Re4 Og - Tumblr Posts

hes so cunty like bro is so full of himself (real) anyways you wrote him SO RIGHT like when i tried playing re4 og it was like "this man would definitely smirk at you for no reaon" and rando shit like that so CHARACTERIZATION? ON TOP

THE BLOND KEN LINE?? >> chefs kiss

will shamelessly admit after reading this im going to stalk the rest of your account forever 🥰🥰

pretty fly for a white guy

✎ There has always been a thing between you and Leon. But you didn't give in, yet you screwed up, taking something treasured that belonged to him as a prank and ending up losing it. Oops. The years somehow got in the way till you saw him at a party. The same cynical man and all he wants is his sweet revenge.

cw: getting it in a bathroom, creampie, snitching panties (as a souvenir), unprotected sex, fem! reader, MDNI

bonus(ish): i just imagined the OG re4 Leon and thought yeah let's write something about his brat azz

find this work on ao3

The music is blaring. The blood is running red hot, and the alcohol is falling out of the air. It’s free for you, you’ve joined some kind of a charity and it’s the kind of boon you can enjoy for no charge, it’s that kind of a night. What else can you do when there are bone-crunching gusts of wind blowing through your bank account?

It’s another thing to swallow your pride and agree to be here. As an ex-agent. And why’d you leave? Well, depression. One word. It’s more or less enough. Of course, you were, and still are, a competent woman. But even the shitload of money you made wasn’t curing your post-mission blues.

Resign and use the money you have left to buy a jungle house and a country life away from the city, away from the racket. The kind of life that every agent aspires to, or people who have fucked up at some point in their lives wishing they could reset everything.

In the midst of all these faces, all the while, you feel so numbly alone. Everyone knows about everyone else, but not sober enough to give a shit. Just like Chris Redfield, who’s now in communion with the karaoke machine. He’s clearly stoned. Or Jill, who’s sitting next to him, and the only thing she’s doing is tipping her bottle of hooch over her head. Definitely worth a look. Worth going up to her and striking up a conversation with her. No matter how dumb drunk you are, old friendships are always of inestimable value.

“Aaaanddddddd I uuuuuuuhh—” Chris is humming a Celine Dion song in an earworm of a pitch, and you’re hunkered down next to Jill, sipping your Merlot. A huge bottle is already gone. You're definitely in deep doo-doo.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Will this guy ever shut up?”

“How exceptional is Chris’ tipsy ass.”

“Like his voice?”

Inebriated laughter tends to be more hysterical, which indeed it is, since you are getting quite enough judgmental looks from other tipsy and judgmental eyes. So what? Chris’ voice and singing is bearable, but your laughter is not.

Jill storms angrily to her feet and leaves you sitting where you are. As if she’s never been so methodical in putting the others in their place, she clenches her fist and knocks out the first person who happens to be in her way.

Then that blonde secretary woman from those movies hits her heels and shouts a long “FIIIIIIIGHT!” at the top of her lungs in her treble high-pitched voice. Is this what this is? A high school? Grown people, men and women with jobs and in charge of protecting the country are fighting like immature adolescents.

“Chris! Jill’s in a fucking fight. She just punched the shit out of a guy!” You frantically point to the crowd. But the guy is so banged up that the microphone falls out of his hand, and he collapses, ass out, like a Sim passing out on the spot from lack of sleep.

“You’re kidding me?” Like a farmer who has lost everything in a tragic fire, you slam your palm on your forehead in abject despair. The familiar voice ringing in your ears and the hand on your shoulder are rather startling, if not downright unexpected.

“Take a look at this mess.” He spins you around with a shallow swoop. Hah. Of course. That face.

A cocksure smile, blond Ken, and gun-metal eyes. Leon.

The man you haven’t seen in years and whose face you realize is ashen from the grind of the time, has rendered him jaded, but handsomely. How the hell?

He claps his hand against each other as if he's picked up something dusty and lets fly your shoulders.

“Oooff. One hell of a scrap.”

“Yeah... About that. Jill got caught in the middle. Uh, we’d better help.” No sooner do you step in than he jerks you by the arm and shakes his head as if you've just made the world’s most irreversible fuck-up.

“Tch, not so fast, dummy.”

Yup. On to the mayhem. Your and Leon’s kerfuffle is a cluster of turmoil within a monolith of tumult. The thing is, on a mission years ago, you snatched a knife that he owned, a souvenir of a man named Marvin. And why did you do that? A little prank between the two of you. Till you mislaid the knife and sucked all of Leon’s goofy humor right out of him. That flirtatious, carefree man was long gone, and he became a bitter, frustrated man.

Yeah, you were quite in tune with that playboy side of him. He flirts with everyone, for God’s sake, as if tomorrow is the last day of the world and he just can’t leave like a lame virgin before diving into a hole. In this throng of women came the receptionists, Ingrid Hunnigan, and then you.

One rejection, followed by another, and then you. A rejection plus a resounding bitch slap right across his cheek.

Such 'a one at a time ladies' moment.

You are the cherry he wants to pop, so to speak. A pretty, pretty girl who would nail a dynamic Leon while he fucks and whack the dew out of him as he goes in raw to hit the hilt. His fantasies are sordid enough to be taboo, but fortunately Leon has no qualms about airing them and watching your ears flush red with sheer indignation. You’re the one directing the flow of blood to his dick, and you’re the one stimulating him to give him a mean boner. That’s a big yikes.

“Jill can take care of herself. Gotta give credit to our super cop.”

“So what? You’re just going to dump your friend in the middle of a fight?” The tremor in your voice, the touch of sheer aggression and the scowl he had grown inured to is a thing he has missed about you.

“Eh. No trouble. The tigers are playing around. ‘Cept that big boy,” he motions with his head to Chris and his fat bum as he lays on the floor.

“Some friend you are.”

“Yeah. Like you, a decent friend who didn’t lose anything that’s sentimental to me.”

“You’re seriously still there? Jesus Christ, Leon.” With little regard for your words and the implications behind them, Leon pushes you away from the crush of people with his gloved hand on your back. Seriously, the gloves must be important. Even during a fancy event, he’s got those fingerless ones, like those ones he wears during the missions. Quite effectively, maybe perfectly, he drags you out of the room, because when you express an adverse reaction, nothing but a raspy gasp comes out of your mouth.

“Well, shame on you. Haven’t even done anything yet and you’re already gasping like you got hot and bothered.”

Trouble personified. Maybe he should have a third name or something, right after Scott. The sound of the ruckus, the staccato of the music, the click of your frantic heels on the slate tiles. Everything is abrupt but at some level thrilling.

Spine-tingling because it’s an enigma how exactly you ended up in this bathroom, perched upon the basin of a sink in a marmorean surface. Your dress is hiked up, your dainty thighs and legs are proffered to him, wobbly legs tangled around his hips. The panties are already a wet manga and, on the floor, your tits jutting out of your low-cut cleavage, free since there is no bra to hold them up. Are you shooting a porn movie or is it just a small reunion between old friends?

Freshly filed fingernails scrape like rakes on his back, the glove of his gun-wielding hand is soggy, his cock slams into that spongy spot deep inside, as if it’s always been there, , slipping in and out. That same stroke can knock you off balance, or worse, knock you fall, but the grip of his free hand on your hip is assured. Yet it doesn’t inhibit you from jolting.

Brazenly. You can’t reproach the way his eyes drifted to your tits, the way they bounce with every thrust, it would be a felony in Leon’s mind, if he didn’t pay attention, if he didn’t appreciate them.

“You little cunt. Could’ve taken me every night if you weren’t stalling me so much in the first place, day and night.”

“What more do I have to do to get you to shut up?” Your teeth kiss your bottom lip and the hand that was wrapped around the base of your throat no longer grips your hip. You're on your own and on top of that you’re now lightly getting choked. His slick hand brushes the loose tresses that have tumbled in front of your eyes back from your scalp and probes the glazed glow in your vision. This face, this glare, this body, everything is his handiwork in Leon’s eyes. Those fantasies of his are finally real, much more exquisite than he imagined in his head.

“Nothing. Pussy’s so fine, I’ll bet she hasn’t taken anything as good as me.”

You don’t make a peep; you just stifle those pathetic whimpers, tasting the coppery tinge of the blood on plush flesh. Like an inspired artist, he decides right then and there to fill you up. You definitely deserve this, after all. And of course, his big mouth won’t shut up.

“No retorting? Too fucking big for you?” And yes, right then your eyes roll back to your skull, a labor to your cervix, more thrusts, bruising. You cum on the spot. The clamor outside breaks into peals of laughter, Leon's panting and potentially dirty words are wasted as bullets whizz past your ears, deafening you in the process. In that split second he releases your neck and yes, your beaded necklace is severed in pieces so fast that you barely register how it happened. The whole thing is too chaotic, he’s still buried, twitching inside. But a shot that fills you to the hilt, he cums inside, leaving everything. The kind of mess that you’re gonna be leaking of him for days.

“There you go, beautiful. Nice and all clean, took me prettily.”

Before you know it, he pulls out of you, zips up the fly and snags your panties off the floor. A puckish grin on his lips, the azure of his eyes twinkling with tenacity.

“What?!” He mouths, feigning a pure state of stupefaction. “Is this a little gift from you for making me hold on for so many years?” He gives a dry fit of chuckles, and just casually smacks your already overstimulated cunt.

“Oh, how sweet. Hell yeah, I’ll take it.”

the real difference between re4 og leon and re4r leon is that og lets the autism shine and is himself without a care in the world. he is free, oh he shines so brightly, he is living his worst best life

re4r is autistic but he tries to mask it and it fails miserably. you get a look of that man and you know he is not neurotypical. no way in any jose. he just tries to not and then boom! wow that did not help your case buddy