Chapter Text
You just slept with the most beautiful guy in the world. How? You had no fucking clue.
The worst part was that you didn’t even get the chance to revel in it. Reality came crushing down on you like an avalanche the moment your eyes opened to the sight of a bedroom you only recognized as not your own.
Why did you let this keep happening? Waking up next to men you didn’t know, unsatisfying nights because most of them couldn’t or didn’t bother to find your clit. Every time your friends asked why you kept doing the casual sex thing when it obviously wasn’t for you, you didn’t know what to say.
You sighed softly. Trapped in an endless cycle, looking for… well, the most clichéd thing of all. Love. Acceptance. And in all the wrong places. Strangers’ beds were not the place to find it. But dating hadn’t been the right place either. Wasting time and energy on another guy stringing you along, only to turn around and call you repulsive after you slept together was the last thing you needed.
Quietly, you shifted onto your side. Don’t be awake, please don’t be awake. Your gaze landed on the hard plane of his back, and you couldn’t help but be relieved. He was gorgeous enough to impair your judgment and you didn’t need that.
And then the underwire of your bra prodded into your ribs like it wanted to punish you for even considering doing something out of character. Fucking underwire. You swore bras had a personal vendetta against you—which, you know, same. You lay back, forcing the thing into a less uncomfortable position and settling with your fingers slipped under the underwire as you stared up at the plain white ceiling.
You’d kept it on for once. Always tried to cling to it, never could. Men were too eager to peel it off you, you were too eager not to end up with bruised ribs in the morning, so it always just kinda ended up in a heap on the floor, too far out of reach to put it back on again until you were done. And then when you were, he couldn’t hand it to you fast enough.
They loved the fantasy hiding behind that sheer fabric and hated the reality.
You were kinda proud of yourself. Sticking to your guns for once. Aching ribs were easier to deal with than that look of disappointment. And you’d still had shockingly good sex, so, win-win.
Or more like a win-win-win because this mysterious Leon Kennedy was hands-down the most handsome man you’d ever seen in your life. You were never gonna top this, never ever.
…Huh. So this was what peaking felt like. All downhill from here.
You moved your fingers out from under your bra with a silent grimace and inched your way over to the side of the bed. Where the fuck did he throw your underwear? Stumbling around with only your bra on felt so wrong when it was always the first thing you took off the moment you walked into the safe embrace of your apartment.
The bed springs made a squeaky noise and so did you when Leon’s voice, cracking with early morning weariness, greeted you with a casual, “Mornin’.”
You dived down to snatch his shirt off the floor, holding it out in front of you as he pushed himself upright, blinking the sleep from his eyes. Fuck, where did your underwear go? Fuck fuck fuck—
He ran a hand through his messy blond hair, a vision fit for a painting exposing the dangers of sinning as he gave you a lopsided grin that made your stomach tilt in much the same way. “Good mornin’,” he said, like the sight of you was worth the addition of the word ‘good.’
“Morning,” you said, clutching his shirt tighter against your exposed skin. No quick getaway for you today.
The sunlight filtering through the curtains hit him as he got out of bed, highlighting the rippling muscles in his back like god himself felt the burning need to watch Leon stretch like a cat after a solid nap.
This man was the embodiment of the perfect male physique, but did he have to act like he was well aware of that fact? Standing there all casual-like, flaunting his confidence in your face while you were trying to channel your inner Sherlock to solve the case of your mysteriously missing underwear.
He strolled over to you without a second thought. “Shower?” he asked, not bothering to bend down and pick up his boxer briefs that conveniently had not gone missing.
Fuck it. If he had no shame, why should you have any? Your gaze dropped, and all you could hear was static. Leon’s impressive half-hard cock greeted you and—dick math. You were gonna have to do dick math. Shower plus half-hard cock equaled fully erect, minus your bra…
“No,” you said weakly, tearing your eyes away from your impending downfall, “I’m good. I’ll shower at home.”
You were going to take the win, not let a second and last time ruin it.
That cheeky grin slowly left his lips. Probably didn’t see it coming that you’d refuse him. “You sure?” he asked, finally bending down to pick up his underwear. Oh—shit, there were yours! “Got pretty hot and heavy last night.”
You reached for the waistband with your big toe, dragging them slowly over to your side. “Yeah.”
Almost there. Almost—
Leon picked them up off the floor just as they came into your reach and dangled them in front of you, quietly celebrating the triumphant return of his grin. “Could get the shower to steam up pretty good, if you’re up for it?”
God, what you’d give to just say yes.
“Sorry,” you said. Steam was not a protective barrier you could wrap around yourself like a sheet. It couldn’t hide the fact that gravity wasn’t just a theory.
He put your underwear in your hand and you hoped he’d at least give you the chance to get dressed before throwing you out of his apartment, now that his chances at getting laid again were zero. You shimmied them up your legs one-handed, the other keeping his shirt firmly pressed to your stomach to avoid giving him another eyeful of the pussy he’d intimately familiarized himself with last night. Several times.
Remembering it just made the ache in your chest worse. The first guy who didn’t treat licking your pussy as a punishment but as a gift, who wanted to fuck you again, and you were holding off on it—why? It wasn’t like a guy this hot was ever gonna call you again. Or maybe he would, if you didn’t give in. Hadn’t ticked the box properly yet, after all.
Fuck a chick with big tits—check. A novelty to be done and discarded.
No. No, not again. You couldn’t be that mark on some guy’s checklist again.
“Think I’m just gonna head home,” you said, lying your way through the conversation with a smile. You gave him back his shirt and went looking for the rest of your attire. Probably looked like you’d been caught in a vicious whirlwind with the speed record you set for how quickly you yanked everything back on.
“Not gonna stay for breakfast?” he asked, and for a moment, you were fairly sure you’d imagined it. Too busy figuring out your shoelaces to pay attention to anything else. But then he waved his hand in front of your face and repeated, “Hey, breakfast?”
Was this the first time in the history of mankind that the male party of the one-night stand equation asked the female party to stay?
A guy this pretty had to be twisted in some way. Was he really that desperate to see you out of your bra? Did men just enjoy twisting the knife or something?
“Been told I make a mean pancake stack.” His jokey tone made you look up at him. Thank god he put his dick away. Tying your shoes was hard enough without that thing in your face, reminding you of your poor decision-making.
“I’m not really hungry—”
Your stomach interrupted you in the middle of your lie with a rumble loud enough to shake the entire building.
The corners of Leon’s mouth twitched while your face grew so hot you could’ve lit the fucking place on fire, but at least he didn’t laugh at you. Small blessings.
“Feel free to use my shower,” he told you as he headed for the doorway to where you were fairly sure the kitchen should be. Kinda stumbled your way through the place last night, so you couldn’t be sure. “I’ll get started on those pancakes.”
“You really don’t have to,” you called after him.
Fuck. ‘Shouldn’t’ was the magical word here. Who was he trying to fool? Both of you knew you were never gonna see each other again after today.
You slumped over. Your clothes were sticking to places they shouldn’t and it still felt like sweat was drying on your skin, your thighs were slicked again just because you caught another glimpse of that perfect ass of his earlier, and the taste of his saliva lingered in your mouth—and that’d be all well and good, hot even, if you loved him. But there was a wide gap between knowing and loving someone, and you couldn’t even say that. Beyond his name, you knew nothing about him.
A shower was starting to feel more like a need than a want.
Gaze trained on the doorway Leon disappeared through, you shuffled on over to the bathroom and groped around blindly for the handle. Leon, Leon, Leon. Your brain latched on to his name like he was gonna be Mr. Right when you didn’t even know if he remembered yours.
Just in case he had a change of heart and tried to join you in the shower, you locked the door behind you.
Alone. In a stranger’s apartment. In his bathroom to clean up and join him for breakfast.
You knew how to handle getting kicked out as soon as the sun had risen.
You knew how to handle a guy referring to you with the wrong name.
You didn’t know how to handle this. How could you? You didn’t even know what this was.
Well… at least his place was nice and clean. You’d lost count of all the times you’d gone into some guy’s bathroom only to run out with a full bladder. How hard was it to sit down or raise the fucking seat? Jesus.
You stripped down and got in the shower. Clean drain, too. No stray blond hairs—or worse, curly ones.
With the hot steam enveloping you and the warm water raining down, you picked up his body wash and gave it a sniff.
Oh. Fruity and sweet. Not at all what you expected. But you did remember thinking he smelled nice when you met him. It was missing something, maybe his cologne had some different scents, but it was pleasant. Not overbearing. You’d met far too many guys who wore their BO as a perfume.
Leon was different and it was the nice kind of different so far. Unnerving, but nice.
“Doing it again,” you mumbled to yourself as you washed the grime off you from last night. Building a man up in your head only for reality to tear the perfect image down. He wasn’t the first man who smelled good and kept his apartment clean and he wouldn’t be the last.
But he was the first and only one who invited you to eat breakfast with him. Your stomach growled at the reminder like it was demanding you stay, and you wanted to but you didn’t. Because this was still a hookup and you knew better than to expect more from nights like this. “I’ll call you,” always turned into deafening silence.
You finished cleaning up and got out of the shower, fixing the towel underneath your tits to keep it in place while you dried your hair. Wrapping it around yourself was a futile endeavor you’d long since given up on.
The bathroom mirror reflected a foggy, blurry outline of yourself back at you that thankfully didn’t clear up until you’d hoisted yourself back in your clothes.
You leaned on the edge of the sink and stared at your frowning face. Were you supposed to just walk out of here and join him? This was weird. He didn’t know you, knew nothing about you except that you drank and put out without so much as a first date.
An easy girl like you never got the guy. He was more interested in using you—once, twice—and then tossing you aside to pursue a ‘proper’ girl, one he could bring home to meet his parents.
One he could undress without cringing.
You splashed some cold water on your face and crept out of the bathroom and down the hallway. Maybe if you were quiet, you could sneak out—
“Good shower?”
Fuck. Right, you remembered now. His kitchen had an open floor plan. Kinda hard to sneak out the front door if it was right in his line of sight.
“Yeah,” you said, awkwardly bouncing your arms against your sides, “the hot water was nice.”
“Thought it might be,” he said, shoveling another thick pancake out of the skillet and topping off the stack. Golden brown and fluffy, your stomach grumbled eagerly at the sight. “You want syrup?”
You hesitantly walked up to the other side of the kitchen island and propped your arms up on the countertop. They smelled really good. Freshly made, not some chemical mix from Betty Crocker. “Didn’t think you could cook,” you said as you tore off a piece to taste test it.
Oh, he cooked. As a kid, you’d think about eating the clouds and knew they’d taste like cotton candy, but adult you knew clouds had to taste like Leon’s pancakes.
“Holy shit,” was all you managed to get out before stealing another piece. Crispy on the outside, fluffy on the inside, and sweet without being cloying.
God could smite you for blasphemy for thinking it, but it was true: they didn’t need syrup at all.
Leon pushed the plate towards you, lips twitching like he was suppressing a smile. “Gonna take that as a compliment.”
There was an, “Oh my god,” hidden somewhere among your pornographic moans. You plucked at that pancake stack like a squirrel gathering nuts for winter, stuffing your face full until all that was left were a few sad crumbs on the plate.
Shit. You didn’t mean to eat it all. Your stomach finally stopped complaining, but the last thing you needed was all those calories going straight to your chest.
Not really his concern, so you didn’t mention it. It was kind of him to make you breakfast before kicking you out.
“Do you always take such good care of your hookups?” you asked. Curiosity had to be abated because you felt like you’d ended up in a parallel universe.
“‘s good manners to offer someone breakfast when they spend the night, yeah?” he said casually, dipping a ladle in the pancake mix and adding it to the pan. “Made some coffee too, if you want any.”
“Thanks…”
Was it just you, or was this way too intimate? Pancakes, coffee, a hot shower. No rush to get you out the door because he had work, or because his kid was getting dropped off, or worse, because the girlfriend he failed to mention was due to come by any second.
They always had some kind of excuse ready. It got to the point where they didn’t have to bother telling you to get the fuck out anymore, wrapped up in whatever niceties they could manage. You’d turned it into a sport to see how fast you could get dressed and leave because they sure as hell never asked you to stay.
Well… neither did Leon. Making you breakfast did not equal, “Stay.”
You weren’t sure if it was delusion or a desperate need, but you always kinda hoped someone would say that to you. Wanted more from you than a night of sex. Hell, at this point, you’d be happy if someone asked you for a repeat, pathetic as it was.
The hiss of batter in a hot pan wasn’t enough to distract you from wondering when he was going to ask why you were still sitting there. He’d fed you, offered you coffee, and now it was time to go.
“Want another?” he asked instead, flipping the pancake over.
Would it really be so bad if you did?
“No,” you mumbled, “that’s okay.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah—” You attempted a casual smile. “—calories.”
“Calories,” he repeated, those blue eyes piercing into you like he found the gaps in your armor. “Pretty sure we burned a lot of ‘em last night.”
‘A lot’ didn’t necessarily mean ‘enough.’
“Didn’t think you’d be the kinda girl who stuck to salad on dates,” Leon went on to say, scooping the perfect golden-brown pancake out of the pan and onto your previously empty plate.
How would he know?
“I don’t date,” you said, the bitterness of your words overtaking the sweetness on your tongue.
TMI, TMI, TMI, you idiot! God, why didn’t you think before opening your mouth?
“I see.” He put another ladle’s worth of batter in the pan. “Not looking for anything serious?”
You shrugged, your shoulders hunching forward. “How serious can hookups get?”
His lip curled in that lopsided grin again. “Pretty serious.”
Great. So other people could find a relationship through a one-night stand, but not you. Just great.
Did you exude an aura of ‘please use me’ or something? Why were you always the go-to gal to fuck and dump?
Tears prickled the corners of your eyes. No, no, no, you had to get out of here, you had to get out of here now. What little dignity you had left would be shattered if you allowed yourself to break down in front of him.
“I gotta go,” you said, your voice wavering a bit already as you slunk out of your seat, rapidly blinking away tears while your face was turned away. “Thanks for the pancakes.”
“Want me to wrap these up for—”
His words chased after you, his sentence forever unfinished as you shut his front door behind you and pressed yourself up against it to steady your shaking limbs. The prickling turned into a blur, hot tears rolling down the curve of your cheeks that you stubbornly brushed away with your sleeve.
Crying after a hookup, fucking classic. You at least managed to bite back your sobs as you headed down the hallway, determined to face the outside world with red, swollen eyes but nothing more. Public transport people were nosy and you didn’t need some middle-aged woman pretend she gave a shit about your nonexistent boyfriend troubles.
You were on your third glass of wine, watching some unrealistic romcom that happened to be on TV when your cell phone buzzed. You reached behind you, groping around for it on the armrest of your couch. Oof, that was close, almost fell on the floor again. Your neighbor wasn’t happy about that the last time it happened.
You weren’t expecting any calls. Probably a certain worrywart friend asking how your week went. Was gonna be a short one because she didn’t need to know that you went home with some guy you met at a bar again, and you didn’t need the ol’ stranger danger lecture again.
Flipping your phone open as you took another swig of wine, your thumb crept over to the button to answer the call when your gaze fell on the name on the screen.
Leon.
…Leon?!
You bolted upright, wine swishing dangerously close to the edge of the glass.
The same Leon whose apartment you escaped from this morning? Why was he calling you? Did you leave something over at his place?
No, you were pretty sure you got everything…
Your phone kept buzzing. Angrily, like a swarm of wasps caught in your hand.
Guys never called you. Sure, they told you they would, great night and all, but they never did.
You could think of only one reason why. Leon didn’t get to see all of you, like the men before him did. Gravity didn’t shatter the illusion for him yet.
Fuck a chick with big tits—a big fat red X instead of a check mark.
This was uncharted territory.
You took a deep breath, your heart pounding against your ribs so hard it made you nauseous, and pressed the button before you could lose your nerve. “H-hello?”
Leon’s voice crackled to life with a neutral-sounding, “Hey.”
“Hi,” you said before you could stop yourself. He laughed and you wanted to shrivel up and die.
“You left my place like the grim reaper was on your ass.” The ill-disguised notes of humor in his voice didn’t ease the feeling. At all. “You okay?”
“Huh? Uh—” Excuse, excuse, you needed a believable excuse—wait, why did he care if you were okay? “—yeah. Fine. Needed to be early for work,” you lied through your teeth.
“It’s Sunday.”
…Fuck!
“I work Sundays,” you insisted. Plenty of people did, no reason you couldn’t be one of them.
There was a pause at the other end of the line. “All right.”
He didn’t believe you. Of course he didn’t. What kind of moron would risk a hangover and potential pharmacy run for Plan B on a Sunday morning before work?
Seconds of silence ticked away, stretched for what felt like an eternity, and you half-expected the line to go dead any moment.
“So…” you began, tapping your nail against the side of your glass. You had to ask. Had to know. “Why did you call me?”
“Right, yeah,” Leon said, almost like he forgot he was on the phone with you in the first place. “Just wondering if you were doing anything next weekend.”