#stripperverse

“Mr. Overton, can you give me a hand with the costume again? I don’t know why I keep choosing ones with all the lace up backs,” he laughs, turning around to reveal the oh so accidentally jumbled strings of the corseted top.

@murdersinthemaking

"Darlin', we've been over this," Hank begins with a chuckle to show that there's no actual annoyance behind his words. "Hank is just fine. No need for the formalities." He's a supervisor at a strip club, for God sakes. Now, don't get him wrong. He likes his job, but it hardly calls for a Mr. Overton in this situation.

A situation he's found himself in often, and with Donovan specifically.

"Oh, yeah... this is a real mess you've got here," he murmurs softly as he tilts his head. Partly to see how he's going to attack the problem at hand, and also... maybe a bit of other thoughts that he keeps to himself. He's a gentleman, after all, but he's also only human.

Chapter 2: Chorus

Candy/Dulce loves to dance to Practice by Drake. Angel is a Drake fan (come on, it’s obvious). So she’s going to indulge her man any chance she can get.

Luna likes the seductive sounds of The Weeknd. So anything by him is sure to get her ready to bring in that cash.

Daisy likes to pull in Daddies, remember? So classic stripper rock songs are her favorite. Songs like Motley Crue’s Dr. Feelgood and Warrant’s Sweet Cherry Pie are her brand.

Words: 529 Stripperverse SFW

His cigarette hung from his lips, ready and waiting to be ashed.

Pink Pony Club

What most people saw was a tall white male who wore clothing just a little too tight and was always listening to music to block out the world outside him. His few friends would say he’s a rambling ray of sunshine, always falling into an awkward situation. But his patrons? Link Neal was a creature of pure desire. It was the complexity of it all that allowed him to enjoy his life more than most.

We love Luna and we’re so glad you do too! She’s low key and chill like EZ. She knows she’s good at what she does and she uses it in a way that almost sneaks up on you. We love that for her. She’s all about being subtly seductive. And The Weeknd is perfect for that. We love Abel on this blog and his songs are the inspo for a lot of our stripperverse content.

And if y’all are interested in seeing each of the girl’s aesthetics, find them here.

[AU Headcanon]

I know you wanted me to stay

But I can't ignore the crazy visions of me in LA

And I heard that there's a special place

Where boys and girls can all be queens every single day

Link Neal is a stripper. He has a signature pair of pink & sparkly boxer-briefs that he mesmerizes the crowds in. All the boys & girls at the Pink Pony do.

I'm having wicked dreams

Of leaving Tennessee

Oh, Santa Monica

I swear it's calling me

He did the whole graduate-from-college-marry-a-pretty-blonde-woman-and-have-2.5-children but they now live several states away. He’s a great dad and was a good husband but it wasn’t what he wanted.

Won't make my mama proud

It's gonna cause a scene

She sees her baby girl

I know she's gonna scream

God, what have you done

You're a pink pony girl

And you dance at the club

There is no greater freedom than when he’s spinning, prancing, working the stage. Something about bathing in the flashing lights and dry ice, the sticky sweet scents of sweat and bourbon, the fluttering of crinkled bills that surges life into his veins.

Oh mama, I'm just having fun

On the stage in my heels

It's where I belong down at the

Pink Pony Club

I'm gonna keep on dancing at the

Pink Pony Club

I'm gonna keep on dancing down in

West Hollywood

I'm gonna keep on dancing at the

Pink Pony Club, Pink Pony Club

One sunday night, a slow night by any account, the club is close so Link is practicing a new routine. Something with stilletos a little too tall & he twirls too far & keeps twirling right off the stage into the arms of the tallest man he’d ever been held by.

I'm up and jaws are on the floor

Lovers in the bathroom and a line outside the door

Blacklights and a mirrored disco ball

Every night's another reason why I left it all

I thank my wicked dreams

His name is Rhett & he’s here to pick up his friend Stevie who is the bartender & he is both visbly uncomfortable but blushing profusely, holding onto Link with strong & callused hands. It’s the first time they meet but it won’t be their last.

You're a pink pony girl

And you dance at the club

Oh mama, I'm just having fun

On the stage in my heels

It's where I belong down at the

Pink Pony club

Rhett gets hired as a bouncer after Link and a couple of the girls are harrassed by a unruly group of clients. He makes it a point to walk all the girls & boys to their cars or watches from the door. He’s six-foot-seven, never handed a punch in his life but he sure looks like he has.

And mama, every Saturday

I can hear your southern draw a thousand miles away, saying

God, what have you done

You're a pink pony girl

And you dance at the club

Rhett has never kissed another man. Link never met a man he actually wanted to kiss. They fall into a pattern of work & music & dancing & laughing & Link seems to fit so easily underneath Rhett’s arm & Rhett won’t stop keeping Link from harm.

I'm gonna keep on dancing at the

Pink Pony Club, Pink Pony Club

I'm gonna keep on dancing

I'm gonna keep on dancing

It was no surprise to her she’d be pulled from the stage that night.

It was Wednesday night, of course. A typical night as usual. A night she worked. 

And one of the nights he came in to see her. 

It was odd, perhaps, to think of it as such; he was bored, a mafia man with too much money to burn…but only with her. 

He did not want a ‘Date with Destiny’ or a ‘Taste of Candi;’ it was only ever Scarlett he watched, Scarlett he’d ask for, Scarlett he’d take into the Champagne Room. 

She could remember the first night he came in, silently watching her routine on the pole with his striking, steely blues, the occasional puff of smoke escaping his lips from each drag of his cigarette he took. 

He returned the following week, then twice the week after; the same expression on his face, the same brand of cigarette between his fingers, ordering the same drink. It wasn’t until a few visits later that he’d buy a lap dance or two, pay for a table and invite her to it. It had gone on for a while, at least a few months, before he’d start to book her privately, desiring her company behind closed doors and away from the wolfish eyes of the other customers.

He became known as her patron throughout the club, her name the only to fall from his lips each night he visited. Eventually it became routine, the young woman knowing it was time to finish whatever she was doing the moment she caught sight of his raven locks. She’d leave the floor, take a few moments to freshen herself up, and meet him in the room.

So when he made his visit that particular Wednesday night, she did just that of course, happy to leave the stage in place of better company.

She entered the room where he waited, always the same one, and closed the door behind her with a minxy smile on her face.

“Well well, long time, no see,” she said to the man on the sofa. A joke, of course, as he had been there the night before.