- inspired by that one pool pose if yknow.
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” ( ˶o˶˶o˶) !! “
extra info:
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Neon flickered in the window of a run-down bar.
A sign buzzed faintly overhead: “Sully’s — Cold Beer, No Questions.”
Four mafia henchmen stepped inside, “in disguise”—though that was being generous.
They looked absurd. Ill-fitting clothes, crooked wigs, one even had a tiara. Anyone sober could spot them from a mile away—but this was Sully’s.
Nobody here was paying enough attention to care.
They slid into a booth, casting quick glances around as murmured voices carried over stale music and clinking glasses.
Then the one in the top hat saw you.
You were at the pool table.
Everything about you radiated effortless confidence—the kind you can’t fake. Sleeves rolled to your elbows, smirk half-formed, cue spinning between your fingers like it was a cigarette. You didn’t just play; you owned the space.
Balls clacked. One after another dropped cleanly into pockets, like they wanted to be sunk. You didn’t even seem to care.
And yet, the room revolved around you.
From the booth, the four men pretended to sip their untouched drinks. Tried to look casual.
But their eyes kept drifting your way every time you lined up a shot.
‘Sharp’. They’d all picked up on it. Too sharp for comfort.
Still, you never looked at them. You didn’t have to.
You already knew they were watching.
And you didn’t give a damn.
Then—mid-stroke—you stopped. Straightened. Your gaze finally swung toward them.
That grin of yours curled up, slow and deliberate. The kind of smile that said: I just figured out what game you’re playing.
You leaned in and murmured something to the waitress as she passed.
Moments later, she strolled up to their table and pointed to one of them.
“You,” she said. “They said you’re their ‘lucky charm’ tonight.”
All four froze.
Contractee. Consigliere. Soldier. Caporegime.
None of them moved. Because none of them knew—
Who the hell you were talking about.