. You laugh gleefully at the checked box, “Choose each others rings”, and send a quick text to your best friend, asking her to go with you after work. 

His general description is a white man, blonde hair, with blue eyes. You chuckle at the thought that he sounds like you stereotypical american boy, the type they all seem to be in your small town. 

Who would have thought you would get matched with one online, too.

You see he’s taller than you, a bit significantly at 6’6, and you raise a brow. Height was never something you paid too much attention to. As long as they weren't insecure about their height, who were you to care. But being matched with someone that’s 6’6? You weren't upset with that at all. You liked feeling small and protected when cuddling with someone, and you could definitely feel that way with him. 

His name is the last thing you read and it brings a smile to your face. 

Steve.

Its a very simple and common name, but something about it already brings some butterflies to your stomach. That’s your future husbands name. That’s who you’re marrying. 

You read the details about your meeting, in three days time. Which gives you 2 days to pack up your things. They already have you plane ticket ready and night in the hotel you'll stay in before you meet. After which, you'll be heading on a honeymoon to, then be moving in with the man. That is, if everything goes well, which you hope it will. 

For the rest of your shift, you have a smile on your face that wont go away.

You’re getting married. 

“What about this one?” Bucky lifts up another ring, this one more of a teardrop shape with diamonds surrounding it. Steve shakes his head, “It’s too flashy. She won’t like that.” 

Bucky rolls his eyes, “And how do you know that? You’ve never even met her.” “I just know.” Steve shrugs his shoulders, looking back down to the rings on display. He wants something simple but timeless, like you described. Something that fits into everyday life, but can also look elegant when you need it to. 

He smiles, pointing down at the glass to the attendant, “Can I see this one?” 

“Absolutely, Mr.Rogers.” The attendant grabs the ring, gently handing it over. 

Steve inspects it, looking it over carefully for any flaws, but he doesn't find any. Its a simple gold band with a square cut ruby in the middle, his birthstone. 

He knows the traditional stone is a diamond, but he likes the idea of you wearing his birthstone on your wedding ring, having him with you even when he isn’t. It’s not overly flashy or anything, and really does look timeless. A ring those rich women would wear in the 1920s to all their important dinners. 

“This is it.” He nods, looking over to Bucky who has his eyebrows raised, “You sure, pal? Not a diamond or something? This is the first store, we can go to some more and come back.” Steve shakes his head, looking back down to the ring and already imagining it on your finger, “This is the one.” 

You were exhausted, after being at the pool all day and now having searched through 3 stores, still not finding the right ring, you were about ready to drop. 

Traditional.

That was the first word he used to describe his ring style. Which seems easy enough. Except it wasn't only the first word he used, it was the only word he used. Perhaps he thought it would be easier for you if he only used one word. Or perhaps he doesn't really care what the ring looks like.

That thought doesn't sit well with you. 

Or maybe he didn't know another word to describe his jewelry taste because he doesn't wear a lot of jewelry. 

But his usage of only one word has sent you into a turmoil of anxiety, and no ring you've looked at is the right one. Your best friend is surly getting fed up with you, but you can’t just choose any ring. This is going to be the first thing you ever give your husband. 

It has to be perfect. 

Your patience was wearing thin as you look through the 4th store, becoming more and more discouraged as you go, until you spot it. 

“That one.” You point to the man helping you. 

He follows your line sight before shaking his head at you, “That is not very traditional. It is more modern.” 

“Can I just see it, please?” You question. The man sighs, but gets the ring out for you, handing it over. He’s right, it’s not traditional per say. Its a simple gold band, which is traditional. What’s not is the ring around the middle made of your birthstones. 

You smiled, because this was it. This was Steves ring. “I’ll take it.” “Are you sure?” The attendant frowns, “I hav—“ “She’ll take it.” Your best friend huffs, turning to you, “I’m starving and was about to strangle you if you didn’t pick a ring soon.” 

You chuckle at her dramatics, “Sorry, needed it to be perfect.” “And is it?” She questions genuinely. 

You nod, looking back over to the ring thats getting boxed up, “Yeah. Yeah it is.” 

Steve doesn't know why he's doing this. Well, he does, but he doesn't think it will actually amount to anything, he's just done with the modern dating scene. 

Although, he can see how ironic it is for him to say that while filling out his questionnaire, for an online algorithm, that promises success in love. 

Marriage. 

Thats what this will lead to. It promises to match you up with someone that will be your ‘perfect match’. 

Steve isn't so sure about it. He's tried the online dating scene and only got disappointment. But then again, he's also tried the ‘being set up’ scene and the ‘meeting them organic’ scene, and also, only been disappointed. He has nothing to lose here. 

Sighing, he gets back to the questions. There’s a lot more than he considered, but he supposes thats a good thing. He already had to send in his identification, job details, financial situation, and any security info for a background check, which they promised would be thorough. 

He didn’t have a problem with that, liking that they have these measures in place to keep their clients safe. 

A week later, they emailed him with his acceptance and an intensive questionnaire for him to fill out. It’s more than just the normal, what’s your favorite color and type of music you like, questions. Which he expected. 

They’re very thought provoking questions, that require in depth answers in order to properly match you. It’s taken him a few days to get through it, but he’s finally answered the last few questions, and as he looks over everything, he hesitates over the send button. His nerves getting the best of him for a second, but he pushes through, like he always does. 

With the sound of the swoosh, confirming that the email was sent, Steve sits back in his seat at the kitchen table, thinking about the repercussions that could come from this.But he also feels a prickle of hope. That perhaps something good could actually come from this. 

“Finally finish it?” Bucky questions him, having come into the kitchen when the swish sounded through the laptop. 

“Yeah.” Steve breaths out, looking up to his brunette friend as he fills a mug with some hot water, making himself a night tea. Bucky had really gotten into having a tea before bed, helping him with his sleep. Bucky looks over his shoulder to his friend, raising an eyebrow, “You don’t seem super excited, for a man that’s fiancée pending.” 

“Fiancée pending?” Steve chuckles at his friends words. 

“Wife pending. Whatever.” Bucky waves him off, grabbing his now made mug, and pulling out the seat in front of Steve, sitting down, “Are you sure this is something you want to do?” Steve rolls his eyes, gesturing to the laptop, “Kind of too late for that one, Buck.” “I’m just saying, is it like, safe?” Bucky questions, “What about your finances? Security? How do you know it’s not just someone out for money?” 

“Everyone signs a prenup before hand.” Steve informs his friend, “And theres an extensive background check that rivals Starks technology. It’s completely safe.” Bucky nods, studying the blonde, “And then what, you marry a stranger? How does that work?” “Well,” Steve tries to explain the weird circumstance, “After they find you a match, they set up a time and place for the two of you to officially meet, and make sure the connection is real. Two days later they have the marriage certificate printed and send you off on a honeymoon, sort of a trial to truly know one another without any outside interference. When you come back, you have a month to decide if you want the marriage annulled or not.” 

“Hmm.” Bucky hums, thinking everything through. It sounds absurd. Then again, most of the modern world seems absurd to him, especially when it comes to relationships. But he’s not going to try and talk Steve out of it. Not that, that would actually do anything. Bucky has never been able to talk him out of anything, ever. “Where do you plan to live when you come back? Am I getting a new roommate?” Steve would feel anxiety at Bucky’s question, if it wasn't for the genuineness behind it, “Maybe? I don't know. I suppose for a little while? They ask on the questionnaire and I put my preference here. It just makes everything easier, ya know?” “Are they even in New York?” Bucky raises a brow. 

Steve shrugs, “I put not willing to currently relocate, but they could choose to be willing to relocate here.” 

Bucky nods, “So this is like, legit?” Steve chuckles at his friends modern wording, “Yeah, punk. It’s pretty real.”

“Well,” Bucky sighs, sending his friend a small smile, “I hope everything works out in your favor, buddy.” 

“Me too.” Steve agrees, sending a smile back, “Who knows, maybe it will workout so well, you’ll sign up for it.” 

Bucky laughs loudly at that, “Don’t hold your breath, pal.” 

“Doesn’t that seem sketchy to you, though?” Your best friend questions, “I mean, what kind of guy signs up for these things?” You raise a brow at her, “Well, I signed up for this. What type of woman would do that?” Your best friend rolls her eyes, “Okay, but you live in small town USA. Of course you would sign up for it. Who would you marry if you didn’t? Corey Jacobs? I’d rather you be with Sketchy Mc Sketcherson.” 

You laugh at her words, but can’t help but agree. You grew up in a small town your whole life. There weren't a lot of options for you when it came to dating. A lot of people from where you’re from wouldn't understand why you would turn to a computer program to find your perfect match, but how would you find them otherwise. 

You had never tried online dating, but this was different. This wasn’t just an app for someone to use when they want a hookup. This was for someone that was ready for serious. For commitment. The ultimate commitment. 

Marriage. 

You grew up with those old core values about marriage. It means something. It really is ‘in sickness and in health’, not ‘just in the now until you don’t feel it anymore’. 

“I’m excited.” You admit, looking over to your friend, “I know it’s all crazy and weird, but, I have this strange feeling that it actually could work.”

Your friend smiles at you, “I hope it does. You deserve to be happy.” 

You look back to the computer, pushing enter and sending the email, watching as it confirms it sent, “Who knows, maybe I wont only meet my perfect match, but get to live somewhere more exciting too.” 

Chapter 1 - Hopeful Thinking

Chapter 2 - A Union Of Two

Chapter 3 - Fondness At First Meet

Chapter 4 - Honeymoon Phase

Chapter 5 - Joyfully Unaware

Chapter 6 - Is This Love

Chapter 7 - Ignorance Is Bliss

Chapter 8 - What They Say About Hope

Chapter 9 - It Breeds Eternal Misery

Chapter 10 - Ceasing A Moment

Chapter 11 - Enchanted To Meet You

AN: this has been in my drafts since May of 2022…. I found it a couple weeks ago and thought, “hey why don’t I actually finish writing this.” And so I did. And then I wrote a spin off. And now I can’t stop writing, so I thought I would finally post this. And maybe more of the stories I have in my drafts. Because there’s a lot. Like way too much. I don’t even know if people will want them but hey, it is what it is.