#prince of LA more like prince of FUMBLING A BAD BITCH

[scandalousadventures]

My current VTMB playthrough is F nosferatu and I'm planning on siding with the Camarilla since I've played two other endings and ALSO because I love the idea of a nosferatu wearing full on gimp gear in public just like, infatuated with Lacroix. Not helping out of loyalty to the Camarilla. She just has bad taste in men.

She's like "hiiii sir 💞🥺👉👈 I blew up that trainyard like you wanted ❤️💋" and he's like

"OK!"

[harryandmolly]

Complicit // Introduction

summary: Shawn is under more pressure than he’s ever known. He craves release and comfort, the simplicity of sex. He gets more than he bargained for.

warnings: language, allusion to sexual content, perhaps the Most Extra OC I’ve written to date

WC: 2.2k

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Penny closes one eye and scrunches up her face, digging through her S/S 2018 monogrammed Louis Vuitton tote for her work phone. It buzzes hard, rattling against her Oliver Peoples sunglasses, until she can fling some chestnut hair from her face and answer it.

“Caught me just before we’re leaving for the airport,” she says breezily, squinting out the bay window of the whitewashed St. Lucia suite looking over the lapis ocean, “What’s up?”

“I have such a treat for you,” chuckles Silver.

A familiar thrill shoots down Penny’s spine. She swallows and casts a glance around the room for her vacation companion. He’s nowhere to be seen.

“Who is it?”

Silver, being Silver, pauses for dramatic effect.

“It’s Shawn Mendes.”

A pause. Penny’s well kept brow furrows.

“Who?”

+

Niall first realized something was really wrong when Shawn didn’t want to go to 40 Love. In fact, he didn’t want to go anywhere. Niall had to go to him, to his house in Beachwood Canyon, just to see his old friend.

He eyes him warily, watching Shawn stare out the window overlooking the Hills. He’s got a guitar pick in the pocket of his sweats. His fingers fumble with it while he thinks.

“So… things are bad,” Niall guesses.

Shawn takes too long to shrug and angle his head back at Niall. “Not… bad. Just weird.”

Niall leans forward, propping his elbows up on his knees and holding his beer bottle aloft, examining the shedding label.

“I get it. It’s a weird situation. Honestly, I… I was pretty surprised.”

Shawn bobs his head and feels his jaw tighten against his will. “I think a lot of people are.”

Niall is quiet for almost a full minute. He shakes a hand through his coarse brown hair. “I get it, though. I mean, you know I do, mate. Going from teenager to adult in this business is somethin’ most people don’t even get to do. But doin’ it… it’s hard. So I get it, why this thing makes sense for ya.”

Shawn is silent, fidgeting in front of the window.

Niall lifts a shoulder, looking to lighten the mood. “Least she’s not a nightmare.”

It gets a short, rough chuckle from Shawn, which Niall considers progress. Shawn finally turns looking worse for wear as he shuffles to sit in the armchair across from the couch, shoulders hunched, legs spread.

“I don’t think I would’ve agreed to a publicity stunt relationship with someone I hate,” He pauses and chews on the inside of his lip, “I dunno, maybe I would’ve at this point.”

Niall lowers his gaze. He recognizes the old, faded remnants of Catholic guilt in his gut and does what he can to tamp them down. His progression from teen heartthrob of One Direction fame to singer-songwriter hasn’t been easy in comparison to Shawn’s. Hell, he’ll always be one of the 1D boys -- there’s really no changing that. He’s made his peace with it.

His young friend, 21 now and in the industry since he was 15, has to do the same. Niall’s been paying attention. Shawn Mendes has been stratospheric for a while. His third album was a massive success. He sold out arenas on a world tour that even One Direction’s *cough* ambitious management wouldn’t sniff at. But the Armani smart watch ads and even the Calvin Klein campaign haven’t saved him from being a “prince of pop.”

It’s not the worst thing you can be called, Shawn and Niall both know. But it’s diminutive, it’s a little condescending, it’s sweet. Shawn has always been sweet. He is the ultimate nice Canadian boy, the antidote to Bieber’s downfall.

But he’s growing the fuck up and the rest of it -- the music, the tours, the image -- it has to grow, too.

It was Shawn and Bex’s shared publicist who first mentioned the idea. Bex, single name, like Madonna, is an old friend. She’s a Nickelodeon star-turned-pop singer who came up around the same time Shawn was sitting in a computer chair posting to Vine and YouTube. He likes Bex, she’s cool. They’ve written together and yeah, they’ve fucked a couple times when they were drunk and needed distractions from their own lives for various reasons. But he doesn’t get that feeling about Bex. He knows the feeling is out there. But that’s not what this thing with her is for.

“It’s a proven effective way to age you up in the public’s eyes,” Emily advised him, doing that thing where she dips her chin a little toward her chest and widens her eyes, the ‘you really should listen to me’ face, “And aging you up is the only way to get you where you really want to go. The teenage girls can get you places. Fuck, they can even make you a legend. But they can’t get you the world’s respect.”

Shawn thought it was insane at first. Lie about a relationship? Isn’t that kind of seedy? Won’t people see right through it?

He shifts uncomfortably in the chair. He still wonders these things sometimes. But the righteous indignation he felt last year when it came up is an ancient memory. He picks moodily at his own beer bottle sitting on the arm of the chair.

“You see someone, right? Like a therapist?” Niall verifies. Shawn nods absently.

Niall goes silent again for longer than usual. Shawn looks up to see his friend pensive.

“What?”

Niall shrugs and lifts his eyes to Shawn’s carefully. “Not the only thing you could be doing to manage this. The stress, ya know? And anxiety.”

Shawn bristles the way he does whenever someone suggests he’s not doing enough of something. Before he can open his mouth, Niall steps on his own words.

“I mean, ya know, there’s someone else ya can be seein’.”

Shawn’s face is blank. Niall’s going to have to explain the idea as painfully and awkwardly as it was explained to him by a friend a couple years ago.

“I’ve been seein’ a girl on and off for three years. Not always the same one, I mean. For stress relief.”

Shawn, as sweet and doe-eyed as he doesn’t want to be, isn’t picking up what Niall’s putting down.

“What, like a chiropractor?” Shawn guesses, his brow creasing.

Niall slugs back the last slurp of his beer. “No, like a domme.”

+

Penny waits until she’s back in her three bedroom Studio City home, quiet and removed in the hills just like she likes, to call Silver back.

Gus, her favorite agency driver, picked her up from the Santa Monica airport after she kissed one of her favorite clients, Victor Calhoun, goodbye and hauled in all her luggage from a week in St. Lucia. For barely needing to be dressed at all for a week, she brought a ton of shit with her. She makes a mental note to rethink that for next time, but she also thinks Victor likes that she’s high maintenance. Or seemingly high maintenance, she thinks with a smile as she pads barefoot around her cottage in panties and an old t-shirt, bag of popcorn in hand.

She drops onto her couch while the phone rings on speaker in her lap. She stretches out her slender legs, admiring her robust tan.

“Hey, bitch.”

“Hi, sweetheart,” Penny laughs, dropping some popped kernels into her mouth, “Been holding down the fort ok?”

“Yes, believe it or not, I survived a week without you. How was St. Lucia? Was Victor a very good boy?”

Penny smirks. “Always. So good, in fact, I’ve been taking low doses of muscle relaxants for three days to keep myself from getting lockjaw.”

Silver snorts. “That man loves a blow job.”

Penny sifts through some burnt kernels, locating an extra buttery looking piece toward the bottom of the bag and eyeing it like treasure.

“So,” she begins, crunching indelicately into the phone, “Tell me about Shawn Mendes. Who referred him?”

“Niall Horan.”

“Oh, he’s been seeing Karina, right?”

“Yep, she keeps him very much in line. He’s quiet about La Splendeur -- he’s not the guy telling all his friends about how much he’s paying to get dommed by a call girl. He’s selective with his referrals.”

Penny lifts an eyebrow and shrugs. “Those are usually our favorite kind of clients, I guess.”

Silver snorts. “Less messy, certainly. Anyway, Karina adores him, so that bodes well.”

“Who, Shawn?”

“No, actually, as far as I can tell, he’s new. None of my contacts have a history of him seeing anyone.”

Now Penny is really intrigued. It’s not that often she gets a client that has never seen a call girl before. Being a courtesan, the elitest of the elite escorts, clients generally work their way up the food chain to her.

But he’s new. Fresh, untouched, curious. Silver’s right. This is a special treat.

“Well, I downloaded his music, so I’ll have a listen. I recognize a few of the tracks. Anything else I should know?”

“Well, babe, no client history means you start from scratch, research-wise. I’d say be prepared for anything. He seems like your usual sweet, pretty boy, which as you know, can mean anything goes.”

Penny bobs her head thoughtfully, already mentally scanning wardrobe options and toys.

“When?”

“Thursday at 8, Chateau. Give you some time to recover from your potential lockjaw.”

Penny’s laugh is loud and sizzling, one she rarely uses in front of clients, but she and Silver have known each other a long time.

“Good. Plus, I like a few days of anticipation for new guys. Gets ‘em all worked up before I even get in the door.”

“And that is why you’re worth every Penny.”

Penny rolls her eyes and hangs up on the millionth time Silver has made that same adorably stupid joke.

+

Penny’s always liked the Chateau Marmont. It was the site of her first appointment. She remembers being nauseous with nerves walking through the doors that night, sure she’d be arrested just for stepping foot inside. She felt like she had the word “NEFARIOUS” stamped across her pretty forehead.

But she held her head high and focused on the rhythm of her Jimmy Choos, purchased especially for the occasion, on the fine marble floor. As instructed, she didn’t even spare a glance for the front desk. She strode in, not too fast, not too slow, and headed straight for the elevators. The concierge would recognize her from a picture passed along by her madam, Silver, and let her by without a problem. That’s one of Silver’s treasured trade secrets -- most working girls choose lower key locations for dates. Hiding in plain sight, especially at tourist attractions, heavily reduces suspicion, hence why Silver struck up a deal with the Chateau’s concierge years ago. Her girls get a pass, he gets a cut.

The booking is made under the name of the driver who arrives early to check in and drop off Penny’s suitcase while she window shops nearby or grabs a glass of wine at the bar. When the client arrives and is OK’d by the driver for security reasons, Penny gets a text and makes her entrance. Before the driver excuses himself to the car, he checks in with Silver to make sure the client’s wire transfer is complete. Once those initial checkpoints are crossed, the night is Penny’s.

Tonight is no different, really, Penny tells herself as she steps out of the Bentley, offered a hand by the Chateau’s valet. She sneaks him a sultry smile just because getting men squirming for her before she even meets her client feels like a good way to hype up.

But it feels different, somehow. The Hollywood evening’s breeze is especially pleasant, the hotel is especially quiet, and the night especially charged as she heads inside hugged in tastefully cut black satin and wearing her favorite black Roger Viviers. She ignores the way the hair on the back of her smooth olive neck stands on end when the elevator dings upon arrival to the specified floor.

Gus, standing outside the door in a dark suit with his arms crossed, gives her a nod, indicating all is set and well. She rises on her toes to plant a kiss on his cheek. She knows by now she can’t make Gus squirm, so she doesn’t try. He stands aside and opens the door.

He’s sitting on the couch, facing the windows on the opposite wall. His posture is hunched and she can see his shoulders are broad. She tries not to lick her lips.

He turns slightly, looking over his shoulder. His profile catches the orange lamplight. It’s even more magnificent in person. Penny feels a jolt from her squished toes up her very straight spine. She smiles.

He stands, one hand limp by his side, the other clutching a sweating glass of bourbon. Penny can’t wait to taste it on his pretty lips.

Facing her, his jaw tightens, muscles flexing, and his eyes darken just a shade, or maybe she imagines it because she bets hers do the same.

“Penny?”

His voice is a croak. He notices -- he goes magenta moments later. The familiar animal that lives in her stirs, stretching, limbering up.

“Hi, Shawn.”

-------

Ooooh it’s that time again! Ya girl has a new solo series to sink her teeth into. If you’re happy and you know it, buy me a Ko-fi (link on main page)!

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