Jesus Fucking Christ You Attention Whore

jesus fucking christ you attention whore

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It's Christmas Eve and Leon can't quite wrap his head around his drop-dead-gorgeous girlfriend's need to be 4 inches off the ground, but maybe there's more to your fashion choices than what he considers a faux pas.

f / m, established relationship, tooth ROTTING fluff, the barest baby twinge of angst and surprise ending ehehehe. also, super short!

word count: 898 // read on ao3

a/n: christmas in july oh my lord. tmi i'm on my period and i've had lover by taylor swift on blast for 3 hours :( give your girl a break and pretend my dividers match

this fic belongs to sketches for my sweetheart the drunk, a collection of bite-sized fics to stretch out my writing muscles :) i hope you enjoy!

“No, sweetheart, the- no, the buckle comes off the other way.” 

If he were a lesser man, Leon would be laughing his head off at your flushed cheeks and bleary pout. You were going to do this right here, right now, plunked on the frozen stoop of your front door, mere steps from the warmth of your apartment. 

“I can take off my own shoes! I bought them my- hic! -self.”

“You did, sweetheart, “ Leon soothes as he gets down on one knee, “and I know you can take them off fine, but you weren’t drunk when you bought them, were you?”

“I’m not drunk. I’m just...” you sulk. You would have sold the act too if it wasn’t for a sleepy jerk of your head. You always get sleepy when you’re, “...tipsy.” 

Ah, there it is.

Your toes are a half-frozen cherry red as Leon unclasps the buckle adorning your beloved heels. 

There’s not much Leon can do about your affinity for heels, even in the winter, so he grew a sixth sense for detecting falls around the time you almost tripped headfirst into the Christmas table at your parents’ house. You haven’t quite put together yet why he’s so on his toes when you wear stilettos, but Leon is okay with that. Batman never reveals his identity and if this is how he keeps Gotham’s urgent cares a little less occupied, so be it.

The fact of the matter is that Leon has perfected his method to three steps:

Watch for abnormal movement in your fingers. You start fluttering them like you’re Tinkerbell. Like you’re trying to take off from the ground and fly right back up to heaven without him, and he can’t have that just yet.

Assume position when you start laughing too hard at his jokes to distract from the fact that you’re about to fall. You never laugh at his one-liners (the best he’s ever gotten out of you is a giggle and that was on his birthday). 

Engage nearest mode of rescue the second your eyes start flitting around in search of a place to land. 

But above all, the one condition that puts him on red alert is when you’ve been drinking. His sweetheart is a complete lightweight. 

And tonight, you’d had too much fun at Claire’s Christmas dinner.

It takes a little longer than usual for Leon’s icy fingers to undo the buckle on your other shoe. “The mulled wine was that good, huh?” he asks, his lips curving into a smile as he looks up at you and your crossed arms.

He gets a hmph! in response.

“You look beautiful. You always do, it’s just…could we maybe save the ankle-breaking shoes for when the ground’s not frozen over?” 

The frown flies back on your face within seconds. His peace treaty’s gone south. “But Leon, they’re my Christmas heels! I always wear them on Christmas.”

Oh, he knows. 

“That’s why they’re Christmas heels,” you point out. 

Of course, you’re right. They’re the very same Christmas heels that so rudely interrupted his enjoyment of your mom’s to-die-for lamb roast. Leon’s also sure that they’re the ones that got repurposed on New Year’s Eve two years back. He had to kiss you under the table next to the girls chowing down grapes, and it’s a lot less romantic when half of them shoot you death glares while they’re wishing to not spend Valentine’s Day alone again. Come to think of it, Leon hasn’t had grapes in a while.

“It’s not Christmas if I don’t wear them,” you mumble. 

You don’t sound so sure of yourself. 

Leon’s plea deal might be back on the table.

His thumb rubs circles on your ankle as you swallow. His knee’s freezing over, almost attached to the sidewalk by now, but your mouse-quiet confession glues him to the spot.

“I lied.”

“These aren’t your Christmas heels?”

A snowdrop tear rolls down your cheek. 

“I didn’t buy them. You did, for me. I love them. Love you.”

You sniffle so sweetly, your cheeks still candy-apple red as he wraps your scarf tighter to keep you from catching a cold on his account. But it’s not enough to distract Leon from the fact that he bought you these shoes?

Oh no, no, no, you’re nodding as Leon’s face freezes into a horrified grimace. He’s responsible for the Heels from Hell?

“Sweetheart, I just don’t want you getting hurt.” He takes your hands in his as your lower lip wobbles. He feels just awful. “It’s Christmas because I get to spend it with you, okay? Heels or no heels.”

“You mean it?”

“Those damn things have nearly sent you to the hospital, of course I mean it.”

And finally, finally, you smile. Hark! The herald angels sing. 

“Let’s get you inside.” Leon smiles back, pressing a kiss to your forehead. He’d have gotten up too if he hadn’t suddenly come to a comical stop, his left knee still perpendicular to the ground.

You look down and stifle a giggle. “Leon, you’re frozen to the sidewalk.”

“So I am. Ow.” 

You lend him a helping hand as the two of you stumble inside the warm apartment, and Leon thinks he’ll go online shopping once you fall asleep. For less dangerous Christmas heels, sure.

But also something else. Something shiny. 

He really didn’t mind being on one knee for you.

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angst writers PLZ hit my dms up. how in the flying fuck do I do this.

a coup - leon kennedy x reader || lightning strike! (fluff request)

Leon likes taking public transport home from work. It's nice to see the people he talks to occasionally in the city while helping out on the busses, so he takes it over buying a car any day of the year.

He does, however, get a glimpse of the younger people in the city on the bus occasionally—

namely you.

You take public transport once a week, and you're deathly attractive.

The first time Leon saw you, he dropped all his change comically and made a fool of himself. You had only offered him a look in sympathy, and Leon thought he was going to die on the spot. Yet, against all odds, he didn't.

So, it becomes clockwork, Leon's eyes searching for you when he boards the bus, nodding at you when you nod back. Then, he stays near to you, panic texting his colleagues with a blush he's sure is visible on his skin.

This time. This time, he'll ask if you wanna get coffee.

Yet, his phone dies halfway, panicked blinking on his face.

He was. Supposed to ask for your number.

"I'm so sorry." He mumbles. "Do you have a portable?"

You blink up at him, nodding as you dig through your bag for it.

"Your stop is next, right?" You tilt your head. "You can, um, take it with you. Just be sure to bring it next week."

"C-can I return it to you over coffee?"

He curses his stutter, and you blink up at him.

"Sure?"

Leon punches in his number to your phone when you hand it to him, and he thanks you with a wave as he gets off at his stop.

Oh. Oh. He just scored himself a date!

ugh too real

MY GIRL!!!!!!

i love this Ashley costume sm (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)

cropped / individuals