Leon x Reader | Happy Ending | Resident Evil (Games)
š Summary: The mission may have ended, but the story didnāt. When the covers drop and the keys are returned, Leon and you finally face what was real all alongāand decide not to let it slip away. This time, no pretending. Just love.
š Special thanks to the lovely @axerrri who requested a happy ending for Part 2āthis oneās for you! š
Read Part 1 >>> HERE <<<
The final week of the mission arrived with the same deceptive calm as the rest of the suburb. White fences gleamed beneath the soft glow of porch lights, lawns carried the scent of fresh-cut grass, and Brenda still waved far too cheerfully from across the street, her endless casserole dishes a constant reminder of the strange life youād been living. Yet beneath that postcard-perfect image, you could feel the weight of the end pressing downāeach glance with Leon edged with the unspoken question: what happens after this?
HQās call came the night before extraction. Umbrellaās operatives had been neutralized, evidence secured, and your cover assignment officially ended. By morning, youād hand back the house keys and return to being just two agents with badges and filesānot rings and routines. You were supposed to feel relief, but instead the thought left you restless and hollow. The house was too quiet, as though it knew it was about to be stripped of the warmth it had borrowed. The rooms still carried traces of you both: laughter echoing faintly in the kitchen, the scent of burnt lasagna clinging like an inside joke, the low rumble of Leonās laugh drifting through the living room.
Sleep eluded you. You sat up in bed, staring at the fake wedding photo still pinned to the fridge across the hall, the stiff smiles now softened in your memory. Thatās when you heard itāLeonās knock. Not sharp or professional, but soft, hesitant. He stepped inside, hair tousled, sweatpants and a plain shirt replacing his usual tactical edge. He looked less like the legendary agent whose name carried too much weight, and more like the man who had fallen asleep beside you during late-night surveillance shifts.
āYouāre awake,ā he murmured, voice thick with something unsaid.
āSo are you.ā
He lingered at the doorframe before crossing the room to sit on the edge of your bed. His eyes searched yours, as if trying to memorize every detail before it slipped away. Finally, he exhaled.
āI donāt want this to end.ā His tone was steady, though you could hear the storm behind it. āNot the mission. Not⦠us.ā
Your throat tightened. āLeonāā
āI know it sounds insane. We were supposed to fake a marriage. Maybe it started that way, butāā His hand brushed yours, thumb tracing small circles. āIt stopped being fake a long time ago.ā
The silence felt fragile, like glass holding a whole world inside. You laughed softly, nerves bubbling through the smile tugging at your lips. āGood. Because I was afraid Iād have to be the one to say it first.ā
Relief washed over him so vividly it made your chest ache. He pressed his forehead against yours, and when he kissed you, it wasnāt hurried or stolen between mission briefings. It was slow, deliberateāevery second steeped in the weight of everything youād been holding back. The walls of the fake house didnāt matter. The neighbors didnāt matter. For once, it was just you and him.
Morning light crept through the blinds, gilding tangled sheets and warm skin. For the first time in weeks, the house didnāt feel like a set. It felt like home. Cheryl arrived promptly at nine with her clipboard and overenthusiastic smile, chirping about āthe next lucky newlywedsā as you handed back the keys. You nodded politely, but when you slid into the car with Leon, you noticed the gold ring still on your finger. You started to remove itāthen paused, seeing he hadnāt taken his off either. Neither of you spoke. You didnāt need to.
Back at HQ, bureaucracy took over. Debriefings, forms, endless reports. The mission reduced to black-and-white text, stripped of the color that had defined it for you both. Yet when Leon walked out beside you afterward, his hand brushed yours and didnāt retreat. In broad daylight, in front of colleagues and strangers alike, he didnāt let go. No cover. No neighbors. No charade. Just you.
Weeks later, life had shifted into a new rhythm. No surveillance gear humming in the background, no Brenda knocking at your door with questions about children. Instead, it was Leonās jacket slung casually over your chair, his mug sitting beside yours in the sink, a playlist youād made together filling the kitchen as you cookedāburning Brendaās lasagna recipe spectacularly but laughing until you cried. On nights when nightmares clawed at you both, comfort came not from pretending to be married, but from knowing you truly werenāt alone.
One evening, Leon stood in your kitchen, sleeves rolled up, hair a mess, fixing the jammed drawer he had once silently repaired during the mission. You caught yourself smiling, realizing just how much had changedāand how much had stayed the same.
This time, you werenāt undercover. This time, you werenāt living a story scripted for someone elseās benefit. You were exactly what you had pretended to be: a couple. Only now, it was real. And for the first time in years, that reality felt safer than any mission could ever promise. What began as an elaborate charade had grown into something unshakably genuineāsomething you no longer had to fake, because you didnāt want to.
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