Resident Pleasure Chapter 3
Modern AU: Leon Kennedy is a shy p0rn star, you're his ace publicist. Your one job is to make his viral TikTok fame disappear. #slow burn #rom-com #workplace romance #fluff
Chapter 3. H0rny Template
(finally, your first meeting with Leon. it's very funny chapter.)
I always listen closely when people describe it. That first meeting. The one where they wanted someone right away — instantly, seriously. People off the ace spectrum, I mean. The ones who just feel it.
Since I don't feel sexual desire for people, I need to learn how to imitate that tone. Turns out, it's easy. Almost everyone speaks in the same horny euphoria template.
It's built in three stages. The first is conventional and easy to follow. Some physiological trait, something objectively sexual. Biceps, abs, an ass, a chest. Something obvious and loud — hey, you can have sex with me! The second part is my favorite. It's a small detail mentioned in passing, personal and unique. The shade of someone's eyes, the timbre of a voice, the length of fingers. Often, people name exactly the thing that doesn't fit conventional sexy-standards. Some tiny deviation in the homunculus of human libido. In fanfics and books, it always melts me when one character finds attractive the very thing the other character sees as a flaw in themselves.
Or the third part, almost a copywriter's principle — the call to action. In the finale, everyone shares their fantasies or their reaction: "I wanted to give myself to him right there, I got wet immediately, I wanted so badly to drop to my knees in front of him."
I think about this template when Leon settles into the seat across from me, glancing around cautiously. I suppose I want to put his attractiveness into some kind of frame, a comprehensible form, because his looks are disarming. The kind that provokes not admiration but shame for your own ordinariness. Sorry, am I bothering you here with my offensive normalcy?
The pause is long and awkward, and Leon seems too polite to break it. He's definitely not one of the Kennedys, and probably not a nepo baby at all. He doesn't have that radiating confidence that kids with money tend to have.
"Um… are we waiting for someone else? A manager, a lawyer, an agent? Maybe an assistant?" I list off, because clients never come alone, even when they're reaching out for PR services for the first time.
"No. No one. No manager. No agent. I work alone."
It's strange, but I decide not to interrogate him. The fishbowl is stuffy. Leon is clearly uncomfortable.
"Hm. Interesting. A solo mission, huh?" I joke. "For what it's worth, Umbrella Media does offer manager placement services, but that's handled by a different department. I can point you their way."
Leon exhales loudly and runs a hand through his hair. What if my enthusiasm is annoying him? What if he's realized I'm a rookie?
But then I notice the gym bag on the floor, the way he's squeezing a cap in his hands, the fact that he's still in his jacket. He's wearing cargo pants and a too-tight black tank top. Maybe he's connected to the military somehow?
"Sorry, I have no idea what I'm doing," he admits. "The moment they told me the right specialist had turned up, I booked a ticket and flew out."
"Oh. From where?"
"Los Angeles. That's mostly where I work."
Los Angeles? An actor? Or maybe some crypto bro or startup guy? They all try to look like actors.
"What do you do out there?" I ask neutrally, thinking about how I could discreetly google him.
"Performer," he corrects me — apparently actor has become an insult and I missed the memo. "I work in adult."
He looks like the words are hard to get out. God, I hope his reputational risk doesn't involve kids or animals. I'm not ready for that kind of disappointment.
"Adult? Aren't we all. Pretty sure they abolished child labor."
Leon shifts uncomfortably in his chair at my joke, but the corner of his mouth twitches. It feels like a tremendous victory.
I catch coworkers flitting around outside, but I keep my focus on Leon.
"Is it always like this here?" He gestures behind himself, where a flurry of papers is rising on the other side of the glass wall. "It's just, this is my first time…"
"We have an annual security system audit, since we handle a lot of confidential data. While it's underway, we run everything on paper and then destroy it." I lean in a little closer. "That's why I wasn't given your brief and no one had time to fill me in. So you'll have to tell me what happened, and from there we'll work out a rough strategy and how many specialists we'll need." I add, softer, "Should I bring you an NDA, to make this easier? Unless they've already given you one."
"No, they didn't. And I don't think it'll help much at this point." He smirks — a short, restrained breath through the nose. "I've got a problem with TikTok. Ashley said this agency could help."
"Ahh, TikTok. Always so much trouble." I take the opportunity to grab my phone and type his name into TikTok, but all I get is footage from the new Kennedy series. I search by account — nothing. "You've already deleted everything? Smart move."
"I didn't post anything. I don't have a TikTok account."
I don't understand any of this, and Leon notices.
"I'm from the old school of performers, I don't do social media. I work studio to studio, keeping my privacy. They offered to set up… accounts for me, but I turned it down."
This doesn't clear anything up for me, but I appreciate that he's trying. Leon seems like a good guy, which makes my job easier professionally but harder personally. That combination of obvious beauty, kindness, and this charming awkwardness is very rare, and I don't know how to deal with it.
"Okay…" I keep playing this guessing game. "Did something go viral without your knowledge?"
Leon doesn't even say anything. He exhales loudly and nods, eyes closed. I feel like I'm trying to crack a misbehaving schoolboy who wants to confess but is afraid of the punishment.
I close my notebook, where I ended up writing nothing at all. I prop my elbows on my knees and lean in toward him a little. I need to break through this wall of awkwardness and guilt, or we won't get anywhere. I've seen how Bela does it — surgical, professional, aggressive — but I can't do it like that. So I try it my own way. Come on, new sincerity, help me out.
"Leon, I write twenty apologies a day in case some scandal spills out into the open. Today, for one politician alone, I wrote apologies for running over a neighbor's dog, hitting on his boss's daughter, and having a thing for furry porn. And all of it, apparently, happened on the same day. The man needs to be banned from taking vacations."
Leon huffs out a quiet laugh. The line of his shoulders shifts a little, and he finally lifts his eyes to mine.
"We work with problems, we don't judge them. If you're uncomfortable, we can sign an NDA first — usually the client sends over their own…"
"No, no, it's all legal, nothing illegal." The lamplight flickers through the strands of his hair in a series of flashes. I wonder if it's dyed? There are no dark roots at all, and people would kill for that shade of blond. "So. Some of my work material went viral with me on TikTok. Set to that song, Special Guy. You know the one?"
"It's hard not to. It's everywhere." I sense that right now it's more important to keep Leon emotionally safe and maintain the connection. "The song is kind of… positive. Complimentary. Big Dick Energy enough for Atom Bomb," I quote with a smirk. "It's catchy."
"Yeah, catchy." Leon scratches the back of his head. "So I went viral to that song, and now a ton of people… want me. They found my work email, my private Instagram, I've gotten a flood of contracts from other studios…"
Why is he talking about this like it's a catastrophe?
"…Ashley said you guys know how to do this." He swallows tensely. "Contain it."
The word choice is weird, but I'm too struck by the color of his eyes. I didn't know it was possible to envy a person's color. Eyes, hair, skin, even the shade of their lips. How does someone even achieve that?
Okay. Focus. He clearly didn't come here for compliments.
"Okay, there are a few strategies here. Either we bury one news hook under another, or we redirect the virality somewhere else. There are cases where one lucky meme turns a TikToker into a real career. Fame is neutral now — there's literally no such thing as bad PR. Genuinely."
"That's not my case. I need it gone. I waited a couple of weeks thinking it would die down, but no. The interest just keeps growing, and I need to… make it stop."
I'm very confused.
“Make it stop? You came to a PR agency to become less famous?" I blurt out with a chuckle. I'm starting to lose my patience. "That's literally the opposite of what we do."
"I understand, but Ashley said your agency… that you'd be the right fit."
Then again, Leon doesn't look like a typical arrogant nepo baby or a shameless politician. He's quiet, like he's trying not to take up too much space, speaks respectfully, and he's clearly very uncomfortable being here. But all this politeness is getting us nowhere.
"Okay, I need to check this myself. I'm sure it's nothing — the internet is cruel but forgetful. Things always look worse in your head than they actually are." I open TikTok and search for the song Special Guy. The results pop up instantly at the top. I see a blurred beige silhouette of Leon in the purple light of fan edits. I tap one at random — pretty editing, music, looks like any anime edit…
Oh. Oh. What? You can post this on TikTok? They don't ban this? How many million views?
The camera drops below his stomach, to his hip bones, and I see the top of a girl's head, and—
I put my phone face-down. Very loudly. Which is completely normal when you see porn in the middle of a workday.
Shame fills me from the inside with a dangerous heat. The whites of my eyes are drying out — for a second I genuinely believe I'm going to throw up from the tension. I can't hear anything except the blood pounding in my ears, and only then do I notice…
My coworkers are laughing. Right behind the glass wall of the aquarium, they're in collective hysterics, and every pair of eyes is on me.
The glass office. The booking made an hour ago. No file. The boss out of town.
The witches set me up. It's all a prank. A stupid, idiotic prank.
"Are you… okay?" Leon asks with concern, holding out a bottle of water.
I can't lift my eyes to meet his, because those blurry few seconds are now burned into my retinas. Obviously it's not a home video. Performer. That's why he corrected me.
One of my coworkers falls off his chair laughing. Thank god the room is soundproofed. I take the bottle of water and swallow.
"You're red. Could it be an allergic reaction? Should I call someone?"
"No!" I cut him off sharply. If he turns around, he'll see that everyone is staring at him.
"I'm sorry!" I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind and grab his hand. "I… I just…"
I'm just an idiot who fell for a prank. But Leon came all the way from Los Angeles thinking we could help him. They dragged him across the country just to use him as a prop? What the fuck is wrong with them?
I wipe my mouth, and with that same hand, I wipe my face. Everything inside me is trembling like a pulled string, with shame and grief, but I find my voice.
"I'm afraid this isn't our area of expertise. We're a political agency, we work with politicians and their inner circles. We've never worked with the… entertainment industry. Even actors. I mean… regular actors." I begin. "Partly because of the major reputational risks. If our other clients found out we'd expanded our scope…"
Bela knocks on the glass and walks in with a file in her hands. My coworkers have gone back to their desks, but they're still watching.
"Listen, I decided to bring you the file after all," Bela bursts in. "Mr. Kennedy! She told me she has your entire biography memorized and doesn't need a file at all… She's such a big fan!"
So, apparently a second ago this wasn't shame yet. I cover my face with my hand and sink into the chair. Bela's lie is so smooth and confident that trying to push back would only make it worse for all of us. Besides, I'm deafened by shame. I can barely breathe.
"But we really should consult with our client vetting department, or wait for our boss to return," Bela continues, but her voice barely cuts through the blood pounding in my ears. "I'm sorry, Mr. Kennedy, we can't give you a definitive answer right now…"
"Understood. You don't need to continue." He cuts her off so sharply that I actually lift my eyes.
Leon stands, immediately picking up his bag.
"Thank you for your time," he says — only to me. "Have a good day," he tosses at Bela.
Leon walks out without another word. My coworkers shuffle around awkwardly, pretending to look busy. The room feels colder. Even Bela looks taken aback. But when she turns her eyes to me, she laughs.
"Don't take it personally. It was just..."
I leave too, but unfortunately not as gracefully or slowly as Leon. I'm just trying to make it to the bathroom before I start sobbing out loud.
