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sheepispink · 2 months ago

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The Perfect Pair

WC: 7.6k Tags: fluff, marriage of convenience, leon kennedy/ reader

Summary: Leon can barely hold himself upright most days and you've finally decided to ditch the DSO life in pursuit of happiness. However, that'd mean leaving all those beautiful tax benefits and medical insurance behind. Turns out Leon and Chris are pretty persuasive, landing you as Leon's 'wife' but you cant help but start to feel something more, unaware that Leon's already set his eyes on you for life.

It’d been a long day at work, the usual really— Chris had roped him into dealing with another bioweapon appearance, thus leading him to take a helicopter to some trashy place, locating the bioweapon, and promptly knocking its freaky nature out of action. Now he lugged his weary feet home to the apartment you shared, his stomach craving a taste of something only your skilled hands would prepare for him. After a short elevator trip that thankfully alleviated the ache of his feet for a moment, he reached the front door and, with a quick fumble with the keys he had inserted the right one inside, opening the door.

“I’m home.” He calls out, his raspy voice filling the silent yet serene space before him. He somehow grew used to this; the sight of two sets of keys on the hook, the vast difference in style as he places his shoes on the rack, and the two coats on the bannister, one far smaller than the other. “Smells good..” He mumbles beneath his breath, making his way towards the kitchen where you stand, back facing him as you work your hands through a ball of minced meat.

“Welcome home.” You turn to meet his hungry gaze with your typical warm smile, heart warming at the exhausted look on his face and even more so that he’d soon find relief in the food you had made.

“You’re lucky, we had just enough mince meat in the freezer for your favourite beef burgers.” That was a lie. You had woken up early this morning and decided he had looked far too tired recently, and it’d been far too long since he’d had his favourite meal. So, as any good wife does, you wanted to make him feel better and took to the nearest supermarket, picking up all the ingredients you needed and some for a tasty dessert too. He always denied that he enjoyed sweet treats, but he would always be the first to finish them, whether it was a sweet chocolate mousse or a tasty doughnut you picked up on the way home.

He chuckles, his hand disappearing into his work jacket as he slips off the leather and lays it on the back of a wooden chair. It then migrates to his collar, tugging on it to alleviate the heat through his body, which is proven by the thin layer of sweat covering his limbs.

“Oh? Thanks, I was sure you finished it last week when you gave Kitty a gourmet meal for once.”

This home wouldn’t be complete without its resident cat, a Siamese fur ball that Leon graciously named ‘Kitty’ though he has no doubt referred to it with a million different names anyway.

“I guess I must've missed a bit. I really treated her for nothing.” While he was smirking, your mind was far from the lightheartedness of this conversation, currently panicking over his words. He had seriously caught you out there; of course you finished the mince, last week but was he actually accusing you of lying or worse—did he know? As you let out an awkward chuckle, he speaks up again, undoing his belt with one hand as his other grabs a glass from the shelf to fill with water. “I’m not complaining though; they really are my favourites for a reason.” He drinks down the glass of water in one swig, letting out a satisfied breath before rolling his shoulders back. “I’m gonna take a quick shower—I don't want to drown your nose with my sweat.” He chuckles again, finally leaving you alone in the kitchen again as he takes his path up the stairs to your shared bedroom.

To say your relationship with him was complicated was a massive understatement; it was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, feelings that felt illicit, and signals that were impossible to decipher. Well, for you it felt like this—you’re not so sure about him. In fact, for someone who sleeps beside him nearly everyday, cooks him meals, eats dinner with him, and even drops off his lunch, you barely knew anything about the man.

This all began when you decided to quit the DSO, finally having enough money to move to a more peaceful job with flexible hours and still end up supporting yourself. You had only worked in communications at the DSO, but that was still a pain in itself. Before you left, they had an informal work dinner. A bunch of agents and other workers came along to a diner for some food before heading to mess around at a karaoke place before the weekend hit. With so many people around, it grew far too hot too quickly, and you soon wandered the halls seeking a breath of fresh air before you heard your name called by an agent. The voice belonged to Chris Redfield–your superior—who was beckoning you to come over, cigarette in hand, to where he stood with Leon right beside him. They were both your superiors in the work field but were perceived as far more important due to the missions they accomplished and lives they saved.

“Yes..?”

You were more confused than scared or anything of the like—why did they even want to talk to you? It’s not like you often saw them. Even so, you walked over to them, trying to reduce the awkwardness when you slipped your hands into the pockets of your jacket, tilting your head slightly.

“You’re gonna leave soon, right?” Leon asks, taking a swig of the golden whisky in his glass whilst Chris blows another puff of smoke off to the side.

“Yeah, I wanted to move onto a different job, a quieter one that isn't so taxing.” You shrug, having only thought out a bit of it so far.

Chris and Leon shared a glance at each other before Leon spoke once more, rolling back his shoulders a little. “You see, I have a bit of a predicament, and Chris thought you could help.”

Before you know it, he’s explaining how busy his work is and that he barely gets home in time for a sip of water before he knocks out, and you’re not really sure how this is your problem until Chris butts in.

“So basically, he needs a wife. You, on the other hand, won't have any of the perks of the DSO since you’re leaving, which includes medical insurance, tax benefits..” He trailed off as you started to ponder it, you really would lose a lot of the things you had grown to exist around. It would be very difficult to manage, and you can't say you’d miss a lot of those perks greatly. The two men give each other a glance as you speak up, nodding along. “You’re right, I will miss out a lot, but I really don't want to stay here longer..” Before Leon can even try and slide it in, Chris has already blurted it out.

“Well, you won't lose anything if you marry him.”

So, after a bunch of awkward talks and surviving interrogations from your coworkers, you ended up with a small wedding, which was mainly done to please your own parents rather than yourselves. Now you’re here, almost a year into this non formal contractual marriage, and your feelings are muddled. Very muddled. It’s hard to not catch feelings when you’re somewhat of a hopeless romantic yourself, or maybe the teenage girl mentality came back full force now you have a lot more free time. You owed him a fair amount to be fair—he didn’t realise how stress-free your life was these days. Wake up, eat a healthy breakfast, maybe watch some television too, head down to the small little bakery you own and teach the part time teenager there before wrapping up at four o'clock and heading home again. Your skin had cleared up, you were actually able to sleep in on the weekends and actually do whatever you want— pick up new hobbies, eat proper meals, and read books to your heart's content.

What you’ve concluded is that your life has drastically improved and you are more relaxed than you’ve ever been. The problem with that is that with the new addition of all this free time and air to breathe in, you’re able to actually think about the man you’ve married. In simpler terms that you tried to deny for a year now, you’ve caught feelings—a lot of feelings for him. That’s why you’re currently stuck in a conundrum; you’re technically allowed to pursue said feelings, as you’re married and no longer ‘colleagues’ needing to act professionally, but does he want the same?

The pan starts to sizzle, snapping you out of your daydreaming as you place the flattened patty into the oil, lightly frying each side. Being his wife meant looking after him as much as he did to you, so cooking was often your chore to handle. Even though you were more than happy to do most of the chores, he’d still help with the dishes after dinner and often cooked when he could—when he was exhausted from another mission. Plus, he did his own laundry. He would’ve done yours too, though after the first time he tried, your cheeks had flushed immediately when he handed you a pile of your freshly washed underwear and t-shirts, and you quickly told him you’d do your own.

The staircase groans as he steps down the stairs, his movements a lot slower now that he had let the tension ease from his muscles in the shower. So far, you’ve managed to cook four patties, which was more than enough to satisfy his stomach and yours. But you had an extra two for his lunch tomorrow and because he tended to have a third burger “just because it’d be a shame to let it go to waste.That’s when you hear him curse softly under his breath, turning back to glance at him in confusion. “What’s wrong?” His hair is damp, still dripping with water onto the white tee he wears. It’s loose and the one you bought him last month when you went on a shopping spree. You try to ignore the way your eyes naturally drift towards his chest; a small sliver of his pale skin peeks out where his hand disappears under his shirt, rubbing his abdomen in a strange way. “Did you get hurt?” You continue, turning down the heat on the hob so you can turn to face him better.

“Oh? This?”

He lifts the shirt a little, revealing the bruise on his right side of his stomach, and also gives you a perfect view of his toned abs. Damn. “It’s not as bad as it looks..” He mumbles, but his eyebrows are still knitted in a frowning gesture. “I’m annoyed because I missed an opportunity..”

That makes you blink, wondering what he could’ve missed in the time he went for his shower and came back here. Did he get a phone call? Or perhaps something happened this week you hadn't picked up on?

“An opportunity?”

“Yeah. I completely missed the chance to ask you, ‘What's cookin, Good Lookin?’. Damnit..”

Did the corniest line to ever exist really just make your chest tighten for a second?

You can’t deny the fact that the line itself had made your lips part as you stood there dumbfounded. Leon had a history with corny one-liners; in fact, whenever his colleagues happened to see you, they’d always mention whatever stupid thing he said during a mission. He’d say it to you occasionally too, usually random puns that he’d quietly snicker about, but he’d never quite openly flirt with you like that. Was it supposed to be a joke? Was it real? You couldn't tell, and so you quickly turned back around before your patties ended up burnt.

“O-of course only you would worry more about that than your own injuries.” His snickering is obvious behind you as you place the cooked patties onto a small plate. “Stop pestering me and go sit down at the table.” You feign annoyance, grumbling as you hide the furious flush of pink upon your cheeks. Unfortunately for you, he didn’t intend to give up that easily, walking up behind you and peering over your shoulder with his hands planted on the counter on either side of your waist.

“That was a good one, c’mon.” He argues, the most exaggerated pout on his face quickly disappearing when he watches the burgers sizzle in the pan. He loves your food so damn much.

“That was not a good one, shoo.”

Thankfully, he ends up leaving you alone in favour of Kitty, who had just woken up from her nap— eager to play with him even if it just means chasing after a wrapper he had thrown across the room. You place down two plates at the table, as per usual, along with a plate full of salad, a bowl of fresh chips you fried, and the small plate of patties— six to be exact. Then, you place down the two fancy glasses you bought last week and grab your usual favourite canned drink while grabbing a Coke Zero for him. Finally, you place Kitty’s dinner on the floor which she runs over for, immediately gobbling up the food. “She’s just like you.” You giggle, watching as she hungrily wolfs down the food, thus making him groan in return. “I do not eat like that.”

Dinner is the same. You’ll ask about his day in which he usually retorts in grunts and moans about the government, incompetent workers, and that woman.. Ada. Just the mention of her name used to make him go quiet back when you worked at the DSO, and even in the first few months of your “marriage”, he would shrug off the subject quickly. Now he talks about it here and there, mentioning how she suddenly appears and always seems to know his location. For some reason, it puts a sick feeling in your stomach, like someone is dragging their nails across the flesh of your insides.

“Ada.. was there. Ever since I saved the president’s daughter, it’s like she’s followed me everywhere. She helps me.. but then she claims to not care..?”

His words stopped registering in your mind after a while as your teeth grit against each other and you absentmindedly dipped your chip into ketchup over and over again. You can’t believe he could be so naive. She had played him once in Raccoon City, faking her identity and using him to her advantage. The same played out in Spain even if she ‘saved’ him. You didn't care about her damn motives; she worked for the enemy, and it irked you—she just used whatever she could to gain her benefit, and it seemed like no one could stop her.

“Earth to my beautiful wife, hello?” He waved his hand in front of your furrowed eyebrows and the obvious scowl upon your face. “You look like you just ate something you find disgusting. I thought you liked this too.”

You immediately realise you had zoned out, your face shifting to something sheepish before you finally stick the ketchup-soaked chip into your mouth. You didn't even get a chance to process what he just called you.

“No, it’s not the food; I was just thinking. Sorry, it’s nothing.”

That only serves to make him all the more curious, though he doesn't push it, instead continuing his story. “Where was I? Oh, right, then Ada shot—” He cuts himself off as your eyes immediately narrow, and you lower your head, picking with your food again subconsciously. It doesn’t take much to piece the clues together, his lips twitching upwards as a smile threatens to spread. Though he wants to test his suspicions one more time.

“Wanna hear something crazy? Ada tried to kiss me again.”

“What?!” You immediately sit up straight, the scowl returning just as fast and teeth grit, but it quickly softens when you see the smirk on his face.

“I knew it. You hate her, don’t you?” Leon always saw right through you, thankfully not with your growing feelings yet, and it made it all the harder to keep his marriage… Well, just as a contract.

“Fine, maybe I don’t like her. So what? She’s not exactly the most moral person.” You say, shrugging your shoulders nonchalantly as you take a bite out of your burger and chew it down. “She helps Umbrella, can you really blame me?” That only makes his lips twitch again, and he leans his elbows on the table, eyes trained on every feature of your face.

“Are you jealous of her?” That almost makes you choke on the burger, and you have to take a large gulp of your drink to swallow down the rest of the food, your face immediately pinkening. It can’t be possible—there’s no way you’re jealous of that cunning, manipulative, hot, extremely hot woman. How did she even look that good?

“Ha— she should be jealous of me.” You scoff boldly, finishing the last of your burger soon after.

“Oh, and why’s that? Because you’re the one wedded to me?

A moment earlier, your heart would’ve described his face as a perfectly carved sculpture, the ones that people bid thousands to place in their homes because not showing off such a perfect creation would be a crime. Right now, he wore a sly grin with his eyebrows raised as he eyed you suggestively.

And that look was very punchable.

“Because I'm living the dream. I’ve got a bakery, a ton of free time, and I guess you’re there too, I suppose.”

With a roll of your eyes, you dismiss his words quickly, even though the faintest blush on your cheeks betrays your true thoughts. What if you said yes? What happens then?

“I should’ve known you wouldn’t give me that satisfaction.” He feigns a pout before his grin returns as he takes a massive bite into his second burger of the night. Of course, he just has to make an exaggerated moan, one elbow leaning on the table as the other covers his face dramatically.

“This is heavenly, you know? One day I swear I'll start dreaming about these burgers.”

There he goes again, babbling on about Lord knows what and his corny lines again. You can't help but flash a small cheeky smile, winking as you pour yourself a glass of water from the pitcher.

“Another reason for her to be jealous of me.”

Once the dinner has been packed away by his speedy hands, he’s returned to make the couch his home again, stretching his whole body against the length of it like a cat would. You’re placing the dishes into your dishwasher before inserting a tablet and putting it on for three hours. As you walk over to wipe down the table, you notice his eyes have fluttered close as he groans and gets comfortable on the cushions. You can't say you didn't feel a tinge of affection—well, much more than that, like a heap almost—every time he crashed out like this, completely exhausted from a mission. “Weekend tomorrow..” You remind him with a gentle hum, swiftly removing any stray stains off the table. “Don’t you want to have a good sleep, y'know, in bed?”

He lets out a muffled grumble in response, burying his face into the cushions before he reluctantly sits up, making you smile a little more—you’d scold him regularly about lying down after eating. “What movie d’ya wanna watch?” He says even if he would usually wander his way to the bedroom after you said that. It’s been at least a month since you had been together like this to watch a movie. A lot had changed in that month, specifically your growing feelings for him. Perhaps distance really does bring fondness, you think.

“I don’t mind; you like action, no?” You finish wiping down the dirt from dinner to glance over whatever he’s doing on the television, only to find him flicking through your favourite genre of movies. Shoving down the warmth on your cheeks is near impossible as you speed walk back to the kitchen. Were these signs? Were you reading too much into it? Your teeth graze against each other nervously as you look up to see him waiting expectantly on the couch for you to join him. What the hell is happening right now? He had always gone to bed immediately or scrolled through his phone for a while— so what’s with the sudden change?

Moments later you’re sitting beside him on the couch, knees tucked to your chest as he presses play on the movie he picked—the one you had mentioned you wanted to watch when it first got announced that it was in production. Despite your excitement, you could hardly concentrate on the movie when he was practically centimetres from you. He was leaning back against the cushions, one arm resting around the back of the couch where you sat and the other comfortably against the armrest. If you had just moved your head back slightly, you would brush against his arm. If you did that, would he wrap it around your shoulders? Just the thought makes you shudder a little, your chin moving forward to sit comfortably on your knees. It was like you were a teenage girl again, sitting in the movies with your crush while you wondered if he thought of you as a friend or something more. You couldn't even believe you were acting like this—hell the two of you were married legally, not to mention you were both grown adults! Who cares if he had just stretched out his arms, his shirt riding up, and you could see the scars on his stomach? Your breath hitching when he had shuffled up to you was completely unnecessary; the warmth radiating off of him was irrelevant, no matter if the characters were kissing on the screen right now. You practically jump when he pokes your shoulder with his hand, your head snapping to him instantly, and you can barely even form a noise when you see how close his face is to yours. His eyes had to be one of your favourite things about him, or was it the messy mop of dirty blond hair on his head? It could even be the sharpness of his jawline, the lines of wear beneath his eyes, how perfectly his nose seemed to be carved, or perhaps, crazily enough, the way his voice rang out in your ears in the mornings.

“Do we have any dessert? I’m craving something sweet.”

Every step back into the kitchen is like torture from how hot your cheeks are, the cold fridge air doing nothing to soothe the embarrassment as you grab the microwave puddings you had bought today. You can't believe you had been so flustered by the proximity that all that had escaped you was a strangled noise before you just hurriedly nodded and escaped to the kitchen. Those five seconds between the poke and his words felt like a millennia— an incredibly romantically tense millennia— where for those whole five seconds, you stupidly thought he’d kiss you right then and there. You fan yourself as if that’ll soothe the metaphoric rush of warmth in your face right now, incredibly embarrassed by your own thoughts and desires. When you sit back down again, you quickly hand him the hot pudding and sit further away from him this time. If you even felt that again, you felt like you’d simply explode altogether.

Unbeknownst to you, he was now wondering if you were annoyed that he had interrupted, and he frowned as he glanced down at the plate with just a singular spoon. Weren’t you going to eat too? Not to mention, you were all stiff and sitting further from him than before—now you’re really twisting the knife in his heart. First he had agitated you by teasing you about Ada, then he laid on the couch right after dinner like you always told him not to do, and now you even refused to eat dessert! Maybe he isn't putting enough effort into all of this as he originally thought. After all, you did a lot to run a bakery in town and still cook, clean, and look after his cat. So, he decides to take a shot and scoops up a particularly chocolatey part of the pudding, the part he always eats first, and holds the spoon up to your lips.

“I know you’re mad, but you can't deny this.” He plasters his typical boyish grin, nudging your lips with the metal of the spoon. But he’s caught off guard when you pull back in surprise, waving your hands around frantically in denial. “H-huh? I ate a lot of sweet things today already—”

“Shut up. Don’t you dare even say you’re on a diet either; you’re perfect already.”

He pushes the spoon against your lips which you accidentally part in surprise at his words, the warm chocolate filling your mouth immediately like an instant boost of serotonin.

“See, it's good, told ya.” He says smugly as you swallow down the tasty pudding and sauce. That’s only for a moment before he notices the smudge of chocolate around your lips from his struggle, casually wiping away the crumbs with his thumb before licking it.

He had just wiped the crumbs.

He wiped it from your lips.

He wiped it and then licked it off his hand.

He didn't even think twice.

“I-its not bad-” That was all you could mutter out before he committed the crime, and now you were left dumbstruck as you watched him casually lick his thumb and then take another spoon of the dessert—the same spoon you just ate from. He leans back against the couch again, about to shove another in your mouth once he gets comfortable enough, though he quickly realises that you still haven’t spoken since. “You can’t still be mad; I’ll shove another one in your mouth, you know—” At that, you know you’re sure to blurt out the truth, and you scramble up, about to make an excuse about needing a glass of water, before your wrist is caught in his hand, and you’re promptly pulled back against the couch again.

“Hm? Where are you going, pink cheeks?”

He says it teasingly, instantly making you flush all the more. You couldn’t understand how anyone could even be so casual about these things, not that you had little experience in the area, but seriously— he had literally just licked the chocolate on your face. That was an indirect kiss!

“Do you do this with all your friends?” The frown on your face is suddenly a little harsher, accusing, and suddenly there's a hint of betrayal. That only serves to confuse him more, you’ve been acting off for a while now, had he cheated in his sleep or something? “What? You’re not my friend, though? That's not comparable.”

He doesn't even see you as a friend? You can't help the way your heart drops in a way you’ve never felt before in your life; it almost hurts the way he can just so easily dismiss you after all the time you’ve spent together—contractual or not. “I- I see how it is..”

“See how what is? You’re not making much sense.” His eyes narrow as you suddenly turn your head away from him, arms crossing firmly on your chest, but what doesn’t escape him is the sudden daze in your eyes. Gently, his hand grabs your chin, squashing your cheeks as he forces you to face him, and his mind instantly clicks all the pieces together.

“.. (Name).” He says firmly, making you let out a small hum in acknowledgement, unaware of the way your eyes are suddenly a lot wetter than they had been before.

“What did you drink earlier?”

“What? All I drank was water, mostly.”

“What about when I told you about Ada, was that water?” Your eyebrows furrow as you hear him repeat her name again, immediately growing more frustrated. “What about her now?”

He lets out a heavy sigh, wrapping a firm arm around your shoulders before he forces you to settle against the couch against him. “You drank some of my drink, didn't you? You were way too annoyed to even notice the whiskey I mixed in.”

The thought immediately clicks into your head; everything is suddenly a lot clearer now, even though you still weren't quite sober yet. Plus, you were pretty much a lightweight when it came to his strong stuff. It perfectly explained the warmth spreading through your chest, the uncoordinated actions, and the way nothing seemed to follow the way your head wanted it to. “S-still, you said I’m not even your friend.” Gently, his thumb rubs the tears that have formed in your eyes and tucks you close into him with his arm snugly around you. Just in case you decide to face plant off the couch as you seemed to want to do before. “You’re not my friend; you’re my wife. Who else would I treat like that?”

“I’m not your real wife though.” You slowly look up at him, turning your head, so your glossy eyes can stare up into his, searching for the right answer— the truth.

“Those papers seem pretty real to me. The way I feel is also pretty real to me.”

He grins at you like he hadn't doubted that fact for a second, and he hadn't, not since you both had signed and received the certificate, one he sometimes sneaks a small fond peek at whilst you’re sleeping. Not that he’d tell you, at least not yet.

“But— I’m not your wife; that’s my title, but I don't act like that.”

“So? I still love you as anyone would with their wife; do you really think I wouldn't fall for you? You’re even more perfect than I imagined.”

You’re momentarily stunned into silence, not quite expecting that but still not believing it quickly, your tipsy mind making you say things that you never would before.

“That's because I do everything for you— not that I mind b-but, I just act like a good partner. You don't feel romantically for me.” You huff, your teeth gritting together as you pettily narrow your eyes at him. What you hadn't considered is that he’d tuck your hair behind your ears, carefully pull you into his lap, and take one of your hands in his. He fondles your hand beneath his, his thumb rubbing gently over the skin before he brings it up to rest on his cheek, smiling fondly at you.

“I’ve been busy, I know. It’s quite hard having an agent as a partner, no? I already regret all the love I've lacked to give you.” This time, you’re positive that your cheeks are reacting to him, breath hiccuping when he turns his face in your grasp. His lips press a kiss to the palm of your hand before intertwining that hand with his and holding it against his heart.

“You just had to go get tipsy, didn't you?” The warmth of his hand on yours as he squeezes it gently is like a drug, one that squeezes your heart at the same rhythm whilst his teasing voice dances in the air around the two of you.

“Not my fault you always have to have a glass with dinner..” You grumble, not happy with how fast he had proven you wrong even if he had just confessed to his deepest feelings. He finds it quite endearing how stubborn a little bit of alcohol can make you. ”Alright, we can blame me for this one. How about you finish this pudding with me, and we can get you settled in bed, how does that sound?”

Before you know it, he’s wiping chocolate stains from your lips again as you sniffle in his lap, mumbling some nonsense about your so-called lack of lovelife while the movie plays in the background. He enjoys all your little comments about the movie, even when you subconsciously glance back at him when the couple starring do something romantic. Taking you up to bed is easy enough considering you’re only just bordering tipsy at the moment and you hardly weigh anything compared to the things he usually deals with. Your head just lolls lazily as he helps you upstairs, your eyes slowly blinking up at him when he sits you on the edge of the bed. “What pajamas do you want, pretty girl? How about your favourite?” The water he helped you drink before had sobered you up a little so you’re starting to feel better already. However, your mind is still a little hazy so you just nod along, not minding if this is the first time he undresses you.

Making sure to be gentle with you, he strips you down to your underwear before helping you pull on your warm sweatshirt and plaid pants. His lips twitched upwards when your own fingers tried to beat him with dressing yourself, finding it adorable how you still insisted on doing everything yourself. He could just put you to bed, but after watching for countless nights how you slave away at your skincare routine and keeping your teeth brushed well— he’d feel awful if he broke that. Before you know it, you’re sitting on the sink as he gently holds your jaw, his other hand using the electric toothbrush to clean your teeth. You’re a little uncooperative, swerving your head away at first until you just settle into a sleepy calm and he handles you with no problems. In no time he has you back on his lap, sitting at your small vanity as he carefully attempts to remember the order of your night time routine. What even is this? He thinks as he picks up a suspicious looking serum, labelled as snail mucin and gives it an experimental sniff. He thought it’d smell worse to be fair.

“No, you have to put the toner first and then the serum.” You mumble at him, gently tugging at his hands with your fingers and before he knows it, you have a toner pad all up in his face, wiping over his nose and cheeks before you cover the rest of his face.

“Hey- i’m meant to be doing your skincare. I don't need this stuff.”

He almost feels a pang of hurt in his chest as you raise an eyebrow at him, as if accusing him of having bad skin. With a huff, he removes the toner pad from your hands and throws it in the bin before gently pulling at your cheeks. “I have great skin, thank you. Dont give me that look.”

You immediately frown and attempt to puff your cheeks, causing him to have mercy and let go before he grabs a new toner pad and repeats your actions to yourself.

When you come back to your senses, your head is smushed against a pillow whilst he changes by the closet behind you. Your thoughts don't feel as hazy as they used to be, and you’re even starting to contemplate everything that happened earlier. Did he really mean what he meant? Did he actually like you.. romantically? You physically cringe at your own thoughts and hide your face behind your hands, groaning just quiet enough that he doesn't quite hear it. Sleeping next to him had always felt odd to you, but you always slept at different times so it never really felt romantic in any sort of way. You liked to stay up late and he liked to get a decent rest before the next morning. It was only recently that you started glancing at his sleeping face beside you, admiring the peace in his expression when he lost himself to his dreams and no other worries. Otherwise, it just felt like a roommate, nothing more nothing less.

But now his trousers were falling to the floor behind you, and you were laying in bed not quite falling asleep nor attempting to stay up. Suddenly, he wanted to sleep with you, not only beside you. It suddenly felt all too real that you two were actually married, actually partners and actually slept beside each other each night. What next, were the notes you left in his lunch romantic too? In truth, you were slightly freaking out but that might’ve been the alcohol making things a hundred times worse than they should’ve been, especially since you had started crying unannounced earlier. That’ll play in the back of your mind forever but for now you’re focused on his soft footsteps as he approaches the bed, dressed in a much looser shirt and pants. He always slept like this but this time he looks down at you, one finger gently poking your cheek as he sits on the other end of the bed.

“I actually prefer to sleep with my shirt off. But we always fell asleep at different times so I never got to ask your permission.”

He hums quietly, the finger now gently rubbing along the soft curve of your cheek instead.

“You can.. I don't mind.” You say quietly, eyes trailing over his form as he settles himself against the headboard right beside you. Touching you.

“Are you sure your cheeks won't get too red?”

He teases, hand moving towards the top of your head to gently card his fingers through your locks. You push yourself up to a sitting position, letting out a soft yawn as you do so before you blink at him hazily again. This time, you press forward and place your hand on his abdomen, absentmindedly rubbing your finger there back and forth. “I want to see your injuries.”

Not even he can stop the way his face softens at that and he tucks you into his side again, his other hand pulling the shirt up and over his head to discard onto the carpet beneath the bed. This view is only for you: his paled skin, the fresh scars, the old scars, fading bruises and fresh bruises, stitches that fall out and others that are pulled tight but most of all, his body. All for your eyes only, only for you. Your hand runs gently over the outline of his newest bruise, a deep purple that covers the entire expanse of his hip. It’s blooming into something worse and you’re sure it’ll hurt more tomorrow, not that he’d ever complain about that anyway. “You always come home with injuries, and you just play them off. Don't they hurt? Don't you want me to care for you?”

You say quietly, voice even softer now that you’ve sobered up, and he just lets out a breath, his face turning to watch the way your brows furrow and your lips press together. To have someone fuss over him like this is something he never thought about much, but it didn't mean he hadn’t craved the idea before. Yours was genuine worry, and you always held that genuine care for him. But it felt different now, more natural, more intimate. Like he was the only one you would worry about like this— he loved that feeling.

“I don't ever want you to worry about a thing, even if I do like the way your eyebrows crease when you do.” He chuckles softly, leaning down to press his lips affectionately against your hair before sitting back up properly again. “I suppose if you really want to.. I couldn't deny I'd be flattered to have you care for me.” The curve of your lips is what makes him smile as well, finding it all too endearing how easily a grin can form on your face.

“You’re such a flirt..” You mutter, trying to play it off and wiggle out of his hold on you, only serving for him to raise an amusing brow at you. “I’m only making up for what I can’t do to a tipsy girl.”

“I’m not tipsy..” You argue, sitting up a little straighter which makes his arm gently rest on your lower back instead.

“Oh? Really now? Let me test you then, since I used to be a policeman.”

“Fine, give me what you’ve got.”

“Sing the alphabet backwards if you’re sober.”

You instantly splutter, shaking your head quickly.

“Hey! Not even a normal person can do that. I knew you didn't actually like me.” He has to stop himself from rolling his eyes up at your grumbling, squashing your cheeks to make you shush.

“Is it really a crime that I don't want you to forget our first kiss because of some stupid whiskey?”

“Your stupid whiskey.” He finally rolls his eyes at your retort, gently pushing you back into bed and pulling the covers up and over you. “Alright fine, my stupid whiskey. Now, be honest with me, are you sober?”

The little frown on your face has disappeared with the hope his question brings, and you nod quietly, wide eyes looking into his.

“Are you very sure?” You were definitely sober now, his voice immediately lowering to a rasp as his hands travel up to cup the soft curves of your cheeks as they begin to turn pink. Just like that, he’s the man you’ve fallen for all over again, soft strands of fair hair framing his chiselled face as if they’re perfectly placed to put you under his spell. His index tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, gently rubbing the skin of your cheek with his calloused thumbs. His skin is so rough and yet you can't help but feel he is so soft at this moment; his eyes are like gentle waves, looking at you so fondly that you finally remember to reply.

“I-i'm sure.”

He doesn't hesitate, leaning in closer until his nose just touches the tip of yours, eyes locked onto every small movement you can even think about doing. “Can I?” The nod you give is the green light he’s always dreamed of; this day is all he has ever thought about since you joined his life. You let your eyes flutter closed, feel the warmth of his breath that tickles your skin as he draws closer and closer until his lips meet yours so gently. You have to physically stop yourself from giggling, probably the alcohol still trying to make a fool of you, but you just can't believe he’s the one wrapping you in his touch. Likewise, you wrap your arms around his neck, and he lets out a small gasp when you suddenly gain the strength to meet him upright, almost as if you’re threatening to pin him instead. Of course, he couldn't just let that slide easily. So, as anyone would, he pushes you back down into the mound of pillows, causing you to squeal as he leaves his touch all over your face, fleeting kisses painting your skin a rosy red. “You better not forget this in the morning.” He scoffs playfully as your eyes squeeze shut, giggles that spill out your mouth while he gives the affection he’s craved to gift to someone for years.

His job is hard, his life has been hard, and even this marriage initially felt the same. It wasn't so much the fact that he had essentially tied himself down to someone he barely knew, it was the realisation that he would never find his one person. That's why he did this after all, it seemed like it’d benefit the both of you and the day where he’d actually have a woman by his side slipped away with each mission. You, you were different though. You may have been an agent before, but outside of work you were the sweetest thing. Always subconsciously fussing over him, delaying sleep to prepare his lunch no matter how much he insisted you didn't need to, taking a personal duty to look after his cat, and still not being afraid to ask him when he seemed low or uncomfortable. You were everything he never had, even the annoying nagging of trying to get him to not lay on the couch after he ate or the fact that's his third whiskey yet.

Corny lines, the occasional flirty remark, dragging you to watch a movie— he wanted to do all of that before so you’d become actually his, actually the one he could say he loves and loves him back. But things got in the way, life got in the way, and he was starting to see his opportunities dissolve with each tired return from the mission. Despite his grumpy attitudes some days, his exhausted look as he collapsed into bed at eight, you still managed to fuss over him all the same— never once did you treat him differently, if not for the fact you’d cook him a slightly nicer meal after missions.

He was still busy, yes of course, but somehow he had managed to win you over. Maybe it was his silly jokes, though he’d seen you stare at his hair many times before so maybe that caught your eye. In any case, he’s happy to give any part of him to you, if not all of him. So when he’s pressed the last kiss on your nose and pulls the covers high over you, he tucks you into his chest, a final kiss to your temple as he looks down at your angelic expression. The way your smile curves at literally nothing but his touch is enough to make him fold right there, but he doesn't right now, squeezing you against him.

“Goodnight, sweetheart. I love you.”

He whispers out, and you can't ignore it, eyes snapping up to look at him just from those three words. He sees the wonder in your eyes, the way they question the truth and if this really is real. Then you nod slowly, tuck your head into his chest, nestled against the beat of his heart.

“I love you too.”

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