Mötley Crüe: The Dirt Imagines

Vince Neil/Daniel Webber Imagine #1

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(I'm a lazy and uninspired student, so it is very likely that the more requests I get, the more I'll update!! Please feel free to message me a request about anything-including smut!)

You stood by the door, itching and uncomfortable in your new uniform. It was a stupid looking white dress with a pleated bottom that flared out school-girl style and was short enough to show just the tiniest bit of your ass under the mess of red tulle. You also wore a small, wedged sailor's hat perched jauntily on top of your head as if that would trick customers into thinking you were in a good mood. This is undignified, you thought to yourself, dragging your toe anxiously across the floor; you were supposed to be a waitress, not a glorified stripper.

And it was true, you had been a waitress all the way up until this morning when the cigarette machine by the bar broke. Cigarette girls hadn't been a thing since the 60s, but here you were in 1983, head aching from the strap of the display box digging into your neck because the club owner thought that a kid's halloween costume would be cheaper than a new machine. He was probably right, but wasn't your self-respect worth more than cheap nostalgia?

You sighed, rolling your eyes as a group of teenagers who probably couldn't even drink here ogled you as they walked past. One of them looked like they were going to ask you for a pack, but the glare you gave him scared him off instantly. Joey, the owner, had told you you had to take your turn as the cigarette girl or you'd have to take your turn at unemployment, but that didn't mean you had to be happy about it. Your game plan was then to make sure cigarette sales went way down while you and the other waitresses sold them, making Joey realize that if he wanted to turn a profit, he'd have to buck up and pay for the repairs to the machine.

That was proving easier said than done, however, because not all the slime balls that hung out around the club were as easy to scare off as some pimply teenagers.

"Hey baby," a really tall, lanky brunette said to you with a grin, "I'll buy two packs if you'll go outside and have a smoke with me."

You practically had to crane your neck to look this guy in the face before rolling your eyes at him. "I think I'll pass."

"Aw c'mon," he said, looking more at your extremely obvious cleavage than at the look of disdain on your face, "Do it for the sales, maybe you'll get a promotion."

"I'll take the loss," you said.

He shrugged his shoulders, still smiling as he paid for one pack anyways. You were just about to give him his change when three other guys came over from the nearby booth they had been patronizing.

"That was awful, Tommy," the blonde one said, shaking his head, "If you're going to bother a chick at work, you've got to make her an offer she can't refuse. Something better than a pay check."

"Better than a pay check?" you asked, gasping in mock horror, "But mister, what could be better than a pay check?"

"Oh, she's funny," said one of the black haired guys with a wicked smirk, clapping his blonde friend on the back before heading over to the bar with the other black haired man, "Good luck, Vinnie."

"I've got something better than a pay check doll," the blonde said, "And it's called a backstage pass to Mötley Crüe."

"Never heard of them," you droned sarcastically, looking away and suddenly wishing someone a little less persistent would come buy some cigarettes off you.

"Really?" the tall brunette you now knew as Tommy said excitedly, "Not even Live Wire? Man, they play that one on the radio all the time, it's so cool-"