Jason didn’t think he’d make it this far. He’d died, and he feels like the part of him that saw himself making it to marriage died there too. Yet here he is. Here he is, shifting his weight nervously as he stands on the altar, waiting for you to walk down that aisle. He’s so overwhelmed with emotion he feels like he might have a heart attack and die right here.

He thinks he might be crying, but he can’t find it in himself to care. After what feels like aeons, the wedding march finally starts. The second he sees you in your wedding apparel, he knows he’s crying, because you look so beautiful, and you’re about to be all his. He’s smiling so hard his cheeks hurt. He wishes this dumb minister would hurry up so he can kiss you already.

The minister continues to blabber on. He’s not really listening. His entire body is buzzing with nervous energy and excitement and anticipation, so the moment he hears the minister go “You may-” his lips are already on yours. A chorus of “Aw”s ring out from the attendees, and the minister continues to talk even though nobody is listening, and none of that matters because Jason is kissing you and you’re married.

It’s perhaps the most gentle kiss he’s ever given you. His hand comes up to cradle the back of your head, and when you part, he gazes at you with nothing but pure adoration in his eyes. “We’re married,” he whispers, sounding both elated and immeasurably proud at the fact. “I’m your husband. We’re married.”

The rest of the ceremony is a blur. At least, until it’s time for the reception - he doesn’t think he’s ever wanted to dance with you more in his life. He knows that everyone is staring, but the only thing on his mind is you. He twirls you around and around and around, grinning all the while, because - “I’m married to you. Jesus Christ. I’m your husband.” He knows he's said it at least a million times, and he'll gladly say it a million more because he's just that happy to be yours.