✧ sugar talking ✧

[alexander-ashford]

Alec’s eyes lingered on her longer than he probably should have, taking in the effortless sway of her hips, the way her fingers traced along his collar as if testing him, marking him in some invisible way. When she finally spoke, her words brushed against his ear, and he felt the faintest shiver run down his spine, half from the closeness, half from the deliberate teasing in her tone. “Depends,” he murmured back, his voice low, a shade huskier than usual, leaning just a fraction closer so she could feel it against her hair. He shifted slightly, close enough that the warmth of his body pressed against hers through the beat of the music, his hand sliding a little, almost by accident, along the small of her back. “Are you thinking about me or the work right now?” His tone was teasing, but there was an edge to it, a hunger to know more, to pull her just a fraction closer without letting her slip away. His lips tilted in that small, knowing smile, matching hers, his fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. It was invasive, yes, but calculated, the kind of closeness that suggested he intended to keep her here, right here, for as long as she’d let him. “I could be convinced,” he murmured, leaning ever so slightly closer. His eyes roamed over her in a slow, deliberate sweep, memorising the way she moved, the way she held herself, the subtle way her hair slipped over one shoulder. “I’m not usually this curious about anyone. But you, ... ” He let the pause stretch, letting her absorb it, letting her feel the pull, the insistence of his gaze. “…you’re pretty, sugar.”

[baileydovc]

there wasn’t much time for lingering stares at the club, after all, everyone knew why they were there, to watch, to pay, to get close to something they couldn’t have. she usually felt a kind of quiet disgust toward most of them, she had listened to too many men talk about their wives and kids while sitting in front of her, and she hated every second of those dances. but seeing alec there was different, surprising, even if deep down she knew guys like him loved throwing money around. as he leaned closer, her hands came up to rest lightly on his shoulders, keeping just enough distance, more out of instinct than because it was him. when he asked what she was thinking about, she resisted the urge to roll her eyes, she knew exactly what answer someone like her was supposed to give. "you," she murmured, leaning in just enough to let the word brush against his ear. when she pulled back, she caught the smirk on his lips, and as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, she felt her pulse pick up slightly. "i’m someone nice to look at," she said with a small smile, and when he called her pretty, she glanced away for a second. "if you come back, i could do something about it," she added, her tone light, practiced, "i work most nights, not sundays, it’s pretty dead then," she went on, her movements never quite stopping as she continued the rhythm she was used to. "if you ever come back…" her fingers brushed lightly against his chest, "make sure you ask for me," she said softly, "and don’t treat me like i’m crazy for looking for my phone," she added, a small edge slipping in at the memory of their first meeting. "deal?"

[alexander-ashford]

This kind of place suited him just fine, all low light and moneyed confidence, and when he caught sight of Bailey stepping into his space, his mouth curved. He let her study him. Didn’t rush it. His gaze stayed steady on hers, slow and deliberate, the kind that made people feel seen. When she offered the dance, playing the part, he huffed a quiet laugh through his nose, leaning in just enough that his voice was meant only for her. “Funny,” he murmured, smooth as poured whiskey. “I think the prettiest girl is the one I'm currently having this conversation with." When he pulled the bills free, it wasn’t a show, just habit. Money didn’t mean much beyond momentum. He didn’t comment when she ignored it; he liked that she did. When he slipped one into her waistband, his fingers lingered a fraction longer than necessary, not careless, not apologetic either. Just confident. Alec didn’t move when she stepped closer. He let her choose it. When she settled onto his lap, he adjusted easily, one hand resting at her hip more to steady her than to stake a claim, though the effect was similar. His posture stayed relaxed, like this was exactly where he expected to be, exactly how the night should unfold. He watched her the way men with nothing to prove watched, unhurried, appreciative, eyes following every shift of her movement. When she leaned back, his gaze traced her without shame. When she came close again, he tilted his head slightly, breath warm, voice low. When her hand found his jaw, he let her guide him, a faint smile pulling at his mouth. His other hand pressed lightly at her lower back, a silent conversation saying he was present, paying attention, exactly where she wanted him. For the first time that night, Alec’s composure cracked, just barely. He swallowed, his throat working once before he could stop it. His eyes slipped away for half a second, jaw tightening as if he needed that breath, that pause. Damn. Then he was back, gaze returning to her like nothing had happened, except it had. One corner of his mouth tipped up, slower now, more dangerous. Alec let out a slow breath through his nose, still riding that half-second where she’d knocked him off balance. His thumb traced a lazy, absent line at her lower back before he spoke, like the question just drifted into his mind. He leaned in closer, mouth near her ear, voice low enough to feel more than hear. “How many nights are you here a week?”

[baileydovc]

it didn’t take much for bailey to end up hovering over the man’s thighs; it was something she did countless times a night, four nights a week. at first it had made her uncomfortable—honestly, she wouldn’t recommend the job to anyone. sometimes she still wondered how she’d even started. maybe she’d been too naïve, maybe she’d needed the money too badly, or maybe deena had simply made it sound too good when she talked about it. whatever the reason, bailey knew she was far too deep down the rabbit hole now to easily climb back out. this was just a transaction. right? when his hand settled on her waist, she didn’t react outwardly, but she noticed everything—the way he swallowed, the tension in his shoulders, the small details she always looked for, searching for any sign that a man might be different. but if he was here, he was usually just like the rest. bailey didn’t pull away after his question; if anything, she settled more comfortably on his lap, like the seat had been meant for her all along. the music carried her movements—slow, controlled, her hips swaying in an easy rhythm that looked effortless even though it wasn’t. one hand rested lightly on his shoulder for balance while the other drifted upward, brushing through her hair before sliding down along the line of her neck. she still hadn’t answered him. instead, she tipped her chin slightly, studying him with that same small, knowing smile—the kind that kept people wondering whether she was listening to the music or to them. the beat rolled through the room again and she leaned forward with it, closing the space between them until almost none remained. her hand returned to his shoulder, fingers curling there while the other traced a slow line along the edge of his collar. she was working, yes—but never rushed. bailey leaned in just enough for her words to brush against his ear again. “depends,” she said finally, her voice light but edged with something thoughtful. she rocked forward once more, her hair slipping over one shoulder as she drew closer. “why?” tilting her head, she studied him the same way he’d studied her earlier. “planning to become a regular?” she murmured.

[alexander-ashford]

Alec’s smirk was effortless, the kind that came with confidence and a hint of mischief only someone used to getting what they wanted could pull off. He leaned casually against the back of his seat, hand in his pocket, watching her with that calculating, rich-frat-boy ease. Alec’s grin widened, all charm and mischief as he leaned a little closer, eyes locked on hers. He let his words drop slow, deliberate, dripping with confidence. “I think what I want is pretty obvious,” he said, voice low and teasing, letting the pause hang. Then he added with a smirk, "the prettiest girl in the room to dance on me about sums it up.” He leaned back just slightly, casual but magnetic, watching her reaction like a cat anticipating a pounce, every bit the rich frat boy who knew exactly what effect he had. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a crisp stack of bills, fanning them just enough to catch the light. Slowly, deliberately, he slid one into the girl’s waistband, brushing just enough to make the gesture intimate but teasing. “Plenty more where this came from,” he murmured, voice low and smooth, letting the words hang in the air like a dare. He leaned back slightly, confident and unapologetic, watching her with that same rich-frat-boy charm, daring her to react. Alec’s gaze lingered on her, slow and deliberate, like he was memorising every angle of her face. His smirk softened just a fraction as his eyes locked on hers. “You know,” he said, voice low and teasing, leaning in just slightly, “you’ve got really pretty eyes.” He let the words sink in, tilting his head like he was savoring the view. “Dangerously pretty, actually."

[baileydovc]

she was both surprised and not surprised to see him there. bailey hadn’t expected him to show up at her workplace the same night they’d met on the street, but there was something about him that told her he’d been in a strip club before. as he leaned closer, her brown eyes met his, scanning his face while she batted her lashes the way she always did. “i could get you a dance with me,” she trailed off, then smiled warmly, fully in character. “but i think the prettiest girl in the room is busy right now.” she noticed him pull a stack of bills from his pocket and ignored it, keeping her gaze locked on his. she already knew she’d end the night with them—it wasn’t like she didn’t make a few hundred on a good night. when he tucked a bill into her waistband, her breath caught for a split second, more reflex than anything else, part of the act that made people think they made her nervous, as if she didn’t dance nearly naked over strangers every night. bailey stepped in close without asking permission, turning and settling onto his lap like it was exactly where she belonged. her knees bracketed his legs as she found her balance, her hands resting on his shoulders for just a moment. she moved with the music, unhurried, letting the rhythm guide her instead of forcing it—a slow roll of her hips, a lean back that invited his eyes to follow, then forward again, close enough that he could feel her breath when she smiled. one hand slid up to his jaw, guiding his attention where she wanted it, the other tracing lazy patterns over his chest like she was claiming her place in the moment.

[alexander-ashford]

The bass hit first—low, heavy, vibrating straight through Alec’s chest as he stepped into the club with his friends flanking him like it was their natural habitat. Everything shimmered: lights, glasses, confidence bought and paid for. Alec’s hand rested lazily on one of his friend’s shoulders as they laughed too loud, already riding the night like it owed them something. Wolf-whistles cut through the music when a group of dancers passed, all glitter and movement, and Alec smirked without thinking—this was familiar, rehearsed, almost ritual. A hostess pulled them past the crowd and into a sectioned-off room tucked behind velvet and glass, the noise dimming just enough to feel exclusive. Plush couches, a low table already stocked, and a few ladies waiting inside ready to dance like the night had been paused just for them. Tonight was for noise, money, and forgetting—at least for a few hours. Alec dropped into the low couch, leather cool against his back, and leaned into it like the night had been custom-built for him. One arm stretched along the backrest, the other loose at his side, posture relaxed to the point of arrogance. Around him, the rest of the guys spread out—six of them total—laughter already spilling, voices overlapping, all sharp suits and careless confidence. He watched as the girls started to move toward them, unhurried, practiced, the room subtly shifting to orbit around their presence. Bills appeared in hands like it was second nature, no hesitation, no second thoughts. Money was just another language here, and all of them spoke it fluently. Alec’s mouth curved into a slow, satisfied smile as he took it all in. Alec’s gaze settled on one girl in particular, his expression sharpening with interest. He shifted slightly, then lifted his hand, curling a single finger toward himself in a lazy, confident beckon—subtle, practiced, impossible to miss. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to. The invitation was clear enough, delivered with the easy certainty of someone used to being answered.

[baileydovc]

after her encounter with alec, she had walked straight to her workplace, grabbed herself some takeout, and a “tikka masala chicken with naan bread, extra spicy” for deena, who always ordered the exact same thing. she waved at everyone as she walked in; it was still bright outside when she arrived. she sat in the changing room under the awful lighting to eat, legs crossed on the chair, while deena sat in front of her, both of them already in their work outfits. the first couple of nights had been awkward, bailey too embarrassed to look at coworkers who were practically naked, but now she didn’t care at all. “yeah, i paid with your tips, which is straight-up evil, considering you gave me the smallest bills you had. next time you can go deal with the angry guy yourself,” she pointed out. deena laughed. “i could get my chicken for free,” she joked. “yeah, you can do whatever you want, deena, you always do,” bailey laughed back. their manager opened the door. “ladies, get your asses out, peak time,” he said. bailey rolled her eyes and left her food on the table. “i hate him,” she whispered, and deena wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “i know you do,” the other stripper laughed. “you always say that.” they walked out together, bailey taking a deep breath as she slipped fully into character, moving slow and deliberate, heels on, outfit ready—bailey gone, sugar out to make money. she was walking the floor when she noticed someone beckoning her from across the room, too far away to recognize until she got closer. alec. her breath hitched, though it didn’t show. “looks like someone really wanted to see me again,” she said lightly, even though she hadn’t expected to see him, much less here. her dark eyes locked on his as she rested a hand on the armrest and leaned closer. “what do you want, sugar?”

[alexander-ashford]

Alec didn’t even pretend to be offended when she said she wasn’t looking for him—not in the top ten, even. He just let out a low, amused scoff, running a hand through his perfect hair knowing that he probably made a lot of other people's top ten lists all of the time. “Yeah, yeah,” he said, smirking, “you tell yourself that. Most people don’t realise I’m the best part of their day until after they talk to me.” He crossed his arms, leaning back like he owned the entire street. Bailey’s doe‑eyed act didn’t fluster him—it entertained him. When she hinted that getting his number might be the “good thing” she needed, Alec let out a slow, smug laugh. “People beg for this number, you know. I don't pass it out as easy as you might think that I do." He held up his phone like it was something sacred. “But I’m a generous guy. And you being cute definitely helps.” When she flirted about secrecy and names, he clicked his tongue, pleased. “So you want me to take you out to earn your name? Damn. Ambitious. I like that.” He shrugged one shoulder, grin widening. “Fine. I’ll play the game.” But when she finally asked—politely, softly—to call her phone, Alec let the smugness dim just slightly. Not gone, never gone, just… softened at the edges. He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You work? That sucks.” He flicked his phone on and held it out to her. “Alright, princess. Go ahead. Call it.” He tilted his head, smirking like he knew exactly how much attention he was commanding. "I’m Alexander, by the way,” he said, voice smooth and deliberate, like he was announcing himself to the world. Then, with a teasing glint in his eye, he added, “Alec, for short. Nobody calls me Alexander except my mom.” Then he shrugged, still grinning. “So… you can call me Alec. That’s what everyone lucky enough to know me calls me.”

[baileydovc]

bailey was usually softer, not sugary, but she would have asked kindly if the guy hadn’t decided to act like she was desperate for his number or his presence. “i think i’ll be depressed after this interaction, maybe i need to call my workplace and tell them i just need to find you again,” she said lightly, sarcasm dripping from her words as she resisted the urge to roll her eyes. when he said people begged for her phone, she almost walked away—she wasn’t about to beg for a number—but then he finished his sentence and agreed to help her. “that’s how things work, if things are too easy it’s not entertaining anymore,” she flirted back. as he stepped closer, her brown eyes never left his, matching his intensity. “you can’t imagine how much it sucks,” she chuckled, “but you don’t want my boss kicking me out,” she added as she took his phone, typed her number in, and waited for it to ring. she barely registered his name when he said it, focused only on hearing her phone. “alec… that’s a pretty name,” she teased, dropping to her knees when she heard it ringing inside her bag. she opened it just enough to grab her phone, careful not to reveal what else she was carrying. she sighed in relief. “thank you so much, alec,” she said, still on her knees, closing her bag before standing up again. “it was great meeting you, but i’m late…” she added softly, brushing her hand along his arm. “thank you for helping me,” bailey said quietly, “see you around, alec” and without waiting for his response, she walked away, because it was easier that way.

[alexander-ashford]

“Damn,” he drawled, eyes glinting with mischief, “you look like you’re searching for the meaning of life in there. What’s got you so worked up?" Alec just chuckled to himself. He had that effect—half irritation, half intrigue. When she finally looked up, tossing that flat tone his way about “not being familiar with luxury,” he let out a low whistle. “Cold,” he said, mock wounded. “You wound me, sweetheart. I was gonna offer condolences to your bag for the trauma it’s been through, but fine—save the sympathy.” Her comeback about his ass earned a laugh out of him, sharp and genuine. “You wound me again!” he said, pressing a hand dramatically to his chest. “And here I was thinking I’d finally made the top ten.” But when her tone shifted—softened, sweetened—Alec noticed. Her eyes caught his, and that teasing “sugar” slipped out like silk. He tilted his head, grin widening. He clapped his hands once in mock surprise. “Wow. So this is how it happens, huh? You lose your phone, butter me up with a ‘please, sugar’, and boom—suddenly I’m in your contacts." His eyes sparkled as he leaned in slightly, still holding that cocky edge. “Look, I get it. Phone’s your lifeline. But admit it—you just wanted a reason to get my number. Clever move. Subtle. Almost had me fooled.” Without waiting for a rebuttal, he slid a hand into his jacket pocket and pulled out his own phone. He paused just before asking for her digits to enter. “What’s should I put your contact name as in my phone?"

[baileydovc]

bailey glanced over at the male at his question. of course she was searching for something important—she couldn’t live without her phone, her whole life was in there. she didn’t know if he was acting, trying to be funny, or just playing the rich-kid card, but honestly she had better things to do. “not even close to the top ten,” she mused, not even looking at him. she knew her annoyed self wouldn’t help her right now, so she slipped straight into the version of herself she used at the club—the sweet, candid one who got what she wanted because men always seemed willing to give in. when he clapped his hands, her eyebrows furrowed slightly. she bit her tongue, refusing to snap and ruin her chances. “maybe getting your number is just the good thing i need after all this distress i’m going through,” she said softly, big brown doe eyes locked on him, her act flawless—that look alone could’ve earned her a few extra pounds on any other night. “oh, if i give you my name this whole secrecy thing goes to waste. if you want to know my name, you should invite me out first,” she flirted, pointless since she only wanted one thing. “can you please let me call myself so i can get my phone? i’m late for work, and i’m sure you don’t want that, right?”

[egosdeaths]

ASHTON WOOD via tiktok

[alexander-ashford]

Alec shifted his weight, adjusting the strap of his leather crossbody gym bag. His sunglasses had slid slightly down the bridge of his nose during the collision, and that alone was almost enough to set him off again. He glanced down at her, still digging through her bag like it held state secrets, and finally spoke — dry, sarcastic, but smooth as hell. "I wasn’t expecting someone to stop right in front of me,” he said, one brow raised, voice laced with theatrical offense. “I could’ve dropped my phone. Or worse — my sunglasses.” He paused, pushing them back up with a finger like it was part of a slow-motion commercial. “These are rare, you know.” There was a glint in his eye when he said it — half-serious, half-messing with her — because sure, yeah, they were rare. Limited-edition. European. "Sugar?" he repeated, half a laugh pushing out of his chest. He gave her a slow, dramatic once-over — not gross, just... frat-boy curious. His grin tilted, cocky and unbothered. "Yeah, well," Alec muttered under his breath, "if this isn’t a scene, I’d hate to see what one is." Alec scoffed softly, the sound more amused than annoyed, like he couldn’t believe he was still standing here. He looked away from her, gaze drifting back down the sidewalk like he might actually walk off this time. But then he said it — just loud enough for her to hear, the smirk audible in his voice: “If I do... you gonna watch me walk away? People hate to see me go... but love to watch me leave.” He paused, then gave a lazy shrug. “Or whatever the saying is.”

[baileydovc]

she barely looked up at him, too focused on rummaging through her bag like her entire existence depended on it — because, well, it kind of did. her phone was her life, her calendar, her work, her secrets. losing it wasn’t an option. “life is full of surprises,” she muttered, still digging, half to herself. his words made her pause for a second, her brows furrowing as she lifted her gaze to meet his. she blinked, stunned by the confidence rolling off him. “i’m not familiar with luxury or limited-edition items, sorry,” she said flatly, though a hint of amusement tugged at her lips. “glad your precious stuff survived, but i really need to find my phone.” she sighed, frustrated, checking every pocket again before realizing it wasn’t there. when he repeated the nickname she’d accidentally let slip, she froze for a second, then rolled her eyes. his next comment pulled a small laugh out of her, soft but real. “your ass is not the best i’ve seen, i wouldn’t watch you walk away,” she shot back easily, finally looking up at him. but then, she inhaled deeply, letting her tone shift, her gaze soften. those big brown eyes lifted to meet his again, sweet and deliberate. “but before you go, i need to ask you for a big favor, sugar,” she said, voice dripping honey, a small smile playing at her lips. “could you call my phone so i can find it?” she tilted her head slightly, a teasing glint in her eyes. “after that, once i have my phone, i wouldn’t mind watching you leave.” she winked, then added softly, “please?”

[emilybluntt]

PRETTY WOMAN (1990) DIR. Garry Marshall

[baileydovc]

✧ past dates ✧

Bailey had agreed to the date because she was tired of saying no. She told herself it would be fine, that she could handle dinner with a stranger, small talk, the polite smiles, the sideways glances. She had dressed conservatively, loose blouse, jeans, something she could breathe in. Hair half-tied, half-falling in careless waves, and just enough makeup to feel… human. Not Sugar, not performer, just Bailey.

The restaurant was dim, lights muted, a few flickering candles on each table. Soft jazz played in the background, but she could barely focus on it. The man across from her—tall, dark-haired, that smirk that felt like it belonged in a movie—leaned forward, elbows on the table, chin in his hands. He had the kind of gaze that didn’t look at you—it dissected you. And she hated it immediately.

“So,” he said smoothly, voice low, almost teasing. “What do you do for work?”

Bailey exhaled slowly, feeling the first prickle of anxiety. She didn’t want to lie, but she didn’t want to tell the truth either. She tried deflection. “I… I work in dance,” she said cautiously. “That’s it. Nothing fancy.”

He tilted his head, lips curling in a half-smile. “Dance? Interesting. What kind? Ballet? Modern? Jazz? Hip hop?”

She tensed. Each word from him felt like a trap. “I… I do different styles,” she muttered, hoping that would end it.

“No, come on,” he pressed, voice sharp now, leaning closer. “I want specifics. What do you dance?”

Bailey’s stomach turned over. Her fingers tapped nervously on the table. Not the club. Not tonight. He doesn’t need to know. She tried a half-laugh, shrugging. “I… I perform. Shows … people enjoy it.”

His eyes lit up with something predatory. “Shows? Come on. Be honest. You’re not just performing at community recitals, are you?”

Her throat went dry. She felt her nails dig into her palms, the instinctive bite she never could shake. “I… I work at a club,” she admitted finally, voice small, ashamed before the words were even out. She hated how they sounded, how heavy they felt in the air. “I dance. That’s my job. It’s… adult entertainment.”

There was a pause. She held her breath, waiting for the laugh, the sneer, the judgment. Instead, he leaned back slightly, chin tilted up. “Ah. I see. That’s… bold,” he said, voice silky. “So you’re one of those women. You perform. For… money. That’s intriguing. I wouldn’t have guessed. You seem… rigid. So stiff. Confident, but like you’re holding something back.”

Her stomach twisted. “I… I’m just careful. I… have boundaries,” she said, her voice rising despite herself.

He smirked, tilting his head. “Boundaries. Right. I like that. You’re so tense. Must be your… professional side. I get it. Confident women. But you—you’re… rigid. I can tell you’d like to let loose.”

Bailey froze. He leaned closer again, one hand brushing the table toward hers. “Pretend you’re at work. I bet those outfits are… fun. Little, revealing… slutty. Isn’t it exhilarating? Performing for someone else’s pleasure?”

Her chest constricted, heat rising in her face. Oh god. Oh god. Get me out. She gritted her teeth, trying to calm her pulse. “I… I don’t… you shouldn’t be asking that,” she said, voice trembling. She pushed back in her chair, hands clenching the edge of the table.

He chuckled low, darkly. “Relax. I’m just curious. Don’t lie to me. You like it. You like being looked at, controlled, admired. Admit it.”

Bailey shook her head violently. “No. That’s not… that’s not all it is. It’s work. It’s my job. And that’s it. I’m not… I’m not here for anyone’s amusement tonight.”

He leaned back, smirk widening, like she had just admitted she enjoyed a secret pleasure. “Come on. Don’t act so high and mighty. I know the type. I’ve seen it before. You’re desperate to be admired, even if you act like you’re better than everyone. You like control… but you crave attention.”

She swallowed hard, mouth dry. Every instinct screamed danger. Every tiny movement in the restaurant felt magnified—the clatter of plates, the shuffle of waiters, the whisper of other diners—but all she could hear was the unrelenting weight of him.

“And money,” he said, leaning forward again. “I bet you make… very good money. You’re smart, right? You know what you’re worth. I respect that. I respect a woman who knows she has value.”

Her pulse throbbed painfully in her temples. “It’s… it’s just work,” she said, low, shaky. “It’s not… a lifestyle. Not… this.”

He smirked, and then, impossibly, reached into his wallet. A thick wad of bills. He spread them across the table with one slow, deliberate motion. “Then show me,” he said, voice honeyed, dangerous. “Right here. Right now. Just a little… demonstration. Lap dance. Ten minutes. Easy. Private.”

Bailey’s stomach turned over violently, her face pale, breath caught in her throat. The heat, the predatory gleam in his eyes, the sheer arrogance of thinking she could perform at his whim—it was everything she feared. She pushed herself up, chair scraping the floor. “No. Absolutely not,” she snapped, voice shaking but firm. “I’m leaving.”

He laughed, low, mocking, leaning back as if she were the one overreacting. “You’re so uptight,” he said. “You need to learn to have fun.”

She didn’t wait for him to finish. She bolted, narrowly dodging a server with a tray of drinks, heart hammering, hands shaking. The cool air outside hit her like ice, lungs burning as she ran without looking back. Every shadow, every flicker of streetlight felt threatening, like the night itself was conspiring to keep her trapped in his gaze. By the time she reached her apartment, her knees felt like they might buckle, fingers fumbling in her bag for keys.

Inside, she locked the door, slid down against it, trembling, every nerve raw. She pressed her palms to her face, trying to shut the world out. Never again. Never again. She could feel every inch of herself vibrating with adrenaline, humiliation, and anger. She sank to the floor, curling against the door, shivering, shaking, trying to convince herself that nothing had really happened—but she knew it had. That night, that man, that entitlement… it had followed her home, lodged in her chest, and refused to leave.

[alexander-ashford]

Alec hadn’t been paying much attention — designer sunglasses on, air-pods in, gym bag slung over his shoulder, phone in hand, just trying to get from the gym back to the place his parents brought him. The sidewalk was busy as usual, but moving... until someone just stopped dead in the middle of it. He bumped into her — not hard, but enough to knock his earbuds loose and make him take a step back. "Seriously?" he muttered, eyes already rolling as he yanked one earbud out. "Who just stops in the middle of the fucking walkway—" Then she turned around. Blonde. Kinda flustered. Jeans didn’t match, like, at all, but somehow it worked. And those eyes? Yeah, okay. Maybe he didn't feel as mad anymore. He'd always loved blondes. Brunettes too. Anyone, really. He wasn’t picky — just observant. "You’re good," he said, shrugging one shoulder. "What made you stop in the middle of a busy walkway?" he asked, voice laced with mock offense. A beat. Then a grin. "City ordinance violation or... just a sudden urge to cause a scene?"

[baileydovc]

at that moment, nothing mattered more to bailey than her phone, her whole life was inside that little thing. so really, her reaction was measured—what if someone had taken it, what if she’d left it in the bathroom stall at the café? she needed it. when she heard someone cursing behind her after bumping into her, she realized it probably didn’t look so measured to others. “you didn’t seem like you were good two seconds ago, sugar,” the nickname slipping out naturally with the wig on, like it belonged to her alter ego. “i don’t know where my phone is, i don’t cause scenes,” she said quickly even if that was basically what she was paid to do, her eyes flicking up to meet his before dropping back to her frantic search, careful not to let anyone see inside her bag. “shit, where the fuck is it?” she muttered, stepping aside. “keep walking, you probably have a really busy life.”

[baileydovc]

her bag was stuffed full — 8 inch heels, her blonde wig, the outfit she’d chosen for the night — all ready to go, so she’d left home earlier than usual. the day had been busy, nothing new, but instead of starting to get ready around nine like always, she’d started at seven, meeting her mom at a café first, where they talked for hours. now, walking toward her workplace, her mind was drifting elsewhere when the sudden thought hit her that she might’ve forgotten her phone. she stopped abruptly, patting at her mismatched jeans in a small panic, not expecting anyone to collide into her from behind. she stumbled forward a step, nearly losing her balance, before blurting out, “oh my god, i’m sorry.” bailey mused turning around to face the person behind her.

[begsfor]

[baileydovc]

✧ a day in the life of bailey ✧

Bailey woke to the sound of Coco thumping against the side of his hutch, soft light slanting across her sheets in uneven stripes. Her phone buzzed on the nightstand, another notification she ignored. Instead, she buried her face in her pillow and listened to the scrape of his tiny claws. “Alright, alright,” she muttered, rolling out of bed. She crouched down and peered at him, hair sticking out in every direction. “You’d think I never feed you. Do you have any idea how expensive lettuce is, roommate?” His ears flicked like punctuation. She grinned, still half-asleep, and shuffled to the kitchen to chop a few leaves. She leaned down as she dropped them into the hutch, narrating her plan for the day. “So, class at noon, Velvet Room tonight. Maybe I’ll get groceries if the universe is kind. Also, we’re not watching Swan Lake clips at two in the morning again. It’s killing my eyes.” Coco twitched, unimpressed. “Yeah, yeah. Judge me all you want.”

By the time she was on her way to class, her nails were already ruined. She bit them last night when she couldn’t stop thinking about bills, about rent, about the velvet box under her bed she swore she wouldn’t touch again. The black polish chipped along the edges, so she shoved her hands in her pockets and told herself she’d repaint them later. Class was fine—better than fine, really. The mirrors were harsh, the music too loud, but Bailey felt alive in the ache of her muscles, in the spin of her body, in the moment she forgot everything else. Still, she caught herself watching the ballet studio next door when she left, peeking through the narrow glass strip in the door at the kids lined up at the barre. She wanted to hate it, but she didn’t. She just… hurt.

She stopped at the corner café afterward, ordered an iced coffee with too much sugar, and pulled her notebook out while she waited. A pink pen, the kind people always teased her about. She scribbled down ideas for her future studio—class schedules, potential names, dumb doodles of mirrors and light fixtures. It was messy, impulsive, but hers. She smiled at it until a man nearby made a comment about “girls in strip clubs never really having plans,” and it hit like a stone to the chest. He didn’t know her. He couldn’t. But she snapped her notebook shut anyway and left her drink half-finished.

Back home, she fed Coco carrots and sat on the floor with him, ranting about how people always assumed things. “Like, I’m not ashamed of what I do, you know? I’m not. Sugar pays the bills, Sugar keeps me standing. But it’s not all of me. It’s not forever. Why is that so hard for people to get?” Coco pressed his nose against her knee, and she sighed, rubbing her thumb over the scarred skin at her cuticles. She changed into her Velvet Room outfit—sequins, stilettos, the whole armor. She always stared at herself in the mirror just long enough to feel the shift, Bailey fading, Sugar emerging. It wasn’t a bad thing, just… a costume. A second skin.

The club was neon and noise, the bass rattling through her bones. Bailey—no, Sugar—commanded the stage like she was born for it, every glance calculated, every move controlled. She laughed at jokes she didn’t care about, pushed hands away when they wandered, spun until her muscles screamed. There was power in it, power that fed her in ways ballet never could. But when she stepped offstage, sequins scratching her skin, she always felt a little hollow, like she’d given away too much of herself and wasn’t sure what was left.

By the time she stumbled home near dawn, her feet ached, her makeup smeared, her hair smelling of smoke and perfume. She collapsed onto her bed still in half-costume, Coco watching her from his hutch. She dragged herself up after a minute, scrubbed her face clean, pulled on an old sweatshirt. She opened the fridge, gagged at the leftover takeout, and poured herself a bowl of cereal instead. Then, with a deep breath, she slid the box from under her bed. She told herself she wouldn’t. She never did. But tonight, she was unbearably lonely. She lifted the lid. Ticket stubs. Scraps of costumes. Letters from people who didn’t call anymore. She traced her finger over a photo of her in ballet slippers, eight years old, smiling like she’d never known loss. Her chest tightened.

She shoved the box back and lay down, reaching out for Coco. He let her stroke his ears, soft and grounding. “One day,” she whispered, her voice shaking, “one day we’ll have that studio. It won’t smell like smoke, it won’t be neon, it’ll be light. Just light.” She closed her eyes, replaying the choreography from the clip she’d watched last night, mouthing the counts in the dark. For a moment, she almost believed she was already there. And then sleep dragged her under.

[baileydovc]

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ this is bailey

name:  bailey dove

age: twenty4

relationship status: single

her name is bailey. twenty-four, bold in every room she walks into, but softer than she’ll ever admit once the lights go down.

dance has been her anchor since childhood. she grew up in ballet shoes, hair pinned tight, body aching but heart soaring. her dream was to be a ballerina — not famous, just whole. but when her family couldn’t afford the lessons and costs, she had to let it go. she thought that part of her was gone forever, but the truth is it never left.

now she works nights at the velvet room, euroville’s neon-lit strip club, where she goes by her stage name, sugar. the job started as survival, but she grew into it. sequins and stilettos became her armor, the stage her second home. “sugar” was her choice — soft and pure, a contradiction to the sultry world she performs in. it became a reminder to herself: she can be vulnerable without breaking, graceful without being fragile. she doesn’t see her work as shameful — it taught her power, boundaries, and how to command a room. still, she wants more. her dream is to open her own dance studio, one built on freedom, not perfection.

to keep that fire alive, she’s returned to classes. some nights she shows up to hip hop or contemporary after working until dawn, hair still smelling faintly of smoke and perfume. she’s not afraid of looking out of place — she’s used to that. and though ballet broke her heart once, she still sneaks back to it. she keeps her old slippers in her gym bag, worn soft and frayed at the edges, as if carrying them might remind her who she is.

her quirks make her contradictions visible: she stays up late streaming ballet performances online, mouthing choreography as if her body might remember; she collects ticket stubs from every show she sees, no matter how small; she hums under her breath when nervous, taps out beats with her fingers while waiting in line. and at home, curled up in bed after a long shift, she has her pet bunny — a fluffy little creature she named coco. he’s her grounding force, reminding her that softness still exists in her life, even when she feels hardened by the world.

when it comes to love, bailey is active, messy, and secretly aching. she dates, flirts, tries. she wants the kind of love that feels simple — someone to bring her coffee, someone to share quiet mornings with. but nothing lasts. maybe it’s her walls, maybe it’s timing, maybe it’s the way she pretends she doesn’t care as much as she does. she once loved deeply, and losing that love left scars. she hides them well, but they still ache in the quiet.

her family doesn’t know about the velvet room or “sugar.” they think she’s balancing odd jobs while piecing her future together. she isn’t ashamed — but she doesn’t want their disappointment. they already watched her give up one dream; she refuses to let them think she’s lost her way entirely.

to strangers, she’s magnetic: teasing, sharp, fun. to friends, she’s loyal and surprising — the girl who brings snacks to rehearsal, who remembers the smallest details, who makes everyone laugh even when she’s exhausted. alone, though, she’s still the girl who watches ballet clips until her eyes sting, stroking coco’s ears, dreaming of a studio filled with light, mirrors, and dancers who believe in themselves the way she once did.

bailey is contradictions made flesh — bold yet tender, playful yet longing, a survivor who still believes she deserves more than survival. one day she’ll open her studio. one day she’ll find love that lasts. until then, she’ll keep spinning — sequins, slippers, and the whisper of “sugar” in the dark.

coco: