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i2sunric · 1 year ago

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I KNEW YOU WERE TROUBLE (s.jy)

pairing: rich boy!jake x reader (f)

summary: you knew jake was trouble as soon as he walked into the party, and despite that, the moment he proposed a deal to you, you sold your heart as you signed the contract.

warnings: making out, kissing, fake dating, bad relationship with parents, smut (pussy eating, fingering, masturbation), fighting, alcohol consumption, mentions of weed and drugs, jake is rich as hell, reader has a nasty personality, curse words, pet names (baby, ma chérie, love), lmk if more. PROOFREAD → READ PART 2

published: 10th May 2024

wc: 6.1k

taglist: (permanent) @stolasisyourparent @jaeyunsbimbo @heelvsted @jwnghyuns @seunghancore (one shot) @anittamaxwynnn @jvjsssnaa @minniejenseo @slut4hee @kgneptun @nyxtwixx @laurradoesloveu @star4rin @capri-cuntz @eneiyri @samouryed @heyniki @ineedsomezzz @nanamongmong @aishigrey @naurrjakeu @ak-aaa-li @sjakewrld @nikiswifiee @koralira-kira @daisycottage @yunhoswrldddd @smisworld [BOLDS COULD NOT BE TAGGED]

a/n: here it is the long awaited jake fic! i don’t really like how it turned out but i thought i already made you wait enough <//3 please LIKE & REBLOG to share! i’d really appreciate that 🎀🎀 also, let me know your thoughts, comment!

You stared at your own reflection in the full-length mirror, the dress you wore was riding a little too high, showing more skin than you usually did.

The fresh polished black nails matching with the inky colour of the dress, a few bracelets and nice earrings made the whole outfit even better.

“Girl, you look amazing.” Your best friend, Yunjin, commented as she wore a matching dress with yours, just in white.

“You look stunning as well.” You complimented her back, blowing her a kiss.

“So, what’s tonight’s plan?” She asked, putting some lipstick on. You sat down on her bed, stretching your limbs “Mh.. Find a nice guy to make out with?”

Yunjin hummed “Thought you were in a situationship with Heeseung?” She asked, mentioning the guy who hosted the party.

“I just needed someone to get us to a nice party.” You smirked cunningly, “You’re truly a bad bitch.”

You shrugged “You need to be smart to live in this world.”

Yunjin popped her lips and turned around, throwing the lipstick at you so you could apply it as well “Yeah, but be careful.”

You raised a brow “Of?”

“The games you play,” She stated, sitting beside you to put her heels on “They are going to backfire on you, someday.”

You just scowled at her, cause why on earth would the Y/N get hurt by a boy? That wasn’t going to happen.

“Jesus..” Yunjin’s eyes widened as she took in the house of the party. It was huge, probably bigger than both your houses combined, the amount of people inside was shocking, all drunken teenagers trying to take a break from the boring world.

“We don’t really belong in this side of the city.” Yunjin nudged your shoulder, “They’re all rich kids here.”

“So?” You entered the house, swaying your hips, already putting your charm to use “Nobody will know.” You winked at her.

The whole house was packed with people, some already drunk and stumbling around. You and Yunjin stayed together, knowing better than accepting drinks from strangers.

You went to the kitchen and stole one cup of punch, the bitter liquid burning your throat— Someone must’ve put more alcohol than it was supposed to.

A few drinks later, your ginger-headed friend was already starting to get out of her comfort zone and she dragged you to the dance floor.

You moved to the sound of the music, your eyes occasionally scanning the room to search for an attractive someone.

As you danced with Yunjin, your gaze fell on one particular guy leaning against the wall, his aura so attractive. He met your stare and didn’t even hide the way his eyes scanned your body, lingering a little longer on your curves.

There it was, your potential interest of the night.

Though, like you had learned with age, you needed to act as if you didn’t care to get boys to care enough. So, you just kept staying by Yunjin’s side, dancing with her and moving sensually, the alcohol in your system making you bolder than usual.

𓆩♡𓆪

You had noticed the way he was eyeing you, occasionally licking his lips or biting his bottom lip. His stare was hungry, so lustful— And you liked it. You enjoyed such attention, so you did your best to maintain them.

Occasionally swaying your hips a little too close to someone else, holding eye contact just to look away before he could. Needless to say, he was as shameless as you, giving you that stare that spoke volumes about how much he craved you.

So, you decided to give him one last, long stare as you smirked before detaching yourself from your best friend and walking upstairs to the bathroom.

You opened the door and loudly closed it behind your back.

Five, four, three— You miscalculated his eagerness because in just three seconds the door already opened behind you.

You saw his reflection from the mirror, his body towering over you, like a dark aura. You smirked “What are you doing, following a lady to the bathroom?”

His lips curved into a small, cunning smirk as well “Don’t act like you didn’t want me to.” His voice was so husky, a heavy australian accent lingering on his tongue, as sweet as honey.

You turned around, the small of your back resting on the countertop, near the faucet. You tilted your head, giving him a fake innocent smile “What’s your name?”

“Jake,” He then asked “What’s yours?”

“Y/N.” You answered. “Well, Y/N.” Jake nodded and stepped closer to you, slowly. He placed both his arms on each side of you. You could feel his warm breath hitting your face “Looks like I’ve got you all for myself.”

You chuckled, a dangerous one “Are you sure it ain’t the other way around?”

Jake raised a brow at your statement, a laugh escaping his lips. So joyful and intoxicating “Maybe it is.”

His finger started caressing your skin, barely touching it, just enough to leave you wanting more “What do you want from someone like me?” He asked, his dark eyes meeting yours “I’m a bad bet, Y/N.”

And lord, if you didn’t love the way your name rolled off his tongue, with the voice of an angel but devil intention.

“I’m not exactly good either.” You stated, your arms wrapping around his neck, your lips so close.

“No?” Jake raised a brow, his big hands settling on your waist, “No.” You stated and brought your lips on his.

He let out a surprised growl and kissed you back right away, so hungry and desperate, like he needed that to release some sort of built stress.

Jake lifted you up, your bare thighs landing on the cold porcelain sink, but you didn’t have time to hitch your breath since his tongue swirled inside your mouth, tasting all of you.

“I’ll ask again,” He murmured on your lips “What do you want from me?”

You caressed the back of his neck, your palm tracing over the little hair he had there. “What do you want from me?” You asked back.

He gently bit your bottom lip, letting a moan escape from you “Hear those pretty sounds.” He answered.

You wrapped your legs around his waist and moved against him, basically jumping him. He let out another deep groan, his lips claiming yours once more.

His whiskey-flavoured tongue licked your lips, one of his hands groping your breasts through the thin fabric of your dress— You had to admit he was rather skilled.

Jake knew where to touch and when to touch, he knew how to drive you insane, leaving your body burning in desire.

Your hands blindly went to undo his buttons, clumsily snatching his shirt open. You let your palms wander on his sculpted figure as his own fingers found your panties.

“Jake,” You breathed out, rocking your hips on his fingers “So eager.” He tsked, letting you grind his hand

But as soon as he was about to pull your underwear to the side, loud knocks were heard from outside.

“Open up!” A male voice said, sounding desperate.

“Fuck off!” You answered, frustratedly letting your head rest on the mirror at your back.

“I need to puke,” The guy outside knocked some more, harshly “Open the damn door.”

Jake cursed under his breath and let go of you, walking to the door before turning around again. He helped you down the counter and winked “Need to help a lady out.”

He then opened the door and the drunk guy threw himself in, reaching the wc. You didn’t want to witness whatever was going to come out of him so you quickly stepped outside.

“What a way to cockblock me.” Jake scoffed and you laughed, patting his shoulder “That’s a shame.”

You started to walk away when Jake hurried after you and took your hand “Where are you going?”

You frowned “Downstairs?” As if it was the most obvious answer.

“So, you’re going to act like I didn’t just stick my tongue in your mouth?” Jake scoffed

“I thought you just wanted a hook up?” You said, titling your head “And I ain’t going to have sex in some stranger’s bedroom, that’s nasty.”

Jake chuckled “But the bathroom is alright?” You shrugged “Better than dirty sheets.”

He then shook his head, the charming smile still on his lips “No, I don’t want just sex.” He pulled you closer by your head, brushing your hair to the side “I can settle with making out.”

You bit your bottom lip and fisted the collar of his shirt, “Bring it on.”

𓆩♡𓆪

A lot more kisses later, you and Jake sat on the grass of the backyard garden. The cold breeze hit your bare skin but even with your thin dress you weren’t bothered one bit, the alcohol in your system serving as a heater.

Your shoulders brushed against each other while you both sipped on two cans of beers— At which number you were, you weren't really sure.

“You go to a private school?” You asked as you were having a small chat with him. You two had been attached to the hip bone the whole night, getting to know the other.

You found out his family was originally from Australia, which explained the heavy accent— and that he was painfully rich.

“Yup,” He answered, popping the ‘p’ “With a uniform.” You grimaced “Don’t tell me you ever wear a blazer.”

The silence following your question made you widen your eyes “No fucking way.”

“Yes fucking way.” Jake chuckled, leaning back on his hands “It’s so ugly, I don’t look as attractive with that on.”

You laughed, “I’d like to see you.” Jake beamed back at you “Maybe one day.”

You got closer to him and whispered “Is your toilet paper made from fifty dollar bills?” At that, Jake let out a heartfelt laugh “I hope you’re not serious.”

“I’m joking.” You waved your hand, taking a sip from the can.

“What about you?” He beckoned at you, “You go to the public school? The one with the weird kids?”

“At least I don’t have blazers.” You gave him a sheepish smirk “And yes— When I go, it’s not like I attend it a lot.”

Faint music was heard from afar, but the only sound you could concentrate on was the giggle of the guy sitting next to you. His dishevelled state did little to hide the handsomeness of his face.

"You really don't give a single shit about the world?" Jake asked, shaking his head as if he could not believe you.

You just shrugged "Life's too short to give a shit." You took a sip from the can of beer "Besides, I'm still a teen only for." You counted mentally "Like, two years, why should I care about anything now? Better partying."

Jake laughed once again, perhaps the alcohol in his system making him feel better about the meeting he had to attend the next day— Shoot, he had completely forgotten about it.

The moonlight shone on your figure, making your skin seem brighter, your hair softer. Jake stared at you like you were a piece of art at a museum, to be worshipped.

His eyes fell on your small dress, a smirk spread on his face; despite knowing you for not over three hours, he felt a deep connection to you, like you could get him.

"Want to go on a date tomorrow?"

Your browns knitted "Wo, wo, wo." You said, placing your hand between the two of you, "Aren't you running a little?"

Jake licked his bottom lip, chuckling "Nothing serious, I just need you to fake being my girlfriend."

At such a statement, your brow raised "Why?" You asked and he stole the can from your hand, taking a sip as well.

You watched as he chugged down the liquid, his Adam apple in plain sight, making you feel a little light headed. He sighed and cleaned his mouth with his sleeve "You're reckless, a free spirit and you look like you smoke weed in your free time."

"Well damn, you got me." You joked, snatching the can from his hands, "You're everything my parents wouldn't like."

"Is that supposed to be a compliment?" You laughed and Jake got closer to your ear. "Oh darling, you bet it is."

You gulped, a shiver running through your spine "So, you just need me to meet you again tomorrow and be your fake girlfriend?" Jake nodded, "At least my acting classes won't go to waste."

Jake chuckled and nodded, caressing your thigh, his thumb brushing against your sensitive flesh "So... Will you help me anger my parents?"

You had no business accepting a drunken offer from the hot guy you made out with at a frat party, getting involved in his family matters and even fake dating him— But what could you do? You loved challenges.

"Deal."

Jake raised a brow “Really? You’d do that?” You just shrugged in response “Not like I have anything better to do.”

“That’s great,” Jake beamed, “And are you planning on going to school tomorrow?”

You raised a brow “Why?” Jake answered, “I’ll come pick you up.”

“You don’t even know what school I attend.” Jake smirked and stole your can again “Guess you’ll have to give me your number to text me the address and your schedules.”

You rolled your eyes “Just say it you want an excuse to fuck in the back of your car.”

“You don’t consider that nasty?” He raised a brow, recalling your previous comment, “Depends, if you can make me forget it with your skills.”

“Want to find out?”

𓆩♡𓆪

“You’re kidding.” Yunjin’s mouth fell agape as she took in the sight of the crimson sport car parked outside your school. You smirked knowingly as Jake waved his hand to you.

“I ain’t, baby.” You raised your brows to her, showing off. Yunjin patted your shoulder “I take back all the bad things I told you when you left me alone— I would’ve done it too.”

You laughed quietly, and was about to step further when your best friend stopped you, taking your hand. You turned around “What?”

“Are you sure you want to go?” She eyed Jake warily, scanning him, “Do you trust him?”

You let go of her hand and gave her a gentle smile “Weird, but I do.” You stated

“You were pretty drunk last night..” She trailed off “Not as much as you, I know what I did and I can tell you, he’s not dangerous.”

She looked at you a little reluctantly before nodding “Okay… Just be careful.”

You blew her a kiss and waved “Call ya later.” And then walked toward Jake. You laughed as you saw his uniform “Not the blazer.”

Jake opened his arms as if to show you his school uniform better “I promised to let you see it.”

You eyed him and then looked at the car, “What a show off.” Jake shrugged “What can I say? I wanted your friends to talk well about you.”

You rolled your eyes at his comments. Jake opened the car door and motioned you to enter it “After you.”

Jake followed right behind and got the car going, “You haven’t told me where we’re going since I need to meet your parents at dinner.”

“To buy a pretty dress for a pretty girl.” He answered, placing one hand on your thigh. The skirt you were wearing exposed your bare flesh — not as much as the day before — and the contact of his cold palm made you shiver.

“You don’t look that bad with the blazer.” You commented, settling yourself better inside the car. It was spacious, the seats were beige leather, and it felt as if the whole car had cost more than any expense you had made in your life.

“No?” He asked, the same sweet tone of the previous day returning, “No.” You stated.

“Why do I need a new dress?” You asked, “I think I have a few in my wardrobe.”

Jake chuckled “Oh, Y/N.” He shook his head, “The restaurant where we’ll have dinner is very… fancy,” He informed you, “And you’ll need a fancy dress.”

You crossed your arms on your chest “So, you just assumed I don’t own one?”

“Do you?” You answered, “No, but it’s rude that you just assumed I don’t have one just cause I’m not as rich as you.”

“That’s not what I meant.“ Jake sighed “I didn’t—“ He tried to explain but you had already looked out of the window, your mood ruined.

Silence fell in the car until Jake parked in the parking lot of the mall. You were about to exit it when you heard a ‘click’. You turned around and raised a brow “Why did you lock it?”

“So you’d listen,” His whole body was turned to face you “I did not assume a single shit, alright?”

You rolled your eyes, not wanting to hear him “Don’t bullshit me.”

“I’m not.” He stated, his stare so serious “I honestly don’t even care if you’re not rich, but I care the stares people will give you if you come wearing something normal.”

“I don’t care about them.” You frowned “Believe me, you will.” He seemed bothered by something. “They’re just… so mean, and I don’t want you to become their victim.”

You tilted your head to the side “But I need to piss them off.”

“My parents,” Jake said, “Not the people in the restaurant.”

You stayed silent a few seconds before nodding “Okay, I’ll let you buy it.”

Jake smirked, “Good girl.”

𓆩♡𓆪

You got inside a shop you had never even dared walk in front of, it smelled like a fairytale and all the assistants wore suits or elegant dresses. They all had the same forced smile and no matter how harsh a client was treating you— The assistant was always wrong.

You bit down your tongue to prevent yourself from commenting on one particular demanding lady who kept shouting at a poor guy who was obviously new and inexperienced and followed Jake into trying a few dresses on.

“Why is this so tight?” You commented, stepping out of the dressing room for what felt like the nth time.

“It’s supposed to be,” Jake said, glancing at you up and down, not even bothering to hide his hungry stare from the worker that was assisting you.

“But I can’t breathe.” You hissed, trying to move in that white dress “Maybe I should change the size?” The assistant suggested but Jake just dismissed him with his hand “No, try the other one.”

You rolled your eyes “Just another one, and then we’re going away.”

Jake raised a brow but then agreed “Fine…” He scanned the dressing room which was packed with so many dresses it looked like a princess’ wardrobe “Try the burgundy one.”

You let out a deep breath and went back into the cabin, fighting to get out of that tiny dress. You stood in your underwear, glancing at the burgundy dress that Jake suggested you wore.

It was fancy and elegant, sleeveless and short, but not too much. You had to admit it was the best one you’d seen so far, so you quickly changed into it.

“Here.” Jake said as he entered the dressing room, closing the curtain so no one could peek.

He helped you zip it up, maintaining eye contact with you from the reflection in the mirror. It felt like a dejavu of the previous night, his gaze so primal and dark.

He fixed your hair back and nodded “You look stunning, ma chérie.”

You widened your eyes at the nickname, Jake lowered to the height of your ear and whispered “Don’t you like it? We need to start acting as a couple if we want to be convincing.”

You turned around “I like it very much, baby.” You added the pet name with a smirk, making Jake chuckle.

His gaze fell on the curves of your body, the dress seeming as if it was perfectly made for you, “Damn Y/N.” He let out a deep groan “You are perfect.”

“Enough with the compliments or I might start to believe it.” Jake ran his fingers on each side of your waist. “You already do.”

You smirked, loving the way he already knew you well “Yeah, I already do.”

Suddenly, he pushed you so your back was pressed against the mirror, making you gasp. He put one hand in front of your mouth “Shh.” He demanded and you nodded.

Jake slowly sank to his knees, his palms grazing the bare flesh near your thighs. The contact made you shiver as you watched with knowing eyes what he was doing.

He slowly hooked the fabric of the dress up, so it rode just above your waistline “Jake..”

“Mh?” He hummed, his nose between your thighs as he smelled your sweet scent “What, love?”

You let out a shaky breath, “Is this some sort of pay back?” Jake chuckled quietly “You could say that.”

He hooked his fingers on the waistband of your panties and dropped them to your ankles, the air of the room hitting your bare core, making you hum.

“Can I taste you?” He asked and you nodded frantically, butterflies filling your stomach as the filthy thoughts of his following actions clouded your mind.

That eager consent was all it took him to lick a long stripe from your clit, tasting your juices. You gasped out and quickly placed a hand to muffle your sounds, not wanting the poor workers to hear the corrupted things you two had going on.

He gave kitten licks to your sensitive clit, teasing your wet folds with his free hand. Your own hand went to grasp his hair, pulling him closer to you, “Hurry.” You whined.

“Yes, ma’am.” He said before attaching his lips to your pussy, sucking on your clitorids. You let out quiet moans, still muffled by the hand you were biting, clearly some marks would appear later.

You pulled his hair and Jake stuck out his tongue, his doe eyes looking up at you. You took the hint and started grinding his tongue, the spongy texture sending waves of pleasure through your whole body.

“Oh yes,” He incited you, “Fuck my tongue, baby.” You gave up on trying to stay quiet and grasped his hair with your other hand as well, not like the filthy sounds coming from him eating you out could be blocked out.

Jake inserted two fingers inside of you, the sudden intrusion causing your body to jolt, if it wasn’t for his strong grip keeping you still you would’ve fallen over him.

Jake took one of your legs and hooked it over his shoulder, your whole pussy stretched all for him as he rubbed your sensitive bud with his tongue.

He started thrusting his digits, speeding his movements to match his tongue and damn, it felt heavenly.

“Jake—“ You gasped out, your moans loud enough for the whole shop to hear “Shh.” He shushed you, pinching your inner thigh.

You let out a soft whimper and chewed on your bottom lip to prevent yourself from moaning. Jake’s movements along with the pornographic scene unfolding in front of you was what took you to the edge, falling apart on his tongue with a loud gasp.

Your body quivered and Jake helped you riding out of your high. He detached his lips from your pussy, a string of saliva keeping them connected. Spit and your juices coated his chin as he got back on his feet, cleaning his face with the sleeve of his suit. “That was amazing.”

You smacked his shoulder lightly, still panting “You’re crazy— They heard us.”

Jake pulled you into a heated kiss, his dirty fingers wrapping around your throat, not adding any pressure, but enough to keep you still.

He rubbed his hard bulge on your stomach, needing to ease the aching feeling coming from it “Don’t act like you didn’t like it.”

You eyed him as he pulled away, your stare falling down to the evident hard on he had. You felt a little pitiful. “Let me help you.”

You were about to get on your knees when Jake stopped you, a warm smile on his face “No, don’t.”

You tilted your head in confusion “Why? You clearly need to fix it.”

Jake hummed “And I’ll do it in the bathroom, because if you want to help me, I wouldn't use your throat, baby.” His fingers traced the outline of your jaw “And I’m sure you don’t want it here.”

𓆩♡𓆪

As Jake helped you get ready and drove to the destination of the mission, you started to believe that was some kind of mockery.

The houses in your neighbourhood were half of the ones in Jake’s, all of them had at least one swimming pool and useless expensive cars.

You scoffed as you drove past them, making Jake smile. He put his hand on your thigh and caressed it “Let’s review what we said.”

You rolled your eyes “Act like a couple and make your parents believe it, just be me and use my sharp tongue to piss them off, possibly have sex later.”

Jake raised his brows in surprise “I didn’t know about the last point.”

You smiled proudly, “I just added it.” You took the hand he had on your thigh and slowly accompanied it higher, almost near your dangerous zone “Like it?”

“I’m driving, Y/N.” He scolded with the same deep voice he used to flirt. Damn, if it didn’t turn you on “And I ain’t doing anything.”

Jake placed his hand a little further “There won’t be any sex if we die in a car crash.” You crossed your arms on your chest “You’re so dramatic.”

He just let out a small chuckle and you two continued the drive in a comfortable silence. As soon as he reached the location, he killed the engine and got out of the car, reaching your side and opening the door for you “After you, ma chérie.”

You shook your head at his pet name and took his hand, walking out the door “These heels are killing my feet.” You complained, stumbling a little.

Jake wrapped one arm around your waist, supporting you. He leaned down to whisper in your ear “You look amazing.”

You shivered at his deep voice, his breath hitting your sensitive skin. “You look like someone I want to give head to.”

Jake let out another deep chuckle and you both made your way toward the fancy restaurant.

He stopped you before you could put foot in it, spinning you around so you were facing him. You tilted your head in a puzzled way, “What?”

He let out a small sigh “Promise me you won’t take anything they say by heart.” You stayed still for a moment before bursting out, laughing “Are you actually worried?”

Jake clicked his tongue “I’m serious Y/N. Whatever they say, don’t mind it.”

You just shrugged “I don’t even care what they say,” You wrapped your arms around his neck, mumbling on his lips “I’m here to help you, you don’t worry about me.”

His grip on your waist tightened, just a little “I just feel like I dragged you here… You were drunk when I asked and—“ Before he could even finish his sentence, you shushed him with your lips on his, licking his bottom lip.

Despite the sudden action, Jake kissed you back, one hand holding your scalp so he could deepen it.

However, you were interrupted by someone clearing their throat. You both pulled away and Jake widened his eyes “Father.”

You gulped down, noting the way his father didn’t even resemble him at all. Jake wasn't tall, but that man towered him by a lot. Jake’s features were soft, his eyes warm as a hot chocolate in winter— while his father’s were sharp, cold as ice.

He took hold of your hand, Mister Sim’s dark gaze falling onto your intertwined hands. “You’re late.” He just stated, monotone.

“Traffic.” Jake answered back in a voice you’ve never heard before— uncomfortable even.

“Seems like you were busy with something else.” His father’s gaze fell onto you, probably trying to intimidate you. You just raised a challenging brow in response.

“Your mother and I have been waiting for you. Hurry.” Mister Sim turned around and walked ahead of you. Before following him, you squeezed Jake’s hand and gave him a warm smile “Mission start.”

The whole restaurant screamed rich, with all those big chandeliers, candles and even a piano in the middle of the room, where a pianist was playing some classical music you had never even heard before.

As you arrived at the designed table, Mister Sim sat down beside his wife. Your eyes fell on the petite woman, looking like the copy-paste of her son.

“Mother.” Jake greeted, bowing slightly out of respect. You did the same, flashing a fake smile “Pleasure to meet you.” Miss Sim just nodded, beckoning you to sit down.

After ordering some food, Jake’s parents started questioning him while your gaze went to the table, noticing the amount of forks on it.

“Useless.” You commented a little too loud, because his father asked “Pardon?”

You raised your gaze to meet his “What do you need so many forks for? Just use one.” You raised one from the table, making him see

Jake chokes down a laugh, earning a warning stare from his mother “You’ve never been to a fancy restaurant, dear?”

You just shrugged, placing the fork down “Not my go to. I prefer some nice burgers, cheaper.”

Jake’s mother made a shocked, almost offended expression “You’ll get fat if you eat such rubbish.”

“So? Fat but happy.” You commented, patting at your stomach. Miss Sim eyed you as if you had just personally offended her.

Fortunately, the waiter interrupted you as he served the plates. In front of you there was a steak (something you couldn’t usually afford), but that same steak was the size of a nut. Literally, it was so tiny.

Jake noticed your expression and leaned down to whisper “We’ll buy a burger later.” You smiled and whispered back “I’d rather you eating me.”

“Whispering at the table is rude.” His mother commented, cutting a small piece of the already small steak.

“What was your name again, dear?” You mentally prepared yourself to be as rude as possible and answered “Y/N.”

“Right, Y/N.” Miss Sim nodded as if she had known your name before, which you knew she hadn’t “How old are you?”

“Just turned eighteen, Ma’am.” You said, placing down the fork “Oh, so you’re the same age as my son.” She flashed you a fake smile, looking like one of those dogs that seem so sweet but bite as soon as you try to pet them.

“I’ve always told Jake to date older girls, you know, they’re… wiser.” You raised a brow “So, you’re saying I’m dumb just because I ain’t older than him?”

Jake’s mother widened her eyes, “Not at all.” You gave her a fake smile “I was just joking.”

She laughed as well. “Of course, you have such a playful personality.”

“Too playful.” Mister Sim commented, clearing his throat “And where do you live? Your parents, what do they do for a living?”

You replied with your neighbourhood and your parents' jobs, earning some concerning stares from the two adults at the table, who were as mature as a two-year-old.

“We will have to start thinking about marriage, Jake will inherit our company.” Jake sighed, “Mother..” Miss Sim started, cleaning the corner of her mouth with the tissue “Do you want to get married? And kids?”

His father then added “Are you two sexually active?”

At such words, Jake fisted his hand under the table. You noticed and put one of your hands on his.

“Why—“ Before he could say something, you talked over “What does that even matter?” You asked, raising a brow.

“That’s my life, if I wanted to get married or have kids, that’s my choice to make. And that counts for Jake as well.” You frowned. Jake took your hand in his and squeezed it to give you support.

“You are two stereotyped jerks, and I’m being nice.” You earned a scoff from Mister Sim “How dare—“

“No, I’m the one talking now.” You snapped, “I’ve been sitting here for one hour, hearing all your bullshit. You rich people disgust me.”

You got up, receiving all the attention of the people in the restaurant, “You’re so stereotyped, you only care about money, get a fucking grip.”

Mister Sim’s eyes widened at your sudden outburst “Don’t you use such ugly words.”

“I do what I want, and I say this dinner is done.” You turned around, but Jake stayed put.

“You choose her?” Miss Sim asked with her best victim voice, ready to guilt trip her own son.

Jake had stayed silent the whole time, watching the scene unfold in front of his eyes. He gulped down, slowly raising his eyes to meet his parents’ “I don’t choose anyone, mother, because I am not ungrateful to turn my back to you.” He said, a sparkle of pride in your chest, “I agree with all she said, though.”

Jake smirked, “Yes, I’m a disgrace, but I don’t give a single shit about it.”

Said that, he took your hand again and dragged you outside.

As soon as you were out, you both stared at each other before bursting into a big and heartfelt laugh “Did I overdo it?” You asked and Jake shook his head “You did a great job.”

He drove you to your neighbourhood, the difference between the place you had just been and the restaurants in your side of the town was huge. It almost made you feel a shame, but then again why would you even need to be? That was your life and you loved it.

After having some burgers to your favourite street food place, making Jake taste your most treasured guilty pleasure, he parked the car in a nearby parking and helped you get out, holding your heels in his hand since you took them off, being too uncomfortable for your used-to-converse feet.

He walked you until your house, stopping as you reached its front. “I should go inside.”

Jake nodded and handed you the heels, “Seriously Y/N. Thank you so much.” He said sincerely, “I don’t even know why you agreed to this, but you said all the things I was too afraid to say.”

He brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, then caressing your cheek with his thumb “And you keep this dress. Maybe you’ll need it someday.”

“It costs more than my house.” You commented, making Jake chuckle “But it looks great on you.”

“So… no crazy sex in the car?” You asked and he shook his head “Isn’t that nasty?” He teased you.

“Hey,” You said, faking being offended. “Said the one who wears a blazer to school.”

“Oh.” He raised his hands in surrender. “You win.”

Jake took a hold of your waist and dragged you toward him, pressing his lips onto yours. The kiss was slow, much deeper than a normal goodbye one. It held so many emotions and care, you almost melted right there.

He then pulled away, licking his lips as if to take all the taste of you “Get inside, it’s getting cold.”

You looked up at him, your eyes sparkling “I’ll see you again?”

“Of course, ma chérie.” He smiled, kissing the corner of your lip “I still have to show you my bed skills.”

You chuckled and pushed his chest playfully “I’m much better than you.”

“Can’t know until you show me.” He winked and watched as you headed inside, his smile never leaving his face.

And neither did yours leave, for once you felt the happiest girl in the world, kicking your feet under the blanket and dreaming of the sensation his kisses brought you.

However, you should’ve listened to Yunjin’s warning about you getting yourself hurt in the end, because the next Saturday, when your eyes met Jake’s again at Heeseung’s new party and you smiled ever so sweetly at him— his stare diverted, smiling at another pretty girl, too pretty for your own likings.

And that was where you realised your heart was the shattered one.

3K notes · View notes

duskidolsmut · 2 months ago

Text

"Chaewon: Digital Whore, Brutal Revenge"

Tags: Slutty idol with a collar / Painful butt plug / Slobbery blowjob / Virgin anal fuck / Contradictory orgasms / Ripped lingerie / Shower sex / Dirty words on the body / Hardcore SimpSpace / Neon speakeasy / Turned on with beating / Humiliation with marker

Words: 5.825

Seoul at night is a neon monster, with flashing signs and the smell of fried kimchi mixed with exhaust. In the midst of this chaos, Chaewon, 21, runs through the streets of Hongdae, her black hair messy, her worn-out sneakers slapping on the asphalt. By day, she is the proper intern at Starlight Entertainment, a K-pop company that promises to transform newcomers into brilliant idols. Chaewon spends hours filing contracts, serving coffee to idiotic producers and dreaming of the day she will stand on stage, microphone in hand, singing until the world forgets she was once a nobody. But reality is cruel: the internship pays a pittance, and the rent in Seoul is unforgiving. So, at night, she becomes someone else — or rather, another Chaewon, with red lipstick and a short skirt, serving shots at a speakeasy called Black Velvet, hidden in the alleys where the police turn a blind eye.

Black Velvet is a dirty but lively hole. The walls are covered in graffiti, the air smells of cheap vodka and incense, and the electronic music thumps so loud it makes glasses shake. Chaewon glides between the tables, balancing trays of drinks with names like “Hot Sin” and “Wrong Night.” She wears a uniform that’s more fetish fantasy than workwear: a tight black top, a leather skirt that barely covers her ass, and fishnet stockings that scream trouble. The customers—guys in suits with pert hands, girls with colorful hair giggling loudly—stare at her as if she’s the main course. Chaewon doesn’t care; the tips pay the bills, and the bar is her secret stage, where she tests out the charisma she’ll one day wield as an idol. “One more shot, princess?” a drunken customer asks, and she smiles, leaning in just enough for him to toss her an extra bill. “Only if you can handle it, uncle,” she says, her voice sweet with a hint of venom, and sways away, hearing him laugh.

But it’s not all that easy. Chaewon lied to get the job. She forged an ID, changing her age to 19, and used a fake name, “Soo-min,” so she wouldn’t be tracked. The bar owner, a guy named Min-jae with neck tattoos and zero questions, doesn’t care about the rules, as long as she sells drinks and doesn’t cause trouble. The problem is Yuna, the other waitress, a 23-year-old blonde with a lip piercing and a talent for sticking her nose in where it doesn’t belong. Yuna is smart, sarcastic, and has a laugh that cuts like glass. She and Chaewon have never gotten along—Yuna thinks Chaewon is too big for herself, with her K-pop dreams and good-girl ways. “You can’t fool anyone with that angelic face,” Yuna always says, blowing cigarette smoke in her face during breaks.

That night, the bar was packed, the air heavy with sweat and perfume. Chaewon dances between the tables, pouring a round of green shots that glow under the neon lights. She’s in the flow, laughing with a customer, when she feels Yuna’s gaze fixed on her. In the corner of the bar, Yuna is leaning against the counter, fiddling with her phone, her piercing glinting as she smiles in a way that gives you goosebumps. Chaewon ignores her, but during her break, when she goes to the bathroom to touch up her lipstick, Yuna appears, blocking the door. “Soo-min, huh?” Yuna says, her voice acidic, dragging out her fake name like it’s a joke. Chaewon freezes, her heart racing. “Or should I call you Chaewon? You know, I thought it was funny when I saw your real name on a Starlight form that got passed around in the bar’s gossip group. Fake ID, huh? How ugly for a future idol.”

Chaewon tries to keep her composure, her lipstick trembling in her hand. “What the hell do you want, Yuna?” she says, her voice steady, but fear seeping through her. Being exposed could ruin everything—her internship, her dream of singing, the life she’s been building. Yuna laughs, crossing her arms, her vinyl top reflecting the dim bathroom light. “Calm down, princess. I won’t tell… yet. But you’re going to do what I tell you, or I’ll show Min-jae and his fancy little company that you’re a fraud.” She steps closer, her minty, cigarette-like breath hitting Chaewon’s face. “First task: tomorrow, you cover my shift. And there’s more coming, Soo-min. If you play your cards right, maybe I’ll keep your little secret.” Yuna winks, sways away, and leaves Chaewon alone, the mirror reflecting a girl who’s about to enter a game much more dangerous than serving drinks.

The streets of Hongdae are a carnival of lights and chaos, with crowded bars, karaoke bars spewing K-pop, and the smell of fried tteokbokki hanging in the air. It’s Friday night, and Seoul’s nightlife is booming: girls in glitter makeup spill out of clubs, guys with bleached hair yell drunkenly, and couples make out in alleys like the world is ending.

Chaewon is in the middle of the chaos, covering Yuna’s shift as part of the blackmail. She carries a tray of blue shots that glow like poison, dodging cheeky hands and smiling at customers who shout “Baby, another one!” Her red lipstick is already a little smudged, sweat dripping down the back of her neck, but she holds her pose, swaying slightly as she serves, the charisma of a future idol shining through even in that hole. Inside, she’s a wreck: the fear that Yuna will open her mouth and ruin her life at Starlight Entertainment—where she dreams of being an idol—is on her mind. I'll fix this, she thinks, but her anger towards Yuna only grows.

During her break, Chaewon runs to the bathroom, a cubicle with cracked tiles and a smudged mirror. She’s touching up her lipstick when Yuna walks in. “Are you enjoying my shift, Soo-min?” Yuna teases, her tone acidic, leaning against the counter to block the exit. Chaewon grits her teeth, the tube of lipstick clutched in her hand. “Just say what you want, Yuna. I’m sick of this shit,” she snaps, her voice shaking with anger. Yuna laughs, pulling out her phone and showing a screenshot: Starlight’s form with Chaewon’s real name, which she found in a gossip group. “Look, your idol life is in my hands. One click, and Min-jae kicks you out. Another, and Starlight kicks you out. Imagine the producers knowing that the nice intern serves shots in a whore’s skirt.”

Chaewon’s stomach churns, but she tries to keep a brave face. “You’re a bitch, you know that?” She says, but Yuna just smiles, leaning closer until her breath hits her face. “Bitch is in charge of you, honey. And now, new assignment: you’re going to create an account on SimpSpace.” Chaewon blinks, confused. “What?” Yuna explains, her tone amused: SimpSpace is a platform where girls sell intimate content to horny fans—messages, photos, videos, anything that makes guys spend money. “You’re going to join, post some hot stuff, and give me half of the profits. Or I’ll send your story to everyone, including your bosses at Starlight.”

Chaewon wants to punch Yuna in the face, but she’s cornered. “You’re crazy if you think I’m going to do that,” she spits, but Yuna leans in, her finger poking her in the chest. “You’re crazy, thinking you have a choice. You start with spicy messages, some light things. But you’re not wrong, Soo-min — I’ll want more. Pictures in your panties, videos of you dancing like those sluts on TikTok, audios of you moaning as if you were getting fucked. And if you complain, your life will turn to ashes.” Yuna laughs, tossing her blonde hair, and leaves, leaving Chaewon trembling, the mirror reflecting a girl who is sinking into a bottomless pit.

Back in the tiny apartment Chaewon shares with an intern, she throws herself on the bed, her bar uniform thrown on the floor, the smell of vodka still clinging to her skin. It's 3 a.m., and Seoul rumbles outside, neon signs shining through the window. She grabs her phone, her heart heavy, and creates an account on SimpSpace with the name “VelvetKitten,” an ironic echo of Black Velvet. The platform is a sea of profiles with panty pics and promises of “exclusive content.” Chaewon swallows her pride and starts with light messages, responding to guys who send her fire emojis and “Hi, kitty.” “I'm in my pajamas, wanna know what it's like?” she writes to one, bile rising in her throat, but money dripping into her account. Each message is a stab at her dream of being an idol, but also a spark of rebellion — if she's being forced to do this, she'll do it her way.

The next night, at Black Velvet, Yuna doesn’t miss a chance to humiliate. As Chaewon serves a table of screaming guys, Yuna walks by and whispers loud enough for some to hear: “Are you sending nudes properly, VelvetKitten? Or do you want me to teach you how to suck on a phone?” The customers laugh, thinking she’s joking, but Chaewon blushes, her tray shaking in her hands. “Fuck you, Yuna,” she mutters, but Yuna just blinks, blowing a sarcastic kiss. Later, at the bar, Yuna checks Chaewon’s phone, laughing. “Texts? That’s it? I’m serious, Soo-min. I want pictures of you in black panties, twerking in a video with that slutty skirt, and some audio clips of you moaning ‘oh, fuck me’. Otherwise, your career is over.” Chaewon stares at the bar, the glass of soju Min-jae pours gleaming like a way out, but she knows she’s trapped. The bar throbs around her, the graffiti on the walls seeming to laugh at her, and Chaewon, for the first time, feels the weight of a double life that could swallow her whole.

As “VelvetKitten” on SimpSpace, Chaewon has sent racy messages like “Wanna see my pajamas, you rascal?” and the money is pouring in—50,000 won here, 100,000 there. But Yuna, the bitch with the lip piercing, wants more. Yesterday, she demanded panty shots, videos of her twerking, and audio of her moaning, and Chaewon, her heart in her throat, was starting to give in. She opens the app, and the notifications explode: “You’re so beautiful, Kitten, I want to see you on your knees,” says one subscriber. “I’m paying you to be my little slut,” writes another. Chaewon feels her face burn with embarrassment, but also a treacherous heat between her legs—the compliments, even dirty ones, ignite something she hates to admit. They want me, she thinks, and for a second, it’s like being on the stage she dreams of as an idol.

But then the shame hits harder. Each message is a reminder of how far she is from the Chaewon who files contracts at Starlight Entertainment, smiling at producers who may never see her sing. She throws her phone on the bed, her heart sinking, and mutters to herself: “Fuck, I’m not that.” But Yuna doesn’t let up.

The next night, Chaewon is serving soju shots in a corner of Black Velvet, her uniform tighter than ever — Yuna “suggested” a top that barely covers her breasts and a vinyl skirt so short that she feels the air on her thighs with every step. The fishnet stockings are ripped on purpose, and the red lipstick, now smudged from biting her lip, completes the “adult movie waitress” look. She tries to ignore the stares of the customers, guys in suits with hands that “accidentally” brush against them and girls laughing loudly, but Yuna is watching, leaning against the counter, fiddling with her phone like a villain in a cheap comedy. “Hey, VelvetKitten!” Yuna screams, loud enough for a few tables to turn their heads. Chaewon blushes, her tray shaking. “Come here, your little digital bitch needs a lesson.”

Chaewon approaches, teeth gritted, and Yuna hands her her phone, open to SimpSpace. “Read this one out loud,” Yuna orders, pointing to a message from a subscriber: “Kitten, I want you on all fours, moaning my name.” Yuna’s voice is pure venom, and a few customers laugh, thinking she’s joking. Chaewon swallows hard, her face burning. “Yuna, stop this shit,” she whispers, but Yuna leans in, her piercing glistening. “Read it, or tomorrow Min-jae and Starlight will know you’re a fraud. And say it nicely, like the little slut they think you are.” Chaewon wants to punch her in the face, but she’s cornered. Her voice trembling, she reads softly: “Kitten… I want you on all fours… moaning my name.” Yuna laughs, clapping her hands together. “Louder, Soo-min, or I’ll turn it on the bar’s stereo!” Chaewon repeats, her voice cracking, and a guy at the next table whistles, shouting, “That’s it, kitten!” The humiliation burns, but Chaewon’s eyes shine with something new—anger mixed with a confused lust, as if the shame is turning into something else.

Later, in the back of the bar, in a small room that serves as a storage room and dressing room, Yuna throws a bag of clothes in Chaewon’s face. “Time to step it up a notch, VelvetKitten,” she says. The bag contains a black lace bodysuit that looks like a spiderweb, a pair of strap-on panties that barely cover anything, and a leather belt with chains that screams porn. “This is for your next video,” Yuna explains, crossing her arms. “I want you to dance, shaking that ass that the guys are paying to see. And record an audio moaning ‘fuck me, daddy’, really naughty. If you don’t, you know what I mean.” Chaewon stares at the clothes, her stomach churning. “You’re turning me into a… a…” She doesn’t finish, and Yuna finishes, laughing: “A digital slut? Congratulations, Soo-min, you already are. Now do it right.”

Back at the apartment, Chaewon puts on the lace bodysuit, the fabric brushing her nipples in a way that makes her gasp. She records the video, dancing to a slow beat by SimpSpace, shaking her hips in front of the mirror, the chain belt jingling. “You’re so hot, Kitten,” one subscriber comments, and others send: “Be my slave, please.” Shame swallows her — she’s the intern who wants to be an idol, not this — but excitement comes along with it, like a betrayal of her body. She records the audio, moaning “Fuck me, daddy,” her voice hoarse, and when she sends it, the money pours in: 200,000 won in one night. Chaewon throws the phone on the bed, her hands shaking, her heart in pieces. At Black Velvet, Yuna checks it all out, laughing as she humiliates: “Look, the little idol is learning how to be a slut properly.”

It’s Saturday night, and Hongdae is a hive of lights and sound, with bars blaring K-pop music, girls in high heels stumbling on the sidewalks, and the smell of soju and fried chicken in the air. Black Velvet is packed. Tattooed owner Min-jae’s counter is covered in sticky glasses, and the electronic beat, like something from Jay Park, makes the tables vibrate. Chaewon darts between customers, her uniform—a black lace bodysuit that looks like a web, strappy panties, and a jingling chain belt—leaving her exposed to hungry eyes. Her red lipstick is smeared from biting her lip, sweat drips down the back of her neck, and every “Hey, kitty!” from a drunk customer is a stab to the soul. But she keeps her smile on, pouring shots of “Hot Sin” while thinking about SimpSpace, where, as “VelvetKitten,” she’s making money from dirty texts, twerking videos, and audios that make her want to vomit with embarrassment.

During her break, Chaewon hides in the back room, a cramped space with boxes of liquor and a cracked mirror. She checks her phone, her heart sinking, and sees a new message on SimpSpace. It’s from a guy with the nickname “GoldKing88,” a VIP subscriber who’s already spent thousands of won in the past few days. The message is straightforward: “Kitten, I’ll pay you 5 million won for a personalized video. I want you on a leash, on all fours, moaning my name and begging to be mine. 10 minutes, no cuts.” Chaewon’s stomach drops—5 million is more than she makes in months at Starlight Entertainment. But the thought of humiliating herself like this, on a leash, begging, is too much. She tosses her phone into her bag, muttering “No way,” but Yuna’s shadow is already looming.

Back at the bar, Chaewon is serving a table of guys in suits when Yuna appears. “Time to check out SimpSpace star VelvetKitten!” Yuna announces, loud enough for a few heads to turn, and Chaewon blushes, her tray shaking. At the counter, Yuna grabs her phone without asking, laughing as she scrolls through her messages. “Wow, look at this! ‘GoldKing88’ wants to leash you? And 5 million won? Damn, Soo-min, you’re hot!” Chaewon tries to grab the phone, her teeth grinding together. “Yuna, stop this shit. I’m not doing this,” she spits, her voice low, but Yuna leans in. “You’re not?”

Chaewon feels the floor disappear, the bar spinning around her. “You’re destroying me, Yuna,” she mutters, her eyes watering, but Yuna laughs, tossing her blonde hair. “Destroying me? I’m making you rich, you ungrateful bitch. Now take the guy’s offer, record this video, and give me half. Or do you want me to send your slutty face to the Starlight gossip group?” Yuna pokes her chest, her finger digging into her lace bodysuit. “And do it well, huh? Collar, on all fours, moaning like the little slut he wants. If not, it’s over.” Yuna throws the phone in her hand and walks off, shouting “Good luck, Kitten!” to the audience of customers, who laugh, thinking she’s joking. Chaewon stands still, her heart racing, the humiliation burning, but a spark of excitement — dirty, wrong — grows at the thought of so much money and attention.

In the apartment, the silence is broken only by the buzz of a neon sign outside, casting pink light on the peeling wall. Chaewon stands in front of the mirror, her body trembling as she puts on what Yuna sent her: black lace panties, a jingling chain belt, and a cheap leather collar she bought at a sex shop in Itaewon, her heart clenching with each click. The lace bodysuit has been replaced by a top that barely covers her nipples, and she feels the fabric brush against her skin, igniting a heat that embarrasses her. She turns on her phone’s camera, SimpSpace opens, and takes a deep breath. I’m not that, she thinks, but Yuna’s threat—Min-jae, Starlight, her career—weighs more than her pride.

Chaewon kneels on the carpet, on all fours, her collar glinting in the lamplight. “Hi, GoldKing,” she begins, her voice husky, forcing a sensual tone. “I’m here for you… your Kitten wants to be yours.” She moans his name, as if he were asking, and grinds slowly, her belt jingling, her panties slipping slightly. “Please… make me yours,” she murmurs, the words cutting like knives, but the money—5 million won—shines in her mind. The embarrassment is suffocating, but the comments that pop up on SimpSpace—“You’re perfect, Kitten, my hot slave”—get to her. The video lasts 10 minutes, every second a test of her limits, and when she turns off the camera, she’s sweating, her face flushed, her body strangely hot. Money drips into her account, and Chaewon throws the collar on the floor, muttering, “Fuck, what have I become?” But deep down, a part of her—rebellious, lively—is starting to enjoy the game, even if it’s dangerous.

The next night, at Black Velvet, Yuna checks the video on Chaewon’s phone, laughing out loud. “Look at that, the little idol with the collar! She’s turning pro, Soo-min!” She squeezes Chaewon’s arm, forcing her to look at the screen while the customers around her jeer. “Don’t forget: half of it is mine, or I’ll fuck you up.”

As time goes by, the messages from subscribers start to explode: “Kitten, you with a collar are my fantasy,” says one. “I want to see you cry from cumming,” writes another. Chaewon feels her face burn with embarrassment—she’s a Starlight Entertainment intern, dreaming of being an idol, not a “VelvetKitten” on all fours. But, damn, there’s something about this that gets to her. Every dirty compliment, every won dripping into her account, is like a drug. She’s scared, of course—scared of Yuna, of being exposed, of becoming this forever. But there’s also a perverse pleasure, an adrenaline rush of being desired, of exposing herself and, in some twisted way, controlling these guys through her cell phone. They want me, she thinks, and the thought makes her pussy throb, even though she hates to admit it.

On another day at work, Yuna drags Chaewon to the back room, a claustrophobic space with boxes of liquor and a cracked mirror. “Time to spice things up, VelvetKitten,” Yuna says, her tone acidic, tossing a black marker into her hand. “The subscribers want more, and you’re going to give it to them. Write what they tell you on your body.” Chaewon blinks, her heart racing. “What?” she blurts, but Yuna shows her phone, open to SimpSpace, with messages from subscribers: “Write ‘whore’ on your boobs, Kitten,” says one. “I want ‘slave’ on my ass,” asks another. Chaewon feels her stomach churn, but Yuna just says, “Do it, Soo-min.” Chaewon grits her teeth, anger mixed with that twisted pleasure she’s starting to enjoy. “You’re trash,” she spits, but takes the marker, trembling.

In the mirror, Chaewon pulls up her top, exposing her breasts, and writes “whore” in large letters, the marker cold on her skin. On her thigh, she scribbles “slave,” and on her stomach, “yours.” Each word is a stab, but also an electric shock—she’s humiliated, but the idea of thousands of guys paying to see this makes her feel powerful, even if it’s dirty. Yuna laughs, clapping her hands together. “Perfect, you little bitch. Now record a video for the subscribers. I want you dancing, rubbing those words, and moaning like they’re fucking you.” Chaewon wants to scream, but Yuna has her phone out, recording the humiliation. In the apartment, Chaewon films, dancing with the words exposed, shaking her hips as she moans, “I’m your whore, daddy,” her voice husky, her body hot. The subscribers go crazy—“You’re my queen, Kitten!”—and the money pours in, but Chaewon is torn, her perverse pleasure fighting with the shame of seeing herself like this.

When she returns to the bar, it ends up more crowded than ever, the air thick with sweat and incense. Chaewon pours shots, her vinyl top gleaming, the words “whore” and “slave” hidden beneath her clothes but burning into her skin. Yuna appears at the counter, her villainous smile shining. “Good news, Soo-min. A top subscriber, ‘DiamondLord,’ wants a private meeting. He’s offering 10 million won to see you in person.” Chaewon freezes, her tray shaking. “In person? Are you crazy?” she spits, but Yuna laughs, crossing her arms. “You’re the crazy one, thinking there’s a way out. He’s powerful, like he owns a club or something. He wants you in a suite downtown, and he said he wants to… satisfy you. You go, you’re going to be his little whore for a night, and you give me half.”

Yuna leans in, her finger poking Chaewon’s chest. “Imagine, Soo-min, a Starlight producer knowing that you write ‘whore’ on your body. Or Min-jae kicking you out for lying. Accept the date, or I’ll fuck you.” Chaewon feels the bar spin, the customers screaming in the background, the electronic beat like a hammer. The imaginary collar tightens — and, fuck, that dirty pleasure is there, whispering that maybe she wants this, just a little. “You’ll pay for this, Yuna,” she murmurs, but Yuna just blinks, blowing a sarcastic kiss. “Good girl, Kitten. If you play nice, who knows you might like it.” Chaewon stares at the bar, her soju glass glistening, and knows she’s sinking into a game where limits no longer exist.

Chaewon leaves Black Velvet after another hellish shift, her body exhausted, her uniform stuck to her sweaty skin. Her red lipstick is smudged, and the words “whore” and “slave,” which she washed off with force, still seem to burn into her skin. In her apartment, Chaewon flops down on her bed, her phone flashing with messages from SimpSpace. “DiamondLord” has confirmed the meeting: a suite at a luxury hotel in downtown Seoul, tomorrow night. “I want my Kitten live, ready to serve me,” he writes, and Chaewon feels her stomach churn. 10 million won is a fortune, but satisfying a stranger? That’s a line she’s never wanted to cross.

But Yuna doesn’t give her a choice. At the bar, before Chaewon could leave, Yuna cornered her in the back room, the cramped space smelling of vodka and dust. “You’re going to do it, Soo-min, and you’re going to make him cum with happiness,” Yuna said with a laugh. “If you try to run away, you know what. Imagine your bosses seeing the little idol moaning ‘fuck me, daddy.’” Yuna threw a bag with a “costume” — a red lace lingerie, a rhinestone collar, and a butt plug with a shiny jewel — that made Chaewon gag. “He asked for it, Kitten. Be a good slut,” Yuna mocked, poking her in the chest.

Chaewon stood in front of the bathroom mirror, her heart racing, the bag of “costume” that Yuna had thrown in her face open on the sink. The red lace lingerie is so thin it shows off her nipples, the rhinestone collar sparkles like a trophy, and the butt plug with a red jewel makes her swallow hard. Chaewon has never worn anything like this—her asshole is virgin, and just thinking about the sensation makes her stomach turn. But Yuna is clear: “DiamondLord wants you in this, Kitten.” Chaewon takes a deep breath, her red lipstick trembling as she applies lip gloss. I choose to do this, she thinks, trying to convince herself, the perverse pleasure she’s been feeling in SimpSpace fighting with her fear.

She slips on the lingerie, the fabric brushing against her skin, and puts on the collar, the rhinestone cold on her neck. Then, hands shaking, she grabs the plug and a tube of lube she bought at a sex shop in Hongdae, her face burning with embarrassment. Chaewon leans over the sink, her lace panties pulled to the side, and spreads the lube, the cold gel making her gasp. When she pushes the plug in, the pain is immediate—a sharp burn that makes her bite her lip, her eyes watering. “Fuck, that hurts,” she murmurs, her body tensing but pushing harder, her virgin asshole resisting before giving in. The plug goes in, the jewel glistening between her buttocks, and each movement sends a wave of pain mixed with a strange pleasure, as if she’s crossing a line she never wanted. Chaewon looks at the mirror, at the collar, at the lingerie, at the plug—she’s no longer the Starlight intern, but “VelvetKitten,” and that, in some twisted way, makes her feel alive. She pulls on a black trench coat over it, grabs her high heels, and heads out for the date, the plug tightening with every step.

The suite at the Lotte Hotel in the heart of Seoul is a dream of wealth: floor-to-ceiling windows with the skyline shining down, a king-size bed with black silk sheets, a bottle of Dom Pérignon champagne sweating on the table, and the smell of leather and jasmine in the air. Chaewon enters, her coat falling to the floor, revealing her red lingerie, her rhinestone collar, and her heels clicking on the marble. The butt plug sends shocks of pain and arousal with every movement, and she tries to maintain her “VelvetKitten” pose, even with her heart in her throat. DiamondLord, or Jin-ho, is waiting: in his 40s, with slicked-back hair, an Armani suit, and a smile that mixes charm with hunger. “Fuck, Kitten, you’re a living sin,” he says, his voice deep, pouring champagne. Chaewon smiles, her lip gloss glistening, and accepts the glass, the cold liquid calming her nerves. “I want to make you happy, Lord,” she murmurs, her voice hoarse, knowing she’s there by choice — Yuna forced her, but she wants the 10 million and, perhaps, this dangerous game.

Jin-ho leans in, his eyes fixed on her, and pulls Chaewon into a deep kiss, his tongue invading, the taste of champagne and whiskey mingling. She responds, her hands on his chest, feeling the heat through his shirt. “On your knees, Kitten,” he orders, his voice firm, and Chaewon obeys, the soft carpet against her knees, the plug tightening as she moves. She unzips his suit, his cock already hard, and licks the glans, slowly, like she learned from the SimpSpace videos. “Fuck, you know how to suck,” Jin-ho groans, his hand on the collar, tugging lightly. Chaewon swallows harder, her throat tight, the wet sound echoing in the suite. She’s nervous, but the wicked pleasure grows, the control she has over him even on her knees. He comes fast, the warm liquid filling her mouth, and Chaewon swallows, cleaning her lips with her tongue, her eyes fixed on his. “Good girl,” he says, laughing, and grabs a bottle of blue pills from the table, swallowing two with champagne. “I’m just getting started, Kitten.”

Jin-ho lifts her up, his hands ripping her red lingerie, the lace falling in shreds, exposing her breasts and strappy panties. “You’re mine today,” he growls, but Chaewon, sensing the power of the moment, whispers, “Then use me right, Lord.” He throws her on the bed, exploring her body with his hands and mouth, sucking on her nipples until she moans, his fingers in her pussy, wet despite her shame. Chaewon arches her body, the butt plug intensifying everything, and comes for the first time, a muffled scream, the pleasure fighting with the guilt of being so exposed. “Fuck, you come good,” Jin-ho says, and flips her onto her stomach, pulling her panties aside. “I’ve never done anal,” she confesses, her voice shaking, but adds, “I want to try… with you.” He lubes the plug, pulling it out slowly, the pain making her bite the sheets, and thrusts his cock in, slowly at first, then harder. Chaewon screams, the burning mixed with pleasure, and obeys when he commands: “Touch your pussy, Kitten.” She masturbates, her fingers quick, and comes again, her body shaking as he fucks her ass, ejaculating with a hoarse groan.

Exhausted, he leads her to the shower, steam filling the marble bathroom, hot water running down her skin. Jin-ho presses her against the wall, penetrating her pussy this time, his wet collar glistening. “You’re my slut, Kitten,” he says, but Chaewon, feeling the pleasure taking over, replies: “I’m yours… but only today.” They fuck until exhaustion, she coming once more, her legs weak. When they’re done, Jin-ho hands her a fat envelope—10 million won—and dresses her in one of his shirts, the fabric smelling of cologne. “It was perfect, Kitten,” he says, his tone hardening. “But if you open your mouth about this, I’ll find you, and you won’t like it.” Chaewon smiles, feigning submission, but inside she is plotting. In the elevator, the envelope in her bag, she feels her body aching, but alive, and one thing is certain: this game is changing her.

At Black Velvet, the next day, Chaewon was still serving shots, her vinyl uniform shining, her short skirt exposing her thighs marked by her encounter with Jin-ho. The rhinestone collar is hidden in her bag, but the weight of it — and the 10 million won — gives Chaewon a new confidence, an anger that is ready to explode. The encounter with DiamondLord was more than sex: Jin-ho let it slip that Yuna had worked with him, selling nudes on SimpSpace and doing “extras” at nightclubs, things that Min-jae, the bar owner, never knew about. Chaewon dug through the app and found old messages from Yuna on a deleted profile, with explicit photos and promises that could screw her over with Min-jae and even with the police, since Black Velvet is illegal.

Chaewon waits for the break, her blood boiling. When Yuna walks past her at the bar, laughing and shouting, “How was your date with that rich guy, VelvetKitten?” Chaewon can’t take it anymore. She grabs Yuna’s arm, her nails digging in, and drags her into the back room, ignoring the stares of the customers. “What the fuck, Soo-min?” Yuna whines, trying to pull away, but Chaewon slams the door shut, the sound muffled by the noise of the bar. Chaewon pushes Yuna against the wall, her vinyl top glistening in the dim light. “Enough of your shit, you bitch,” Chaewon growls, her voice shaking with rage, and slaps Yuna hard across the face, the sound echoing like a gunshot. Yuna stumbles, her piercing shaking, her hand on her face red. “Are you crazy?!” she screams, but Chaewon doesn’t stop, landing another slap, her red lipstick shining as she spits, “You’re the crazy one, thinking you can fuck me forever.”

Chaewon pulls out her phone, showing Yuna’s old messages on SimpSpace. “Look here, you hypocritical bitch. Selling nudes, sucking dick in nightclubs, and Min-jae doesn’t know anything about it. Do you want me to show it to him? Or to the police, who are already looking at this bar?” Yuna goes white, her eyes wide, but tries to defend herself: “You have no balls, Soo-min.” Chaewon laughs, an acidic sound, and grabs Yuna’s blonde hair, pulling hard until she moans in pain. “Balls? I became a bitch in SimpSpace, and now you’re going to be mine.” To humiliate her even more, Chaewon grabs the black marker from the table — the same one Yuna used to force her to write “whore” on her body — and writes “SLUT” on Yuna’s forehead, the thick line shining on her skin. “See how good it feels?” Chaewon scoffs, throwing the marker on the floor. “If you open your mouth, I’ll show your pictures to the whole bar.”

Yuna is shaking, her face red, the word “SLUT” shining like a stamp. “You’ll… regret it,” she mutters, but Chaewon slaps her again, a lighter one, just to make a point. “Regret it? You made me a whore, Yuna. Now shut up and obey, or I’ll make you swallow this piercing.” Chaewon leaves the little room, her heart racing, her anger mixed with a sadistic pleasure she’s never felt before. At the bar, she serves shots with a new smile, her uniform shining, while Yuna, still in the back, wipes the marker off with shaking hands. Chaewon has won this battle, but she knows Yuna won’t stay quiet.

#chaewon smut #kpop smut #le sserafim smut #yuna smut

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m4y4wasnthere · 4 months ago

Text

i’m not pretending

dallas x f!reader ; fake dating scenario

fic request here

warnings: cursing, oral giving, degradation, praise, hair pulling ; smut with plot!

a/n: this is a wayyy longer fic than my other ones so um, be prepared. this one also is a bit more ooc dallas 😭

summary: your obsessive ex is getting super unbearable to the point you go to Dallas Winston for help. A fake dating scenario long enough to make your ex lose interest in you, along with a few rules, one of which says no catching feelings. this never works out well 😒

“look, I know we aren’t the best of friends but please! it won’t be awhile, maybe just a month or two, he keeps following me everywhere!”

You were following Dallas along the sidewalk begging him to agree to fake a relationship with you. You two were definitely not close at any means but he was your best bet at getting some kind of privacy from your obsessive ex.

“christ’s sake, fine! now stop being so annoyin’ and followin’ me around, go back home or wherever man,” he stated while abruptly stopping. You bumped into him and he gave you a cold glare over his shoulder. You got the hint and backed away.

“meet me at the Dingo tomorrow, we can discuss more about it.” You walked back home content with yourself with convincing him, but you had no idea how far this plan would go.

✰ ✰ ✰

“okay lets make a list of rules. uh, for number one, no kissing,” you got out a piece of paper and started to scribble down.

“a list? Who do you think I am?” Dallas fiddles with a small jumble of some garbage wrap from a straw. He doesn’t look at you but his eyebrows are furrowed while trying to make a paper ring out of it.

“yes, a list.” You shoot him a glare, he doesn’t bother to see. “maybe if you made lists, you wouldn’t always be losing your wallet,” you muttured under your breath.

“no kissing? look, I’m not lookin’ forward to this but I’m smart enough to know that nobody is gonna buy this if we don’t kiss.” Dallas snatched the pencil away from you and tried to erase the rule.

“i’m not wasting my first kiss on you.” Dallas paused and you were expecting a snarky remark but he just sighed.

“no kissing, on the lips, how ‘bout that?” He jotted down on the paper. You nodded in slight appreciation, he gave the pencil back to you and the two of you spent the rest of the hour going back and forth making up rules.

Your list came out to be this:

1. no kissing on the lips

2. no flirting/hooking up with other people

3. we each have to give each other something to show our relationship is real

4. weekly dates

5. stop only in private

6. pet names are needed

7. dont tell anyone

8. no catching feelings

the two of you didn’t have strict boundaries other than the last one. neither of you thought it would be hard rule to follow, your mutual dislike made it all really easy.

you guys agreed on starting this ‘contract’ tomorrow.

✰ ✰ ✰

its been 2 months since this fake dating agreement started. you found that Dallas wasnt as insufferable as you originally thought. he was funny with his wit commentary, his sarcasm, his carelessness about everything, you admired him in a way.

he was also beautiful, you noticed it before but never wanted to admit it. his dark hair complimented his sharp features but his eyes were soft in contrast.

your heart fluttered everytime he called you doll, his gal, even your name sounded like foreign music when it rolled off his tounge.

what was happening? Suddenly every-time you guys went on dates, you wished they could be more private, you wished he would hold your hand a bit longer, you wished his eyes would linger on yours and always trace your face, you wished he liked you.

you had a crush on Dallas Winston.

every second longer you stayed with him, you broke the rules of the “contract” more.

what were you supposed to do? suddenly everytime you guys were out, your acting became more snd more believable because you weren’t acting anymore. well, you wish it wasn’t acting for both of you.

you found yourself spaced out more often, lost in daydreams about your fake boyfriend, thinking about how he would react if he knew, how he would embrace you and tell you he felt the sam-

“doll? are ya okay? you’ve been looking at my arm for awhile.”

je snapped you back to reality. arms on the table, elbows planted, playing with a ring of his and twirling it on his finger.

“sorry I was just thinking.” you looked down at your untouched plate of food and starting grabbing some fries to eat.

“you ’re thinking a lot more often, i don’t know if I really like it. can’t get enough attention from you nowadays.”

he looked at you through his lashes with those gorgeous eyes. your stomach flipped and you almost dropped a fry.

“what if I’m thinking about you?” you said blunty, you tried to let out a small laugh to cover up your honest statement.

dallas stopped playing with his ring, it fell flat on the table with a quiet clunk. his eyes pierced through yours, your stomach churning with the realization of what you just said.

your face flushed with heat, ears burning, your eyes flickered to the floor. the diner felt as if it was closing in around you, it was too much to handle. you got up stiffly and grabbed your bag.

dallas was stuck sitting his chair, he was just staring at you. why wasnt he saying anything?

gosh how could i be so stupid and just say that???

you quickly walked towards the exit of the diner, passing by familiar faces. the sounds of your soles were followed by thumps. is he following me?

you quickened your pace and pushed the door open. your house was maybe a 3 minute bike ride away, about 5-10 minutes walking distance. of course you walked here with dallas so there was no way you couldnt make it home fast enough to your liking.

you spotted a black cruiser bike laying on the sidewalk. its been there for a few days, so there wasnt much worry for it having an owner.

you quickly hopped on it and starting biking up the sidewalk.

you heard faint steps catching up to you.

“doll, where are you going? c’mon lets talk about this !” dallas’ yelling slowly got muffled as you got farther away.

you couldnt help but tear up a bit as you finally stopped hearing his voice. i feel so stupid, i didnt think before i spoke. i wasnt supposed to say that.

✰ ✰ ✰

its been 2 weeks since your stupid accident confession to dallas.

you’ve been avoiding him at all costs, if you ever saw him at the same place, you left immediately.

he constantly tries calling your home phone, but you never pick up. too scared to hear what he has to say. until today.

you heard a knock on your front door. your house wasnt anything special, in a bit better shape than the curtis household but not so different in size or layout. your parents pay it off but they’re rarely home, their jobs always keep them occupied.

you were tired, you were having breakdowns throughout the weeks over dallas. you were too scared to talk to him, afraid of the chance of rejection.

you didnt really care for your appearence most of the week since you stayed home. you were wearing a cozy beige sweater and some black shorts.

you groggily made your way to the front door, about to turn the knob when the knocking became insistent.

“im opening up, god, just wait a bit !” you yelled annoyingly. the locks came undone and the door got swung open.

“hey.” dallas stood there infront of you. you stood stunned for a few moments before speaking.

“go back home dallas. im not in the mood to talk.” you went to close the door, when his hand stopped you. pushing it was no help, he held it open with no struggle.

“no shit, ive been trying to call you all week.” he walked past you into the living room. he stood, analyzing your home with tired eyes. he laid down on your couch, stretched out.

“sit with me.” he gestured next to him. you hesitantly walked over but sat on the far end of the couch to his dismay. he frowned alittle before speaking up again.

“c’mon doll talk to me. i havent seen you in weeks, ‘missed you.” he muttered the last part under his breath. you shifted uncomfortably and grabbed a nearby blanket to cover yourself with.

even now he was unbelievably hot. you hated yourself for even noticing. his hair was noticeably messy and his eyes had slight bags under them. his black tank top always hugged him in the right places

you looked away.

“talk about what dal? i dont know why your here. you should just go hom-“

“your avoiding me and i dont know what i did. okay?” he stands up, “the last time i saw you, you just drove off on whoevers damn bike that was. ’ve been calling you for a week straight and no answer.” his hands wave through the air as he talks before he plops back down and rests his head in his hands.

“look ‘m sorry if apparently its so bad that im worried about my girlfriend.” he leans back on the couch, breathless.

“fake girlfriend.” you muttered sharply under your breath. your crossed your arms, staring at the floor.

“is that what this is about?” he looks at you with a sharp turn, “god, baby, i dont care about what you said last week. it didnt bother me at all.”

“thats the thing. it didnt !” you took the blanket off and started pacing infront of him, “you dont care that i basically just said i liked you. it doesnt mean anything to you.” you were getting yourself worked up with each word you said, your eyes starting to get blurry with tears, “this stupid fake relationship and these stupid rules and i broke one of the most important ones, and you dont seem to be affected at all!” you crossed your arms and stared at him, unaware of the tears starting to stain your cheeks.

“doll i never said-“ dallas stands up and tries to approach you, but you pull away.

“dont try and lie, its not gonna make me feel better. just go dal, go.”

he ignores your statement and pulls you into his chest. you try and push him away but he doesnt let you go.

he lets out a low chuckle.

“you think this is funny? what is wrong with you !” he holds you tightly against him.

“no doll i swear ‘m not laughing at you. its just-“ he smiles lightly as he struggles to gather his words.

“i never said it didn’t effect me. god baby, if you just answered the phone. you’d know that i didn’t mind,” he stops hugging you so you can look at him,

“i wasn’t pretending. ‘nd i love you too or whatever. dont make me say it again.”

you stare at him dumbfounded.

“what?” you stop struggling against his grip and just try and process what hes saying.

“are we okay now? can you stop avoiding me?” he pushes a strand of hair behind your ear, he holds your face in his hands.

“yes..” you say hesitantly. what do i do now? does that mean we’re dating? fuck.

he leans in so he can whisper in your ear,

“does this mean i can kiss you?”

you shakily nod and he pulls you in from your waist, his head tilts to the side and he hesitates before his lips reach yours.

your body was trembling from the slight affection. his lips were warm and soft, so different from his personality.

he put his hand behind your head to pull you into him more, making the kiss deeper. his other hand danced along your spine, until deciding to rest on your face.

you wrapped your arms around his neck, making him stumble a bit backwards before grabbing hold of the couch.

he pulled away for a breath before sitting down and pulling you forward to straddle him. his eyes traced your face. his gaze pierced your eyes, down to your mouth.

“my pretty girl” he mumbled before taking your lips again.

this time is was more forceful, more passionate. he grabbed at you thighs and had his hands travel all over your body. you helped him take his jacket off and threw it to the side.

he let his tongue into your mouth, making you moan into him.

he sucked on your tongue, he let his toungue slide across your teeth. he was hungry for you, he wanted more.

“take your sweater off f’me baby. let me see those pretty tits.”

he helped your sweater above your arms and over your head. your tits slightly bounced with the motion.

“no bra? fuck, your gonna be the death of me doll.”

he immediately ducked down to suck on your breast. he flicked his tongue around your nipple. you squirmed underneath him, breathy moans escaping your lips. his hands cupped your breasts, he swirled his finger around your other nipple and pinched it.

his lips de attached themselves from your tit with a pop. he licked his lips and gazed at you with a grin before returning to leaving sloppy kisses all over your chest.

“you like watching me lick all over your tits doll? ‘m making you feel good?”

you moaned quietly in response. “use your fucking words baby.” he bit some of your plush skin. “mph ! yes dal i like it.. please don’t stop” your skin flushed with embarrassment as he smirked at your obedience.

“so good f’me baby.” he lifted his head to look at you, admiring the hickeys that covered your now sore breasts.

dal took his shirt off, revealing his slighty sweaty toned body. you couldnt help but stare, you traced his faint ab lines. he watched you intently. you leaned down and licked up his abs.

“fuck doll… didn’t know you were like that. do it again.”

so of course, you did it again, this time dallas fumbled with his belt and reached down his pants. he stroked himself as he watched you lick up his chest.

“can i do it for you?”

dallas grinned and lifted you up so you were standing infront of him. he carefully stood up so he could take his pants and boxers off fully.

“sit back down baby.”

you sat in his place as you watched him slowly get out of his boxers. shit. hes big. hes the right amount inbetween thick and long.

you couldnt help but drool at the sight of him. naked and sweaty, dick right infront of your face, twitching for you.

“yea ‘m fucking big. you sure you can take this baby? not gonna be too much for you?” he smirked and said in a mocking tone.

you didnt say anything, instead you put your hands on his dick and slowly started to jerk him off.

he let out low grunts before you opened your mouth and licked the precum off his tip.

“fuck… baby, suck my cock like a good girl already.”

you obliged. you slowly opened your mouth to let more of him in, sucking and swirling around his twitching cock.

he got inpatient and grabbed a fistful of your hair and started bobbing your head up and down. tears swelled in your eyes at how big and full his cock was.

“yea doll, cry for this dick. make me want to fuck you sore.” dallas loved watching you at his mercy. he heard your gasps for air and felt the spit that piled each time you took him in fully. hearing him degrade you like this made you so wet. you couldnt help but sneak a finger down your shorts to relive yourself.

your other hand crept up his thigh and behind his ballsack. you pressed into a very special spot that you knew well.

“wait, fuck, you can’t just-“

his cock twitched in your mouth, precum oozing down your chin. his grunts became low moans of approval as you kept rubbing at his g-spot. you started to rub your clit at a steady pace.

“keep going baby. ‘m gonna come, dont swallow it.”

after a few more swishes of your tongue, you felt his cock pulsate and release white loads in your mouth. it almost made you gag with how deep he was.

“fuck baby. stick your tongue out.”

you looked up at him and stuck your tongue out. it was full of creamy white cum, and it was all his. the thought of it made you squirm and touch yourself even more. your legs squeezed together as you swallowed.

he suddenly took your hand and dragged you to your bedroom, when he forcefully pushed you against your desk.

“dal-“

“cant even wait for me huh pretty girl? had to start touching yourself at the thought of me.” he tore your shorts off with ease. “so fucking wet just by sucking my dick, your panties are soaked.” he rubbed your clit through the thin fabric.

“please dal i want you inside me. please baby, i just got too excited, i needed to touch myself.” your ass was pressed against his legs and your back was arched as you had your head turned to look at him.

“beg f’me some more. i want to know how bad you want this” he hit his hard cock against your covered pussy. you whined underneath him, moving your hips back and forth to get just the tiniest ounce of friction.

“please dal i’ll do anything, i want your cock so bad. im so wet for you.. i wont touch myself without permission again, just please put it in, please please please..” you continued to whimper under his touch and grind on him.

without warning he held the fabric to the slide and slipped 2 fingers into your needy hole.

“such a needy fucking doll.” he pumped his fingers in and out, coating them in your arousal. “just imagine how good my cock will feel,” he takes his fingers out, “pumping in and out of you.” then pushes them back in.

breathless moans escaped your lips as you felt your insides clench around him. you arched your back and your hands struggled to find something to grab on.

he curled his fingers as he pumped them in out, making you jolt in response.

“dally-“ you were cut off by his thumb reaching to your clit, rubbing small circles.

“oh, dal..” you let your upper half rest ontop of the desk. dallas continued rubbing your clit and pumping his fingers in your pussy, you started to feel a build up in your core.

you moved your hips in contradiction with his fingers, making each thrust even deeper.

“dal ‘m gonna come, keep going please.”

you felt yourself twitch as the knot you felt in your core break and your pussy pulsated around dallas’ fingers.

your body fell up and down panting from the orgasm, dallas took his fingers out and pulled your hair so you were pressed up against him.

you turned your head slightly behind you to view his face, to your surprise, he put his fingers in his mouth. licking your cum off his fingertips.

“you taste so good, y’know that doll?”

you watched as his tongue glided across his digits, fingers glistened with saliva and your own arousal. it made your pussy crave for more.

he pushed you back down on the desk and lifted your ass up in one swift motion.

“ngh ! dal be more-“

the tip of his dick slid into you and he forced his whole cock inside.

“shit. you’re tight..”

you let out an unexpected moan as he started slowly thrusting in and out of you. his thick cock stretching your insides.

“oh yea.. dallas.. i love you”

you moaned nonsense as he fucked you senseless. he found a steady but quick rhythm to stick too.

dallas leaned down fully, his sweaty chest against your back, grinning ear to ear, “you what? couldn’t hear you baby.”, he whispered. he slid out and rubbed your clit with the tip of his precum covered cock.

you whimpered and tried to grind against him, but it wasn’t the same as feeling him fill you up.

he held your arms behind your back, “ah ah doll, tell me what you said. i wanna hear it.” you struggled to find friction against him.

“i said i love you dal. i love you so much, please put it in again. i need your thick cock in me.. please..”

with a delighted chuckle, dallas shoved his cock back into you, your eyes rolled back as he slammed into you harder than before.

with each thrust, you felt your core tighten again, you clenched your pussy feel him more.

dallas felt what you were doing, he reached under you and put a thumb on your clit, rubbing slowly.

the knot in your stomach was becoming hard to suppress, dallas’ unfiltered moans didnt help.

his thrusts started to get sloppy and staggered, his cock twitched inside of you everytime you clenched down.

“dally ‘m gonna come, come with me?”

he smacked your ass in response, making you arch your back even further.

“yes doll, ‘m gonna come now. let me fill that sweet little pussy up.”

with a few more struggled thrusts, you felt him shoot his warm load inside of you. you released your 2nd orgasm, sending euphoria up to your brain. he continued to sloppily thrust before pulling out slowly.

he watched as cum dripped from your pulsing hole, he dragged his fingers up and pushed all of the white substance back in.

“so pretty when your all sweaty and ruined by me. you agree baby?”

all you could do was tiredly nod and make an incomprehensible noise. your head lay on the desk, drool leaving your mouth. you couldnt think at all.

✰ ✰ ✰

you woke up in a tight warm blanket. you barely remembered the night before, but when you tried to move, you realized that there was no blanket.

it was dallas.

“dal?”

dallas grunted in response.

“you stayed?”

he shifted his position until you were able to look up at him.

“f’course i stayed.”

you stayed silent, looking at his shut eyes.

“so..are we…?”

dallas groggily opened his eyes to look at you.

“what do you think doll. you think i stay with just anyone until morning?”

he planted a kiss on your forehead, before drifting back to sleep.

you knew he wasnt good with words, but that kiss was just enough.

✰ ✰ ✰

#the outsiders #dally winston #female writers #dallas winston #dallas winston x reader #outsiders smut #dallas winston smut #wattpad

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cottonlemonade · 9 months ago

Text

Atsumu’s New Girlfriend

word count: 656 || avg. reading time: 2 mins.

pairing: post-time skip!Atsumu x chubby!Reader (feat. MSBY)

genre: fluff, crack, established relationship

warnings: spoilers

synopsis: Atsumu’s team doubts your existence

It wasn’t news to anyone that Atsumu came to work with a superior smirk and a not-so-humble brag on his lips but recently it seemed to have increased exponentially. Without much, or really any, resistance, he happily told his teammates that he went and got himself a girlfriend and would not stop talking about how great you were. From all the stories his friends had heard by now you were stunning, smart, beautiful, kind, gorgeous, got along great with his mom, and laughed at all his jokes. That alone gave them all reason to believe that you were entirely made up.

But one day they went to talk with their PR manager, going over contracts for a new brand deal and as they waited for the elevator Atsumu suddenly pointed to a framed newspaper article and called, “Hey! That’s my girlfriend!”

Curious despite their better judgment, the team crowded around the article and studied the group photo at the top. Sakusa didn’t waste any time and pointed to a trash can that was somewhat off in the background. “That one?”

He easily dodged the slap on the shoulder that would have earned him.

Atsumu grumbled something under his breath and then put his finger to the glass again, pointing to a young woman on the left, dressed in an immaculately tailored pantsuit that sat perfectly on your curves, a confident smile on your face. Underneath the picture, it listed the names and professions of the five people.

“Lawyer?!”, the others called in unison.

With the smuggest grin anyone had ever worn, Atsumu crossed his arms and nodded.

“Do you know what a lawyer is?”, Sakusa asked with a brow raised in doubt, “Can you even spell it?”

“Hey!”

“Just because you hired her and see her regularly, doesn’t make her your girlfriend.”, Meian added carefully.

“I didn’t hire her. I just talked to her.”,

Sakusa didn’t buy it. “You talked to her? With words? And she liked you?”

“Uh huh, just talked to her like normal.” The setter shrugged.

“Yeah, but you opening your mouth is usually where it ends.”, Bokuto said sheepishly.

“Maybe she isn’t normal either.”, Sakusa muttered.

“I’m gonna prove it to ya!”, Atsumu called, a very prominent blush on his face, “She is at my place right now waiting for me. Let’s all go there!”

“Honey, I’m hooome!”, Atsumu called as soon as he pushed open the front door. He immediately regretted it because he had never done that before but when there was no reply, Hinata, Bokuto, and Sakusa looked at him with pity. The rest of the team, not wanting to add to his probable humiliation, decided to leave it to his friends to tease him.

“She must be in the kitchen and can’t hear. She likes to listen to music.”, Atsumu explained as he kicked off his shoes, in a tone that sounded as if listening to music while cooking was somehow the quirkiest thing ever.

And truly, now that he said it, faint music was heard, coming from a room at the far end of the entryway. Atsumu half jogged, half slid with his socks on the wooden floor, and opened the door in question. The others followed.

There you were, in an untucked blouse over pinstripe dress pants with a makeshift apron - a dish towel tucked into the collar - offering a (loud and) highly emotional rendition of the Spirit soundtrack as you stirred something that smelled absolutely heavenly on the stove. The three guests let out a long “Ohhhhh” in understanding, then continued to watch for a few stunned moments, before Atsumu broke from the group.

“Hey babe.”, he purred and shuffled over to hug and kiss you Hello.

You wiped the tears the song had brought to your eyes away and looked past him to his friends, not a singular ounce of embarrassment on your face, you said, “I definitely didn’t make enough for all y’all.”

art: @_hermoon on Twitter

a/n: Just something silly. Also, Spirit is a phenomenal movie and never fails to make me cry!

brainstorm powered by @haikyu-mp4

#atsumu x chubby reader #atsumu x you #chubby reader #haikyuu x chubby reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x reader #hq fluff #haikyuu x curvy reader #atsumu x y/n #msby atsumu #atsumu fluff #atsumu x reader #haikyuu atsumu #hq atsumu #miya atsumu #haikyuu msby #msby 4 #msby black jackal

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borathae · 1 year ago

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Man of the Hour

“You love your best friends, which means that Jungkook will do anything in his powers to make sure that they are safe.”

Pairing: CEO!Jungkook x f.Reader

Genre: married life!AU, Comfort

Warnings: protective!Jungkook, one of OC's friends needs help and he is there for her, sexual harassment, he's the best hubby ever, mentions of sexwork, tears, he's quite frankly The Man

Wordcount: 1.9k

a/n: the header fucking ruins me. he is so handsome ngngn. also, i saw a tiktok about a woman's husband helping her bestie move out of her abusive ex's place and went "you know what? aaol!Kook would always be there for OC's besties" so i wanted to write something about it 🤍

Six fourty two. Jungkook has a little over an hour left until he can finally go home. He doesn’t know that yet because he is currently lost in his work. He has concepts to write and contracts to go through. Jungkook has a very thorough and good team of lawyers which go through anything law related, but Jungkook still likes to check for himself. In his field of work, it is best to trust himself and only himself.

You are already at home, promising him dinner. His favourite. He can’t wait to get home to you. He will give you the tightest hug imaginable and then follow it up with a smooch to your face and lots of promises of his eternal love.

His phone rings.

Jungkook looks at his smart watch, furrowing his brows in confusion. This is a caller he hadn’t expected to call. He picks up with a funny feeling in his stomach.

“Noona?”

“Jungkook, thank fuck you picked up. I didn’t know who else to call, I need your help.”

At that his ears perk up. The distress is obvious in her voice.

“What happened? Are you okay?”

Loud club music plays in the background. Distorted voices are filling the chaos as well.

“No. I’m at Saturn and there are men who want to hurt me. T-they keep talking about taking turns on, on me.”

Jungkook straightens up in his chair.

“Are you safe right now?”

“I locked myself in the bathroom.” Loud banging. “Jungkook, can you please come and get me? They’re banging on the door. I’m scared.”

“I’m coming. Don’t go anywhere. I promise, I’m coming.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much.”

The phone call ends.

“Noona? Wheein noona?” Jungkook tries, ‘goddamn it, I’m coming.”

He leaves his office quickly, typing in your number to let you know what was happening.

“Bunny, hey there”, you sound happy about his call. “Are you coming home earlier?”

“Wheein noona is in danger.”

“What!?”

“She just called me that she is at Saturn and some assholes are trying to hurt her. She’s in the bathroom, safe for now, but I’m gonna get her.”

“Holy fuck, Kook. Please get her, please. I’m gonna call her right away.”

“Do that. See you later, love.”

“See you.”

The phone call ends. Jungkook gets into his car moments later, driving off as quickly as the law allows. He won’t let Wheein wait. He won’t let any of your friends wait.

They lovingly call him their adoptive man of the hour sometimes because he will always be there for them if one of them needs male support. Be it something as innocent as moving furniture too heavy or hanging up curtains on a window too high, Jungkook will be there to help as best as possible. The same counts for the heavy stuff. Like rescuing Wheein from a dangerous situation because some men see a sex worker and think they have free range to do anything to her. Or stuff like letting Byulyi crash in his guest bedroom for a few weeks because her ex boyfriend turned out to be a piece of shit abuser and she needed to escape the situation. He even helped her move all her stuff, taking his biggest car so she wouldn’t have to go back to the place more than once.

Jungkook cares and he cares honestly. Which is why he is officially the adoptive man of the hour for your girls.

Tonight is no different. Jungkook hurries to the club bathroom as quickly as possible, pushing strangers aside with little care about how rude he might seem. Manners don’t count when one of his friends is in danger.

The men aren’t in front of the bathroom anymore, but that doesn’t calm Jungkook down. They could still be hiding somewhere, waiting for a moment to jump Wheein if she ever comes out.

He knocks on the door, calling out Wheein’s name.

“It’s me. Jungkook. The air’s clear, I promise.”

Seconds later the door unlocks. Her face is messy because she cried off her makeup.

“Noona, hey there.” Jungkook steps closer, resting his hands on the doorframe so she was shielded from prying eyes and therefore safe. “I came as quickly as I could. How are you?”

“I’m sorry for calling. I didn’t know who else to call. You’re the only man I can trust.”

“Don’t apologise, noona. I’m just glad that you’re okay. Should we go home?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’d really like that.”

“Our place or yours?”

“Can I s-stay at your place for a while?” she stutters, looking smaller than normally. Anxiety is definitely shrinking her.

“Of course, you can.” Jungkook assures her and looks over his shoulder. A few men are looking at him. Is that them? He sends them a deathly glare, then looks back at Wheein with soft eyes. “Is it okay for me to put my arm around you? So I can keep you safe?”

“Yeah, please. I’m sorry, I know that’s a lot to ask.”

“Don’t worry. It’s to keep you safe. You can hide away in my side if you need to. I’ll make sure nothing happens.”

“Thank you so much”, she barely gets out and seeks safety in his arms, knowing that she won’t be hurt anymore. And Jungkook takes pride in knowing that he can help her leave this shady place unharmed. He won’t ever let any of your friends get hurt. He will protect them just as much as he will protect you. They are his girls because they are your girls. And Jungkook fights for his girls.

The strange men inch closer like hyenas. So Jungkook’s gist was correct.

“Where are you taking her? We were here first”, one of them tries to fight him, while the others gawk lustfully. Like fucking starving animals. Disgusting.

“I’m gonna punch in your face if you keep talking”, Jungkook spits and leads Wheein past them without giving them any more attention.

“Hey!”

“Come back!”

They call after them.

“Don’t listen to them, noona. I’m here now”, Jungkook assures her and pulls her closer, “fuck, should I get back there and get their names? I’ll tell my lawyers to take care of them.”

“No please just, please just take me away”, she pleads because she is too scared to stay in this situation any longer. Jungkook respects her decision even if he really wants to punish them.

“Alright, I will. Don’t worry”, Jungkook promises, leading her safely out of the club and to his car.

He helps her inside and rounds the car, looking at the club one last time. The animals which call themselves men are lingering by the entrance, sending deathly glances Jungkook’s way.

“Fucking vermin”, he presses out and gets inside his car. He locks the doors and starts the engine. “I’ve got water in the door compartment if you need it.”

“Thank you”, Wheein whispers and relaxes in the seat just as Jungkook finally takes her away from the scary situation.

You are in the parking garage, dressed in slippers and your loungewear and looking beyond worried, when they finally arrive at home. You run to Wheein the moment the car pulls in, calling out to her.

“Unnie! Oh god, I was so worried!” you hug her tightly. So tightly in fact that her brittle composure finally breaks and she cries into your shoulder.

“I was so scared. So, so scared.”

“I’m sorry, unnie. Oh god this is awful, I’m sorry. Let’s go upstairs, I made tea.”

“Thank you. You have no idea how much I need this tonight.”

“Unnie, of course. You can crash here if you want to.”

“I think I do.”

“You can stay as long as you need. What happened? Do you wanna tell me? Oh god, unnie I’m so glad that you’re okay.”

“I was so scared. One of them recognised me from Paradis and, and then he and his friends tried to get me to fuck them and when I said no they followed me to-” She hides away in your arms. “I can’t.”

“It’s okay unnie, it’s okay. Just cry in my arms, I’m here.”

Jungkook lets you and Wheein talk, while he stands next to you and listens, rubbing your lower back soothingly. Wheein cries the entire elevator ride, telling you all about what happened while you curse at the men. Jungkook wanted to curse as well. He hates most of his fellow men a lot. He bears witness to how most act and think and talk when there are no women present. If Jungkook saved up each time one of his business partners made a misogynistic “joke” about their wives or women in general, he would be able to buy a house within six months. If he saved up each time he has one of them confesses how they are cheating on said wives followed by a “huh? As a man you should understand me” when Jungkook voices his distaste for such behaviour, he could buy a new sports car within seven months. Jungkook loathes most of his fellow men and how they carry their hatred for half of humanity with fucking pride.

Wheein eats dinner with you, after taking a shower and borrowing some of your clothes. You sit by her side, holding her hand as she keeps repeating the story over and over again to work through it. Neither you nor Jungkook mind that she keeps repeating herself. Sometimes one just needs to keep talking about the same stuff over and over again until it finally stops hurting.

After dinner, you and Jungkook don’t really get to talk a lot because somehow the situation was so shocking that you both forgot to function until Wheein was truly safe in her bed.

Jungkook is still in his suit, cleaning the kitchen after loading the dishwasher, when you return from the bathroom. He shrugged off his jacket and tie, but kept his waistcoat on. The main lights are off, only the stand lights in the living room are turned on and the light above the stove. Jungkook likes working in darkness because it is easier on his eyes. They get sensitive after a long day at the office.

You come up behind him, sneaking your arms around him so your hands were resting on his pecs innocently. Jungkook places the towel aside and leans back into your hug, caressing your lower arms.

“Thank you”, you whisper.

“Mhm”, he hums, closing his eyes.

“Thank you so fucking much.”

He hums again. You turn him to you, holding his hands and pressing them against his chest. He looks at you, waiting for you to speak. The gratitude in your eyes is almost consuming them whole.

“You have no idea how much I appreciate what you did for Wheein today. What you keep doing for all of them.”

“They’re your best friends, which means I gotta be there for them. No, I want to be there for them.”

“You and I both know that not many think this way. Seriously, thank you so fucking much.”

He smiles, discarding you with a shake of his head.

“I’m just glad that noona is safe.”

“Me too. Fuck, me too”, you say, sagging your shoulders. You look up at him, pouting sadly to the point where your lower lip trembles. “I think I need a hug.”

“Come here.” Jungkook hugs you, rubbing the back of your head. “She’s safe now. I promise.”

“I’m so glad.”

“Me too.” Jungkook hugs you tighter when he hears you sniffle. “Let it out if you need to. I’m here for you.”

You melt into him, feeling safe. He is truly the man of the hour. Your gentle, good hearted man of the hour.

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rich4a1 · 22 days ago

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The Future Is Collaborative: How AI and Decentralization Are Rewriting the Music Industry

Making a Scene Presents – The Future Is Collaborative: How AI and Decentralization Are Rewriting the Music Industry For years, the conversation around technology and creativity has been shaped by one central tension: man versus machine. In the music world, that tension is now louder than ever. Many artists see artificial intelligence as a threat—another algorithm coming for their job, another…

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chris-ostkreuz · 7 months ago

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How blockchain technology is affecting sound design

How Blockchain Technology is Affecting Sound Design Welcome to the future, where sound design meets blockchain technology! You might be wondering how these two seemingly unrelated worlds collide. Well, grab your headphones and buckle up, because we’re about to dive into a sonic adventure that’s as thrilling as a rollercoaster ride through a digital soundscape. The Sound of Change Let’s face it:…

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todayisdeadinside · 2 months ago

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"they're not being forced to do anything, this is just their job now and they stunt willingly!" are you fucking stupid.

rant incoming, strap in folks.

ive seen a shocking amount of longtime larries lately downplaying the severity of harry and louis' situations, acting as though their signals and codes are "coincidences," and pushing the idea that harry and louis have full control over their PR moves when that has never once been the case in the past 15 goddamn years. and its not just disappointing, its frustrating. where has everyone's critical thinking gone? what changed?

you all talk about how much holivia damaged harry's public image and compare holivia to mcdumblinson, but then in the same breath act like louis is choosing to stunt with zara. is the cognitive dissonance that thick? or are you all now suggesting harry willingly participated in holivia? both of those potential options concern me, frankly.

we can all agree zara is actively damaging louis' public image, right? so, why on earth would louis be stunting with her of his own free will? are you suggesting he's that stupid? because hes not. louis is incredibly intelligent and to pretend hes stupid enough to continue pushing this stunt when its clearly not helping him is insulting.

but i know what question will be begged: "they're multi-millionaires! they're grown men now! dont you think they have the money and freedom now to do what they want?" if that was the case, there wouldnt be anymore stunting. ever. money does not equate to freedom, nor does age. has everyone suddenly forgotten the kinds of contracts these men are under? the professionals they are stuck working for?

in terms of pure financials, yes, they probably could buy out of their contracts. and where would that leave them? blacklisted from the biggest companies in the industry, smeared in retaliation by the media those companies own, and honestly? their lives could be at stake. think of how many incredibly famous artists have died for political reasons or because they challenged the agencies that own them. this isnt to fearmonger, this is to bring up PRECEDENT. precedent you all seem to have willfully forgotten.

but even on top of all that, are we forgetting that these boys have been groomed since they were 16-18? jeff azoff has been scouting harry since 2013, and hes only one example of the terrible people these men have been surrounded by since they were teenagers. harry and louis have never escaped sony. when they respectively escaped syco, they both signed to other labels sony owns. harry has been signed to columbia (and the azoffs) since 2016, and louis has been signed to his companies and labels since 2020 when syco music dissolved. which makes me beg my own question- what the fuck do you all think has changed? in the past 5-9 years (respectively) what do you posit has changed to give harry and louis this freedom youre all claiming they have? theyre still closeted. theyre still being forced to stunt. theyre still being forced to surround themselves with shitty people.

louis looks beyond uncomfortable in every photo with zara. he is clearly not doing this willingly. harry is a genuinely good person, hes not willingly hanging around the likes of KID HARPOON, who GROPED HIM AT THE 2023 GRAMMYS. or did we all forget that? i think we did. zara is from love island, a show louis HATES. shes the type of person he never associates with normally. the azoffs are RIFE with controversy that could make its own fucking masterpost. if you think our harry and louis, two very smart, very kind, very intentional men, are WILLINGLY surrounding themselves with these types of people, you are biting the media koolaid and HELPING THE PROPAGANDA SPREAD.

AND ON TOP OF ALL OF THAT, i want to REITERATE that these two men have been lied to and coerced and groomed since they were teens. that means, in case none of you have ever been in abusive dynamics with authority, that they likely dont know all of their escape options. firstly, their options for escape are few and far between, and at absolute BEST would end their careers and turn them into GP punching bags because of the smear campaigns that would follow any pushback or contract buyouts. secondly, the professionals and lawyers theyve been surrounded with for the past 15 years are all cogs in the industry music machine. even back on TXF we know their lawyers were paid off by syco to push them in the desired direction with what they signed. that was just one reality tv show, and its a microcosm of the industry at large. not only do they have limited options, they dont even know what all of those options are. its not like their abusive managements are gonna tell them how to leave. thats not how this works.

but again, even if they had access to all of their options, even if they had access to unbiased legal advisors, even if they wanted to end their careers- they wouldnt escape without being hurt in some major way. im not talking out of my ass here. look at other cases of major celebrities who have left their labels or publically denounced the industry. look into major artists who have mysteriously died. hell, look into the p. diddy case and the people he put hits out on. open your fucking eyes and look at the precedent you older fans were AROUND FOR. i wasnt even HERE, and i can see it.

my last point is anecdotal, but stick with me here. when you are a victim of an abusive authority figure- in HL's case, the entire industry full of abusive CEOs and managers- for as long as they have (15 years, mind), it becomes less scary to stick to whats familiar. they know its bad, they clearly hate stunting and being closeted, but its a familiar fire to burn in. i know that feeling. i spent 17 years under an abusive authority figure and during the brief windows where i thought i could feasibly get out, i was too scared and far too conditioned to try. taking a stab at HL, id guess this is where theyre at. maybe they could, in some lucky way if everything were to align, escape and minimize the harm they suffer from it. but theyve been conditioned against trying, conditioned against believing in that possibility, and conditioned to go along with what theyre told.

so again i ask, what do you all think changed? why do you think harry and louis are suddenly free to do as they please, after all these years, when theyre still signed to the same companies and still showing signs of distress? when theyre still coding their clothes as a subtle cry for help- which, by the way, never stopped. why on earth did everyone up and decide they stopped coding their clothing? because 1 popular larrie blog said it, and the rest of you parroted it like gospel? was a real reason ever given for that spontainious conclusion, or are you all just reverting back to the comfort of willful ignorance and slurping up the media slop?

nothing has changed with their situations. a lot of you just seem to have stopped fighting for them. its easier to be complacent, to only care about when new music is coming, to not worry about harry and louis as people. to not worry about supporting them and making sure they know that some of us pay attention and know their truth. some of you are losing those tenents, and its upsetting to watch as a newer larrie who has all the conviction in the world to fight for these boys and show them that they are supported.

the attitude ive seen from some of the older larries on here lately is akin to what id expect from the GP, or solos, but not larries. you are all smarter than this and you damn well know it. the downplaying and disregarding of things like louis' plead for our support, the coded clothing, the subtle hints that theyre still being controlled, is actively helping their managers and PR teams sell narratives like mcdumblinson. through your complacency, saying everything is "just a coincidence" or "the boys' choice," you are aiding the enemy in their pursuit.

this fandom has lost enough voices. i dont want to watch the remaining prominant voices turn into blind sheep and merge with the GP. thats the last thing HL need right now, in such an age of ignorance and finding comfort in participating in a lie. do better, reopen your eyes that i know must have been open at some point for you to become larries. not for some random tumblr user, but for harry and louis. they need all the support they can get right now.

#mcdumblinson #holivia #one direction #louis tomlinson #harry styles #larry stylinson #jeff azoff #kid harpoon #music industry #the azoffs #<- one of those azoff tags is my hyperlinked one i just forgot which #anyway sorry for the aggressive tone but its needed. wake the fuck back up yall.#viral hell #louis stuff #harry stuff

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crownics · 3 months ago

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The curious “love triangle” between Paul, John and Brian (A long sequence.)

“This was the state of play in the music business and wider world on the day the Beatles had their arranged second meeting with Brian Epstein to discuss management — the day they said yes. [...] John, George and Pete arrived, Paul didn’t. Five minutes passed. Ten. Fifteen. Brian became edgy. [...] Beyond this, Paul’s non-arrival made things awkward — Brian wouldn’t want to say everything twice, so they waited for him to show… and waited.

Brian’s irritation couldn’t be suppressed. [...] ‘I was a bit put out’, Brian said two years later, more coolly collected. ‘I thought, ‘This is the first meeting, they want to do something about management…’. He had every right to wonder what was going on. Paul was patently ambitious, liked to impress, and the Beatles needed a manager, so why was he doing this to the one person trying to help him, probably the only man in Liverpool who stood any chance of getting him everything he wanted?

After three-quarters of an hour, Brian suggested George phone Forthlin Road to establish when Paul had left for the bus. He returned saying Paul had only just got out of bed, was now having a bath, and would be along when he was done. Brian blew… but ended up being charmed and laughing, the usual Beatle mix.”

“It’s unlikely Paul arrived much before six, when Brian finally got to explain in detail the London meetings he’d had on their behalf. [...] Brian was, in several ways, the ideal manager for Paul. [...] However, John remembered Paul’s attitude to Brian being very different. John was always emphatic that Paul didn’t want Brian as the Beatles’ manager and presented obstacles to destabilise him, to make his job difficult, like turning up late for meetings.

‘Three of us chose Epstein. Paul used to sulk and God knows what. [Paul] wasn’t that keen [on Brian] – he’s more conservative, the way he approaches things. He even says that: it’s nothing he denies.’

Paul’s stance may in part have been a reaction to John’s, who always made snap judgements and leapt right in. It was a major and constant difference between them. As Paul says:

‘John said to me once, ‘Look, imagine you’re like on a cliff-top and you’re thinking about diving off. Dive! Try it!’ I said, ‘Like bloody hell I’m gonna dive. You dive and give us a shout and tell me how it is, and then if it’s great I’ll dive.’ John always had a strong instinct to do that, but it’s not my personality.’

Paul has confirmed that he asked Brian most of the questions about the contract: there had to be a signed agreement between them, but there wasn’t one yet because Brian was still looking into it. Paul says they didn’t know the going rate for a manager’s commission — ‘We had a little discussion about percentage, whether it was going to be 20 or 15 or maybe 10 perhaps, you know, because isn’t that what they charge? We were pretty naive then’ — but, having mixed with other artists for the best part of eighteen months, they surely had some idea.”

“The decision, of course, was John’s. This democracy had a leader and only he approved the moves. It was time for another of his big decisions. His first was to bring in Paul and his second was to allow Paul to bring in George. This was the third. Should he admit Brian Epstein into their partnership, or not? [...] Brian was a man who might achieve it for him. Of all the characters he knew in Liverpool, no one better suggested the possibility. It was plain that Brian had a fragile personality, but he was also intelligent, cultured, a fellow reader and thinker, generous, smart, civilised, cool, edgy, arrogant and, most vitally, a risk-taker. There was enough here for John to decide, and to disregard Paul’s games. In time, he’d subject Brian to a few tests of character, to find out how he really worked — but, for now, John had seen and heard enough.”

— “The Beatles – All These Years – Extended Special Edition (Tune In: Vol. 2)” by Mark Lewisohn (2013)

“[Brian] was to love them in a platonic, almost paternal way, calling them ‘the Boys’ until well after they became men, and dedicating himself to their welfare and protection.

But he was in love with just one. Not with Paul, the most obviously attractive, but with John, whose tough-guy exterior hid a middle-class upbringing not unlike Brian’s own, and who’d needed an all-protecting father figure since the age of six. So, yet again, a back seat for Paul — one which this time he took with some relief.”

“On the Beatles’ side, there was never any doubt that being managed by such a prominent local businessman, for whatever reasons, would be a major step forward. But, as lords of the Mathew Street underworld, they had developed a super-sized attitude from which even their most career-conscious and punctilious member was not immune. When an exploratory meeting with Brian was arranged at the NEMS store after hours, Paul failed to turn up. George telephoned 20 Forthlin Road to ask what had happened to him and learned he was taking a leisurely bath. [...] At further meetings which didn’t clash with Paul’s bath-time, Brian set out what he’d do for the Beatles if they put themselves in his hands. [...] Paul was the one who questioned Brian most closely, asking if the plan involved changing the music they played or the way they played it.”

“Living on the fringe of Liverpool’s underworld as they did, the Beatles knew all about Brian’s secret gay life and quickly guessed his fixation on John. (Strangely, none of their families ever seemed aware of any of it.) [...] John wasn’t the only Beatle to arouse Brian’s ardour: Pete Best has since claimed to have been propositioned by him on a car journey to Blackpool while John and Cynthia were sitting in the back. But never once would he show the tiniest flicker of attraction to Paul.

‘I think Brian felt a bit guilty because he ought to have fancied Paul, but didn’t’, a former NEMS employee recalls. ‘That always seemed to make him a bit uneasy around Paul and try extra hard if he ever had to do anything for him.’”

— “Paul McCartney: The Life” by Philip Norman (2016)

“The Beatles spoke directly to the conflicts in Brian’s soul. Here were oddballs who exuded a shameless candor; here were rough-looking young men with the blithe arrogance of a charmed circle. It was as if Brian’s nocturnal life and daylight fantasies had met and fused on the Cavern stage. Epstein’s enthusiasm for the Beatles has been glibly explained by his sexual attraction to them, and to Lennon in particular. This rather begs the question of who, in that club, regardless of gender or sexuality, didn’t fancy the Beatles — they were polymorphously captivating. It is true that Epstein was sexually magnetized by Lennon, but it’s also true that he fell in love with the Beatles as a group, and it was this that led him to offer them a style of management unprecedented in the pop industry: one based on devotion rather than profit-seeking.

The Beatles agreed to a meeting with Epstein at his Whitechapel store, on Wednesday, November 29, after a lunchtime session. They regarded him as a serious player, a successful businessman with music industry connections — an ‘expert’, as Lennon put it. They knew Epstein was ‘queer’ too, which didn’t bother them much, although McCartney was alert to what it might mean for the balance of power within the group.”

“Epstein fixed a follow-up meeting with the Beatles for Sunday, at 4:30 p.m. This one was nearly disastrous. John, George, and Pete arrived on time; Paul did not. Half an hour went by. The small talk ran out. Finally, Brian suggested George call Paul at his home. George returned with news from Jim McCartney that Paul had just got out of bed and was in the bath. Brian was angry now and only somewhat mollified by the others’ good humor. (‘He may be late’, said George, ‘but he’s very clean.’) Eventually Paul turned up. [...] Brian was already thinking of America as well as Britain. ‘You’re going to be bigger than Elvis’, he said, a prophecy they found outrageous and thrilling. They agreed to be represented by him. Lennon later claimed to have made the decision himself, over Paul’s objections: ‘I make a lot of mistakes, character-wise, but now and then I make a good one… and Brian was one.’

We should be wary of John’s retrospective tendency to present himself as the driving force of the band, but Paul’s lateness to the Epstein meeting is well attested. Why did he throw a spanner in the works? He seems to have been uneasy about what Brian’s appointment would mean for him. Paul, who like John was a close reader of people, could see that Epstein was besotted by Lennon. He understood what that felt like. As he put it later, ‘I’m sure Brian was in love with John. We were all in love with John, but Brian was gay, so that added an edge.’ What worried him was John’s power over Epstein, and therefore his power over the group if Epstein became their manager. His concerns were not groundless. In his first months as manager, Epstein treated John as the most important Beatle, running any proposed changes by him before talking to the others. Lennon reveled in this role. He later said, ‘I was pretty close to Brian because if someone’s going to manage me I want to know them inside out.’”

“As for McCartney, he had given over school and the prospect of becoming middle-class for a career in music, against the advice of his father. He would have felt responsible for his family’s economic security. He was ambitious. Given how much was at stake, the idea he might become a backing musician for John Lennon was not worth contemplating. In the contract that the Beatles signed with Epstein there is a clause that says the manager may split up ‘the Artistes… so that they shall perform as separate individual performers’. Epstein’s assistant Alistair Taylor claimed that this was inserted at Paul’s request. Taylor recalls Paul saying, in an early meeting, that if the group didn’t work out he would pursue a solo career.

Despite his initial hostility, and one occasion when he sorely tested Epstein by skipping a show, Paul’s problem with Brian — or John and Brian — largely resolved itself. Brian learned to consult Paul, and his efforts on behalf of the group began to pay off.”

— “John & Paul: A Love Story in Songs” by Ian Leslie (2025)

“They knew [Brian] was homosexual, but that was all. John was the only one I discussed it with, as he was quite interested, but Paul I think was upset by it. Brian realized this and was always especially concerned about pleasing Paul, giving him the biggest presents. Brian’s staff told me that he worried most about keeping in with Paul and always answered his calls first.”

— Hunter Davies, “The Beatles: The Authorized Biography”, 1968 (Revised Edition)

“I heard there was an English guy drunk in the next-door bar, who I first thought must be a musician. But when I go in there, I find Brian Epstein sitting up at the bar, passed out cold with his head on the counter. So I go back into the Star-Club and tell John to come and help me get him out of there. When John comes into the place, he just picks up a half-empty glass of beer from the counter, pulls back Brian’s collar and pours the beer down his neck. I asked him if that was any way to be treating the Beatles’ new manager. ‘It’s OK’, John said to me. ‘I already gave him one up the ass.’”

— Horst Fascher about when The Beatles went to Hamburg for open the Star-Club on April 1962. (“John Lennon: The Life” by Philip Norman, 2008)

“Toward the end of April 1963, Lennon went on an eleven-day holiday with Brian Epstein to Barcelona — the one he informed Cynthia about at the hospital. It’s not clear why he chose to go with Brian rather than staying with Cynthia and Julian (‘what a bastard I was’, said John in 1970, recalling this), or why, if he was determined to go away with friends, he didn’t go with Paul, George, and Ringo, who all went to Tenerife. His decision may have been about consolidating his status as the Beatle who was closest to the manager. That was Paul’s theory: ‘John was a smart cookie. Brian was gay, and John saw his opportunity to impress upon Mr. Epstein who was the boss of the group.’

John was curious about Epstein’s sexuality and perhaps his own.”

— “John & Paul: A Love Story in Songs” by Ian Leslie (2025)

“LENNON: I was on holiday with Brian Epstein in Spain, where the rumours went around that he and I were having a love affair. Well, it was almost a love affair, but not quite. It was never consummated. But it was a pretty intense relationship.

It was my first experience with a homosexual that I was conscious was homosexual. He had admitted it to me. We had this holiday together because Cyn was pregnant, and I went to Spain and there were lots of funny stories. We used to sit in a cafe in Torremolinos looking at all the boys and I’d say, ‘Do you like that one, do you like this one?’ I was rather enjoying the experience, thinking like a writer all the time: I am experiencing this, you know.”

— “All We Are Saying: The Last Major Interview with John Lennon and Yoko Ono” by David Sheff (2000)

“Although Paul was the friendly one, within the setting of the band he was always slightly apart from the others, on his own. It was triggered by the fact that Brian Epstein was in love with John, so Paul felt isolated. Even after Brian had gone, it was something he always felt.

I remember after they had a Number One hit with ‘She Loves You’ in 1963, they came out to stay with me in my father’s house in Tenerife. Paul, George and Ringo. But no John: he’d gone on holiday with Brian. While George was busy trying to befriend the girl in the shop down the road, showing her the cover of the single, and Ringo drifted through the days, Paul resented John going off. It showed.”

— Klaus Voormann, “Who Killed John Lennon?: The lives, loves and deaths of the greatest rock star” by Lesley-Ann Jones (2020)

“‘Actually Pete’, he said softly, ‘Something did happen with him one night.’

Now that wiped the grin right off my face. Had I even dreamed there might be any truth whatsoever to the rumors, I would never have made light of the subject in the first place. Still — as John surely knew — I would have stood by him, and let the rest of the world handle the business of passing moral judgement, even if he had just told me he’d committed murder. And John would surely have done the same for me.

Which, after all, is what true friendship is all about.

‘What happened’, John explained, ‘is that Eppy just kept on and on at me. Until one night I finally just pulled me trousers down and said to him: ‘Oh, for Christ’s sake, Brian, just stick it up me fucking arse then.’ And he said to me, ‘Actually, John, I don’t do that kind of thing. That’s not what I like to do.’ ‘Well’, I said, ‘what is it you like to do, then?’ And he said, ‘I’d really just like to touch you, John.’ And so I let him toss me off.’

And that was that. End of story.

‘That’s all, John’, I said. ‘Well, so what? What’s the big fucking deal, then?’

‘Yeah, so fucking what! The poor bastard. He’s having a fucking hard enough time anyway.’

— Pete Shotton, “John Lennon: In My Life” (1983)

“John told me he had a one-night stand with Brian, on a holiday with him in Spain, when Brian had invited him out, a few days after the birth of Julian in 1963, leaving Cyn alone. I had alleged this brief holiday in the book, but not what John had alleged had taken place. Partly, I didn’t really believe it, though John was daft enough to try almost anything once.”

— Hunter Davies, “The Beatles: The Authorized Biography”, 1968 (Revised Edition)

“John admitted to [Hunter] Davies that he had slept with Brian ‘to see what fucking with a guy was like’.”

— Peter Brown, “The Love You Make: An Insider’s Story of the Beatles” (1983)

“Lennon’s sexuality has long been a subject of fascination for Beatles acolytes. [...] ‘It’s kind of well-known that Brian and John had some sort of fling, the extent to which we will never know’, Leslie says. ‘But it happened — probably. John was such a mess in so many ways; I think it’s been underestimated just how much of a mess he was. The others in the band continually had to manage him in order to keep him in the band.’”

— “Beatles biographer Ian Leslie on John Lennon and Paul McCartney’s ‘erotic’ bromance” by Nick Duerden (AOL, April 2, 2025)

“I changed the subject and told [Brian Epstein] that the few times I’d seen the Beatles, I’d found them so powerfully emotive that I almost felt I could have screamed along with all the crazy 14-year-olds.

‘Me too’, he agreed. ‘In fact, once I actually did. One night I pushed my way into the middle of ten thousand screaming kids, right in the middle of the chaos, and let myself go in a falsetto voice. I went absolutely berserk and it was the most erotic thing I ever did in my life. Like the first time I got to kiss John after I’d been crazy about him for ages. But afterwards I was incredibly ashamed of myself. I felt really guilty, as if someone might find out.”

“He obviously fancied me, and I made use of it to ask dozens of questions about his business and personal relationship with The Beatles.

‘There’s real love between all five of us’, he told me.

‘Despite the giggling guru?’ I asked, remembering that at that very moment all four Beatles were in North Wales with the Maharishi.

Brian looked hurt. ‘I never minded other people being around. I’m not jealous. Not of girlfriends, wives, even other boyfriends, but the Maharishi seems to want to kill their affection, not for anyone specific, but affection in general. He wants them to feel uninvolved with anyone or anything, but of course that’s a fallacy because they’re all completely involved with him, especially John. At the moment I feel I’ve completely lost him.’

It was obvious that it was losing John that hurt the most.”

— Simon Napier-Bell, “You Don’t Have to Say You Love Me” (2005)

“Lonnie Trimble: He sat me down once after he’d gotten rid of Diz. It was the first time I ever went into his bedroom when he was actually in bed, and he said, ‘Sit down. I want to talk to you. I want to tell you about this and that.’ I said, ‘Wait a minute, now. Do you really want my opinion of what you’re gonna tell me?’. He said he did and I made sure to ask him three times if he really wanted my opinion. So eventually I laid it on the line.

I said, ‘Diz is in California now. Leave him there out of harm’s way’. Then Epstein said, ‘Oh, I’m gonna make him a star. He wouldn’t harm me’. It was during the same discussion that he told me that he and John Lennon had been lovers. Now that’s too much for me to take on. We’d never talked about his personal life before, so I left the room.”

— “In My Life: The Brian Epstein Story” by Debbie Geller (2002)

“Former Beatles manager Brian Epstein engaged in homosexual acts with one member of the legendary band — the gay pop mogul’s ex-aide claims in a sensational new book.

Joanne Petersen is working on ‘There’s A Beatle In My Closet’, which will expose ‘revelations of intimacy’ with at least one of the Fab Four, but she refuses to reveal which member.

Epstein, found dead by his devoted assistant after an overdose in 1967, was tormented by inner demons and had a hopeless crush on John Lennon, leading many to conclude the mystery lover was the Imagine star.”

— Irish Examiner: “Book to reveal Epstein’s ‘homosexual acts’ with former Beatle” (20 April, 2005)

“Paul McCartney loved John Lennon, who loved Brian Epstein, who loved Paul McCartney. All the whole London music scene knows this, and there, the famous suspicion about Paul’s ‘death’, which originated with an American DJ, didn’t catch on.

The ‘death’ theory is well-constructed, but the true story (the one about their faggotry) makes much more sense. And it’s much spicier. I prove what I said:

Everything was going great in the John-Paul-Epstein triangle. Everyone loved each other, they adored jelly beans, everything was rosy, smoke and mirrors, etc. Ringo and George Harrison were always on a different page. The duo was Lennon and McCartney — they sang together, composed together, did everything together. Together with Brian Epstein, of course, who was openly queer and quite relaxed about it.”

— “It’s queer!” by Nelson Motta (O Pasquim, 1970)

“Q: Have you ever fucked a guy?

A: Not yet, I thought I’d save it till I was 40, life begins at forty you know, though I never noticed it.

Q: It is trendy to be bisexual and you’re usually ‘keeping up with the Jones’, haven’t you ever… there was talk about you and PAUL…

A: Oh, I thought it was about me and Brian Epstein… anyway I’m saving all the juice for my own version of THE REAL FAB FOUR BEATLES STORY etc… etc…”

— “INTERVIEW/INTERVIEW WITH BY/ON JOHN LENNON AND/OR DR. WINSTON O’BOOGIE” by John Lennon (Interview Magazine, November 1974)

“Paul, with all his charm, knew how to bend people to his will. Tony Barrow, who saw Brian interact with all the Beatles in the London offices, recalls how John’s attempts to bully Brian never found an erotic charge in John’s bully-boy personality, but it was Paul, Barrow said, who knew how to seduce him. Platonically, but still. ‘Paul used the fact that Brian was gay to get his own way. He’d come in and put on his bedroom eyes. He’d use his own sex appeal to manipulate Brian into doing what he wanted the band to do.’”

— “Paul McCartney: A Life” by Peter Ames Carlin (2009)

“I found a love letter from Brian Epstein in Paul McCartney’s Aston Martin DB6… It was a love letter from Brian to Paul. It was begging… I don’t need to say anymore than that…”

— Francie Schwartz, BBC documentary “The Beatles’ Biggest Secrets” (2004)

“PLAYBOY: Pop historians spend a lot of time analyzing ‘the Beatles phenomenon’ and the dynamics of the band — your personalities, Brian Epstein’s secret love of Paul...

LENNON: It’s irrelevant. He wasn’t in love with Paul. He was in love with me. It’s irrelevant, you know.”

— “All We Are Saying: The Last Major Interview with John Lennon and Yoko Ono” by David Sheff (2000)

#what the hell happened between these three #i feel sick with all that homosexual drama #mclennon #john and paul #lennon/mccartney #john lennon #paul mccartney #brian epstein #the beatles #john & paul: a love story in songs #ian leslie #crownics

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aheathen-conceivably · 2 months ago

Text

There was one moment on the road that Antoine always dreaded. It occasionally landed somewhere between the music and the ever growing serving of whiskey that helped him to sleep at night. Josephine referred to it as “networking.”

From the moment they stepped foot in any saloon, she started the process. Talking easily with patrons or sipping her own whiskey slowly, spending nearly every moment he played eying the crowd looking for anyone worth her time. Most nights, she deemed that none of them were, and so with a tip of her cigarette Antoine knew to pack up his guitar case and make their way out of the bar. But on other nights, the nights she explained would one day be their lucky break, she would nod at him knowingly, signaling that his case was to stay in its place. Then it was time for him to smile for the circus.

Locals with money. Competing bar owners. Small-time politicians. She could spot who would be useful to her while the rest of the patrons laughed and mingled amongst themselves to the constant stream of music he played. This is how you make it, mon frère. This is how you get on a real stage. One day will be the day.

Yet for every fake smile and insincere handshake he exchanged, it was harder to remember what kept him on the road at all. A real stage. Surely that was it, wasn’t it? The reason why he left his family and felt his life draining away from him one mile at a time.

A real stage.

Through the deafening sound of his own music still ringing in his ears, Antoine could hear Jo saying something to him in a lacquered voice. The words didn’t matter. He could tell from her plastic smile what she really meant. Speak. Speak for the circus. “George here was asking about our days in New Orleans. Said it was a waste not to advertise such a past on your billing.”

Antoine nodded on cue, repeating an anecdote about playing with Louis Armstrong that every white man, woman, and child out here seemed to love. Following his own script, the man slapped his knee and laughed in turn. Jo took the moment his eyes were closed to look back at Antoine approvingly. The perfect smile. The perfect smile for the circus.

Only there was something in her demeanor that made Antoine uneasy. Every movement she made was calculated and dangerously observant. In the milliseconds the man’s eyes were closed, she watched him with the focus of a cat. Only the moment before he snapped them open, the perfect smile returned to her face. It reminded Antoine of someone he couldn’t quite name, and yet the man never seemed to notice at all.

“George here was telling me all about his dance halls while you played.” Even though she was turned in the other direction, Antoine could tell that the words were meant for him. “Seems he has thoughts about their superiority to our friend Hosa’s establishments.”

“Well now missy I’m not trying to step on my dear Mr. Grove’s toes.” He had said the words jovially, undercutting what Antoine could only imagine was a longer and more storied relationship than he had the patience for. “I simply think a dance hall would suit you better is all. These saloons, they’re old fashioned. You oughta have a crowd packed into the place just for you, not servin’ as some backing track to an old drunkard's night.”

Antoine could see his sister’s light arched eyebrow and upturned lip on the left side of her face; she was sure not to let it reach the right. “Well I happen to agree with you. Trouble is we’ve got a contract and a tight schedule at that.”

George’s hands went up, following the song and dance of feigned civility that governed the newly gentile businesses of the West. “Well now no part of me is looking to impede on that agreement you have with Mr. Grove. I can tell you’re a smart girl. No chance you’d be talking to me with any sort of non-compete. Besides, I’m just offerin’ you stay here an extra week. Maybe two. Add some shows. Get yourself in front of a real crowd for once.”

Jo smiled at George and nodded her head delicately, and he understood the gesture without a word. He turned back toward the stage with his whiskey in hand, pretending to give them an iota of privacy while he could actually hear every word they exchanged.

Jo looked over her shoulder and smiled again, before turning back to Antoine and lowering her voice to an accented French. The unexpected lilt of a foreign accent in a desert saloon only made the man's fake joviality and thin impatience all the more evident.

“Une vraie scène." Her voice wavered slightly and Antoine realized that for the first time all night, the look in his sister's eyes was genuine. “C'est notre chance. Nous serions fous de dire non.”

Antoine knew that she was right - that every other offer she'd leveraged or connection they'd made paled next to this one. But part of him still wanted to say no, to just admit that, God, he wanted to go home. To yell that he had done this to safeguard their lives. To remind her that they had done it. They were secure. He was heard. She was successful. What more were they chasing?

But simmering under all of those questions was one that he knew would follow him to his grave - what if this was it? What if he passed it up and never knew what happened next? What if Jo found some other act to represent and she went on the road alone with men like the one who was tapping his finger impatiently on his whiskey glass?

“D'accord. Mais une semaine. Pas deux. Je veux être à la maison pour l'anniversaire de Violette. Pas de négociation.”

Jo turned back to George and he twisted in his chair. She let a pause hang in the air as he looked at her eagerly. Then she smiled at him again, this time benevolently. “Well as I’m sure you can imagine it puts us in a bit of a pinch. This contract alone already keeps us on the road for months on end. And if he’s going to play without a guarantee of continued work and in addition to the schedule we’ve already set, we’ll need double what we're paid now.”

She stopped, purposefully running her finger along the rim of her glass to let him watch her hand move. “And come on. I know you came here for a reason - just to see him play and find out if he was really as good as your scouts told you he was."

The man chuckled, and Jo smiled in the same way that had unnerved Antoine earlier. Only this time, she let the man watching her see it too. “Plus, I know that Hosa has been pulling significant portions of your clients anytime he has Antoine on stage. He's costing you money. You pay us double and you’re only putting that money right back in your pocket. Otherwise Hosa hears you've been trying to poach his talent and writes in a non-compete. Then good luck finding an act all over again.”

George tried to keep her gaze locked in his but she didn't flinch. Meanwhile his eyes flickered back and forth to Antoine over her shoulder. “Fine, missy. You drive a hard bargain, you know that? Sir, anyone ever tell you your girl here drives a hard bargain?”

Jo laughed triumphantly at his acquiescence, sure to keep the sound just girlish enough so that he didn’t feel threatened. Then she picked up the whiskey that she hadn't touched since he had sat at her table.

Smile for the circus, mon frère. Play the game. We've always done what we have to do. As Antoine picked up his own drink her words rattled around his head like a high pitched drone. He swallowed back a mouthful with the knowledge that he wanted to pummel his fist into the man's gold plated smile. But there his sister was laughing with him, pretending like he hadn't just called her missy, or like he wasn't looking at the hem of her dress whenever he thought she wasn't looking. Antoine finished his drink in one quick swallow, his stomach starting to churn just as the burn tore through his throat.

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#1936 #sims 4 historical #ts4 historical #ts4 decades challenge #sims 4 decades challenge #sims 4 legacy #ts4 legacy #sims 4 story #ts4 story #the darlingtons #1930s #Josephine Duplanchier #Antoine Duplanchier

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