this is a multifandom side blog i use to reblog fanfics, smaus, headcannons, etc. i reblog all sorts of fics including, but not limited to— (n)sfw & dead dove.
if you don’t want to see dead dove, block this tag -> ( — dead dove . )
— TAGS
— lea’s blog . — lea’s navigation . — lea’s queue .
— fandom . — character .
romance 101; guideline #14 — keep it real, the movies give butterflies but they’re often misleading. when you show affection, don’t follow a script.
masterlist — previous | next
❥ fun facts !
[name] is in the marketing program.
kiyoko models on the side, she’s slowly been appearing in fashion shows.
kageyama has been drinking orange soda 3x a day, it’s a new addiction.
love sick ! a suna rintarou social media au
synopsis. cupid! calling cupid! as the resident matchmaker slash hopeless romantic of tokyo university, you are the person people look for to get love advice or to set them up with the love of their lives. when suna rintarou comes to you asking for the opposite, to help fend people away from trying to get with him, to the extremes of even asking to fake date you, you couldn't refuse! mostly because you did owe him since he was on the receiving end of a bunch of your clients’ unsuccessful love efforts (hey, you do warn them your matchmaking only has a 62.3% success rate).
a/n — i was just rlly itching to update ! lol, i was also rlly productive schoolwork-wise today hehe
note: check out this post to see if you already asked to be in the taglist before and “like” to confirm that you still want to be tagged. i posted love sick a year ago and don’t want to bother people who don’t want to be in the taglist anymore.
if i can not tag you, please change your mentions settings to “everyone” thank you!
romance 101; ideal partner #3 — someone who is kind, sweet, and honest.
masterlist [ check mlist for profiles ! ] — previous | next
❥ fun facts !
[name] has a romance guideline she wrote when she was 15 (she still updates it) (its her way of manifesting).
semi started a band in his 1st yr and they’ve been gaining popularity rapidly.
they have life360 as a group and atsumu spams everyone with “charge your phone 🔌”.
love sick ! a suna rintarou social media au
synopsis. cupid! calling cupid! as the resident matchmaker slash hopeless romantic of tokyo university, you are the person people look for to get love advice or to set them up with the love of their lives. when suna rintarou comes to you asking for the opposite, to help fend people away from trying to get with him, to the extremes of even asking to fake date you, you couldn't refuse! mostly because you did owe him since he was on the receiving end of a bunch of your clients’ unsuccessful love efforts (hey, you do warn them your matchmaking only has a 62.3% success rate).
note: check out this post to see if you already asked to be in the taglist before and “like” to confirm that you still want to be tagged. i posted love sick a year ago and don’t want to bother people who don’t want to be in the taglist anymore.
if i can not tag you, please change your mentions settings to “everyone” thank you!
masterlist — ppl who think love sucks + [name] — episode one
suna’s life is basically just volleyball and his phone and his studies and did i mention volleyball? he’s a part of the college volleyball team along with atsumu and kiyoomi. suna already had a bunch of people vying for him since high school but he was never really interested in anyone at all, which makes atsumu teasing him because of all the people throwing themselves at him now in college even more unbearable.
to the outside world (meaning: people who are not close to suna) knows him to be intimidating and sarcastic, but that doesn’t scare away any of his admirers nope (unfortunately for him, that is exactly a lot of people’s type).
suna is currently a second year in tokyo university and lives outside of campus with osamu, his best friend. suna thinks living with osamu was one of the best decisions he’s ever made because of how good of a cook osamu is, it’s like he gets a personal chef… but osamu would smack him if he called him that and would probably never cook for suna again. suna likes his food thank you very much.
atsumu and sakusa are roommates living in the dorms. how this happened… oh well! sakusa ran out of options and atsumu was right there sigh (they actually live together just fine, until atsumu tries to rope him in one of the thirst trap videos he liked making).
the gc was created when they were first years in inarizaki by atsumu. really, it was just atsumu, osamu, and suna until atsumu added sakusa in their second year where he proclaimed sakusa was one of his new best friends (the gc name was never changed, no one really cares enough to change it anyways).
suna and sakusa actually get along really well because the twins could be too much sometimes, literally double the trouble. osamu is quiet but he’s just as sneaky as atsumu and together they’re a devilish pair (poor mama miya). suna and sakusa actually enjoy getting matcha before training on the days where their schedules match, it resulted into some really interesting conversations! like how everything has tiny living organisms surviving on it…
there have been plenty of times where suna found love letters in his bag or few times his way has been blocked by someone who was really really obviously dropping hints that they wanted to go out with hum. first it was love letters, then it was homemade sweets, then other gifts… it’s not that he doesn’t appreciate it, but man he just wants to be left alone!
that’s when he finds out that they were getting the courage to do all of this because of someone called [name] who in their words was “practically cupid”, suna got curious and tried to find who that person was. he found out that she was some love guru in the university, that’s what the people say. he soon figures out that this [name] who was practically cupid was the same [name] that atsumu kept blabbering about. suna only saw her in passing and they never really became acquainted with each other, but he knew of her existence.
the only ever real interaction they had with each other was when a girl was publicly professing her love for him and he ignored her and he got frustrated when she kept throwing herself at him so suna pushed her away. the girl fell and the only person who had the guts to help the girl was [name], who was watching the whole thing play out.
okay so they were technically on bad terms.
and it was probably a bad idea to use [name] as an excuse for his admirers to leave him alone, but she does owe him for indirectly tormenting him for months. also if [name] was some sort of cupid that brought hearts together, she should know how to make people go away too, right?
love sick ! a suna rintarou social media au
synopsis. cupid! calling cupid! as the resident matchmaker slash hopeless romantic of tokyo university, you are the person people for look to get love advice or to set them up with the love of their lives. when suna rintarou comes to you asking for the opposite, to help fend people away from trying to get with him, to the extremes of even asking to fake date you, you couldn't refuse! mostly because you did owe him since he was on the receiving end of a bunch of your clients’ unsuccessful love efforts (hey, you do warn them your matchmaking only has a 62.3% success rate).
a/n — all of my body is aching! i blame my period! and i still have something due at 11:59 send help
to those i can not tag, kindly change your mentions settings thank you!
note: this is not the whole taglist, it’s been a year since i posted the masterlist to love sick and there may be people who don’t want to be in it anymore so i’ve only tagged those who confirmed they still want to be in the taglist through this post by liking or commenting as i don’t want to bother people! hehe
love sick — profiles: ppl who think love sucks + [name]
masterlist — inarizaki dogs | episode one
[name] has been invested in finding “the one” ever since she was little. this was mostly influenced by her parents who were so deeply in love that taught her to seek the kind of love she deserved to have. it became worse when she was 12 and was exposed to the world of romance books, you could say she loved love.
[name] has a sort of “love guru” business going on, except she’s unpaid. it all started during first year, where she helped a guy from her media literacy class named akaashi keiji confess to his long-time crush who was their senior, bokuto koutaro. the confession went well and they ended up dating, bokuto teased his friend to get advice from you and in his words “maybe your crush would like you back” (the response of said friend was “don’t call it a crush, what are we, highschoolers?”).
[name] did end up giving good advice and bokuto’s friend eventually started dating the “crush”. a rumor started spreading that [name] was real-life cupid and a bunch of people started reaching out to her to ask for help. it became such a big deal that [name] ended up creating an email for them to send their love-related concerns (in it, she mentions that to keep in mind her acads come first!).
the mini “business” ended up being a hit and she developed many nicknames in the process, like “resident cupid” and “campus sweetheart”.
[name] is a 2nd year student along with atsumu while kiyoko and semi are 3rd years and kageyama is a 1st year.
[name], kiyoko, and semi are childhood friends (but kiyoko and semi are older than [name] by a year), they lived on the same street, so they’ve practically known each other forever. they all went to the same junior high but split up in senior high school, kiyoko went to karasuno while [name] and semi went to shiratorizawa. this meant it was harder for them to meet kiyoko constantly, [name] and semi had to dorm within campus because they lived a bit far from the school itself.
[name] met kageyama when she went to one of the volleyball tournaments and kiyoko introduced them to each other. they instantly hit it off ([name] found him adorable and so “little brother coded”) because of [name] being so talkative (kageyama kept thinking how she acted so much like hinata).
[name] and atsumu became friends the summer before the start of the first semester, while [name] was moving in to her new dorm. it was very much a meet ugly because atsumu accidentally splashed his drink on [name]’s brand new sweater (and his first reaction was to flirt with her), [name] responds by saying it was alright and ignored his attempts. atsumu became curious and not long after they realized they were assigned to the same hall! (you have no escape now).
atsumu soon realizes the two of you had too similar personalities and became partners in crime. then you soon figure out your lives were more interconnected than you thought (he knew kageyama). you don’t know since when has your life been surrounded by volleyball (you were always the most unathletic person in the room).
it was only until all of your worlds collide one saturday morning where you accidentally make plans with all of them all at once (you were out of it because you stayed up late responding to love advice emails) that they all became friends too (semi and atsumu instantly hit it off, kiyoko is civil with everyone, kageyama was still in miyagi).
you, you were just happy everything in your life was falling into place just the way you like it!
until of course, suna rintarou came into the picture. none other than atsumu’s friend you don’t acknowledge and the name constantly found in the emails you receive.
love sick ! a suna rintarou social media au
synopsis. cupid! calling cupid! as the resident matchmaker slash hopeless romantic of tokyo university, you are the person people look for to get love advice or to set them up with the love of their lives. when suna rintarou comes to you asking for the opposite, to help fend people away from trying to get with him, to the extremes of even asking to fake date you, you couldn't refuse! mostly because you did owe him since he was on the receiving end of a bunch of your clients’ unsuccessful love efforts (hey, you do warn them your matchmaking only has a 62.3% success rate).
a/n — belated happy valentines everyone! (still valentines for some people tho i think) i hope you guys has a nice day :)
to those i can not tag, kindly change your mentions settings thank you!
note: this is not the whole taglist, it’s been a year since i posted the masterlist to love sick and there may be people who don’t want to be in it anymore so i’ve only tagged those who confirmed they still want to be in the taglist through this post by liking or commenting as i don’t want to bother people! hehe
social media au, college au, fake dating, matchmaker, romance, crack, humor, fluff!
cupid! calling cupid!
a/n — why, hello there lovely hoomans it doesnt make sense rn but it will make sense lmao u may be asking y d hell is sakusa here 1. i wanted to add him 2. the trio adopted im 3. i missed him
taglist is open ! (will be removing users that cant be tagged once the smau officially starts) + @yas-mjm @slut444spencer @agirlwholovesalot @omitea @pettyjayy @polish-cereal @yenqa @lilolpotato @kellesvt @whorefornoodles @yyuiz @pelicanpizza @not-another-ackerman @fairywriter-oracle @noideawhothatis @alienvarmint @kooki-doughs @kittycasie @rintarousprincess @cheezitwh0re @yaboiithewreck @zephestia @reina-de-tay @lvsalmendra @thebrownemo @mellowknightcolorfarm @nicerthanu @wolffmaiden @ilovesillycats @eyes4ren @2baddies-1porsche @bluegrey02 @qualitygiantshoepsychic @honeyisnotclever @themoonreflectsthesun @lylovw @fo-love @buggy-cj @cloudsvna @haruskatana @notkaycee
Malcolm looks across at you walking beside him. You’re smiling, though your gaze is set firmly on the street ahead of you. He hasn’t even really realised that he’s holding your hand until you start to swing it.
His eyes flicker down to your hands.
“Oh, that.” Malcolm squeezes your hand.
He holds your hand a lot, though he never means to. Whenever he’s anxious, whenever he feels stressed. Holding your hand brings him back down to earth. In general, you tend to do that a lot – but especially whenever you’re holding his hand, your fingers entwined with his.
“I’m not letting go,” he says.
“Who said I wanted you to?” You raise your eyebrows.
Malcolm smiles. He enjoys that he doesn’t look like the type of person to like public displays of affection. He isn’t, really. He doesn’t like kissing you in public, he doesn’t even much fancy hugs in public. But hand holding? That’s one thing he’s okay with. That’s one thing he feels comfortable with.
You swing your hands again and he stifles a laugh.
“And are you going to keep doing that?”
“Yeah,” you hum. “It’s the unspoken rule of holding hands with me.”
He smiles to himself. “I think I can live with that.”
✧˖° Thanks to the Trickster, Sam Winchester is thrown into an alternate universe where you don’t know him at all—even though, in his world, you’re his long-term wife. The catch? Here, Sam is Jared Padalecki, your least favourite co-star. To be able to go back to his universe, he has exactly one month to make you fall in love with him again. Does Sam have what it takes to turn your disgust into desire?
✧˖° Thanks to the Trickster, Sam Winchester is thrown into an alternate universe where you don’t know him at all—even though, in his world, you’re his long-term wife. The catch? Here, Sam is Jared Padalecki, your least favourite co-star. To be able to go back to his universe, he has exactly one month to make you fall in love with him again. Does Sam have what it takes to turn your disgust into desire?
✩ Notes;
⋆ No OC, Y/N insert, fem!reader
⋆ AU enemies to lovers, strangers to lovers, angst/yearning, slow-burn
Heavily inspired by Heartache on the Big Screen - 5 Seconds of Summer and The French Mistake 6×15.
summary: a late night at the firing range forces you, a weapons maintenance technician, to cross paths with leon, the top dso agent. there's an undeniable pull between the two of you. but who will be the first to pull the trigger?
tags: weapons maintenance tech! reader x agent! leon, sfw, slow-burn (at least my attempt at one lmao), coworkers to lovers, mutual pining, eventual smut (just hold onto your panties okay), implied age-gap (no specific ages stated so its really up to your interpretation)
word count: 3k
a/n: the job came to me out of nowhere. since capcom makes shit up as they go, so should we lmao. and while i love fics where reader is leon's handler/assistant or a fellow dso agent, i want to explore other professions that overlap with leon's (and not repeat the same writing), so hopefully i can think of some other ones! :3
this is ch. 1, i'm thinking of having 4-5 parts total
Drab walls of the DSO's office surrounded you, their dark shade rivaling the night sky outside. The overhead lighting was harsh, failing to add any warmth to the atmosphere.
As a Weapons Maintenance Technician, you were used to cold circumstances. The job was a tedious and unforgiving affair.
You were responsible for accounting for inventory, inspecting weapons, performing diagnostics, and so on. You primarily worked during early mornings and late nights, the job forcing an odd schedule upon you. Highly classified missions were what threw you off schedule. Agents could be deployed at any time, and in those moments, your schedule was all over the place. It led to you being unfamiliar with DSO agents; they were a foreign concept, your professions sharing parallel paths, never crossing.
Your days dragged on, but you'd take the monotonous lifestyle over any of the other employees who directly dealt with BOW's. Swerving into the firearms closet, a clipboard and company laptop in hand, you began your work. Fortunately, the easiest task was left for the end of the night: an inventory check.
But tonight, something was evidently amiss.
All shotguns were in place except one, the place where the weapon was supposed to be staring back at you in mock amusement. The hollow space it was supposed to be occupying was missing. A faint shot echoed a distance away, resolving the short-lived mystery.
The shooting range was in close quarters with the firearms inventory. It was only reasonable to be set up this way, with easy access. Leaving your clipboard and laptop in the weapons closet for safekeeping, you made your way to the shooting range. A faint annoyance arose, and you paced yourself. Not only would you have to ensure the weapon was accounted for, but you’d have to double-check its condition and usage. It was uncommon for you to hold a grudge or dislike against any agent—you never interacted with agents much to begin with— but the resentment was growing. Who in their right mind practices shooting in the middle of the night?
You were quiet when you slipped through the entrance, the repeated gunshots cloaking any sound your footsteps made.
A broad, shadowy figure stood a few paces away. You could only catch a glimpse of the mystery man's side profile from the firing lanes.
His face wasn’t aged by time; rather, hardship and pain engraved themselves into his skin. Nevertheless, you could tell the mystery man never suffered a loss of beauty from his youth; that much was evident in your first glance.
His pretty-boy looks were, however, overshadowed by his rugged handsomeness. Every part of him was defined. His jawline, his massive biceps,
For a moment, you just stood there, captivated by the mystery man’s fluid moments. It wasn’t often you were able to witness any of the agents in action, but you could tell something was different about this one.
You were in awe of how a man could be simultaneously beautiful and handsome.
A small part of you felt like a schoolgirl crush was forming, but that was curtailed when you realized you had work to do. Plus, who exactly was this man?
You watched in the shadows until something more salient than a gunshot ricocheted across the firing room.
“You just gonna stand there and watch?” A smooth, deep voice interrupted the quiet.
His eyes met yours. Gunmetal blue.
He lowered the gun slowly, removing his headphones.
When he felt the weight of a pair of eyes on him, Leon expected it to be a rookie agent. A handful of new agents tended to overwork themselves, as if to prove they should be in this hellhole with him. Most of them liked to shadow him. A combination of wanting to follow in his footsteps, become a renowned agent, or simply pursue the man.
One look at you unraveled his hypothesis. Your posture showed a level of experience and skill no rookie had mastered yet. Your hair was dutifully guided away from your face in an elegant, stylish bun. Leon preferred women with their hair down, but he found himself admiring your look nonetheless. Similar to him, you were also dressed in black. Though your outfit lacked certain aspects that defined an agent. It was too sleek, almost loose, and casual. It was devoid of any clutter, physical or mental. Everything about you was light. Your garments, your expression, and your aura. Despite this, there was a sharpness to your silhouette, as if you knew more than you let on.
“And just who might you be?” He probed as if you were the one encroaching on his space.
“Weapons Maintenance Tech. The reason your gun never fails you during your missions.” You answered without missing a beat.
He let out a noise between a scoff and a laugh. A smirk found itself on his face. “I guess I owe you a thank you then.”
He began emptying the shotgun, indicating he was done for the night. You couldn’t tell if it was out of politeness or if he had been there for longer than you assumed. He was being thoughtful, though, attempting to ease your workload as he polished the gun to hand back to you. You found your grudge against DSO agents diminishing.
“Surprised we haven’t crossed paths earlier.”
You let out a half-shrug. “I work odd hours. It makes more sense for us not to cross paths. You getting some late-night practice in?” You took the gun and the remaining ammo into your hands.
It wasn’t just any gun; the man was handling a shotgun with a devastating recoil. His physique suggested levels of strength you couldn’t fathom, but the evidence was in your hands. He had piqued your interest in more ways than one.
“Practice?” He shot you a look as if to say, ‘Practice? At this age?’
“Who knows? Maybe you’re getting rusty,” you simpered.
So not as professional as he thought.
“I’ll have you know I’m not as rusty as I look. Leon S. Kennedy.”
The man introduced himself, and you offhandedly thought how cute it was of him to address himself with his full name like that. You returned the pleasantries with just your first name.
You hummed, looking over at the targets he shot. All clean hits.
“Not bad,” you said with a playful smile.
“Not bad? Well, I’ll be damned to know what qualifies as a good shot in your books.”
You grabbed the shotgun and ammo, reloading a few shots. Three consecutive bangs rang out, the smell of gunpowder refilling the air.
Leon's eyes widened, and an eyebrow cocked up. You had hit his shots. You had shot… exactly where he shot.
He let out a half-smirk, half-scoff. "Well, color me impressed."
"Looks like you still have room for improvement. Keep practicing, Kennedy."
Before he could respond, you had already turned around and exited, leaving Leon alone with gunpowder residue.
Now alone, Leon shook his head, a small smile on his face. Just who the hell were you?
~
The next few days dragged on as usual. You were settled in the breakroom in your department. Your team was too niche to have its own faction, so you coincided with the Logistics and Operations department. You got to meet all kinds of personalities there, but your go-to for check-ins and updates was Jessica, one of the Operations Managers.
The pair of you were seated at one of the break room tables. Jessica had opted for black coffee, her usual. Today, you decided you have some strawberry yogurt, a light snack to get you by.
"Funny thing happened the other day," your voice rang out, slightly muddled from the yogurt.
She hummed, probing you to continue.
"There was an agent at the firing range at around 1 am. Using the RSh-12, of all shotguns. Can you believe that?" you scoffed.
"Those guys are a different type of crazy." She took another swig of her black coffee. "The shit they go through. I'd leave them be."
Hushes of horrors of bioterrorism traveled through departments. Only employees directly involved with B.O.W.s could attest to what nightmares existed beyond the normal realm. It painted DSO agents as some mythical legends; consequently, you never knew the exact nature of their work.
You rolled your eyes. "It's not like I bullied the guy out of the building. Besides, he was so smug about it. Maybe he was blowing off steam? Using the gun as a therapist? Either way, he clearly knew his way around." Your spoon scraped against the bottom of the yogurt container, the friction of plastic releasing scratching noises.
Jessica donned a downward smile. It was rare for you to be irked over a coworker, let alone random agents you barely interacted with. "This agent, what'd he look like again?"
Jessica was far more extroverted than you, the older lady making her way around. She likely knew who he was. You’d give her details to indulge her, of course. Not because any part of you was curious about the mystery man from a few nights ago.
“For starters, he had a side part, light eyes, and-“
She sputtered. "L-Leon"
You raised a quizzical eyebrow. “I didn’t even give you the full—“
She scrambled to set her coffee cup down, interrupting you once more. A long sigh followed. "Dear," she rubbed her temples "Please don't tell me you have no idea who Leon Kennedy is.”
Your blank face met her exasperated expression.
A harsher exhale escaped her this time. She pushed her chair uncomfortably close to yours. "Raccoon City. Rescuing the President's daughter. The man who-"
She didn't need to list any more examples in a harsh whisper. The yogurt was long gone, but you found yourself choking on it despite this.
Somehow, through your mundane and redundant work schedule, you had forgotten one of DSO's— no, America's top agents.
Your cheeks warmed. Usually so thorough and technical in your work, you felt embarrassed at your oversight.
You racked your brain for the memory of when you met Leon. Were you actually being rude? It seemed mutually playful, and from what you could recall, there was no scowl or irritation throughout the interaction.
The memory of teasing him about needing practice and leaving abruptly flashed in your brain. You grimaced.
Was it worth it to seek him out and apologize? Or would you just be stroking his ego instead?
Your expression must have shown a faint flicker of worry because Jessica was rubbing your upper arm in comforting motions. "Hey, don't sweat it, honey. He's not as scary as he looks. He's a real neat guy."
Maybe you'd leave it to fate after all. If the two of you crossed paths again, you'd bring it up. But again, it was unlikely— DSO agents and techs like you rarely overlapped.
~
Today was troubleshooting Thursday, the workload focusing on repairing malfunctioning weapons; your specialty being firearms, of course.
You were alone in the metalworking workspace, sunlight filtering through the wide windows, the serene lighting contrasting with the work at hand. A wave of tranquility washed over you.
It was nice to be alone sometimes, away from the frantic buzz of your coworkers. Although crowded with tools lining the walls around you, your mind remained clear. Here, you were able to think and move freely.
Fortunately, the number of diagnostics to run today wasn't overwhelming. Tools and malfunctioning pistols littered your wooden workspace.
Each gun told a story. An agent’s drive to serve, an employee grappling with a last resort, or a weapon that was pushed to its limit. They were all from different paths of life, united by the need to be solved. Disregarding the nature of your work, it was almost poetic.
As you tinkered around, faint thuds echoed in the hallways, and subsequent footsteps would follow. You never paid any mind to them when you were in the workshop. People knew to leave you alone; you were rarely disrupted during these moments.
Heavy footsteps, presumably from someone wearing combat boots, scattered through the hallway.
It wasn't until the footsteps were right outside your space and a series of knocks with the door swinging open that you found your illusion of peace falling apart.
Deja vu bubbled up inside of you, an outlier throwing off your tedious schedule, and your heartbeat quickened, already suspecting who the culprit would be.
Gently placing your tools down, you lifted your head to meet a pair of blue eyes. Leon S. Kennedy.
"Hey, I've got a—" his dialogue was cut short when he registered your face.
Leon rarely ventured into any weapon repair spaces; there was an assistant for that. But today, he had a special request and wanted to personally discuss his needs, gun in hand. The last thing he expected was to meet the elegant technician from a few nights ago.
Once again, you donned a refined, chic bun. Much like female field agents, he had guessed the hairstyle was best suited for your kind of work as well.
Your clothes weren't as dark and mysterious today, nor your expression as cool and calculated. As a matter of fact, you looked as bewildered as he. Except he could feel sheepishness radiating off of you, likely from catching you off-guard in a space that was clearly meant for your solitude.
"We gotta stop meeting with guns around."
He cracked a joke, albeit a lame one, to ease the tension.
You could feel your shoulders relaxing and found Jessica's words ringing true. He did seem nice.
"Hard not to," you replied. You took notice of the gun in his hands. "Did you need help with something?"
“Yeah,” his forearm rotated, an attempt to display the firearm. “Was hoping someone could take a look at it.” He met your gaze in a silent request.
You acquiesced and stretched your hand out. Leon gently placed the firearm in your palm.
"It's my handgun, had it for years, but I'm looking to upgrade it now. Think you could help me out here?" he detailed his request.
You gave it a once-over, a SIG Sauer P320 handgun. "It's definitely doable. We have the parts and can customize it for you. What exact customizations would you like and when do you need it by?"
Straight to business. It was an attitude held by most in the office, but you wore it better than others, Leon thought.
The pair of you had a back-and-forth, discussing his customization needs, the timeline, and that you'd be sure to document Leon's request, as he abstained from using an assistant here. You were relieved that your interaction with the DSO agent was going far smoother this time around. Perhaps there was no need to clarify the misunderstanding from last time.
"Alright, then. You can have an assistant pick it up by tomorrow morning. I'll have it ready for you."
"Appreciate your help here. I'll be sure to practice once it's been upgraded."
Your face warmed at his reference. "I didn't know—I had no idea you were that Leon S. Kennedy."
“That Leon Kennedy? There are others?” Another lame joke.
A scoff escaped your lips. "I'm being serious. It was an honest mistake, and I'd like to apologize for my—"
"Do you usually go around telling random DSO agents to practice?"
You were taken aback by the question. "Well, no, but I—"
"Don't sweat it. You had the skills to back up your teasing, at least." He turned, making his way to the door. "I'll pick up the Alligator Snapper tomorrow morning," he declared, once again choosing to forego an assistant.
The door shut, your retort stuck in your throat.
~
Friday morning rolled around, and you were restless in the workshop once more.
You reminded yourself he was just another agent, but Jessica's revelation kept plaguing your thoughts.
He clearly wasn't just any agent. The man had practically founded the DSO. Not to mention his mysterious past from surviving Raccoon City to rescuing Ashley Graham, the man had survived every nightmare and its adjacent horrors.
The doors swung open, curtailing your thoughts. Leon stepped inside, practically encompassing the entire doorway.
“Agent Kennedy," you announced, standing up to greet him.
“You can drop the formalities.” Leon found your greeting amusing. He was a DSO agent, not a Colonel. Did Weapons Techs really not interact with agents that often?
“Okay…” you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “Kennedy." The formality had hardly been dropped, the line of professionalism unwavering.
You grabbed the gun case and handed it over to Leon. You went through the trouble of containing his upgraded handgun in a gun case. Your thoughtful thoroughness pleased Leon.
"Thanks again," he grabbed the handle of the case, his fingertips faintly brushing over your knuckles. He threw a piercing glance your way, "If I need any upgrades in the future, would you be the person to contact?"
"Well, no. I don't primarily deal with firearm upgrades.”
“I see,” Leon replied, all too aware of the case’s rough handle against his dry palm.
“But I can make an exception here."
A faint flicker of surprise swept across his face. Perhaps the line of professionalism here was more flexible than he thought.
“Alright then. You’ll be my go-to Technician from now on. I’ll keep in touch.” Leon departed, leaving you alone in the firearms workshop once more.
The remainder of the day was a blur. You mindlessly completed the day's tasks, rattled by the morning you had.
Your mind lingered on Leon's persistent refusal to employ an assistant and deal with you directly instead. The continued absence of any assistant or ‘buffer’ in your communications with Leon was apparent. The man kept seeking you out, and you wondered how long it would be before you caved and sought him out for a change.
Once the workday was over and your head hit the pillow that night, your ears traced paths of gunshots, gunpowder faintly filling your nostrils. When you closed your eyes, a sea of gunmetal blue consumed you.
a/n: its the middle of the night and i just wanted to get the first chapter over with and post it RIP. usually summaries r the first thing i do but i had trouble thinking of one here, so its subject to change!
pairing: sam winchester x fem!reader
word count: 1.20k
summary: sam winchester masturbates to the thought of you.
warnings: sexual content 18+ mdni. sub!sam winchester. very subby!sam winchester. dom!mean!reader in a way… masturbating. teasing. edging. slight choking kink (he doesn’t fully realize he has one). crying. reader is described as “small” but guys, ik for sure no one is bigger than my boy sammy. quick sighting of yearner!sam. reader is written as a girl, but has no description. no use of y/n. sammy is a masochist.
MASTERLIST
Sam Winchester has been edging himself from release for the last hour.
His muscles tremble as his body spasms, a whimper escaping the back of his throat and through his nose as he teases the fleshy pink, leaking tip of his dick with the pad of his thumb.
His head is thrown back into the cheap motel pillows that smell faintly of stale sweat and something chemical, hair stuck uncomfortably to his forehead and the base of his neck, July's summer creeping through the casing of the windows while the AC works loudly to try and cool the room.
His head is foggy with desire, the air thick and heady with the smell of sex. His shirt is hiked up, abdomen taut, a sheen layer of sweat glistening his skin under the dull orangey-yellow light from the lamp on the nightstand next to him.
Sam desperately thrusts into his hand with fervor, dick sensitive from the on and off rutting into his hand for the past hour and some. His chest heaves, breath ragged as he imagines your hand, soft and small wrapped around him.
His back arches off the bed and he can feel a drop of sweat trickle from the middle of his back to his neck. Your eyes are lidded and sultry as your smaller hand moves up his shaft from the base to the tip at an agonizing pace. You stick your acrylic nail into the slit, and he cries out your name from the mix of pain and pleasure as he mirrors imaginary you.
The grin that graces your features is mean and erotic, sending a strike of thrill down Sam’s spine. Your hand slowly moves up and down again, over every bump and ridge with a gentle touch, until you hit the base of his cock, fingers splayed on his navel and in the light dusting of his pubic hair before you press your finger hard into the middle of his balls and slide down.
Sam is right on the edge, the pleasure too much and not enough all at once, his hazel eyes glazed over with both want and need as his other hand fists the sheets, knuckles turning white from the sheer force of his grip. His nose twitches and he groans, the coil in his stomach threatening to come undone.
Imaginary you coo's at him, mocking him with a jut of your bottom lip, stroking him at that same, slow rhythm as he pleads for more, more, more—
You stop completely instead, and he can just barely feel the tips of your newly done acrylics skim up and down the inside of his thigh, from his shaft to where his jeans hang above his knees, almost touching him where he really needs it.
Sam whines loudly like a kicked puppy at the loss of skin contact, hips involuntarily thrusting up into nothing as tears start to spill from his lash line. His nostrils flare as he breathes in and his lips purse to stop them from wobbling.
His length throbs painfully, the tip engorged an angry red, pre-cum glistening all the way down to his ballsack.
You tut at him softly, a soft smile on your face as your other hand moves up to cup his face, and he nuzzles into the palm of your hand, sniffling pathetically.
After a moment’s time, you glide your hand down his face, sliding over the sharpness of his jaw and down the vulnerable expanse of his throat, and you press down on his Adam's apple, feeling it disappear and re-appear under your fingers as he swallows heavily before taking a strangled breath of air.
Your hand starts moving again, going over the cottony fabric of his shirt, tight in all the right places— stretched wide over his biceps and taut across his pecs, till you reach the flesh of his abdomen. You splay your hands as wide as you can and move lower, fingers dipping into each crevice of his toned abs.
Sam’s breath trembles and he licks his lips, the wet muscle slipping back into his mouth before his body fully jerks, and sucks aggressively on his bottom lip to bite back a moan, your fingers dangerously close to his cock as your hand dances down his happy trail.
Moving his hand to his face, he uses the back of his hand to wipe his brow of sweat before covering his eyes of earthy hues and sky blue that seem to shift under the dim lighting, head shaking as he whines unnecessarily long and nasally. His dick thrums, a long thick vein protruding from the base, up to the tip that pulsates hard and irate, your touch still feather-light on his skin.
Sam starts sobbing and big ugly tears roll down his flushed face, broad shoulders shaking on the cheap motel mattress. His vision blurs, and with a shaky lip, he can taste the wet salt on his tongue.
Through his tears, he sees you sitting between his legs, leaning on one arm, head tilted to rest on your shoulder, and the way your lashes flutter and lips curl into that cruel grin you’re known for makes his dick jump and heart ache.
Sam’s illusion of you dissipates from in front of him and instead, he imagines the scent of the perfume you always wear, tropical and fruity, like sipping on a cocktail at the beach.
His hand grips his cock, hand much larger than yours, and starts pumping his fist using his pre-cum as lube to slide easier. The complete 180 turns his brain into mush, goosebumps erupting up his arms, and he can’t help the full-throated moan that leaves his mouth.
His fingers squeeze around the base of his shaft, fingers twisting at the top. Sam rocks his hips feverishly into his hand, incapable of producing a sensible thought besides needing to come. He’s so close, the coil wrapping tighter and tighter in itself, he sniffles and his nose scrunches.
He moves his other hand to fondle his balls and Sam sees white flash behind his eyelids.
His mouth hangs open in a silent moan, eyebrows furrowed as his head lolls to the side. He bucks up into his hand erratically, body convulsing as he cums, his release shooting out that spills over his abdomen, thighs, and the tops of his jeans.
His back is arched and his eyes are blissed out, looking and un-focused on the motel ceiling above him, body twitching from the over-stimulation of pumping his throbbing length— till it goes soft in his hand and his body drops onto the hard mattress below him.
Sam’s pulse is fast and he can feel the thump, thump, thump of his heart in his limbs. Flushed and glistening in a sticky layer of sweat, he’s now even more uncomfortable in his clothes since his senses have registered the blistering heat the AC failed to cool.
His head is still fuzzy, hair disheveled and eyes glazed as he zones out at a random spot on the popcorn ceiling, chest heaving up and down.
Sam Winchester is not sure how he’s supposed to look you in the eye tomorrow.
author's note: omg it’s been a whole year since i’ve written anything… and my first smut fic, i am so proud of my baby. this is also a (slightly) late birthday gift for me :) if you guys were wondering, the perfume is called maui mango surf and smells SO GOOD (forget it came out in 2015) and yes, my baby sammy’s nose twitches and scrunches when he’s about to come.
divider: @enchanthings. from this post.
gif: @headtraumasam. from this post.
all this while i thought reader was actually there but i guess sam is just built freaked out like this. i loveeee how visceral and vivid everything is and how he's so pathetic (i have a soft spot for subby whimpery men) and i think you nailed the desperation vibes so well!! the ending too omg it made me giggle. amazing work lea!! 🫶 please channel me your method of making pathetic men even worse 😈
YESSSSSS OMG he is such a freak, like he came out of the womb like that. HEHE THANK YEWWWW THANK YEWWW he wants reader so bad, he’s the yearning yearner who always yearns, but make it really pathetic lol… omg star ily a million thank yew for the nice reblog, SENDING YOU THE BRAINWAVES FOR WRITING THE LOSER-EST PATHETIC-EST MEN 😈⚡️⚡️