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agendabymooner · 11 months

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MASTERLIST by agendabymooner

note: what i had done so far... i think?

legends/genre:

a = angst g = general fic hc = hurt/comfort h = humour

s = smut (minors, dni) mc = mature content (minors, dni) f = fluff

ALSO CHECK OUT:

MOONY'S CHARACTER DIRECTORY

MOONY'S FILIPINO CHARACTERS DIRECTORY

alex albon (aa23)

keeper, smau: polly berkshire has obscure interactions with her thirsty boyfriend and it's safe to say that they love each other.

fernando alonso (fa14)

the breakup and makeup series

time to rock and roll, fic: the first time beatrice staedtlander and fernando alonso had broken up. (hc)

heaven, smau: back in 2000s, fernando alonso and beatrice anastasia 'trish' staedtlander were every racing and wrestling fans' couple. years after, trish alonso became a mother and a wife... and the grid's crush of the season. fernando was certainly not happy so what's a better way to remind everyone that he was hers? (f, g, h)

from the ground up, smau: tino and tiago alonso were the twins that trish had given birth to at the age of 40, and everyone understood now why she didn't make it to the 2024 canadian gp. (f)

bonnie and the fame

maneater, smau: bonnie catherine sutton was carlos sainz's ex-girlfriend who returned to the f1 scene as a different woman. turns out, she's fernando alonso's fiancée (f)

ego, smau: never underestimate a woman's self-esteem, it might end up wounding you more than it would her.

jenson button (jb22)

the mr. darcy type, smau: much like the popular love interest, jenson should have known better than to say things that wouldn't impress a woman he grew interested in. OR ada abbott made sure that he worked hard for her time and attention. (f)

affection, blurb: in which, jenson learned that he should just say it without being a little too drunk.

pierre gasly (pg10)

newsflash, smau: ensley soleil doesn’t like playboys. too bad, pierre gasly’s down bad for her (attention and love). (f, g, h)

lowkey, smau: fans thought that pierre moved on from ensley four months after publicly declaring his (love?) for her. funnily enough... (f, g, h)

indigo, chatfic + smau: there's really no reason for pierre gasly to be jealous over some man that ensley wrote 'high school in jakarta' about. not when she wrote one or more songs about the frenchman. (f)

high school in jakarta, fic: meeting ensley’s close friends would also mean that he’d have to meet her high school sweetheart, who he believed he couldn’t compete against until ensley ensured that his two-day attendance wouldn’t be spoiled by some guy who couldn’t let go of some memories she couldn’t even remember.

dancing with the devil, smau: ensley soleil doesn't care about what people are saying about her relationship with pierre especially now that she's married to him. (f)

do i make you nervous, blurb: lesson learned: just date her first rather than being friendly in the bed.

lewis hamilton (lh44)

stevie and lewis (hearth sister!ofc)

thick and thin, smau + fic: lewis should know better than underestimating her and her capabilities to yearn for him for years. (hc)

where the bad girls are (kpop idol!ofc)

lifted, smau: lewis is married to a kpop idol who happened to be one of the girls to shape the image of female groups in the korean pop community.

melody series (x ofc)

summary: with her sharp eyes focused on her audience, a burlesque performer who went under the name of melody returned to rythme romantique, an entertainment lounge which exclusively caters to the wealthiest people of monaco — or in this case, to the people with a status that are recognized by all. her three exclusive performances were meant to be a closure for her connections in the principality. still, a certain formula one driver saw it as an opportunity to reconnect with his former flame after two years of her absence. felicity vos learned that this was a rich man’s world and that he could do whatever he wanted, but she also realized that the agreement they settled on years ago was corrupted the moment he expressed his love for her.

one, million dollar man: monaco was a world of glitz and glamour that she left two years ago. returning to the principality clearly was a huge mistake as she found herself talking to the man who swore to nothing but his love for her.

two, this is what makes us girls: "decorum isn't something you can buy with money or fame." or what did lewis really want from her and why did he show up on the second night of her performance?

charles leclerc (cl16)

of long lines and names, fic: five kids with (almost) five names under six years. OR the three pregnancies that charles had witnessed told him how motherhood and memories could come in two sets of twins and a boy that looked so much like him. (f)

the leclerc daycare, fic: before his last set of twins were born, charles had to watch his boys on his own (not exactly by himself when he's got esteban and pierre acting as his right hand men). (f)

lando norris (ln4)

london boy, smau: nicola 'cola' alessandro moved to britain and what's a better way to introduce yourself to england than taking a trip around with a certain mclaren driver? (f, g, h)

i think he knows, smau: grazia nichols published her debut novel based off formula one, and a fan could have sworn that the the book bf - nolan langford - was based off of lando's character as a driver altogether. (f, g, h)

honey, honey smau series (x ofc)

summary: hannah-sue ‘honey’ lewis is so much like her sideman brother with the exception of the fact that she didn’t watch formula one as much as she used to back when she had her crush on mercedes driver michael schumacher in 2010.

introduction

one, who tf is lando norris: she knows who she idolizes (and have a crush on; mason mount), she knows that she’s looking forward to getting the hell out of the university after two years of her masters degree program, and she knows that she doesn’t care about the formula one teams that aren't mercedes amg - she also knows she cares about mick schumacher.

esteban ocon (eo31)

the royal wildcard, smau: the british media's good at getting the juiciest details of gossip from the palace, but much to their dismay, princess albertine spencer followed the footsteps of her brother harry and had done an amazing job at hiding her marriage with a certain alpine driver for three months. (f, g, h)

the royal resemblance, smau: albertine ocon lived to give her estranged family something to talk about because of her physical appearance that could be confused with her mother's ghost. too bad, ditty ocon was born into the world with the same heart attack-inducing features.

sergio perez (sp11)

she's beauty, she's grace, smau: in which carmella ayala perez, the miss universe 2018 winner, tied the knot with checo after their five years of relationship and the birth of their second child.

oscar piastri (op81)

jollibee, madrid and all that romantic fiasco, smau: paloma san pedro is carlos sainz's cousin-in-law who also introduced oscar to his newly found filipino fast food chain addiction. safe to say that he bought a ticket last minute just so he can obsess over her, too.

kimi raikkonen (kr7)

stop the world i wanna get off with you, smau: vera 'coppa' coppola-raikkonen is the only one who can make the iceman talk a lot. she's also the only one who can make the chatty versions of him as their three older children (romania, rooney and johann-lauri) make their presence known to the racing community. (f, g, h)

daniel ricciardo (dr3)

rush series (x måneskin member!ofc)

read your diary, smau: it's 2021 and everyone thinks that lester and daniel are dating. lesson learned: never underestimate a fan's investigation skills. (g)

mamma mia, smau: an interview with jimmy fallon gives a brief idea of how lester and daniel came to be. (g)

mamma mia (again), smau: a youtube playlist was created to compile clips of danny talking way too much about his beloved girlfriend (f)

gossip, smau: everyone thinks lester's only here to be a formula one girlfriend with a bad reputation. it's not her fault she's confident. (mc, hc, h)

kool kids, smau: lester and daniel are going to new york to see a musical... while babysitting their "kid" (feat. lando norris) (g, h)

timezone, fic: lester wasn't normally like this, but she's more than willing to pay twice the price just to get to the next flight to where he wanted her: his arms, her home. (hc)

if not for you, smau: messages exchanged between lester and others as she takes care of the wolff children and an ex with the poorest decisions to have existed. (feat. lando norris, max verstappen, charles leclerc and characters from a story) (f, g, h)

baby said, smau: many tweets are posted that they don't often mean. their fans thought that his marriage proposal was one of them. (f, g, h)

supermodel, smau: how not to cry when you're talking about the man who'd give you the wedding that you dreamed of? (f, g, h)

rush series: wedding special

london bridge, smau: the alessandro-ricciardo wedding week is nothing of a peaceful week, and the monday only proved that thought right. (feat. f1 drivers) (f, h) - wedding special 1

fergalicious, smau: the grid singles need to touch some grass… or in lando’s case, go swimming. (feat. f1 drivers) (h) - wedding special 2

l'azienda di famiglia (e le donnole dell'isola), smau + fic: the alessandro family arrived and lando and george found themselves alone with two of the sisters. (feat. lando norris and george russell) (f, g) - wedding special 3

rush: mrs. ricciardo special

part of you, smau: mrs. lester ricciardo asks her followers what to get her husband for his 35th birthday. little did danny know, she’s already got one ready to surprise him (f, g)

when emma falls in love, smau: as her pregnancy progressed, lester ricciardo made sure that her sanity wouldn't go the other way as she posted a thread of journal entries talking about her pregnancy. (f, h)

slipping through my fingers, smau: beau ricciardo was his dad's carbon copy and his mom's little heartbreaker.

george russell (gr63)

his family and her lover, smau: eleanora 'nora' alessandro was more than happy for george's willingness to step up as her children's father regardless of how people poorly reacted on their relationship.

carlos sainz jr. (cs55)

ride home, smau: the ferrari driver accidentally outed himself as a married man, so mona magdalena sainz stepped in to say hi to his loyal fans. (f, g, h) (extra)

dear, smau: nobody loved each other more than magda and carlos sainz. OR a series of tweets in which magda and carlos never took each other seriously. (h)

mick schumacher (ms47)

she's everything... and he's just mick, smau: barbara 'barbie' blanco is the vettel family's foster child that gradually turned to kimi vettel's nanny and mick's crush? (f, g)

"besties", smau: everyone swore that mick and barbie are more than "babysitting pardners" (f)

who is kenough, smau: mick nearly took the piss from arthur leclerc after the posts that the monegasque had of barbie. too bad, mick was already hers before arthur could even try.

kenergy unfolded, fic: written version of who is kenough OR arthur leclerc was only scheming just so mick could do something about revealing his relationship with barbie.

lance stroll (ls18)

gotta be you, smau: bora mckinnon made her presence known in the paddock one year after lance broke up with her. now, they're all over the media because of his presence in her three birthday celebrations. the question still stands: are they getting back together?

yuki tsunoda (yt22)

line without a hook, smau: pia ellis misses her mystery bf that everyone thought to be her delusions. it turns out he's a formula one driver who definitely misses her too.

max verstappen (mv1)

to loathe and to love series (x ofc) (wip)

summary: there is a massive difference between the two words, but sylvie was more than willing to blur out the line if it means for her to spend some time with what others called her soulmate, max verstappen.

one, it’s time to go: sylvie attended a christmas party and couldn’t seem to do what she normally did on the paddock: avoid max (a)

two, closure: her memories haunted her so much that the red bull team principal thought of her to be incompetent, so it was only ideal of max to face the music too. (a)

three, goodnight n go: she wasn't sure what was more surprising: toto's presence on her graduation celebration or max's expensive graduation gifts. (f)

four, gorgeous: there's nothing more satisfying than seeing christian horner own up to his own mistake. that, and max's office-warming gift that he dropped off in sylvie's new on-site office.

five, cinema: sylvie was left feeling unsure when she and max did things that friends normally wouldn't do after she was broken up with by another man. (hc, mc, s)

six, satellite: max verstappen might've avoided talking about what they had done before all of this, but he was certain he wouldn't get out of his way just to ignore her as he swore not to her one way or another ever again. (a, hc)

seven, mean: sylvie found herself with a million and a half pounds and winning against the boys who brought her racing career to an early end.

eight, long story short: they're friends, they said. they bought a house and adopted a dog together, they definitely did.

nine, mastermind: max wasn't going to admit that he was jealous. he wasn't going to tell her that he sabotaged her blind date, either. not that she didn't know.

ten, comfort crowd: ah yes, the first monday of may. when everyone speculated that sylvie was merely using him and when she finally admitted to missing him for the past four years.

eleven, matilda: they don't know much, maybe, but they know how they'll raise their children away from the toxicity that they grew up in, all thanks to their fathers who did nothing but set expectations. (hc)

extra: matilda volume two, smau: set years after the tltl series in which sylvie and max have the most adorable set of kids called emilia, lila and maximilian. (f)

to loathe and to love: extras (x ofc)

lost in japan, smau: just two lost souls (with a tour guide) travelling to japan to make up for the childhood they missed. (f)

sebastian vettel (sv5)

crazy rich wife, smau: everyone (some twitter account) wonders where the recently retired german driver had gone to after the 2022 season. thank god for bel vettel, his fans now know that he’s still alive and is being spoiled and pampered by his wife. (f, g)

sweet spoiled husband (+ son), smau: mick schumacher is a grown man that both bel and seb treat like their own child. (f, g)

sweet spoiled schatzi, smau: bel and seb introduce the newest addition to their little family, and mick seems to love kimi vettel as much as a godfather loves his godchild. (f)

sweet little similarities, smau: bel and everyone could tell that kimi vettel was becoming more like his father, sebastian's, carbon copy as days went on. (f, g, h)

sebastian and sons (and soufflés), fic: day in the life of a retired sebastian vettel, featuring his kids kimi and barbie (and a nervous mick). (f)

toto wolff

colour me your colour series (x ofc) (wip)

summary: tilly marie nearly loses faith in her passion as she refuses to listen to everyone who told her to quit. everyone but one. and it’s the man she met years ago at a racing event she didn’t want to attend. who would have thought that her father’s partial ownership of three brands could take her to the zone of Mercedes and meet the love of her life?

one, what a beautiful sight that was: it was 2006 and she wanted nothing but to finish her research paper. their curiosity led them to a fifteen minute conversation that they would need to continue eight years after. (g)

two, tilly marie wants to go to hell: it's 2014 and she attended the british gp as a communication liaison for red bull. she didn't know that the man she met years ago was the team principal of mercedes, the rival team that her best friend drives for. lewis hamilton was more than amused to see her flustered, if you were to ask him. (g)

three, juliet's hit list: how can one give the heart eyes? daniel and lewis found tilly and toto flirting behind the cameras and behind the press audience and decided to mess with them. (g)

four, fast lane but not the race weekend kind: daniel and lewis might as well be attending a sleepover if they keep asking tilly about her relationship with toto. (g)

five, how to romance and cry in the same day: tilly goes on a date with toto for the first time and learns about her father's intention to pass ownership to her. (a, f, g)

six, love on camera: tilly and toto have a bad habit of flirting not so subtly.

seven, age is just a number and love is just a shame: tilly, while she believed her mother was right about the age difference between her and a certain mercedes team principal, is sure that she isn't falling fast and hard for him.

colour me your colour: extras (x ofc)

the paddock's resident it girl, smau: besides from owning three of mercedes' competitors in the track and being the mercedes team principal's wife, she's also known as the cool girl of the paddock for her taste in fashion and husband. (f)

the paddock's lucky husband, smau: with him being spoon-fed with love from his children and wife, toto really couldn't ask for more. OR tilly wolff liked to talk about fashion but her family? she might as well write a whole book about them. (f)

the paddock's resident menace and the dame, smau: tilly wolff was presented with a damehood and her daughter tia, the girl who tends to act on her mischievous way (all thanks to toto), celebrated her 7th birthday during the silverstone gp week. fans recall her best moments in sky sports and media overall.

f1 drivers (general)

9 to 5 series (x characters) (spin-off of cmyc and rush)

summary: lorelei hester ‘lester’ alessandro is a bassist first and daniel ricciardo's partner second. but it seems like another role is added to her resume as she begins her weekend in baku as toto wolff’s children’s babysitter.

the original five and the playlist

one, baby names and text messages: lester receives a text message from an unknown number, only for her to offer max verstappen's seat to her boyfriend.

two, max's lowered iq and linkedin profiles: max tries to defend himself as he experiences the morning wrath of lester.

three, the most toto coded children: toto gets ready for the baku weekend by styling his daughter's hair and thinking that he could just stay at home and talk business with his kids.

four, papa, soren and tia's promise hug: lester's more worried that she'll mess up her duties and upset the father of the two wolff cubs.

five, the little weapons of destruction distraction: the first half of her babysitting day consisted of reading too much, learning the word 'accident' and daniel ricciardo being a bad influence on toto wolff's shy son.

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gloomwitchwrites · 5 months

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Captain John Price x Female Reader Dark Romance

Chapter Specific Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): alcohol, club atmosphere & dynamics, suggestive themes, foul language, canon-typical violence

Word Count: 6k

A/N: Part One of Dangerous Pursuit (shoutout to @glitterypirateduck for sending this idea my way)

At your place of employment, a customer delivers a bloody blow. Captain John Price makes you an offer.

Chapter Two

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // dangerous pursuit masterlist

The booming bass of the music filters through the wall and greets you like a familiar companion. This is how your Friday nights always begin. And your Saturdays. Like clockwork, you can always rely on the pulsing, thudding beat to keep your rent paid.

It’s a necessary evil, because your day job just doesn’t fucking cut it. You were told as a child that if you just “worked hard” and “went to college” you’d have a good, happy, healthy life.

What a goddamn fucking lie.

Your student loans from grad school are shackles dragging you deeper into the muck of the earth. There are bills piling up on your kitchen counter, and you’re fairly certain your electric is about to be switched off in a few days. Not to mention all the unpaid medical bills. None of them are yours.

Even in death, your mother haunts you still. Your entire life is full of ghosts.

No one tells you that this is the reality of life. It is just one beatdown after another until you’re nothing but bloody pulp on the pavement baking in the sun.

In the moments upon waking, and the spaces right before you dream, your mind drifts to those places in your life that you wish were different. If this one thing didn’t happen, maybe you wouldn’t be staring at yourself in a dirty backroom mirror.

You always come in early to your weekend job.

Thirst is not all it appears to be. Out front, there is always a show. Sometimes it’s drag, and sometimes it’s burlesque. Other times—usually later in the night—there are dancers on poles wearing clothing that makes it seem like they’re in nothing at all. The main floor is where the public dwells. That is where they stay.

In the back—in private VIP rooms—is where the real money rolls in. Booking a private room starts at $10,000, and it’s worth every penny—at least to the customers who book them. It’s a mini-Thirst within Thirst. The walls are soundproof, the seating is spacious and comfortable, and certain illicit services are widely available. The public doesn’t have access to these services, and to even secure a room, a vetting process is required.

No one wants the Feds at the door.

You’re not one of the dancers or performers, and you certainly aren’t one of the workers who fornicate in the VIP lounges. That is not your job, and you purposefully keep it that way. The money you earn by simply making sure the liquor keeps flowing in the VIP lounges is the only thing preventing you from drowning.

It’s not like you haven’t considered it, but you’re not desperate enough to take the leap. The detachment is what appeals to you. You’re not interested in doing something that would put you into intimate proximity with the private clientele. Some of them make your skin crawl and the distance is your safety net.

The dirty mirror is doing nothing for you. Placing your belongings in your designated locker, you seek out one of the tall mirrors next to the various vanities. They’re technically for the performers, dancers, and companions, yet none of them care that you use it.

You twist and turn, checking every angle and curve. While your black cocktail dress is revealing, it’s mostly for appearances sake. You’re not on the menu, but you need to look like you are to a certain extent. The black dress is mostly to mark you as service staff, and while you’ve never had a direct problem, there have been customers in the VIP areas who know they’re not supposed to but blatantly ignore the rules anyway.

“You’re here. Thank God.” At the sound of Holly’s voice, you turn toward the blonde, dabbing off the excess red lipstick you just applied. She plops down in the chair next to you and sighs, her elbow resting against one of the many vanities. “Your regular is here.”

“Already?” you ask in surprise, and Holly grimaces. It’s a pained expression, one that says your regular is already on a rampage. “Is everything okay?” This time you speak slowly, knowing what her answer might be.

“Peachy,” she grins, but the smile is strained, and doesn’t reach her eyes.

You frown. “Tell him I’m here and I’ll be with him shortly. Maybe that’ll smooth over whatever it is he said to you.” This doesn’t seem to relax Holly at all. Her exhalation involves the heave of her shoulders as she slowly pushes herself to standing.

“On second thought,” you interject before Holly can leave. “Have one of the boys do it. Wait. No. Have security tell him.”

The relief that oozes off Holly is palpable. “I will,” she replies, her step lighter as she exits. The pounding bass smashes into your face the moment she opens the door to enter Thirst’s main floor.

Holly shouldn’t have to deal with assholes. She’s too sweet and gentle for that. The smallest emotion can send her right into tears.

And this regular of yours is particular about who serves him drinks, and which people are allowed in his VIP room. He always comes on Friday. He always books the same private lounge. He only ever wants the same girls to cater to him and his friends’ needs. And he only wants you to serve and make his drinks.

You only know him by his first name, Dimitri. His last name is completely unknown to you, and you don’t dare ask around or try to find out. Is it possible to learn that information? Yes. VIP clients are always vetted, but the owners of Thirst keep that information close.

Dimitri bleeds violence. Every action and word are laced with the threat of brutality. This man is attached to you, has been since your first day serving him. While Dimitri has never been cruel or touched you inappropriately, his gaze is a heated one, and never welcome.

He sounds American, but over the course of several months, you’ve noticed little nuances to the way he speaks. There is a slant to his vowels that leans toward a Russian accent, but you can’t be sure even if his name gives that impression.

But it’s also none of your business.

You tell yourself that every shift you work at Thirst. The things you see and hear stay. They don’t follow you out the door. They don’t follow you home.

Maybe that’s why Dimitri always asks for you. You’re consistent and you don’t ask questions. But you also know better. There is no reason for you to stick your face somewhere it isn’t wanted.

Smoothing out the front of your cocktail dress, you inhale deeply, attempting to soothe your nerves. Closing your eyes, you hone in on your heart, counting the beats until they don’t seem so loud in your head. When you open your eyes, you curve the corner of your lips upward, pasting on that customer service smile.

You just need to fake it for a few hours, and then you’ll be walking out of this place with a stack of cash in hand.

The thudding bass of the main room swells in volume when you open the door. You don’t even glance at the main stage to see if anyone is performing. Instead, you keep your gaze sweeping over the tables. Most of them are full, which is a good sign. Walking right by all of it, you aim for the bar, slipping behind it to snag a clean cocktail tray.

Chase, Bree, and Damon all man the bar, working with and around each other in a fluid dance that’s as natural as breathing. Chase notices you grabbing a tray and waves while topping off a beer.

With tray secured, you head for the VIP door. It’s not clearly marked, and that’s on purpose. It blends in with the dark, giving guests an extra layer of privacy. Greg, one of several security personnel working tonight, opens the door with a nod. When it shuts behind you, the thudding bass becomes a low hum.

Just like the VIP rooms, the main hallway that connects them all is also soundproofed. The lights overhead are evenly spaced, but are low, creating long shadows all the way to another door with a glowing red “EXIT” sign above it.

Dimitri always books the room down at the very end on the left, like he wants to by close to the emergency exit in case he needs to use it.

Approaching the correct door, you punch in the code to unlock it. Each door has its own code, and the code is reset with each new guest. The owners thought of everything, but it’s not surprising given some of the fuckery you’ve seen go down in these spaces.

You hear the whirl of the lock disengaging, and then you enter into a small server station. It’s a tiny space, extending out along the wall with a storage room at the end. It’s blocked off by a curtain that separates the two spaces. As of now, Dimitri has no idea you’ve entered the room.

You set the tray down and mentally prepare yourself. Deep down, you know Dimitri is a dangerous man, and you always tiptoe around him because of it. You never do anything that might upset him, and you always take careful measure of his demeanor.

The moaning greets your ears even before you push back the curtain.

The VIP room starts as flat flooring. As you walk across its shiny surface, it rises, requiring you to step up onto a large platform. There are three sofas in total, all angled around a flat table that comes up to your knees. Sitting on the sofas are Dimitri and his four guests. Of the four, you only recognize three. They’re the trio who always tag along.

Abram. Nikola. Lev.

You never asked them their names. You never cared on wanting to know. Dimitri is the paying customer. They simply cruise by, consuming the women and booze Dimitri supplies.

The fourth is a new face, and you immediately pick up on his nervousness. He’s older, perhaps in his late fifties, with a balding head, and slight belly. He’s not wearing a nice black suit like Dimitri and his crew. This man looks like a professor or even a stereotypical watchmaker.

He is completely out of place.

There are three women in the room as well. Olivia dances against a pole behind the sofas on a raised platform, Addie is on her knees between Lev’s spread legs, and Megan is perched in Dimitri’s lap. You deliberately keep your gaze on Dimitri’s face instead of Megan’s bouncing body.

Club music pumps from the speakers but it’s not overly loud. The lighting on the stage is red, and you never get used to it. Dimitri likes it like this. It reminds you of dark, congealing blood.

Dimitri’s gaze immediately draws to you the moment you walk up to the stage. He never breaks away once. His arms splay out over the back of the couch even as Megan writhes on him. He doesn’t touch her. Doesn’t even glance her way.

You have his full attention, and it’s awful. Degrading, like he wants you to watch Megan fuck him.

“Dimitri,” you say in greeting, keeping your tone cool and neutral.

“Sparrow,” he replies cooly, the corner of his mouth twitching as it turns upward.

Sparrow. The pet name Dimitri always uses with you is affectionate and yet sounds like a threat when it rolls off his tongue.

“Do I need to ask?”

“You know what I like,” he says slowly. It’s nearly a croon, like he’s attempting to seduce you.

Indeed, you do know what he likes. Dimitri is specific, and he always orders the exact same thing. He never waivers.

“We don’t need to do this dance every time, Dimitri.”

You’re playing into your role, but the words taste sour in your mouth. It makes you appear flirtatious and interested when you’re the exact opposite.

“But I enjoy our dance, Sparrow. Don’t you?”

No, Dimitri. I fucking hate it.

Your face hurts from smiling. “I’ll be back soon.”

Dimitri’s gaze is smoldering. “I look forward to your return.”

The entire walk to the curtain is like slowly melting ice. You feel Dimitri’s gaze latched on your back. It’s a wet horror of a sensation, like the slimy texture of a slug sliding up your spine.

When you stand on the other side of the curtain, you have to take a moment, inhaling sharply and exhaling slowly in repetitions until your heart ceases its insistent hammering. Dimitri always does this to you. It’s like he has completely control over you even when he doesn’t.

Calmness seeps in, and you step out into the quiet hall, heading for the main room. You’re not exactly peaceful, but you’re not shaking anymore which is better than nothing.

At the bar, you enter in the same order you do every Friday. It’s a waste of time for you to go to Dimitri and then back again. It’s a fucking power trip. He indulges himself, and you’re only option is to give in.

Once everything is in the system, you start pulling bottles. It’s a habit to prep these things in advance. It’s mostly to bring Dimitri what he wants quickly and then making yourself scare.

Behind the bar, Chase grabs several slightly chilled bottles of vodka. They’re top shelf and Russian-distilled, selections Dimitri made himself on the first night. He’s never strayed from it. There are also several bottles of champagne and tequila you pull, along with salt and lime for shots.

Chase deposits the vodka next to the champagne and says your name over the music. You glance up at him and immediately noticed his “I’m sorry I have to tell you this” smile.

“What it is?” you ask.

“Sara called out. Sick kid.”

“I’m guessing we need coverage?”

“Booth section in the back.”

You glance over and frown. They’re all full. Some already have drinks in front of them while others have nothing at all.

“VIP comes first,” you shrug, hating that you have to say it at all.

Chase waves away your words as if it doesn’t bother him. “No rush.” He winks. “I’ll keep an eye on the tables.”

The last items you collect are Dimitri’s cigarettes. Thirst provides a plethora of services, and one of those is freshly rolled cigarettes served tableside. There are cigars as well, but those are not done in house. In the back room where the wine is stored, you carefully weigh out and divide the tobacco and flavor additives, collect the correct sized rolling papers and two crystal ashtrays.

Once you have everything, Chase steps out from behind the bar and follows you back to Dimitri’s private room, carrying the things you can’t. Usually, you only bring yourself because it’s what Dimitri prefers, but if you have to cover for Sara, this entire affair needs to be done quickly so you can go to the floor.

Under the blood lights, you notice the way Chase awkwardly stares at the wall to avoid the pumping movement of Megan’s hand. She is no longer in Dimitri’s lap but next to him. While this is nothing new for you, it is Dimitri’s harsh gaze that gives you pause.

Chase seems oblivious to Dimitri’s fury. Those dark, cold eyes are like spikes on knuckles, meant to shred skin. Dimitri is a walking threat, and you need to get Chase out of here fast.

Clearing your throat to snag Dimitri’s attention, you roll his cigarettes quickly, presenting them to him with a soft sway of your hips. It’s a diversion, and Dimitri appears to seize it, placing a cigarette between his lips.

You strike a match and light it for him. When he inhales, Megan takes the liberty to remove it as he releases the smoke. The exhale is slow, but it’s clear that her action upsets him by the soft curl of his lip and the way his hand forms a fist.

“Thank you.”

“Do you need anything else from me before I return?” you ask, keeping your professional demeanor intact.

Dimitri inhales and then exhales a rolling cloud of smoke. “I always need you, Sparrow. But I can wait until you come back to me again.”

The fact that you keep it together at all is a miracle. Dimitri’s behavior tonight is…odd. And even Chase notices because the moment you’re out of the room, he comments on it.

“That guy is fucking weird. How do you do it?”

“I think about the money,” you reply flatly, because it’s the truth. The money is the only reason you put up with Dimitri’s bullshit.

As the two of you enter the main you, you take stock of Sara’s section along the wall. Booth seating is one step down from VIP. They are relatively private and can be closed up if the people in them so wish it, but they’re also incredibly comfortable and have the best views of the stage. People always think that front row is the best row, but it’s not. Not at Thirst.

You begin at the far end, checking in with each table, making sure that all the items they currently have are in the system while also taking additional orders. Just like VIP, booth seating requires a flat fee for the space, and then a minimum monetary order to keep the booth for the evening.

Everything is fine. Everything is great. Everything is usual.

Until it’s not.

The final table closest to the VIP door brings you to a dead halt.

It’s three men. No. Scratch that. Four? They all have drinks in front of them but there is a fourth drink—whiskey—with no companion. This trio are also severely underdressed. They’re not dirty or unkempt, but lean toward the casual side like they’re at their local dive bar.

The drinks in front of them aren’t nearly enough to cover the minimum. They will need to order more or you’ll have to ask them to leave. It’s one of your least favorite things to do.

“Evening, gentlemen.”

To your left, the one with a short mohawk grins. It’s disarming how handsome his smile is. He looks like trouble. “Evening,” he replies, the Scottish accent startling you for a brief second.

Next to him is a man with dark eyes and hair. He smiles too but it’s much softer. Cozy is the word you’d use to describe him, like he’d be the boyfriend who does things for you because he wants to and not because he has to.

The other man, the one to your right, is an older gentleman. He isn’t nearly old enough to be your father. He may have ten to twelve years on you at the max. Of the trio, he is the most relaxed, with one arm draped over the back of the booth cushion while he nurses a beer.

He’s wearing a black windbreaker and beanie. His facial hair is neatly trimmed, starting at the sides of his face only to stop near his lips, coming up over his top lip to form a mustache. There is a small spot beneath his bottom lip that isn’t touched. It’s…a statement, but you like it. It’s unique and suits him.

The other two are dressed similar to him but neither of them wears beanies. Their casualness throws you off, makes you question their intentions. The people who frequent Thirst do not show up in windbreakers, jeans, and boots.

The older gentleman turns to look up at you, and your heart momentarily flutters. His eyes are a lovely shade of blue that draw you in to their depths. You feel yourself falling, moving toward them, only realizing what you’re doing when he speaks.

“Evening,” he answers, and the roughness of his voice is like sugar on the tongue.

You want to fall into him, to hear him speak soft nothings into your ear. But that momentary desire is quickly squashed.

Instead, you keep a professional tone, presenting one of the menus. “Booth seating requires a minimum purchase amount. You have not met the requirement.” Using just the hand you hold the menu with, you open it up, revealing the lists within.

Those blue eyes slowly draw away from your face, glance down at the words on the paper, and then promptly return to you. “Can you make an exception?”

Fuck. His voice is lovely.

“I’m very sorry, but I cannot.” You shift on your feet, turning your body toward him without thinking about it. “But I am more than happy to help you make a few selections to get you there.”

The corners of his mouth pull back as he glances at his companions. “On me.”

“Would you like me to go over your options?”

“I didn’t catch your name,” he replies.

You give it, and apologize for not stating it earlier. That’s something you always do when you greet new guests. That’s common sense, but apparently all that went right out the door when you came to their table.

He says your name, and you immediately form a core memory. The sound of it rolling off his tongue is luscious. Sinful. There is no reason for him to say your name like that. And why do you like it so much?

“Along with our extensive selection of alcohol, we offer food, freshly rolled cigarettes, as well as the finest cigars.”

Mohawk whistles lowly. “Simon is gonna hate missing those smokes.” He nods and then looks up at you. “Get me a scotch.”

“Preference?” you ask.

“Nah. You pick it for me. Meet that minimum.” He winks. “Isn’t that right, John?”

John grins. “Careful, Soap.” He turns that smile on you and you feel your cheeks heat. “I’ll have the same. And a cigar. Pick for me.”

Soap snorts and then leans in to whisper something to the man next him. John’s gaze is still fixed on you as you start to walk away from the booth, but you notice a small flicker, a quick snap to the VIP door before looking back at you.

Odd.

You return with the two glasses of scotch and the cigar on a silver tray. You trim and prep the cigar in front of John, and then present it to him. “Would you like me to light it?”

“Is it extra?” he asks.

“I can certainly make it so.”

Along with other things.

“Do it,” he says, taking the cigar from the tray and placing the end between his lips.

Lifting the matches, you remove one and strike it sharply, the little flame igniting in the dark of the club. You hold it out and John leans in. The movement is like two lovers meeting in wanton anticipation.

He puffs on the end until the cigar glows red and smoke seeps out from around it. John leans back, and removes the cigar from his mouth, the smoke curling upward slowly.

“Thanks, love,”

“My pleasure,” you reply, and it takes all your control to make it sound like that one word—love—didn’t just turn you on.

His gaze flick upward and lock with yours. They’re heated, almost interested, but you must be mistaken. You’re the one acting like an idiot. This is all in your head.

You gently dismiss yourself and move away, preparing to go back to Dimitri’s VIP room. On the way back, your heart is thudding and your palms are sweaty.

What the actual fuck is wrong with you? This behavior is absurd. You’re like a goddamn teenager swooning over their crush. This is unlike you, and you want the feeling gone.

As you enter Dimitri’s private room, you head for the table, removing the empty bottles and glassware, taking them back to the small service area. When you return to empty the ashtrays, Dimitri’s demeaner is entirely different.

This man has always been terrifying but this is horrific. It is not a lurking darkness but a present threat. Dimitri’s gaze is fixated on the man who appeared so nervous earlier. All of the women look fearful and on edge, their bodies rigid with tension. Even Olvia who dances on the stage isn’t really working anymore. She stands behind the pole as if that thin metal will protect her.

You’re immediately alert. Vigilant.

“Say that again,” snarls Dimitri. The man mutters something and Dimitri’s lips curl back to show his teeth. “Louder!”

The man looks down at his feet, shaking. Dimitri sneers and then leans back against the couch, shaking his head. “Can’t even admit when he’s a snitch. How am I supposed to trust you then?”

“I didn’t. I promise. I—”

“Shut up!” screams Dimitri. He smashes a half-empty vodka bottle against the table. The glass shatters, and little shards of crystal go flying, chilled vodka splattering everywhere. Megan and Addie shriek, shooting out of their seats and congregating near you. On stage, Olivia looks stricken.

Her eyes are wide, and she cowers behind the pole. You try to coax her with your gaze, silently imploring her to come to you.

“You’re a liar, Legasov. A fucking liar!” Dimitri wields the broken bottle top like a weapon, slashing at the man’s face.

It strikes true, and even under the red lighting, you notice the arc of blood. That is when Olivia moves, nearly tripping off the stage as she runs to you, Addie, and Megan.

“Go,” you whisper at them, pushing at their arms toward the door. “Go.”

They start to move, and you with them.

“Stay here, Sparrow!”

Dimitri’s shout is a blow. You are facedown in the dirt and dragged back over gravel. Slowly, you turn on your heel, facing this demon.

He places his hand on the sofa next to him. “Sit.”

You shake your head.

“I wasn’t asking,” he says, and his voice is almost light, airy. Like he isn’t mad at all. And that is fucking terrifying.

On shaky legs, you go to him, sinking down on the sofa. Dimitri leans in with a gentle smile that is so at odds with his body language. The backs of his knuckles hover just shy of your cheek. “I have a question for you, Sparrow. I’m seeking some advice.”

“What sort of advice,” you murmur, swallowing. The salvia sticks in your throat.

“How should disloyalty be rewarded?” Dimitri points at the cowering man. His hands cradle his face, and blood pools between his fingers, dripping.

When you don’t answer, Dimitri’s head tips to the side, his lips pursed in thought. “What’s the saying you Americans love to use?” Dimitri’s wrist snaps back and forth like he’s knocking on a door. The broken vodka bottle moves with it. “About getting stitches.”

“Snitches get stitches?”

Dimitri laughs. “That’s the one! It sounds so cute when you say it, Sparrow.” His hand hovers just shy of your skin and you don’t dare move. You don’t want him to touch you or even to close the distance.

“But they don’t always get stitches, do they?”

That’s when you notice the gun on the table.

“Go, my Sparrow” murmurs Dimitri. “Don’t come back to this room unless someone fetches you.”

You bolt up so fast you almost knock your knees against the table. You don’t even glance at the cowering man as Lev reaches over and grabs the man by the throat. You don’t glance back even as he starts begging for his life.

As you stride up to the door, the fear starts to give. It starts to melt like ice in the sun. Deep down, you understand that Dimitri has made you an accomplice in this. You step back, let the door slam loudly, and then you turn on your heel, moving to the edge of the curtain, watching through the small break between the curtain and the wall.

The man in question is on his knees before Dimitri. Dimitri presses the barrel of the gun to the man’s head.

“Stitches aren’t nearly enough.”

But there is no loud shot. No slumping of the man’s body as the bullet exits the chamber.

Behind the man, Nikola steps from the shadows, holding a baseball bat. He swings it round and round in slow sweeps until he doesn’t.

Until he brings it up over his head only to bring it down in a powerful blow.

You hear the crunch.

See the head of the bat return to it’s peak. See it come right back down again.

You bear witness. Watching Dimitri and the others observe Nikola’s brutal beating.

You taste blood in your mouth, and you realize you’ve bitten the inside of your cheek.

When Nikola stops swinging the bat, that is when Dimitri steps forward, and uses the toe of his boot to kick the dead man’s shoulder.

“Clean up this mess.”

He steps off the raised platform and you bolt for a dark corner, sliding down until you make yourself small. You hear his heavy footsteps before you see him. Dimitri throws back the curtain and strides out the door without a backward glance.

The three men beyond the curtain talk in another language, but their voices are distant. Slowly, you unfurl, checking to see where they are in the room. They’re still on stage, surrounding the bloody mess on the floor.

Fingers shaking, you silently slip through the door, nearly sprinting to the main room.

When you emerge, you aim for the employee door, needing to isolate until you can calm yourself. Glancing up, John is looking right at you, face grim. Your gazes lock, and his eyes widen slightly as if he’s recognizing the terror on your face.

You promptly look away, bursting through the door, collapsing onto one of the stools. Your breathing becomes a beast, all hulking gasps and harsh tears. Everything comes roaring forward like a monsoon, and you are bending like the trees to its emotional battering.

The door opens and you whirl around, tears stinging your cheeks.

“Get out!” you bark through the tears, not really seeing who is standing in the open doorway. You blink rapidly, some of the tears giving, clearing your vision.

It’s John and a man in a fucking skull mask.

“Watch the door, Simon,” says John over his shoulder.

The masked man only nods, slipping out like a shadow, closing the door behind him. You’re instantly on alert. A frozen deer sensing danger.

“Are you with them?” you mange to say through a hiccup. You’ve shifted on the stool, poised to run out to the back parking lot if you need to.

John takes a step forward. “With who, love?”

You want to like it when he calls you love. Really, you do. But right now, all you can think of is Dimitri calling you sparrow.

“Get out. Get. Out.” He doesn’t budge. “This is an employee area and you—”

“—You’re shaking.” He strides forward with purposeful intent, his gaze focused on your hands. Instinct kicks in, and you draw back. John immediately stops and puts his hands up. “I won’t touch you. Promise.”

“What do you want?”

John places one hand on his chest, keeping the other up. “My name is Captain John Price. I work for the Special Air Service of the British Army. I’m here wanting—”

You shake your head. “Oh, fuck,” you mutter, rising from the stool, backing away from him. “Fuck—just…leave me alone. Whatever it is, I’m not involved.”

He’s on American soil, which likely means he and the people sitting at that booth are together. Is the federal government involved? They have to be. Why else would he be here.

John matches your steps. “I simply want information. That’s all. I’m not after you.”

“Respectfully, go away.” Whatever heated thoughts you had about John Price are quickly flushed from your head. Survival is the most important thing. Him being in this room with you puts a target on your back.

“Just talking. That’s it. Talk to me and I’ll go.”

“About what?”

“About the man in your VIP room.”

“Which one,” you snap. “There are several.”

“Dimitri Radovic.”

Of course, it is. You know it is. Why would it be anyone else?

“I don’t know what kind of information I can offer you,” you reply, extending your arms. “Dimitri and I don’t talk, and you need to leave.”

John’s eyebrows rise toward his hairline. “But you’re on a first name basis?”

“Fuck you,” you snap, anger replacing everything you’re feeling.

“Not until I get what I came for.” Is he flirting you with? Or is he simply trying to rile you up? John’s tone softens. “Did he do something to you? Is that why you look so frightened?”

You look at the ground, unable to form the words as a lump forms in your throat. “Get out,” you whisper.

“I’m not your enemy.”

When you glance up, John is right there. He is so close and yet you don’t feel threatened. “But you can’t help me. And I don’t want it.”

John reaches into his jacket and presents a small piece of paper. It’s not a business card. You unfold it, revealing a phone number.

“If you realize you need my help, call me.” He retracts his hand and your gaze locks with his. Those blue eyes drill into your soul, swallow you up until all you can think about is him. “Paid out by the way. Left you a generous tip. Have a good night, love.”

John walks backward, knocking on the door once he reaches it. The skull-masked man appears, and John exits through the opening.

With his leaving comes a wave. The force of it slams into you. You sink to the floor, cradling your face in your hands, the tears welling quickly. At some point, you manage to scrape yourself off the linoleum, dragging yourself to a mirror to fix your disheveled appearance.

The rest of the night is a dull drone of noise. You hardly hear anything or anyone, moving through the motions just to stay sane.

By the end of the night, you’re ready to collapse.

“Walk you to your car?” asks Chase, tossing a rag into the linen bin.

“Please,” you sigh, wanting the familiar. Chase is someone you’ve known for a while. You trust him.

“Everything okay? You seem off?” he asks.

You open your mouth, a vague reply forming on your lips, but when the two of you exit through the side door into employee parking, you come to a halt.

Chase nudges your arm with his elbow, noticing your abrupt shift. “What is it?”

“The van,” you answer. It’s black with tinted windows. There are no markings and no signs of a license plate.

Chase squints and shrugs. “What of it?”

It’s parked right next to your car. Chase starts walking in that direction, and while your feet don’t want to move, you force them anyway. You purposefully stay to Chase’s left, keeping him between you and the black van.

When you reach your car, Chase leans against the trunk as you fumble with your keys. “You know,” he says. “If you ever want to grab a drink—”

You glance up at him and your mouth falls open. “—Chase!”

The metal pipe comes down fast and Chase doesn’t see it coming. He drops like a stone and his assailant is on you, placing a sack over your head. You lash out but this person is so much stronger. When you hit something on their body, you hear a grunt before they strike you. You whimper, staggering slightly, as their large hand grips your upper arm.

They shove and pull. There is no light. There is only hard metal as you’re half-pushed half-thrown into the back of the van.

This is not John Price’s doing. This is someone else.

With the world dark around you, and the sound of the van roaring to life, all you can think about is John’s offer. If you had said yes to him, if you had talked to him, would you be in this van right now?

Or, would you be safe?

Chapter Two

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duuhrayliegh · 11 months

Note

blowing bartender!eddie behind the bar whilst he makes drinks for the regulars and has to try his best to be cool. His knees are buckling and he's trying his best to suppress those throaty groans, but you're making things awfully difficult. He cums down your throat, and nobody is any the wiser of your filthy activities. He names a drink after you as a reminder of you.

bob on the knob

bartender!eddie x burlesque performer/baby doll!reader

send your request here!

It's a peaceful Saturday night when Eddie thinks that you've officially lost your mind. Well, maybe not completely, but this was definitely something that you weren't typically into.

"You wanna what?"

The words are breathless by the time they leave his mouth. He doesn't know of a single time that he's been baffled, but you can definitely count him bamboozled at this moment.

"Well, I know it’s something you’re into and I’m comfortable exploring new things with you.”

His eyes flick down to your hands which you wring into the excess fabric of the your stolen band tee. Eddie softens at your explanation, and stands from his spot on the bed to approach you.

“If you’re not into it, we definitely don’t have to, but I know that when we talked about it originally you said that you were turned on by it so I just wanted to give us the opportunity to try it.”

He stops in front of you and drops to his knees as his hands land on your hips. Eddie can feel the lining of your underwear through the worn material of his shirt and he twists his fingers into the elastic.

“Baby doll,” he rests his chin on your lower stomach, looking up at you through his lashes and curly fringe, “I want to do whatever you’re comfortable with. I know this is outside of your comfort zone, so the ball is entirely in your court.”

That was about a week ago, and Eddie has been on edge ever since. He can't lie when you first propositioned him, he immediately wanted to jump on the opportunity, but he knows you. If you were willing to lean into Eddie's fantasies, then he needed to give you all the control--especially when it comes to this particular kink of his.

"Hey, Teddy."

You pop up from behind him, hands reaching out to pinch the skin just above his jeans. Eddie jumps away from you with a yelp, his hand coming up to cover his heart dramatically.

“Baby doll," he reaches out to you, fingertips grazing the bejeweled fabric of your most recent costume. "You look gorgeous."

Eddie hates to pick favorites, but he does--and he does so gladly. This glitzy red number that you’re wearing—in what has to be his favorite performance of yours—is definitely in his top three costumes. Just behind the pearl get-up that, in Eddie's opinion, can't really be considered a costume by the end of that performance.

He leans forward and gives you a chaste kiss, something that you've both deemed appropriate for the workplace. Eddie feels your smile against his lips, one of the things about you that makes his heart flutter. You hum against him, pressing your body further into his.

"Excuse me. Can I get some service over here?"

A buttoned-up man was tapping his knuckles impatiently against the bar. Eddie's eyes swipe over the jackass that's interrupting his Baby Doll's time. He squeezes your hand once before fully focusing on his job.

"My apologies, sir." Eddie slings the bar towel over his shoulder. "What can I get for you this fine evening?"

Eddie watches as you wave goodbye from behind his latest guest. He sighs heavily as the man before him begins talking--out of his ass to be perfectly honest.

"Well, you could start with actually doing your job instead of flirting with the dancer girls." Jackass loosens his tie as he throws the comment in Eddie's face.

"I do apologize sir. You have my full attention now, so what can I get for you?" Eddie asks.

"Whisky sour." Jackass stands from his seat to take one of the empty lounge tables. "And keep them coming without distractions if you know what's good for you."

Eddie clenches his jaw, he pulls a face as he makes Jackass's drink. The lights dim and Eddie can see the way Jackass watches the women on the stage perform. Eddie passes the drink off to one of the waitresses and directs them to the intended table.

Having worked in customer service for this long, Eddie has the ability to predict if he's going to have a slow night. Tonight just so happens to be one of those nights. He rolls his eyes as he sees Jackass hold up his empty glass and look back at Eddie expectantly.

Just as he finishes off the second drink of the service, he feels a hand run down his back. Eddie stiffens and goes to turn, but is stopped by your voice.

“Don't react. Just stay calm, okay?" Your perfume permeates his senses and the thoughts running through his head send a shiver down his spine. "Nod once, if you're okay with this."

Eddie's chest feels like it's going to burst as you drop down behind him, hands trailing over his body. The button of his jeans pops open, and thankfully, the noise of his zipper undoing is covered by the booming music of the club.

He leans against the counter while your breath hits his overheated skin. Your soft fingers reach into his boxers to pull him out. He glances down and just about keels over. Eddie takes in the sight of you on your knees, hungrily eyeing his cock.

"Such a fucking goddess for me." He locks eyes with you and tilts his lips upward in a smile.

This isn't the first time he's been able to experience you like this. Every single time you offer him your mouth--because he does love to use you like a little slut, oh so much--he goes weak in the knees. And though this hasn't happened as often as he dreams about it, you both follow a similar routine every time.

Immediately one of his hands floats to your hair, gripping it at the root. The strands aren't as soft as they typically are, he suspects this is due to the amount of hairspray that you have to use for your performances.

Your tongue lashes out against the underside of his shaft, and he shudders as you drag upward toward his tip. Both hands are on the exposed skin of his hips, and he feels the crescent-shaped sting of your nails against the bones.

And just as you give him the pleasure of enveloping him in your mouth--that blissful feeling he hopes never ends--he's snapped back to reality when a glass was slammed on the bar top.

"Oh, Jesus H. Chri--" Eddie starts to whimper.

"Dude. I thought I told you service, without distractions." Jackass huffs the words, and Eddie's eyes widen to a probably comical size. He feels you hum around him, so he pulls on your hair as a warning.

"I'm sor--" he clears his throat as you take him further in yours, "sorry, sir. Another whisky sour?"

Jackass continues to mouth off while facing the stage, giving Eddie just enough time to step back to grab the bottle of whisky off the back shelf.

He slips from your mouth, a string of saliva connecting you to his stiffened cock. Eddie groans as he rights himself before you. He places the bottle on the bar and then reaches under your chin and stuffs himself back into your warm throat.

"God, such a good little slut for me," Eddie whispers under his breath as he settles in front of you again.

Eddie threads his fingers through your hair and uses it as a handle as he guides you back and forth on his shaft. His eyes roll back and his head drops back before he reaches out to attempt to do his job.

He manages to get the drink served with minimal snide remarks from Jackass, but it's without thanks to you. Every second that passes, you've managed to get sloppier and sloppier. He's honestly surprised that he was able to keep his groans quietened long enough for the brief exchange.

"You like being my little slut?" He hazards a look at you again, and it was both a blessing and a curse.

A blessing because he's truly privileged to see you in such a state. Tears gathered at the corners of your eyes, spit coating your chin and he could feel lines of it dripping off his balls and into his boxers. A curse because now he desperately wanted to cum down your throat.

His whole body felt on edge and he could track the sensations as it races through his nerves. One hand had the tips of his fingers buried in your hair, holding you to him while the other hand drifts to your throat. He starts to drive your movements, and Eddie widens his stance a bit.

The lights dim in the room and illuminate the stage, catching Eddie's attention and reminding him of your surroundings. The sound that emits from his throat is a surprise, but it kickstarts his release and his brain.

"Oh god, such a good girl for me. You like being a good girl for me?"

He continued to use your mouth, feeding his cock down your throat and feeling every movement with his hand around your neck.

“No, good girls wouldn't let me use them like this in public, would they? You're my little whore, my pretty little whore. My little baby doll." Eddie is utterly and positively a whimpering mess. Every bone in his body is begging him to fall to the ground.

"My little baby doll. I love when you let me use you like this. You love being my baby doll, don't you? Pliant little baby doll for me."

Eddie's balls tighten and he knows that he won't last much longer. He taps your cheek and meets your bright eyes that are still swimming with unshed tears.

"Not gonna last much longer, baby doll." He bites his lower lip, attempting to stifle his own trembling moans.

"You gonna be a good girl and take everything I give ya?" Eddie mumbles to you as he leans forward again, unable to stay fully upright.

"Oh fuck." He feels the globs of spit and cum gather around his tip as he releases into your throat. Eddie holds your head as close to his pelvis as he could get it and allows the waves of pleasure to engulf his senses.

"Oh my god," Eddie stills and locks his knees to prevent himself from completely melting into the floor. He whimpers as you swallow around his cock. "So fucking good for me."

You back off and begin to clean him up with your tongue. You hum while quietly tucking him back in his pants and zipping him up. Eddie follows your movements as you stand with your hands still on the waistband of his jeans.

He goes to say something but is quickly cut off by your lips. If there's one thing that he finds hot, it's how affectionate and downright clingy you are after any measure of sexual intercourse.

Usually, you would lay in his bed with the pale, thin sheets gracing your bare curves. He would trace your figure with delicate touches and soft kisses. If he was lucky enough you'd put on a small show for him, stripping yourself down from the clothes that you stole from him.

When your lips met his now, he thrust into your mouth so he could taste himself on your tongue. Eddie believes that you're one of the most erotic beings he's ever imagined. You lean back from him only for Eddie to place both hands on your cheeks.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

You giggle after his response and sigh as his forehead meets yours. Eddie presses a multitude of kisses around your face as you melt into a fit of laughter. Suddenly, Jackass is interrupting again, slamming his empty glass on the countertop again.

"Man, how the hell do you do your job? You need to fucking focus on your paying customers." Jackass emphasized the last two words and cut a look at Eddie's baby doll.

"Watch it, Jackass." Eddie mixes yet another drink for the suited man. "You're still getting your goddamn drinks, aren't ya? Why don't you back off and get back to your little pity table?"

An appalled expression overtakes the man's face, and he quickly collects his drink and scurries away. Eddie places his palms on the exposed skin of your plush hips and pulls you toward his body.

"Thank you." He pecks your lips. "That was everything I could imagine and more."

Your features morph into that smile he loves so much, "I'm glad. That was actually really fun." You brush his long hair behind his ear. "I enjoy watching you squirm, you should be afraid."

"Oh, should I?" Eddie catches your hand and brings it to his lips. He brings his voice down to a whisper, "I think you should watch yourself. I might be more willing than you realize."

"I'm counting on it."

A few hours later you came back to the bar and Eddie presents you with your shift drink. He watches you eye it carefully before shooting him a curious look.

"What's this?"

Eddie's known for creating signature cocktails that Nancy puts as specials throughout the week. Usually, they're reworked versions of classics that draw people's attention. This time is no different.

"This is my play on a cult classic inspired by a recent encounter of mine." Eddie leans forward and whispers his next words while watching you take a swig of the fruity cocktail. "The Bob on the Knob."

You choke on the drink, covering your mouth when an indignant snort escapes your nose. You swallow the sip harshly before exclaiming.

"Oh my god!" Your eyes flick between Eddie's expectant face, awaiting your approval, and the drink before you. "It's actually not that bad."

Eddie laughs loudly as you walk toward the back with the drink in hand. Apparently, you weren't the only one who liked the drink though because not even two days later, it's the club special.

But only you and Eddie knew why it was really special.

a/n: anyway...yeah this isn't as good as i thought it was going to be but here we are

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson smut #bartender!eddie munson x dancer!reader #bartender!eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x baby doll #bartender!eddie munson x baby doll!reader #bartender!eddie munson x burlesque!reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fan fic #eddie munson x y/n smut

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fandomchokehold · 2 months

Text

Musical Songs I Think The Boys™ Would Do a Burlesque Number To

*obviously these are only ones I've listened to, I wasn't a theater kid and don't really know much about plays and musicals, please don't be weird or mean in the notes 😭 and YES as a huge ABBA fan I know all the songs in Mamma Mia are just ABBA songs*

also this is way longer than I intended so there's more under the cut

Solos

Astarion - "Sweet Transvestite" from Rocky Horror Picture Show

this one is pretty obvious and expected but like !!! yeah !!! that's just him !!! he'd do the full routine, coming up in the elevator, throwing the cloak off to reveal the slutty lil outfit he has on underneath, throwing his drink at the audience while Gale Brad is talking, lounging on the throne, and then leaving mysteriously in the elevator OH BABY !!!

Wyll - "Land of Lola" from Kinky Boots

he would absolutely slay this routine, the lyrics are practically about him - "with arms as hard as steel" "with the moves of Fred Astaire" "I'm black jesus, I'm black mary, but this mary's legs are hairy" ??? I need this man to absolutely let loose and I NEED to see him in those cunty thigh high boots 👏 RED 👏 IS 👏 HIS 👏 COLOR !!!!

Gale - "Toucha Toucha Touch Me" from Rocky Horror Picture Show

I honestly just think he'd be really good at playing the part of the "innocent shy reserved man who does a complete 180 after being exposed to pure unbridled sexuality"; we all know he's not actually like that it's fully an act because he knows he has the looks of a tired english professor but the soul of a whore I just- you don't know how badly I need to see him doing a slightly desperate unhinged strip tease on stage on a garrish four poster bed OKAY ?!?!

Halsin - "Toxic Love" from Ferngully

I need him in his pretend villain era, I think he'd be cartoony like if he's gonna work a stage he's gonna werk a stage m'kay; he is actually using this performance to raise awareness about the climate crisis and donate the money he makes towards more accessible clean energy and environmental conservation efforts and would love to provide more info and resources while still in his g-string to all interested parties in the lobby of the venue

Duets

Astarion & Gale - "Planet Schmanet Janet" from Rocky Horror Picture Show

Astarion as Dr. Frank N. Furter, Gale as Janet; we all know this is a trademark Astarion ruse to get to chase a scantily clad Gale around menacingly and torment him in front of an audience, I mean c'mon who wouldn't want to do that 👀

Astarion & Wyll - "Does Your Mother Know?" from Mamma Mia

Astarion as Tanya, Wyll as Pepper (I had to look that up apparently his name is Pepper); I feel like Astarion would identify with Tanya on a spiritual level, they're both wine aunt cougars who love luxury, and after seeing that Wyllstarion interaction where they flirtatiously talk about their age gap this song just really is about them huh

Astarion & Halsin - "I Can Make You a Man" + "I Can Make You a Man (Reprise)" from Rocky Horror Picture Show

Astarion as Dr. Frank N. Furter, Halsin as Rocky; tbh this is just so Astarion can show off the "bounty of nature's gifts" that have been bestowed upon him and Halsin just finds how this twink is climbing him and swinging on his outstretched arm like a jungle gym too amusing to not participate

Gale & Wyll - "Horny Angry Tango" from Crazy Ex-Girlfriend

either of them in either role; this is purely for the theatrics and to show off their actual ballroom dance skills, Gale is going to be the one getting dipped though

Gale & Halsin - "La Seine" from A Monster In Paris

Gale as Lucille, Halsin as Francoeur; I can't lie it's purely for the height difference that's totally canon and I didn't make up in my head, the contrast between Gale "Lil 5'8" Wizard" Dekarios and Halsin "The 6'5" Bear" Silverbough is just *chef kiss* 👌

Wyll & Halsin - "Lay All Your Love On Me" from Mamma Mia

either of them in either role; they're lowkey almost fucking on stage, Wyll chose it for the drama and Halsin went along for the overtly sexual choreography

Group Numbers

"Lady Marmalade" from Moulin Rouge

Astarion's favorite and Halsin's least favorite for the same reason: it's extremely flashy and dramatic

"Rose Tint My World" which transitions into "Don't Dream It" from Rocky Horror Picture Show

Astarion as Janet for "RTMW" but Frank for "DDI", Wyll as Columbia, Halsin as Rocky, Gale as Brad, with special guest Elminster as Dr. Scott during "Don't Dream It"

"Haus of Holbein" from SIX

tbh I don't have an explanation for this one I've really only listened to the corsets part and think it's kinda cunt, idk they'd all slay in corsets

"Big Spender" from Sweet Charity

ok just imagine any of them doing Fosse choreography

"Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! (A Man After Midnight)" from Mamma Mia

ok just imagine there's stripper poles-

"Cell Block Tango" from Chicago

with special guests Minsc and Volo; no one knows how they got here, Minsc is a bit too uncoordinated but he's got the spirit and Volo was recording everything from the audience for research purposes but saw they were short a character and thought to himself "what better way to learn than through participation?"

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milknhonies · 3 months

Text

The Negatives of Shooting People

Chapter 3 || MasterList || Chapter 5

Chapter Summary: The ten year anniversary soiree is here for August's Lion Lounge club. And he's awfully surprised to see you, an uninvited guest...careful now....

Chapter Warnings: 18+ Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Gambling, Non-Con, Piss, Manipulation, Threats, Sexual Assualt, Bondage, Murder, Violence, Strangulation, Public Execution, Kidnapping, Bondage, Slight Daddy Kink, Slight Puppy Play Kink, Petnames.

Pairing: Kingpin!August Walker X F!reader

Word Count: 8k

Author Notes: I honestly don't know how to gamble or how it works. I read a quick wiki instruction and played a game. If anyone actually knows how to play, let me know and I'll change the writing.

Inspiring Song: "Poker Face." By Lady Gaga.

07:00pm Friday 16th August 2024, Fortitude Valley, Brisbane.

When Lloyd met you in the foyer and escorted you to the car, you noticed how his neck was tight against his bow tie. His bruised face and knuckles had lightened. He had waxed his moustache and curled the tips upward.

He whistled low and gawked at you all over. Your foot rubbed the back of your calf shyly. You were decadent in pearls and metallic shimmering from your dress.

He reminded you that your role was too find August and do whatever you could to distract him from figuring out that Lloyd, a police officer undercover had infiltrated his event.

Lloyd gave you another hundred dollars and said it was for gambling and pleasure purposes only. If August could be distracted by a drink, a game of poker, a jukebox dance even a pokie machine, that should give Lloyd plenty of time to look around for an illegal weapons auction.

You both got out of the car and found yourself escorted on his arm passed the body guard checking the invites.

You clenched a small purse under your arm tighter as you entered the massive club. It left you briefly speechless.

The floor was covered in black and gold mixed marble. The club was an old building. Probably over a century or two old. It had a huge bar and multiple show rooms. On one stage was a burlesque dancer shaking her covered nipples. In another part was a casino theme of tables and machines. And to the sides were seats, tables and booths.

Lloyd got you both to sit down and he ordered a drink. He sipped his whiskey and glanced at the stairs that spiralled up to more private rooms.

“There he is, balcony, beside the blonde.”

You tried to not be obvious when you looked over your shoulder. August was smirking with a drink in his hand, shaking hands with an old bald gentleman with beady eyes and a brief case.

As that older fellow walked away Lloyd murmured, “And that’s our cue.”

He moved out of his seat and left the whiskey behind.

You waited a few minutes. You stared at the reflection of August in the whiskey glass and bit your lip. That man was a monster. He had raped you, humiliated you and made you scared…except now you had teeth and claws to flex.

You shut your eyes and prayed to get out alive. Picking up the glass you tossed your head back and finished what Lloyd had left. Your lipstick smudged the beautiful glasswork.

You abandoned the booth and deposited the glass.

You turned back and started to glide up those stairs in your small heeled feet. You felt immaculate, confident. And you were sure…he had seen you as you ran your hand up the banister.

You slowly moved around him. He hadn’t turned to look at you yet. A blonde woman was on his other side, whispering in his ear with her seductive rose lips. She was gorgeous, legs long and slender waist. Her dress was a deep burgundy red and her gloves black. She made you look like the frumpiest woman in the club.

You leant against the railing beside them at a respectful distance. You looked over the dance floor. You recognised local representative politicians mingling, kissing, all salacious actions that the average public would be shocked to witness. A Greenie with her tongue down a Nationalists throat.

From your side you could feel his eyes. You couldn't tell if August was glaring daggers, but you knew he had seen you.

Your fingers squeezed the railing tight.

You took a deep breath in and focused not to stutter, “Fancy seeing you here.”

You managed to angle your face his way. You prayed he wouldn't look at your hands, trembling on top of the metal bar.

He looked down at his glass cup. He turned away from his golden haired friend and smirked at you. The woman attached to his side flashed you a sickly fake smile. Her eyes were full of scornful judgement.

He chuckled lightly, eyes raking up and down your body in a way to made you feel like meat in the deli section.

“Well, I do own the club Miss Y/L/N or did you not read my name on the invitation?”

You curled your toes and strained a brave smile, “Oh of course, but business is always busy with men like you…”

You looked away from him briefly, trying to compose yourself. Your hands were starting to shake while your knees felt light. You swallowed hard and returned to face his predator eyes.

“Men like me?” He purred and turned his body to lean on the railing.

You nodded slowly, trying to find a way to answer him and continue the conversation.

“Men like you,” was all you could repeat back firmly. You could feel a line of sweat crawl down the back of your neck.

He chuckled and held his empty cup to his feminine companion.

“Natalie, be a dear and fetch me some Guinness and whatever you’d like.”

Natalie winked at him and gave a girlish laugh when he smacked her backside. You wanted to scoff but at the same time you pitied her. You were scared she would be his next sexual victim. She toddled down the stairs and August slid himself closer to you on the railing. His fingers fluttered and circled around your neck. It was too public a place for him to squeeze any tighter. He couldn’t kill you out here, it was too public. His fingers softly moved over the spot where your pulse sat.

“Why are you here?” He raised his brow to you as he purred, “How did you even get in, huh? I know you didn’t get the invitation…so…have you come to take some more photos? We could have a quick interview in my office if you’d like.”

His lips were amused, but his eyes were dark and annoyed. Annoyed with you.

You shuddered, you weren’t too interested in his offering, but you had to consider how much time Lloyd needed to gain incriminating information. Lloyd didn’t know you had your phone down the front of your dress. It was risky but you wanted to catch anything if the occasion arose.

Your glanced at him, your bottom lip trembled slightly, you nuzzled his hand that started to cup your cheek.

Lightly shaking your head you said calmly, “I got your photos…the envelope…so no photos tonight…”

He chuckled and leered down your chest before leaning in closer to your face moaning, “So…what have you come for?”

You were frustrated that Lloyd really thought you’d be able to do this….this improvisation was nearly impossible when you had to face a man with a mean face. It was the tension of your chest snapping, the breath you were holding broke in a breathy sigh which was close to a gasp.

“The party,” you lied, you leant closer and let your noses touch, “Just to party.”

You laid your hand on his chest and rubbed it in large low circles. The whiskey was warm in your cheeks. You felt daring. Your heart beating strong in your ears. Do it now or you might as well drown. You squeezed your eyes shut and tightened your insides as you pushed up and kissed his mouth. His moustache scratched your top lip as you forced yourself onto him. It was a hard lip pressing peck, you felt his hot breath fan your face. The smell of his malted breath mad a hot light sing in between your legs. Your heart was thundering in your chest,

His wide cold eyes bore into your soul and he chuckled, “You make such a fucking terrible liar.”

It was like he had punched you in the gut the way the air had left your body.

“August dear, I have your drink!” the ringing of Natalie’s voice had his head turned away and letting you go. You couldn’t think, you just stood there absolutely frozen.

August collected his new refreshment, taking an impressive gulp, and you watched him lean closer to the blonde, “The accounts are settled, you can piss off now Nat.”

Her false smile faltered into a malicious smirk. She winked at you before she fled back down the stairs and greeted another gentleman in a tuxedo. You felt sick.

August leant back and cupped your waist in his awfully huge hand, “Let’s take a walk.”

He smirked feeling the shiver roll down your back. His hand squeezed your fingers as he led you down the staircase. You frantically looked out to the room and dance floor. You hoped you might see Lloyd, you might call out for him to save you.

“Ever played Roulette?” he asked setting his empty Guinness on a passing waitress tray.

You shook your head and heard him chuckle, “Of course you haven’t, good girl like you hasn’t done many things at all.”

You were slightly offended by his wording no matter how much it might’ve been true deep down.

He put his hand back to your lower back and led you to the casino rooms. There were multiple tables with different games involving cards and chips. But there was a long table surrounded by at least twenty or thirty well dressed men with their arm candy super model women. At the end was a dealer with a long metal pole. He wore a golden coloured suit. He looked serious and when his eyes caught the sight of August that cold aura disappeared. A giant smile graced his cranky appearance.

“Want to join the game sir?” he asked, “We just finished a game.”

August smiled and said, “Yes, give me ten black chips, six purple and…” he sucked his teeth, “Six yellow.”

The dealer smiled and nodded, he handed his boss, your rapist, the eftpos machine before pushing some chips towards the edge of the table you both next to.

Your eyes widened. The black chips had the number of one hundred, the purple was five hundred and the pretty yellow chips were decorate with a one and three zeros. You had a wild guess that those digits were the amount of money he was putting on the table.

To August it was nothing.

The dealer was selling other chips to the players that were from the old game wanting to buy more while August groped your hip and pressed his nose to your ear, “Lets start off easy, pick, red or black.”

You looked at the table, there were numbers between zero and thirty six. Half the numbers were covered in red, the other half in black. Your mouth felt dry. You really didn’t know what you were doing.

“Bl-“ you cleared your throat as his hand cupped your backside under the table, “Black.”

He smiled, “Now pick, do you prefer even numbers or odd?”

You looked over the red squares and noticed how half looked odd and the other half was even, you weren’t sure if this would help or set you back.

“Odd numbers,” you whispered.

His breath was hot and his eyes were trapping you where you stood. You felt embarrassed to meet his looks.

“Dealer, One hundred on Black and one hundred on Odds.”

The dealer smirked, you knew that dealer knew this wasn’t really Augusts choice.

He spun the wheel that had a metal ball tapping along inside. Round and round the crimson and black. The ball landed onto black thirty five. You held your breath.

“And now,” August purred, “You’ve just won an extra two hundred dollars pup.”

The light in your chest bloomed with excitement, the butterflies rained like a storm in your belly. You were amazed at how it was to win so quickly…but then what if it was red even that won? Or just black and even? Would you have lost it all? Half? You were tickled with curiosity to learnt this grown up game. Two new black chips along with the original were pushed back to you. August thick fingers stacked them on top of each other in a bundle.

“Lets play again, now…see those top numbers, one to twelve, thirteen to twenty four, twenty five to thirty six?” he said, gesturing to the top of the red and black chart against the green fuzzy felt of the table.

“Pick one of those three groups.”

You sucked in a breath and tried to strategize….you had more numbers in the two boxes. You didn’t want to risk less numbers more chance of losing…

“One to twelve?” you said, his large hand rubbed on your ass pressing you closer to the table edge.

“Dealer, a purple chip on the one twelve,” he said cooly not even looking at the dealer this time as he said it. You wanted to know what he was thinking as he stared right down into your skull.

“Yes sir,” said the dealer pushing the five hundred chip over the dozen number group,

“Spin hockey,” August barked and clapped his hands.

And the bowl with a ball spun. it settled on number five. The table players groaned as their games were losing. Luck of the gods must’ve been over you tonight…

“And now you’ve won an extra thousand dollars,” he hummed.

The damn game made no sense except you were happy to be winning. You didn’t expect the fear you got from being in Augusts palm mixed with the joy of winning at gambling would make you aroused and wanting.

The yellow chip was pushed to you and you daringly picked it up. It was pretty, the emboss was August Lion symbol.

“Now…see those three columns that say two to one? There’s a right, middle and left. Pick one,” he plucked the chip from your curious fingers.

“Right,” you bravely exclaim. August laughed and turned to the dealer who had gotten back to your turn, “You heard the lady, yellow on right column.”

The chip was planted and the wheel spun once more…landing on black eleven…a middle column. And just like that, a thousand dollars gone…All the warmth left your body. Now you understood a gambling drop felt worse than the gambling high. His hand snuck it’s way across your lower belly. He moved you closer into his side. His hot breath fanned over you neck.

He tutted at you, “See the risk? Got all the blood rushing, didn’t it and now you’re feeling that punch of loss?”

You slowly shook your head, agreeing. Thank fuck it wasn’t your money or the money Lloyds' had given you. So far you’d at least made August a two hundred dollars profit from the original ten thousand he bought out.

August held your hips and pressed you back into his crotch. He wasn’t hard but you could feel his warm body heat and the shape of his soft cock in his pants.

His mouth purred along the shell of your ear, “Now, Puppy, choose one number.”

He was standing behind you, trapping you against the table flushed. None of the other players took notice and if they did they didn’t care. Because maybe they didn’t know what type of monster this monster could be.

“N-nineteen,” you stuttered, choosing your age might be a safer option.

“Tell the dealer,” he whispered.

You swallowed. You felt hot and a foul arousal between your thighs. You thought about the time you played Pool with August. Your first kiss...

“Nineteen please sir,” you said to the gold suited man.

“Chip type?”

August whispered like he was telling you the dirtiest secret, “Tell him you’re all in.”

You repeat the term and made it sound like a question. You had a feeling you knew what it meant after watch movies ‘Bounty Hunter’ with Jennifer ashton and Gerald Butler. The dealer glanced at August and smirked, “All in number nineteen.”

The long metal pole came out and scooped up all your chips to the nineteen box.

When the ball began to spin inside the wheel your belly twisted and your hands desperately squeezed Augusts. You remembered there was at least ten thousand two hundred dollars on the number and you were truly risking losing all his money. You damn well knew that Lloyd didn’t give you that much and there’s be no way to pay August back.

Your eyes ran round and round the wheel, you held your breath as the metal ball landed and bounced between the numbers. You felt weak in the knees. The wheel slowed and you nearly vomited from anticipation alone managing to force your arse harshly back into August you sound and desperately buried your face into his expensive cologne soaked shirt. You worried and bit your lip hard as the clattering silver ball stopped and the wheel paused.

You could imagine the dealers face peering down into the black and red bowl of fortunes and curses, debts and dreams.

“Congratulations little lady in front row, number Nineteen, you have won three million five hundred and seven thousand dollars,” said the dealer over an excited cheering crowd.

You swore you misheard, your knees wobbled as you dared to look up at Augusts grinning face. You looked over your shoulder and true to the dealers word, that silver ball sat in the groove of red painted with the number nineteen. All the air was drained from your lips. You could’ve fainted. You couldn’t believe it. Out of all the bad luck in your life, this felt truly unbelievable. You wished your father was here to see this. You started to smile...and then the squealing crawled out of your throat. You jumped up and down on your feet, your fingers squeezed Augusts arm tightly. The buzz inside you was wild. Your adrenaline was jumping out of adrenaline was jumping out of our throat. You knew the money wasn’t yours. It was Augusts but knowing that you’d managed to win that much by chance sent the greatest wave of euphoria.

“I won! I won! I won!” tears prickles your eyes and you cupped your mouth.

August smiled into your cheek and chuckled softly, “Yes, you did.” His moustache scratched against your cheek, he smelt like Guinness and felt like total warmth on a cold night. His thumb rubbed beneath your arm near the space of your ribs and breast.

The dealer couldn’t give you that many chips but digitally sent a code with the prize to August as owner of the card that bought the chips in the first place.

August laughed and spun you around on your feet, he tugged you away from the roulette table towards the dance floor where a slow dance was taking place to the sombrous tones of Frank Sinatra.

“Oh my god, I did that, I can’t believe I just did that,” you muttered happily in a daze, a high. You suddenly forgot entirely everything that August had done to you in the past few weeks. You forgot your entire purpose of why you were even there. His charming face was beaming in pride.

His warm lips pecked your forehead and cheek, he repeated, “Yes, you did.”

“I mean I know it’s your money but just the thrill of just- my god,” you sucked in a new breath of air and sighed, “Thankyou for letting me experience that.”

He hummed and swayed your bodies together slowly. He could’ve picked you up and carried you away and you weren’t sure if you would’ve protested.

“My money?” he chuckled, “I can right you a cheque if you’d really like. Bank it tomorrow.”

You scoffed in disbelief, you shook your head at him, “Don’t be mean August, like you’d just give me three million dollars, be fucking for real.”

He pinched your bottom making you hiss lightly as you danced in his arms and he scolded teasingly, “Language.”

You threw your head back and giggled. You were still riding the drunk high of life.

“Welcome to bloody Australia Mister Walker,” you tapped a finger on his chest, his suit felt so smooth and expensive like silk instead of basic cotton, “Where we say all kinds of things casually; Ass, cunt, fuck, bitch, bastard and so on.”

He bent you backwards and cradled your spine as his lips pressed up into your jaw and neck, “Oh fret not, I’ll discipline it out of you. I’d rather have you speaking like a true lady who cares about her appearance.”

You scoffed again and rolled your eyes. You didn’t give a flying care in the world what he thought about a true lady. He wasn’t a true gentleman. You pushed a little away from him.

The high of life became dangerous impulsive boldness, “Why? So I can teach you that true gentleman don’t drug and rape women?”

A few heads turned at your words out of the thousands dancing and gambling around you. His jolly gaze turned black and ice. His frown was deep and displeasure greatly obvious. He looked ready to kill you...

The shudder in your chest returned. It was like a bucket of icy water dunking over your head. That glare made you sober and sheepish. You pushed away gently and smoothed your dress out.

“I...I need to pee.”

You didn’t actually, yet the fear consumed you enough, blanketing over you and you needed an escape from the danger you had willingly nosed dived into. It was the only explanation for you to flee briefly and compose yourself for more of his aggression.

His hands were tight on your wrists.

“August, I’m sorry...please let me go to the loo.”

He let you go, and muttered, “It’s upstairs, be quick, we need to talk.”

You hissed when the blood pumped back into your flesh, you felt your wrists throb in rings. Stepping backwards shakily you almost fell back into a passing waiter. It felt impossible to remove your eyes from him, to make sure he wasn’t following you.

You could feel him watching you as you kept walking to those stairs. Up the grand stairs you scurried away from him for the seconds he was distracted looking away from you, grabbing a new drink.

Just find the ladies toilet and he can’t come in right?

Your head was pounding. Breathless and flushed you didn’t look at the signs on doors. You didn’t even need the bathroom, honestly, you just needed to sit down.

Relief filled you as you looked behind. You couldn’t see August and knew he still wasn’t following you. You leant against a door and turned the handle hoping out of all these doors, this would be a toilet.

When you fell inside. You noted the room was empty…but there was also no toilet…instead there was a couch to your left and to your right a massive wall with a control panel and TVs lining the wall…on the televisions were colourful pictures moving, replaying the events of the party…they were the viewpoints of cameras…security.

You were in the security room!

With widened eyes you closed the door behind you entirely and awed at the stuff you were watching…

There wasn’t just one party going on tonight.

The screen showed the rest of the club you hadn’t had the pleasure of observing. The back stages dancers change room, the full game slot casino, a smokers room where a stripper was sucking some random man off. Your stomach twisted.

There were men sniffing coke off a woman’s thigh. Other people in another room were injecting each other with heroin.

There was a room auctioning paintings and appeared to be a business meeting. Multiple men were sitting on couches and bar stools watching while a stunning woman in the middle waving at expensive items…. Katarina Vikander. She wore a stunning green gown that hugged her body, around her neck was a thick row of diamonds, she looked like an old Hollywood actress.

You stepped closer to the screen and traced the figures of people and faces you recognised. There were even famous local politicians. Your mouth felt dry. You knew it was a simple auction but the items were familiar, they were museum pieces. There were items that morally speaking belonged to the indigenous Meanjin people. It was a inexplicable scandal.

Then there was Lloyd! He was sitting beside an older man with the bald head and beady eyes. In that man’s lap was a young woman with dark flowing hair in a very short dress, definitely young enough to be his granddaughter. yuck!

It was a room of gentlemen and their own weapons to show off. Guns and blades you were confident weren’t even allowed to be sold in Australia after the Port Arthur Massacre. There were tommy guns and automatic rifles. There were trench knives and a urban skinner daggers. Things you’d only seen in movies.

You pulled out your phone and started taking photos of the screens. They would be bad quality photos, not well enough to publish to the press but it didn’t matter, evidence was still important. August was willingly allowing this in his club and on the unlikely chance he wasn’t, it was still occurring in his club, he’d be responsible.

You thought about the amount of people these guns and knives could or had already killed. You clicked some more and quickly sat in the empty chair. There was a couch behind you, you noted the strange red splatter stains over the cushions. You took another picture. You didn’t want to consider if it was blood because that lead to the question of whose blood it was...you shuddered.

No wonder he didn’t appear as excited as you when you won the three million dollars…he probably made that in a week from profits out of these illegal auctions.

You held your breath and watched the screens further.

Soon Lloyd would bust the club. He’d call back up and the floor would go wild. Now it was a matter of waiting. Any minute now, you bet.

You took photos of the men doing drugs with the strippers and the gambling and finally the bar. You wondered how much of the alcohol would’ve been watered down to save money. It even clicked to wonder if the club even had a license to sell alcohol while the casino was open.

You were checking the photos and perched yourself on the couch when the door opened. You gasped and dropped your phone on the ground with a loud clatter.

The looming shadow entered the dark room. It was him…August…he stood inside and closed the door, away from the party, silencing the booming hustle and bustle.

“No photos tonight?” his brows lifted and a smile spread while he tutted, “Oh my sweet girl, you’re breaking daddy’s heart.”

You leant down and grabbed the phone again and shoved it into your clutch purse.

“I-I wasn’t using my c-camera…” you poorly lied.

You stood up spritely and tried to find away around him. He leant against the door, blocking your escaped. His eyes rolled from the screens back to you.

He flashed a sinister fanged smile and shook his head, “Oh no, no, I think it’s about time we chat little Miss Y/N…don’t you?”

You pouted and snarled, “Get out of my way August.”

He shook his head again and sucked his teeth, “Tell me why you really came tonight, and I will.”

You gulped. You clenched your first and said louder, “Get out of my way August or I’ll fucking scream and I’ll make a damn scene.”

He stood in silence for three solid seconds before nodding.

He moved away from the door but as you tried to pass him reaching for the doorhandle, he grabbed your waist and hauled you back. You were launched back across the floor and landed hard and sharp on the carpet. The air was knocked from your lungs and your hands lost grip of your clutch.

Gaining your bearings quickly, you shrieked and cowered. You raised your hands and shuddered. You were so sure he was going to punch and kick you, instead a soft strong hand curled over your wrist and tugged you to your knees.

“Come here,” he softly murmured, while he gently made you crawl over to the couch. On the cushions he sat before he pulled you into his thick lap. Your legs were trapped between his, while you were held on his lap.

You felt so small, so weak. His hands were warm, and strong, you were growing sore as your body overcame the shock of him throwing you back into the room. It made you feel terrified at how simply he was able to manhandle you. All those weeks without his presence had somehow made you forget how deadly and scary he could be. And despite being in his club, in a public place, he still had the upperhand and power to take what he wanted.

Your body shook as his hands touched you. He was so calm…it was unsettling and struck icily in your blood. This was the August you met that afternoon two weeks ago. This is the August that duct taped you and forced you to cum in your fathers recliner chair.

“You wearing any wires baby?” He cooed as his hand stuck down your dress top and another slipped up your thighs. You didn’t fight, but your fingers pleadingly hooked into his shirt sleeve while his hand dug around and slid around your breasts, groping your soft flesh.

His hand the groped around your thighs and lingered when cupping near your underwear. A stream of sweat trailed your face, what if he felt how wet you were in your underwear?

You shook your head and pitifully whimpered, “N-no, just the ph-phone in my bag.”

His lips pressed against your shoulder and neck before finally going to your ear, “This is what’s going to happen…” he purred, “You’re going to be my good girl and do everything I tell you, or else I’m going kill your piggy friend.”

You gasped as his fingers rubbed at your underwear covered clit.

“Wh-what?!”

“Yes poppet, I know about him,” he chuckled and sucked on your earlobe loudly, “He’s not very smart, coming here…his wire, he’s wearing…it’s not going to pick up anything.”

Your eyes dared to glance at the cameras, Lloyd was still on the screen, still watching the auction.

August moved his mouth to your other ear and moved your underwear aside, his finger easily slipped inside of you, tearing a whine from your lips at how wet you were.

“Has he fucked you yet?” He mocked, “Has the piggy touched what’s mine? Stuffed that dirty cock in this pretty puppy pussy?”

You choked on a rising sob, “No, now please st-stop.”

Tears streamed down your cheeks, tears August kissed away softly. You were watching the screens, Lloyd was looking around the room from the chair he was sitting in. Someone handed him a drink. You didn’t know what he was saying as he laughed at someone. You just wanted him to call back up, before you potentially were raped again.

August paused and slipped in another thick finger, “So…you thought you’d help him? Think I’d be so blind? It breaks my heart that either of you thought I was that dumb. This whole time I’ve been telling myself you weren’t a threat, just a dumb little girl…but that’s not entirely true huh? Miss picture perfect, taking photos she fucking well shouldn’t be.”

Your whimpered and wept with salty tears that stung hard. You heard him shuffle as he propped you onto one knee. A moment later, something hard and cold touched your cheek. You were certain this was your fault. You didn’t distract him enough, instead you ran off like a cowered. You sobbed and found it difficult to breathe seeing what that hard object in the corner of your eye was. If you weren’t so scared you might’ve screamed…

“Did you wear this for me baby?” He asked, rubbing your cheek with the warm tip of the gun, “Awfully pretty, awfully expensive for someone like you.”

Your eyes fell down at the dress you’d bought earlier that day. God you regretted it all now, all the excitement you felt buying it for tonight, it was all backfiring. You bought it knowing this was something he might want, it made you feel rich and sensual. It was your shield of confidence, ironic how a shield means nothing compared to a gun pressed to your head.

“Yes,” you wailed, “Please just let us go.”

“Us?” He scoffed scornfully, “And you’re telling me, you’re not fucking him.”

His fingers curled harshly and pinched your inner walls, cupping and shaking your entire cunt in his hand roughly.

You whined and choked, “it’s- n-not his faul- fault…I’m…I’m-”

Your eyes widened and your mouth fell silent…Jesus fucking Christ. August was covered in a hot wet warmth. He grunted, slowly, he removed his two thick fingers out of your pussy and shook his hand of the wet liquid pouring out with three large wrist flicks.

Mortified, a blubbering fest left you mouth. A line of ‘’please” and “sorry” poured desperately out of you.

Your piss puddled the floor down to his shoes.

You had half expected him to throw you off or kill you in disgust. Instead, August hissed a little as the warm liquid soaked over his trousers. You flinched away. He put his gun back in his pocket.

He laughed darkly, “You are so silly huh? So goddamn innocent,” his wet head cupped your neck and clenched your jaw, “I think I’ve amused you long enough baby, I think it’s time I show you why you were put in my care.”

You fluttered your wet eyes at him, “Please just let Lloyd go,” you swallowed a gulp of air, “I’ll do whatever you want.”

You gagged at the acidic smell of your own urine on his hand burning into your nose. His tongue clicked and he wagged his other finger at you.

“You’re about to see what happens to shits who think to try and bring me and my friends down, go on sunshine, look at the TV’s.”

His hand jerked your head forward. You were forced to watch everything happening in the room where Lloyd was. Within seconds, there were two security guards dragging in a limping man over a giant square of tarp.

“This dumb piece of shit decided to double dip my profits in a club I own down in Sydney…dickhead thought to embezzle me…I don’t like when men take what’s mine…”

The struggling man had a black pillow case shoved over his head. He was pushed to his knees in front of Brandon Sullivan who held a gun he took out from the briefcase. Katarina stood away from the centre of the room and watch him with the brightest smile.

The gun from the suitcase wasn’t particularly impressive. It was a hand gun with an ivory hilt. American.

The barrel was pressed to the pillow case. Your eyes widened.

Your bottom lip fell, “Wait please no, he can’t, stop-”

It was two little light flickers from the tip of the weapon, the bag flutter backwards as the man’s brains were blown through. It wasn’t like the movies. His body just flopped and slammed down on the floor and in seconds the blue tarp was rolled up and dragged away, no time for the blood to soak into the auction room carpet.. Brandon put the gun down and clapped his hands.

Lloyd didn’t flinch…his eyes hid inside his cup.

You gagged and bent your head opening your mouth above Augusts spread knees, the floor not only covered in your urine was also granted a haul of your bile. The whiskey you finished from Lloyds cup came back up hard burning your throat.

Why wasn’t Lloyd arresting them there and then? Why didn’t he leave to call back up?

You trembled watching the detective standup and walk over to order a drink at a private bar. He was so vulnerable standing in the den. And he was wearing a wire that wasn’t even working and you couldn’t tell him. You were helpless, Lloyd was helpless.

“I could kill him right now if I wanted to…” August cooed as you sobbed with the shock of seeing a real person killed in front of your eyes on screen.

You wailed and turned your body away. Buring your face into his shoulder and begged, “Please don’t hurt him, please, dear god. I’ll do whatever you want!”

“Anything?” He sarcastically gasped.

Your whimpered, “Yes!”

He was laughing and humming while he was toying with what he’d do to you. He bounced his knee you were on forcing you to land hard on your crotch and gasping everytime your clit made contact with his thigh and knee.

When he stopped, he pinched your wet inner thigh, “Call me Daddy you piss soaked slut.”

You nodded and tried to slow your meltdown, “O-okay d-daddy, I will.”

“Are you sorry for trying to trick me, whore?” He said harshly.

Your chin shook as you choked out, “S-so sorry daddy. Please forgive me.”

He liked that with how he grunted and moaned.

“I guess I should huh? You come in here, looking for dirt, but you win me gold.”

He pushed you off his lap. You were scared and embarrassment. The feeling of the wet that ran down your legs was drying up, yet the puddle that was drying up was huge. The scent was pungent. Your legs were weak and wobbly. You stumbled and grabbed your clutch with your phone inside.

You heard him clear his throat and flinched when he stated, “We are going back to my office. I have wipes, and spare clothes.”

That would’ve sounded nice except you knew better, you knew he’d just rape you in there…and with these sketchy men in the auction room you could only imagine what else August had business in. Human trafficking on top of all these other crimes wouldn’t have entirely surprised you.

You needed to find a way to get away. Since Lloyd still hadn’t gotten the back up he promised, you knew you would need to abandon him too. Guilt filled your belly, you worried for the cop’s safety, but it came to the dilemma…would you risk this for the chance to save his life, or save yourself and pack up and run for it with the cash he had given you. The amount of money in your clutch could buy you a ticket up north all the way to Townsville. You hardly could imagine a British man like August in the sweltering heat of northern Queensland…only issue? It was a perfect place to hide a body. Sugar cane fields were burned daily up there. If you wanted to dump a body, it would be perfect and convenient…you thought about moving in the opposite direction to New South Wales. The Blue Mountains had a cult you had heard of, maybe they could hide you from him.

“Y/N,” August broke you from your thoughts, he touched your chin and matched your gaze, “Did you hear me? I’m going to clean you up, sort you out.”

You took a ragged breath in and nodded, “Y-yes da-dad-" you gulped loudly, "daddy.”

He smirked and pressed his mouth to yours, pulling back with a sigh, he murmured, “That’s a good girl.”

He placed his hand on your back and moved you forward to the entrance door.

Your fingers reached out and touched the handle. Your other hand was clenching your bag tightly. It was only a door…But the knob turned, and you were faster than him. You slammed it shut behind you when you rushed out the door. You raced and shoved people aside. You heard him rip and bang the door open. You felt his heavy feet chasing behind you.

You felt so fucked! Your heart was palpating, and your thighs were chaffing with that sour smell of your pee dress soaked. You almost slipped down the stairs but managed to get to the bottom before seeing him starting to run down from the top.

Guests were staring but who cared? The party was wild and many just giggled thinking it was a big game.

It wasn’t a game though, truly you believed now he was going to kill you and Lloyd if you didn’t get out now. You had no idea where that auction room was hidden. You could grab him and bolt. These seconds were precious, and you just needed to get out onto the street.

You got to the bar and as you ran forward, you saw the fire alarm off the side. You slammed a fist down hard and bolted for the exit. Sprinklers went off wild, the rain made the party wet and all the main lights activate blinding half of the club. The other guests became frantic hearing the chance of a fire happening. Everyone was starting to rush out of the club with you. You swore and hoped that Lloyd was going to be able to get out safely too.

There was no way you’d be able to go home tonight. You were a dead woman walking with the content of your phone and the murder you witnessed. You tried to find an uber driving past but the fear that August was behind you made you keep moving.

You kept running even as you got outside in the cold air. The sound of car horns and lights of the streets were chaotically plaguing your mind. You didn’t have a clue where you were running. You just kept going. There were roads totally dead and quiet, you ran across without pressing any walking buzzers. You needed to find safety. Your feet raced down pavement paths until they hit the soft dewy grass of the park. The parkour park was near the train lines, you could hear the rattling wheels and noisy horn of a passenger train go through, leaving it impossible to tell if someone was following you… But you heard could him, you swore you could hear his catching breath and hear those leather shoes sprinting behind you.

You squealed in the dark as your ran past an empty children’s playground. He was big and he was fast. You felt his hand in the air trying to grab you and successfully you dodged him. You rushed down a street of abandoned shops and tripped over a groove in the ground that you missed in the ground.

And that’s how this all started don’t you see? Don’t you remember?...

A rush of air sucked out from your lungs as your hands and knees collided with the gravel pavement. Your stupid kitten heel snapped and your handbag had flown a couple metres in front of you.

Your heart thudded against your ribs as you poorly attempted to catch your anxious breath.

“Dumb. Very stupid. I perceived you to be smarter than this…” his voice dripped into your burning hot ears.

He was behind you, you knew that…with his hands in his suit pockets. His expensive leather shoes crunched on the rocky path the closer he neared you.

You hissed when the chilly night air whistled against your cut up palms. Blood rose up from your skin, shining in the light of the city lamp. You flinched as his two fingers traced along your spine and pressed harshly down on the back of your neck.

With watery eyes, you watched him walk pass and collect your handbag. His lithe fingers dove inside and pulled out the phone. His lips pursed as he let it fall from his hand before crushing it under his foot.

The salty tears raced down your cheeks, gliding into your trembling mouth.

If only you could’ve screamed for help. If only there was someone in the park to see what had unfolded.

A hiccup escaped you and he softly cooed, “It’s alright now, I think it’s about time you received an education, my darling.”

You shook your head and felt the rise of bile in your throat.

“Please,�� you begged with a rasp voice, “I won’t tell anyone. Let me go. I swear I won’t go to the police, just let me go!”

He tutted his tongue and wagged his finger. He crouched down, his soft hand combed into your sweat soaked hair and tugged your head up. Your eyes met his icy gaze.

Hopelessness filled you. Begging had fallen on deaf ears.

“That’s right, you won’t tell anyone…but I’m not finished with you yet.”

As a gasp lifted from your lips he chuckled, “You’re precious if you think I’m letting you go after seeing that.”

His cold palm grabbed the sides of your throat and began to choke you. As the oxygen was restricted, your little hands clawed desperately at his callous hand. Your feet flailed against the gravel. Tears raced down your face. It was impossible to scream out without any air to cry with. With every passing second, a dizzy blanket was clouding your mind and filling your eyes with black spots. His glare made your knees buckle. Exhaustion from fighting was taking over, your nails left his hands, your eyes were finding it difficult to stay open. Eventually your lashes shut, and you let your mind drown in the airless space of time....

Unknown...Unknown...August 2024, Brisbane.

You thought he had killed you. You genuinely believed as the blood pulverised your skull, he had choked you to death.

You felt cold and hungry…the smell of hot Chinese food woke you up.

You curled up in a tight ball, hugging your naked body. Your couldn’t see anything. Your face had been blind folded. Your mouth was chewing on something long, some type of rubbery gag. And around your neck you felt a tight squeeze and the bite of a chain…a collar? Your fingers tried to pull them off but they were tied around your head and you felt the cold shape of padlock..

The carpet scuffed.

Someone was in the room, getting up from a chair. You heard a masculine breath and you trembled covering your chest and cupping your last as your curled back up in a ball.

You were laying on a soft blanket and mattress.

You whined as a warm human finger raced down your arm and the hand splayed out over your skin.

“Good morning, pet…I’m glad I was here to see you wake up,” you heard August moan.

You felt his fuzzy moustache tough the corner of your gaged lips.

You flinched and rubbed your face into the pillows above you.

The chain moved and taunted you backwards until you sat up so you could breathe.

His hand touched your inner thigh, you felt the bed tilt to his weight.

“I bet you’re hungry, I could hear your tummy growl for quite some time before you woke up.”

You felt his fingers unlock the gag and pull it down your chin.

You gasped and enjoyed the ability to breathe properly again. You were still stuck in total darkness however.

You heard a fork clinking with a bowl. You could hear August blow on the hot food and were told to open up.

Your lips parted and your tongue was touched by the greasy goodness of Chinese honey chicken.

You chewed and tore off the meat from his fork.

“Another,” he said as he fed you some more.

Your hands reached out to hold the fork yourself before you heard him casual say, “Keep those paws down, I haven’t given you permission to use them.”

Your might’ve been blindfolded but you knew he was looking at your body. You lifted your knees up to your chin and tapped your arms around your legs.

A cold bottle of water was pushed to your lips and your mouth greedily suckled it down. You knew it could be laces with drugs but your mouth was dry and you knew you were dehydrated.

You gaspingly asked as the bottle was pulled away, “Are you going to kill me?”

You didn’t want to die but it wasnt your choice. You knew this process would be quicker and easier if you allowed death to come…you would rather die than have to succumb to rape.

“No puppy…not today.”

You didn’t feel relief. Actually you felt your chest shake as you tried to hold back your crying.

Your heard him out the fork down and felt him come onto the bed. He pulled you into his arms and let you sob. He rubbed your back and hushed you gently.

It took everything in you to not fight him…you sagged into his touch and let him hold and rock you until you composed your tears.

You should fight him…if he’s going to kill you…go out with a fight.

“Would you like some more food?” He asked and you meekly nodded, “Yes please.”

He tutted and softly scolded, “That’s not how we ask now is it?”

You couldn’t see him but your fist flew up and caught him in his shoulder, “If you th-think I’m going to call you ‘daddy’…you’re fucking nuts!”

And you truly readied yourself for the beating of a lifetime…rather…his fingers moved up and unlocked your blindfold, pulling it off your head.

You winced as the bright light of day pelted your eyes…

He was sitting on the bed. A long button up shirt with rolled up sleeves and dress pants still wearing his leather shoes. His fingers pinched your chin.

“Still want to be a bad girl?”

You realised he expected an answer. And bravely your jerked your chin away.

“You can rape me, cut me, kill me...I’m not calling you fucking ‘daddy’!” You slapped his hand away and crawled to the other side of the bed feebly. You shrieked as he slapped your naked ass hard and laughed.

“That’s alright… I’ll talk to you again in a few more hours.”

He pushed you down and slapped your hands. He put the blind fold and the gag back on. He took the cup and Chinese food away….he left you…vulnerable and nude on the bed. Alone with your thoughts for the next few hours.

Unknown...Unknown...August 2024, Brisbane

He left you blind folded for hours right? Or was it just thirty minutes? You couldn’t tell…blind folded and gagged. You could move your arms and blindly crawl around the bed but the chain would grow taunt if you tried to climb off the mattress. You considered hanging yourself…would it have been easier to just let him find your corpse then wait to be raped?

You rolled around and felt around the covers. You were helpless and scared. For all you knew he could’ve been watching you quietly.

Your crying was muffled with the gag between your teeth. Drool dropped down your chin and dribbled to your chest. You kept wiping it up feeling revolted with yourself.

You tugged and pulled the chain, yet no freedom was granted in your attempts. You grew tired, the panic in your chest exhausted you.

Hesitantly you pulled the duvet back and wiggled yourself in between the massive pillows, you fell asleep…and it was daunting.

It didn’t help that you couldn’t tell when you drifted off to sleep and the first thing you saw was dad. He was coming home from work and you were in the lounge room flicking through the tv channels. When you saw him come through the door your were scared it was August, but seeing your dad made your heart burst with joy. Relief and peace clouded your mind.

“it was all a bad dream!” You said as you got off the couch and raced to hug your father. He was never much of a hugger, that was okay…

His hand pat your back and you sobbed, “It was so awful dad! I thought you had died, everyone said you were dead but I knew there was no way. Thank god it was just a bad drea-”

He was skinny …you hugged him tight …why did he feel so hard and sharp around his body?

“Dad, I missed you,” you licked your lips, “come on I’ll make you something to eat, why are you so thin?” You moved your head back and screamed. His work shirt was stained in blood and his skin and muscle were rotting off his body. His cheeks were hallow and the tip of his nose was gone. His eyes totally white. A slice settle on his face. He opened his mouth slowly to speak and a rotting tongue rolled out over his chin.

You kept screaming and saying “No!” Over and over again. You moved backwards and fell over on a bowl of porridge. His body fell forward on top of yours.

You couldn’t breathe from the fear. The dream went dark in shadows and it clicked that perhaps you’d woken up. But you weren’t entirely sure. You kicked your legs and curled up in a ball. You wailed and hiccupped. The gag in your mouth brought your mind back to where you were. Where you’d been trapped. You hit the mattress over and over in frustration and anger.

“Lmph ma gaoh!” let me go, you howled.

Your knees trembled and you felt nauseas. You shook your head, trying to fight the vomit that could be rising to your chest. You knew if you vomited it would go everywhere and some might stay inside your mouth or throat or up into your nose.

You whimpered, “Peaff!” Please!

Your body tightened…you felt your bowels grow sore and your bladder tight.

Dread filled your mind with the harsh reality that if you don’t get off the bed you were going to be sitting in your own fluids. It cracked your mind….it broke your own heart…you started to scream knowing what your kidnapper wanted to hear..

“Daffy! Peaf half mah!” Daddy please help me, you bawled over and over while your legs crossed tightly and you tried to hold in your bowels. Your toes curled and your acrylic nails dug deep into the skin of your palm. You scolded yourself for letting at service woman Drew to convince getting your nails done.

It was agony, holding in for so long. Your hands cupped yourself in hopes to stop any form of self leaking.

But after the fifth or sixth begging sob…you felt his presence return. It was like he never left, you didn’t hear his feet walk over to you, you only felt his hands…he unlocked you from the chain and guided you to the guest toilet. He took off your gag and your mouth slackened. The drool that hit your feet and floor with a splat made your shoulders curl in humiliating embarrassment.

You were sat on the toilet seat. You knew he stood waiting. It made you feel worthless and disrespected, the lack of privacy as he watched you push your bladder and bowels.

And that wasnt even the worst of it.

Reaching for toilet paper to the side of you, your hands were slapped away. You heard the roll move and a quick tear. You held out your hand to take it but his hand touched your thick and you twisted away, choking on a sob….the sick fucker wouldn’t let you wipe your own body... As he wiped the piss, you grabbed his wrist and tried to tug him away from your intimates.

“I’m not a baby,” you croaked quietly. You heard him hum, “I can do it myself”

“I know you’re not a baby…I just want to remind you this body belongs to me,” he murmured as he flushed the toilet paper away and you heard his hands wash under the running water of the sink.

Your knees bounced with anxious impatience. What was he planning to do to you?

He got you to your feet and guided you back. When the tiles became carpet you guessed you were being put back onto the bed.

He locked the chain back to the collar and whispered into your temple, “Just a moment.” You felt him move away and heard him drag something heavy from under the bed. Your stomach dropped and thought the worst.

He’s grabbing power tools…he’s going to chop and stab and beat me up and then dice me up into tiny pieces, you but your lips and let your tears flow.

“Wh-what’ are you going to do to m-me?” You dared to ask the maniac millionaire.

You flinched at his echoing chuckle, “Just tie you up for now, but let’s see where that takes us? You were talking in your sleep, did you know you do that?”

Your shoulders shook and you curled. You moved back to the head of the bad and clenched the fabric tightly. You felt him dropping things on the bed. His torture tools….

“Please don’t do this,” you tried to beg, “I haven’t done anything wrong. I just want to go h-home please.”

You hated the weakness in your voice. A part of you was angry and demanding you to claw his eyes out and fight to the death. You just weren’t sure what was the right thing to do anymore. What was the least painful.

Warm fingers brushed along your shoulder, and you gasped a little too loudly, he laughed.

“Easy now, I’m just taking off the blindfold, or would you prefer I leave it on?”

Your eyes watered under the fabric, your voice broke out into a whimper, "Off please..."

HELPLINES:

If you are a victim of sexual abuse, assault or domestic violence or know someone who is please reach out to these links that share helpline services, phone numbers or emails. Consent and respect is important in every relationship whether between friends, family or even strangers. .

Australian Helpline Services

UK Helpline Services

American Helpline Services

India Helpline Services.

#TNOSP #august walker x black!reader #august walker x ofc #august walker x you #august walker x reader #henry cavill x female reader #henry cavill x y/n #henry cavill x ofc #henry cavill x you #henry cavill x reader #dead dove do not eat #dead dove fic #dark!august walker #dark!henry cavill #milky fics #Spotify

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stickycircuits · 3 months

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finally finished the designs of my bunnys for my silly lil Gentlemech's Club au! super happy with how they came out! Very short and rough summary of the au: "Swindle owns a very popular Gentlemech’s Club where wealthy and powerful mechs come to lounge with their favorite Bunny. Anything a mech could want- from sitting down to watch a burlesque show to enjoying drinks by the pool. And if they’re lucky, they may get an “Off Menu” treat."

#transformers #valveplug #my art #bunny suit #transformers au #pwp au #gentlemech's club au #suggestive #cw suggestive

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scimitar-and-longsword · 3 months

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May I be permitted to talk about something I'm really proud of???

Ok so, I joined a local dance group last year. It's a vintage chorus girl group that does 20s-70s dance styles (think Charleston, 60s go-go, etc).

We're the resident showgirls at a monthly burlesque show, and for a local lounge/jazz/big band group here in socal. I have preformed more in this last year than I have in years. Honestly maybe ever??? We have easily 2+ gigs a month.

I'm coming up on my one year anniversary of joining this group and I am just so freaking proud of myself! Getting gigs as a plus size dancer is freaking HARD. Especially in the vintage crowd. But I've worked my ass off and I kinda just want to give myself a pat on the back lol (and the group I'm part of, cause not every group would pick a plus size dancer...)

Like wtf?? Who is she?? This woman has birthed two children?

I'm so embarrassed and I feel like this is so cringe but also I'm proud of myself so whatever: I have an Instagram for my stage persona and if anyone was interested in following.... you could... if you wanted.

Here it is

Mostly I just post random stuff there from performances. but if you happen to be local to socal you can also find out where we are performing.

Ok... anyway... as you were. *hides*

#lolo rambles #I know this is so far from fandom stuff lol #but I'm really proud of what I've been able to acomplish #ESPECIALLY as a plus size dancer #it's a stage name insta and I don't post personal info on there so I don't feel too weird about putting it here for anyone who is intereste #about me #dance #personal

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yourmomsawh0r3 · 5 months

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BURLESQUE

Javier Peña x F!reader

Summary: After chasing Pablo Escobar in Columbia, a new beginning in New York Javier stumbles into a burlesque lounge

Warnings: 18+, cigarettes

Javier and steve walk out of his apartment, pulling their jacket tighter to keep warm. walking down the streets of Manhattan, observing the busy night life of new york.

looking up at the bright sign "Burlesque? what is this place like a strip club?" he says

who knows what his buddy steve has up his sleeve. "come on man, you're gonna love it." steve says walking into the building

paying the entrance fee, the guys look around for a place to sit

finding a seat in the middle of the lounge, Javier's eyes wander all around the room

the lights on the stage come on, and the array of women on the stage dressed up in lingerie costumes

tugging on your hat "It's a cold and crazy world that's raging outside. Well, baby, me and all my girls are bringing on the fire. Show a little leg, got to shimmy your chest. It's a life, it's a style, it's a need, it's burlesque." y/n sings

throwing your head back and slowly moving your hand down your body

Javier can feel the hairs on his arm stand up

fuck she is gorgeous he thinks

girls start climbing through the faux mirrors on the stage

y/n throws her leg around the chair and starts snapping her fingers

"E-X-P-R-E-S-S, Love, sex, ladies, no regrets" looking into the crowd

y/n eyes land right on Javier

he was hypnotized by you

y/n sways her body around the chair

Javier felt his jeans tighten just at the sight of her

"I tease 'em 'til they're on the edge, they scream and moan for more and more they beg. I know it's me they come to see My pleasure brings them to their knees" You belt

steve looks over at javier, he has never seen his friend so mesmerized before, following his eyes

his eyes land on you and he chuckles

slapping Javier on the chest "seems like somebody has a crush" he says

"shut up pendejo" he says befroe he knew it the show was over.

he watches you wink at him and seductively walk away off stage

javier walks outside to catch his breathe, he didnt even realize he was holding

pulling out a cigarette of the pack he hears the voice of an angel

"hey, can i catch a light" you say putting your cigarette in your mouth

"of course muñeca" he lights your cigarette along with his

"you were great up there, I've never seen anyone perform like that," he says

"i'm glad i caught your attention" you smirk taking a step forward

javier secretly sniffed your perfume as you took a step toward him

and god did you smell like heaven.

"didnt catch your name baby" javier says

"y/n. and what about you stranger?" you say

"javier." he says while catching your gaze

"sexy name for a sexy man." you smile

"and to think you couldn't be any more breathtaking" he says

you blush, leaning up against the wall

"thanks for the light" you say turning on your heels to head back inside

finishing his cigarette, he throws it on the ground and smooshes it with the bottom of his shoe

"WAIT," he says grabbing your arm

you turn and look at him

"i'd like to take you out some time, can i get your number ?" he says

reluctantly giving in and telling him your phone number

"i'll be waiting on your call javier" you say seductively walking back inside to finish the rest of your shift

he shook his head trying to wipe the shit eating grin on his face just as steve walks outside

"hey man i was wondering where you went" he says

javier notices his friends presence, "oh yeah man, i was just taking a smoke break"

"i have an early flight back home tomorrow, is it cool if we head back to your place?" steve says

patting his back, Javier nodes and starts walking back to his apartment

walking into his apartment, the guys say their goodnights and go their separate ways

javier steps into his bathroom, stripping his clothes

stepping into his shower, he lets the hot water hit his skin

sighing in frustration, his cock hardens at the thought of you on stage in that tiny little outfit

rubbing his tip he groans

throwing his head back he starts pumping harder thinking of what you would sound like under him, moaning his name and looking up at him with those plump lips

that mouth, oh the things that your mouth would do to him

he pumps harder placing his other hand on the wall in front of him trying to balance himself

he spills his seed all over the shower floor

groaning with sadness that it was just him alone in the shower

you were going to drive him wild. he thought

LIKE if you want to make this a series

the video below is the burlesque performance

youtube

#pedro pascal #joel miller #pedro pascal x reader #frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #joelmiller x reader #oberyn martell #pedrohub #javier pena fanfiction #javier peña #javier pena x reader #Youtube

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agendabymooner · 9 months

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melody || lh44 x ofc (1)

Summary: With her sharp eyes focused on her audience, a burlesque performer who went under the name of Melody returned to Rythme Romantique, an entertainment lounge which exclusively caters to the wealthiest people of Monaco — or in this case, to the people with a status that are recognized by all. Her three exclusive performances were meant to be a closure for her connections in the principality. Still, a certain Formula One driver saw it as an opportunity to reconnect with his former flame after two years of her absence. Felicity Vos learned that this was a rich man’s world and that he could do whatever he wanted, but she also realized that the agreement they settled on years ago was corrupted the moment he expressed his love for her.

Content warning: Age gap, use of explicit language, possible mature content (not in this chapter), mentions of past sugar daddy/baby gone romantic relationship, possessive!asshole!Lewis mentioned, burlesque (2010) movie vibes, really shitty French-translated dialogue.

Note: I have not watched Burlesque for a good while but I listen to shitloads of songs that give performer/singer/showgirl vibes??? I hope this works out lol. Enjoy xx

masterlist

i. million dollar man

"you're screwed up and brilliant look like a million dollar man. so why is my heart broke?"

Felicity Vos couldn’t remember the last time she made her presence known in the principality. She lived in Monaco for years as a nobody — she was just some 24-year-old woman who hoped to get through the day before she put on her best costume and makeup for work. She only performed to put money in her pocket. Living in Monaco wasn’t cheap, after all. She did everything she could to maintain her private space, working at the lounge every night to get the biggest tips from the wealthiest people in Monaco.

Nothing more, nothing less.

She couldn’t remember the last time she was a nobody in Monaco. Had it been for her natural beauty and the typical streetwear of the principality, she would’ve stood out already, and everyone would know that Formula One’s mysterious “lady seducer” made her return to Monaco.

She hadn’t wanted to gather that much attention now. It was bad enough that her three nights coincided with the Monaco Grand Prix weekend. She couldn’t bear the thought of being hounded by journalists curious about her absence/being for the past two years.

I was just a nobody, she told herself. She wasn’t even anyone’s ex-girlfriend. She couldn’t remember the last time she had a stable relationship with a man.

But everyone in the F1 community knew that she was something. That was for sure. The man's popularity and their agreement pulled her away from the anonymity she craved after ending things with him.

2019

The first thing that the bartender, her friend René, had spewed out just as she finished her performance had something to do with the beehive hairstyle she sported and how it coincided with ‘Fuck Me Pumps’ by Amy Winehouse, whose iconic style included the mentioned hairstyle.

René told her Melody was the complete opposite of Amy Winehouse with her tattooless skin, bright blonde hair, and wide-set eyes. But Melody’s voice, René told her, was meant to sing about the men who’d fuck women over.

Then her attention turned away from him when a server approached the speaking young adults, leaning over to tell them both about a lone man sitting on an empty booth, asking for Melody’s company as they all peered at the dimly lit corner booth. They couldn’t see if he was looking in their direction, but Felicity (Melody) could tell he was attractive.

It wasn’t unusual for clients or audience members to request a sit-down time with the singer of the night, so Melody merely asked her coworker to serve them some drinks before walking in his direction.

His genuine smile and curiosity certainly pulled her closer if you were to ask her. She knew who he was. Lewis Hamilton. This place was Monaco, after all. What kind of a caveman would you have to be to not know who Lewis Hamilton was? Even the Neanderthals would ask for an autograph should they see him pass by.

She sat with him and asked how he was liking his stay in Monaco after the new year. In exchange, he provided answers and asked her certain questions.

Is your name really Melody? Mmm… such an in-depth question for a stranger, don’t you think?

Do you just sing Amy Winehouse? She was my inspiration, after all. This is how I pay tribute. Do you have a request? Perhaps I can sing it next time you visit— not that a man like you would be dead seen entering such a place.

How about you? How are you liking Monaco? Whoever said that this place was for easy living would be a liar. I get paid more than I used to, but university and rent still beg for more.

How long have you been doing this? Four years. Singing and dancing at the same time takes a lot of practice.

She was thankful to have been the performer to put on the middle show of the night. She hadn’t needed to worry about being the performer of the night, and her conversation with him seemed to have lasted until the end of the show.

She expected him to not return after that night, with him leaving her two hundred euros in cash and tipping the servers the same amount— she would’ve expected him to hand this as a form of a farewell gift.

But he offered those as a welcoming gift. Because by the next night, Melody’s eyes shifted to where he sat, only to find him leaning back against the booth seat. His head was slightly bobbing as musicians hit those 4/4 beats. He sat there while she sang beautifully, her hair teased into a beehive hairstyle, and her body wrapped around loose strings of pearls and rhinestones.

He returned the night after that… then after… he returned for days. Apparently, Monaco had been so boring for him that he chose to spend his time listening to the beautiful voice of Melody. He later confessed that he couldn’t seem to get away from her.

But instead of offering a date, he offered to fly her to Australia for the first round of the racing season. Fuck that. He offered to pay and give her everything— in exchange, she travels around with him during his races as a “partner.” He said it would benefit both of them if they entered this agreement. She would get the money, and he would have an increase of positivity in his image.

Her mouth quickly slipped out the word “yes,” the next thing she knew, she was saying goodbye to her coworkers of four years. She was always welcome to perform should she decide to, and would pay her good money for her rare performances.

Then her flat was fully paid for the next six months. Right after that, she was driven to a department store to find some clothes and bags to pack for her endless trips. She had gowns tailored and altered for her in case she needed to be in attendance for his formal and black tie events.

She was only meant to be there as an eye candy, one that would hold hands with Lewis as he made his way down the paddock to the Mercedes garage. She had no name besides Melody. She was only Melody, and she was alright with that— she wanted to keep the privacy that she had left, after all.

She was good at avoiding journalists and their questions about Lewis’ past relationships and his title as the Mercedes playboy. She often stayed put and kept her attention trained on him as he raced or Roscoe, who had grown dearly in her heart. She had never gone as far as sharing a conversation with his coworkers, only offering them a small smile before she walked off with a refresher in hand. The only one she seemed to have a good conversation with besides Toto Wolff was his teammate, Valtteri Bottas. But even then, she could feel his body radiate in possessiveness that she didn’t know he had. He’d always hold her close.

He hadn’t even realized that Melody shifted from a nobody to a somebody despite not having a surname. It was quite a shame she had to embrace someone’s fame and be under scrutiny for it.

PRESENT

“Am I seeing things, or is it really the woman who brought the glory in the Ryhtme Romantique?” Felicity shook herself out of her thoughts as she turned around and grinned, watching as René outstretched his arms. She squealed at the sight of him and jumped into his arms, earning a grunt from him as he said, “Mon dieu, ma fille, is this how Zurich and New York had treated you?”

“This is how I greet people I miss,” Felicity exclaimed. “Not that you feel the same towards me, arsehole.”

“Such language,” René scoffed mockingly. “I know I haven’t heard you speak like that before.” They both fell silent before laughing at the joke. She seduced like a siren, yet she swore like a sailor, René once told her.

The 28-year-old woman waved it off, “Tell me you haven’t picked me up in Nice just so you can bring up my lack of manners? Otherwise, I’m walking away.”

“Gah, and who’ll pick you up?” René grinned, now grabbing her suitcase and pulling it next to him. “Besides, you wouldn’t want to go to Monte Carlo knowing that they’ll hound you when alone. People aren't that subtle when it comes to you.”

“That right?” Felicity asked. She'd only performed once throughout those two years of her “relationship” with a Formula One driver. She freelanced because of how much she had missed it. She remembered having to convince him to allow her to do it for once, and she swore she never craved for something more than the lounge's music and atmosphere.

“Yes,” René answered her, “you made your character known by everyone. Everyone knew Melody, not Felicity. Melody became a household name after her one-night appearance when everyone learned about her from Formula One. Wealthy people saw talent… and yeah. Now they’re eager to spend much money just to see you.”

This helped her grow a backbone, somehow. She continued to press on the topic, “And by that…?”

“It will be a full house,” René had already placed her suitcase in the car trunk before he stood with his chest puffed out. “One hour of you and Amy Winehouse on the stage in three nights is worth my mortgage for my house in North America.”

Felicity chuckled and shook her head, making herself comfortable in his passenger seat with the seatbelt buckle snapping.

“So,” Felicity leaned back against her seat before turning to the man beside her, “what did I miss in Monaco?”

“I thought you didn’t miss Monaco?” René laughed, starting up his vehicle.

Felicity scoffed at the comment, “I missed Monaco.”

She just didn’t miss the man that she met in the principality. After all, she would have remained as nothing if he didn’t treat her like she was the only one. She preferred her life before she met him. She liked the way of living she had in Monaco before him.

2019

She probably should have settled for less, but what should she do? It was the only dress that he liked on her. She felt she would impose the mermaid white dress with the intricate baroque style and pearl details, but his praise and encouragement told her otherwise.

Besides, with her making a bet that lasted for an entire season, she really couldn’t chicken out of it now that Lewis got his 6th world championship. She really couldn’t disappoint him like that.

So she became the woman of the awarding night. Wrapped around her neck was a layered pearl choker, letter L carved into gold with three teardrop-shaped pearls dangling off it, much like Anne Boleyn’s.

Unlike the first time she appeared at the paddock, she walked into the event hall with her smile dazzling the crowd— even those photographers who seemed eager to capture the moments of the couple arriving hand in hand. She didn’t feel discomfort at all, not after all those months of feeling lost in the paddock while she tried finding her way around the Mercedes area. Angela Cullen had never worked this hard to guide someone, but she never saw Melody as an obligation or responsibility. She loved the girl, in fact.

She was known to be quiet by the drivers in the grid. She didn’t feel comfortable speaking to everyone during the entire season as she saw how most of them looked at her. Nobody even knew who the fuck she was, just her first name- her stage name. Sebastian Vettel was kind enough to walk up close and introduce himself to her as if she hadn’t known him already. He was the closest thing she had to a comfort zone that wasn’t just Bottas, talking to him here and there whenever they passed by one another in the paddock.

If she was being honest, she felt as if nobody knew what her job entailed as “Lewis’ partner.” Sebastian understood at the very beginning what she was to the Mercedes driver but had said nothing against nor about it. She already didn’t feel comfortable with the other drivers staring, so if he was to say anything about her relationship was just another level of friendship he’d have to reach.

The only thing that Sebastian had offered her was, “If you’d like to have a friend that isn’t just Roscoe, I’ll be at my motorhome. Feel free to stop by anytime!”

So by the time she arrived at the awarding with Lewis, her eyes brightened at the sight of the German driver. Sebastian waved at them, making the girl wave back eagerly.

Lewis chuckled quietly, “I didn’t know you and Seb were friends.”

Melody giggled in the same volume, “He considers me his best friend as of this moment. I suppose that happens when you’re not being looked at or linked to Sir Lewis Hamilton.”

“Cheeky girl,” Lewis grinned, his touch feeling familiar to her skin as he held her soft hand. Pulling her closer, Lewis greeted everyone they’d passed by. Melody merely nodded in their direction while her smile didn’t reach her ears, barely looking away from Lewis as if he was the only man she could focus on.

She probably should have settled for less, but Lewis wanted her to shine as much as he did that night. He was a 6-time world champion, after all. If he was shining, he made sure that she was, too.

PRESENT

With her embellished leotard and shoes sparkling under the spotlight and her face coated with confidence and seductiveness, her eyes zeroed in on the men who had just walked into the intimate environment of Rythme Romantique with a sultry smile. Some of them nearly recoiled at the expression she gave them.

“Formula One driver had reserved tables for tonight,” René told her earlier today, “some might come back tomorrow and Sunday after their race. Their managers told Lita about you and how they’ve wanted to see you perform since they learned about you from the Mercedes team.”

It wasn’t anything fearsome if you were to ask Melody. She only offered them a welcoming (yet seductive) smile, but perhaps they considered it quite daunting and intimidating. It wasn’t as if she was inviting them to her bed.

She supposed that it was because of the fact that they’d stepped into her turf. She was in their place once— being in the paddock and feeling out of business? Yeah, she understood what they felt. Somehow.

“Oh my,” she purred, eyes trained on each driver as some of them visibly gulped at the sight of her. This Dolce & Gabbana did wonders on every man she had encountered at the beginning of her performance. She was only halfway through the hour, and from what she had counted— there should be about eight men who were nervous at her presence.

Her eyes shifted from the Ken-esque man (with his blond hair, blue eyes and pretty face) to the pair of green eyes that stared right at her and her figure. She crouched down to get to their level seeing as she was a stage higher than them.

She did a headcount for a moment. She could see familiar faces— but most of them were older. A grin on the man behind Ken told her that it was Daniel Ricciardo. And the man next to Ricciardo was Max Verstappen. The 2021 World Champion.

“Isn’t this a sight to see,” she chuckled almost breathlessly, her breath softly nearing her bedazzled microphone. She stared at the green eyes ahead of her, “Première fois?” First time?

The man nodded and replied, “Oui.”

“Et tes amis? Ont-ils déjà été ici?” How about your friends? Have they been here before? She asked, looking at the men behind him.

“Certains d'entre eux vivent ici,” some of them live here. The man replied.

“Est-ce que c'est oui?” Is that a yes? Melody asked with a raised eyebrow, leaving the audience to laugh.

“Peut-être,” maybe. Charles Leclerc shrugged with a smile. She let out a giggle for a moment before nodding.

“Bienvenu,” Welcome. Melody winked. They all found their seats, but she couldn’t find the one she was looking for as she was doing a repeated headcount. Then she remembered that the corner booth had been changed to a reserved area when she left. She could only imagine who sat there. It was a seat reserved for the man who only came to the lounge to speak with her.

Her eyes flickered at the table before turning at the drivers, “Welcome to Rythme Romantique. I hope this show eases the tension of tomorrow’s qualifying race.”

“And I hope you’re not offended by the end of this show,” she giggled quietly, “because I’ve had men walk out of shows because of Amy Winehouse.”

“What kind of fuckery are we?” She sang, her hips swaying as she gestured at the drivers with her gemstone-covered gloves, “Nowadays, you don’t mean dick to me.”

Her blonde hair swung as she looked toward the corner booth, “I might let you make it up to me.”

“Who’s playing Saturday?” She winked at the drivers, hearing as the men cheered and pointed at themselves. “One of you better get a pole this time.”

“Mr. Destiny, nine and 14. Nobody stands in between me and my man. 'Cause it's me and Mr. Jones…”

“Me and Mr. Jones…”

The live band had put on an end to the song and her show, every man and woman standing to applaud her. She took a deep breath before letting out a sultry smile, taking in her audience's applause and whistles. Her painted lips puckered up, and she blew a kiss to the audience, her foot picking up the fur coat that she discarded at the beginning of her show to put it on. She offered the drivers one more ‘good luck’ before walking off and heading to the bar.

She hadn’t felt this good about performing at the Monaco Lounge since the last time she appeared in 2020. That extravagant entertainment hall at Hotel Ritz didn’t make her as happy as it should have. The richest of the richest gave her the attention and money she dreamt of when she became an adult, but something about this place made her… happier. Or rather, better about herself.

Sharing a conversation with René hadn’t lasted long enough when a new server walked up to them to let the two know about the guest in the corner booth.

René looked at Felicity with worry as he said, “You really don’t have to go, City.”

“No, no,” Felicity waved off his concern, “he paid to speak and see me. I can’t really disappoint Lita now, can’t I?”

“You’d really let your heart break like that again?” René asked her, “What if he’s actually got a girl this time?”

Felicity merely stared at him, indifference written all over her face. Quite a facade, her face covered. René sighed exasperatedly, “Alright. I’ll get you the rum and coke. Felicity, you can back out anytime.”

“I know,” Felicity nodded, adjusting her corset with a sigh. “I’ll walk out if I want to. He lost me once, and I’ll make sure he knows he can lose me again.”

No amount of alcohol could make her feel as relaxed as she wanted, so she settled for one glass of rum and coke only. There were a lot of things that could have happened within two years, and that didn’t exclude him.

But god, his face remained as young as it was four years ago. It didn’t age as the years went on.

She sat across him, the marble table the only thing separating them. He watched as she made herself as comfortable as she could be. She could tell that a smile threatened to show on his face, keeping his composure as much as an ex-lover could when they met their former flame for the first time in years.

“Lewis,” she nodded curtly, her eyes trained on him before it shifted to the server who dropped off her drink and his. Felicity offered the server a grateful smile before it disappeared just as the younger woman left the booth.

He grabbed his drink and spoke, “Mel.”

She nearly winced at the nickname. Nobody called her Mel but him.

“When did you fly back?” Lewis Hamilton was known for many things - and being civil to anyone was one of them. She remembered how he always had to keep a straight face in the same room as his former best friend. Nico Rosberg had a fairly long history with him that ended poorly, so for him to show indifference? It was a Lewis Hamilton signature. It didn’t surprise her that he’d ask this as if he hadn’t broken their agreement long before she did.

“Just earlier today,” Felicity answered, her voice was equally indifferent. “I flew to Nice and was picked up. I couldn’t miss the ride at the French Riviera.”

“You’ve always liked the scenery,” Lewis chuckled, sipping his drink before setting it on the table. “You did amazing.”

“Thank you,” Felicity nodded.

“Like you always did,” Lewis continued, not even caring about the small expression that eventually fell off as he spoke.

“Hm, really?” Felicity almost scoffed with a shake of her head. “Last time we were together, I wasn’t even allowed to be near a stage.”

“You were with me,” Lewis pointed out, “flying worldwide. As you wanted and had agreed on.”

“I had to get drunk enough to get up the bar counter and sing my arse off just so you’d have no control of it,” Felicity reminisced, grinning at herself when she recalled the moment.

Silverstone GP afterparty, the year 2020. She wasn’t as drunk as he was, but she grew enough backbone to ask for a microphone and Christina Aguilera’s Candyman on the bar’s speakers – max volume. She remembered her feet moving like they were all swing dancing and being hoisted off the bar counter by Daniel Ricciardo while they all drank and her voice hit the falsetto. The drivers were rather impressed regardless of the amount of alcohol they consumed. Lewis wasn’t as impressed as the others. He’d seen it before. He hadn’t appreciated how easily she made friends with the men around her – so seeing her shy away from them the next race was a win for him.

“I couldn’t stop you even if I did,” Lewis laughed as if it was a normal conversation. “Everyone’s way into it.”

Felicity almost laughed at his face. He stopped her when she agreed to become his company, practically handing her her year’s worth of rent and salary just as she nodded. He stopped her rhythm from flowing, but she allowed it as she wanted to live an easier life. One where she didn’t have to be taunted by her family’s constant words of discouragement. It turned out that being someone’s pretty young thing wasn’t as easy if you fell for the unattached man.

He leaned back, observing the sight before him before asking, “Did Switzerland and America treat you right?”

Her head shot up at the question before asking in return, “Do you want the truth?”

“Yes, please,” Lewis answered genuinely. He hadn’t expected to last an hour in the bar, let alone thirty minutes in the same booth as her. He could remember how his lack of commitment and false confessions destroyed her, and he wasn’t sure he could see her in that place anymore. But he stayed in his seat, watching as she practically inhaled her spiked drink before she settled it on the table.

Crossing her legs, she wrapped her coat tightly around her body as the temperature at the booth decreased. She replied, “I was more than surprised that you found someone who could immediately fly me to another country just so I can sing far from the principality.”

Felicity could remember the email sent to her by some management in Zurich and New York. They were interested in meeting with her because of a recommendation from a musician who had seen her perform more than twice. It didn’t take her long to realize it was Lewis’ doing. She had ended whatever it was a week before the email was sent, so it was his doing. But rather than fuming at the thought that he was more than willing to send her away from Monaco, she immediately contacted them and took whatever they had to offer.

“I lived here for four years,” she scoffed, “before I even met you. This was my home. I can’t even consider my flat in New York as such.”

“What’s your plan then?” Lewis asked. “Are you planning to return to Monaco then?”

“And return to this lounge? Where most drivers would probably frequent in when they learn that Melody’s back in town?” Felicity snorted, “I’d rather not.”

“Why not?” He asked, “You love this place.”

“I do,” she stood up, noticing how his eyes became more cautious as she cleared her throat, “I am tired of the chasing I had to do, though. It’s not always me who has to work on it. Sometimes, they have to chase the woman, too. It’s not a one-way street for me anymore. Good luck tomorrow–”

“Wait,” her goosebumps rose when she felt his hand touching her skin, turning back when he pulled on her wrist as she watched him stand. He pulled out an envelope, leaving the package in her hand as she gripped it lightly. Lewis nearly stammered, “Invite whoever you want.”

“I’m not going, Hamilton,” she couldn’t even shove it back to him as he held her wrist, squeezing it lightly as a sign of plea. Just be there tomorrow. And Sunday.

“It’ll only be two days,” his voice might’ve shown nothing of desperation, but his eyes pleaded with her. “Two days of racing and your shows.”

She sighed exasperatedly. She was already exhausted from having to pretend that this was okay. She really hadn’t wanted to see him. But this was Monaco, and this weekend was the principality’s race weekend, so she could have at least prepared herself mentally.

“I’ll see what I can do,” was all she muttered before pulling away from him as she walked out of the booth with a murmur of, “Good night.”

She was certain that this jetlag of hers wouldn’t wear out. Not when this weekend was a case of clusterfuck that was going to leave her restless. She wasn’t excited to know what would come her way at the very end of this week.

PS. what did you think? Send me an ask!

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