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viperify · 3 days ago

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oneshots | ᴛᴏᴍ ʀɪᴅᴅʟᴇ X ɢʀʏꜰꜰɪɴᴅᴏʀ ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

₊˚. 🂼 Losing Game.

Short Summary: being drunk sometimes means making reckless decisions, though agreeing on a bet with Tom Riddle might just top the list.

Warnings: 18+ only! rough oral m!receiving, slight dub con ig, Tom Riddle is a little bitch, no aftercare

A/N: first fic in ten days! finished my thesis and handed it in. SHDFJSKKF

also, this fic is based on this request! tysm for requesting! <3

wordcount: 2,5k

As soon as you saw the exam papers, you knew.

You’d lose the bet.

A bet that was your idea in the first place.

—

Tom and you have been fierce rivals ever since you started Hogwarts. Always trying to outdo one another, striving for perfection on every single exam and paper you had to hand in.

It’s the day before your Potions exam. You shouldn’t be doing this—getting ready for the party in Slytherin’s common room when you know a late-night study session would be the only way to save you from embarrassment the next day.

Yet, you couldn’t miss out on a fun night with your friends, the ones that keep telling you to stop worrying about your grades so much, to finally take a day off studying.

If they only knew.

After you finish, you take a look in the mirror—neat makeup, hair perfectly styled, tall black heels, burgundy dress, short, maybe too short—you don’t care. Tonight is about having fun and hopefully forgetting about your studies for a few hours.

Flickering green lights and the heavy beat of the music wrap around you as you enter the room, immediately engulfing you in the party’s atmosphere, the smell of alcohol and spilled drinks heavy in the air. Your eyes dart around the place in an attempt to find your friends, but before you get the chance to do so, you spot another familiar face. Familiar in an unpleasant way.

He’s casually leaning against the wall, one hand tucked in his pocket while the other lifts his drink—firewhisky, you assume—to his lips. And he sees you too—a smug grin playing on his lips as his eyes shamelessly drop lower, wandering over your exposed skin before he returns them to your now flushed face.

Tom Riddle—head boy, former prefect, know-it-all. House rivals. He’s always tried to get under your skin with anything he could think of. If he outscored you by more than five points, you wouldn’t hear the end of it.

Merlin, how you despised him.

You silently curse him under your breath, shaking your head as you continue making your way through the crowd. Your skin tingles with the memory of his lingering gaze, already regretting your choice to put on your shortest dress.

As the night goes on, you almost forget about him, your friends keeping you busy with conversations and games. It’s not until after midnight that you see him again—coincidentally just after your friends left your side to get new drinks.

You don’t even realise it’s him until he’s standing in front of you, until you feel his eyes on your skin yet again. You look up at him, meeting his amused expression.

“Shouldn’t you be studying?” He asks, lifting an eyebrow as he gently sways his drink in his hand.

“Unlike you, I have a life, Riddle. I don’t bury myself in books all day.”

“Judging by your grades, that’s what you should be doing. Instead of…” he pauses, eyes roaming over your cleavage to your thighs and back up. “Going to a party in that dress.”

A scoff leaves your lips. That idiot.

“Yeah? Seems like you can’t get enough of it, hm?”

His eyes darken at your words, and merely the fact that he doesn’t have a smug comeback ready tells you you’ve hit a nerve. You are right. He was checking you out.

A satisfied grin forms on your lips as he turns around to leave without saying another word. However, overconfident with the buzz of alcohol rushing through your veins, an idea comes to your mind.

“Riddle,” you call out, voice barely audible above the loud music, and he stops in his tracks. “I bet I will outscore you tomorrow.”

The usual arrogant smirk returns, decorating his face as he retraces his steps, stopping right in front of where you are sitting on the couch, hands tucked in the pockets of his trousers.

“The alcohol is clearly getting to your head if you think you could beat me in any Potions exam.”

You scoff, but deep down you know he isn’t wrong. Potions isn’t your best subject by any means, while Tom seemingly had every potion perfected before you even discussed it in class. Maybe that was exactly what excited you in that moment.

“You don’t have to be afraid, Riddle. Even your ego can take a loss, I am sure of it.”

He nods then. “Fine. Although I expect an adequate prize. What that will be, I choose.”

“That won’t be necessary.” You shoot him a smile, and you don’t catch the last part of what he’s said until it’s too late.

“Good luck. You’ll need it.” He adds, before disappearing into the crowd, and you don’t see him again that night.

What that will be, I choose. His words keep repeating in your head when you are finally in bed, trying your hardest to fall asleep. Slowly sobering up, you can’t believe what you have done. You would never be able to even come close to him tomorrow—not with last bits of alcohol in your system, not with two hours of sleep, surely not with how much you have studied.

Fuck.

And of course, the inevitable happens. The exam is way too difficult, your mind still clouded, ears ringing as a result of your loud surroundings last night. You can’t concentrate no matter how hard you try, and finally decide to hand in early, before anyone else.

You take one last look around the classroom before you leave, and immediately, your eyes lock with his.

Tom has been watching your struggle with pleasure, knowing exactly what it meant—what he’d choose as his prize. From the second you initiated the bet, it’s been as clear as daylight what he’d want. .

A week later, and as expected, he has outscored you. In fact, he received the best grade possible on his exam. And you—you failed. Failed. You had never failed an exam before.

So, you have been waiting. Waiting for him to come to you and tell you what he’d want. But the moment hasn’t come—not even days later.

The following weekend you find yourself at another party. You have expected him to talk to you there, preparing yourself with all sorts of drinks. Whatever he wants from you—and you fully expect it to be something humiliating—will be easier to endure with the courage you gain when you are slightly tipsy.

He’s there, you have seen him, but it doesn’t happen. He gives you that same arrogant smirk each time you see him, yet he never seeks a conversation. He might have forgotten. You hope he has forgotten.

The next day, after your final lesson of the day, you pack your belongings and leave the classroom. The corridors are empty at this hour as you make your way to the Gryffindor dormitories. You sigh as you turn the corner leading you out of the dungeons, ready to head to bed early after an exhausting day.

However, that plan shatters as a pair of strong arms shove you into an empty classroom, hand clamping over your mouth, muffling your attempts to scream.

The familiar scent of potion ingredients and old wood floods your senses as the door shuts behind you, quickly locked with a spell. And then, you finally see who has dragged you in here.

“Riddle, what the hell?” You whisper-yell, looking around you, scared someone has seen or heard you.

“If I remember correctly, you owe me.” He retorts smugly, not yet facing you, instead casting a silencing spell on the room. “And I am here to collect my prize.”

You cross your arms over your chest, leaning against a bookshelf behind you. “What do you want?

Tom turns around then, looking at you for a second before he speaks.

“You. On your knees for me.”

Your breath catches in your throat. You wish he was joking, but the tone of his voice tells you differently. He’s a hundred percent serious about this.

“There is no way I am doing that.”

“Oh but you will. You lost, I get my prize. It’s only fair.”

A sharp exhale leaves your lips, rolling your eyes. “Could have done this when I was drunk. Wouldn’t have been as humiliating.”

“I don’t take advantage of drunk girls. Also,” a grin tugs at the corner of his lips as he guides you towards the wall, forcing you on your knees so that you are facing him. “Makes me enjoy it more.”

You shake your head slightly, looking up at him. “You are sick, I hope you are aware.”

“Get to work,” he orders, disregarding what you just said. He takes a step closer, fingertips brushing over your cheek, thumb softly tracing along your lips. The strain on the fabric of his trousers is evident as your shaky hands make work of his belt, carelessly dropping the leather on the floor with a low thud. He doesn’t bother stepping out of his clothes, leaving them to pool around his ankles.

You swallow as you take in his size, hesitantly reaching out. With your thumb, you softly swipe over his already with precum glistenting tip, looking up at him through your lashes. Your hand wraps around his length before you give him a few soft strokes, earning a low groan of approval from the brunette.

His patience snaps when you trace along a prominent vein on the underside of his cock, forcefully tilting your head back as his fingers tangle in your hair, having you meet his gaze.

“Can’t take a little bit of teasing, Riddle? That desperate for me?” You say smugly, eyes never leaving his as your grip around him tightens, speeding up.

“Thought I’d go easy on you, but turns out you don’t want me to.” He hisses, guiding your head towards him. Your lips wrap around him then, tongue swirling over his sensitive tip before you take him as deep as you can, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes as he hits the back of your throat.

It’s not long before his grip on your hair tightens, stilling your movements before he thrusts himself inside of you, deeper than you had taken him. You obey, laying your tongue flat in your mouth as his length slips further, holding you there until you gag around him.

Focusing on breathing through your nose, you relax your muscles, making space for all of him, his eyes shutting in pleasure each time your throat constricts, squeezing him even tighter.

“Look at you,” he rasps, a ragged breath leaving his lips as his dark eyes now stare down at you again, watching his cock disappear in your mouth with every snap of his hips. “So eager to please me. Knew you were nothing but a pathetic slut behind that facade you try to put up. Smart— fuck— always trying to impress— but in reality, this is the only thing you are actually good at, hm?”

With his hands’ tight grip on your hair, holding you in place as he uses your mouth, you find yourself unable to give a proper response other than a muffled sound of agreement—something he doesn’t seem to be quite satisfied with.

You gasp, taking in a deep breath as Tom yanks your head back, pulling you off his length, now coated in your spit. A string of saliva connects his tip to your swollen, reddened lips, blinking away your tears.

“Answer me.”

“Fuck— yes, Riddle.”

He shakes his head slightly, tilting your head even further back so you are met with his strict gaze. “What’s my name?”

“Tom,” you whisper, “yes, Tom.”

“Good girl,” he purrs, his lips curling into a satisfied smirk. “Remember it.”

Only a second later he is back inside of your warm mouth, holding onto your hair as leverage as he buries himself to the hilt, groaning as he feels you struggle for air, your hands holding onto his thighs for support.

You shouldn’t like this, shouldn’t like how he is using you to get off, and yet, his soft gasps and groans as he gets closer to his release have you clenching your thighs together, desperately trying to ease the ache in your lower stomach.

“Hate to admit you were right. Can’t fucking get enough of you.” He grunts as you feel him twitch inside of you, spluttering around his cock as his thrusts grow harsher, tears running down your cheek as you try your best to take what he is giving you.

“Fuck— Show me—“ Tom breathes, hips stuttering, “show me whose good girl you are and swallow for me.” He barely gets the words out before he stills inside of you, the taste of his release flooding your senses as he empties himself inside of you—deep enough that swallowing is in fact the only option.

Still, he keeps your head pressed against his lower abdomen until he feels you swallow around him, only then pulling out of you.

Tom lets go of your hair then, and you sink against the cold brick wall behind you, utterly spent, jaw sore. You watch him getting dressed, mind still hazy when he walks towards you, looking like nothing happened—on the contrary to you.

“Look even prettier when you cry for me,” he remarks, taking in your state, wiping your tear-soaked cheeks with the back of his hand before he uses a spell to clean your chin and blouse.

And you let him do it, too tired and worn out to complain.

“I guess I have finally found a way to silence that bratty mouth of yours,” he mumbles when he is done, gently wiping a strand of hair from your face.

You look up at him then, hoarsely whispering a soft “Fuck you, Riddle.”

He offers you no other reply than his signature grin whenever he gets something he wants, his eyes fixated on you while he adjusts his robes.

“Tutoring for Potions every Thursday at 7 pm in the library. Don’t be late.” He says, exiting the classroom before you even get the chance to process his words.

You run out of curses to use for him by the time you reach your dorm, exhaustedly collapsing onto your bed. You tell yourself that no, you wouldn’t go because who does he think he is—yet it’s an offer you can’t decline.

So, every Thursday from then on, you find yourself studying for Potions under his guidance. It’s tough at first, but after just a few shared lessons, you realise he might not be that bad after all.

And soon enough, the next bet is made.

—

“If I outscore you tomorrow, I get to fuck you—properly.”

“You are delusional, Riddle.”

Naturally, you lose the bet.

The only difference: This time, you lose on purpose.

#🦢⋆⭒˚.⋆my works #loved this request icl #tom riddle #tom riddle smut #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle fanfic #tom riddle fanfiction #tom riddle fic #tom riddle x reader smut #tom riddle x you #tom marvolo riddle #slytherin boys #slytherin boys x reader #slytherin #harry potter #fanfiction #dividers by strangergraphics

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moonlight-alexia · 3 days ago

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Starfish and Caitlin comforting Katie after the lose to Slovenia on Facetime.

not really posting/writing atm but i couldn't not do this one <3 so pls enjoy i really hope you do

any and all feedback, comments, reblogs etc are very appreciated and welcome <3

gentle connection ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

‘Mammy!’ You exclaimed when you saw your mammy’s face through the screen of your mummy’s phone. You were on camp with your mummy and you tried to talk to your mammy whenever you got the chance. But mostly you were out like a light from running around with Harper and the other Australia girls all day.

‘Starfish, inside voice remember,’ Your mummy reminded you, you hadn’t had a big day like the last few so you were excited that you were able to talk to your mammy.

Caitlin had called Katie a bit earlier while Alanna and Kyra were distracting you so your mummy could comfort your mammy a little. They were both lucky, you understood emotions and what other people needed often but sometimes they still need those moments just the two of them.

‘Hi mammy,’ You whispered, giving a little wave to Katie who was on the other side of the phone.

‘Hi my little Starfish,’ Katie smiled softly, giving you a little wave back. Seeing you, even if it was through a screen, made Katie’s day a lot better. Your mammy, not that she would really admit it, had been missing you a bit more this camp. A lot for her to adjust to and if it wasn’t for Australia’s kit debut, you would’ve been there with her instead. Something that Caitlin now felt a little guilty about now after seeing how deflated Katie was.

You sat in your mummy’s lap, her arms wrapped around your waist while you happily talked your mammy’s ear off. It wasn’t often Katie was this quiet, but she was more than happy to listen to everything you’d been up to right now. The first time you’d been away from your mammy where you’d barely been able to talk to her, and listening to you talk, the familiarity helped your mammy.

‘I’m having lots of fun mammy, but I miss you and counting down the days til ‘m home with you,’ Your voice trailed off, you were observant, your mums knew that but they often forgot just how observant and in tune with others you were, that it might become a problem for you later on.

But now, you gave your mammy a small smile while she told you how much she misses you and can’t wait til you’re all home again, ‘Mummy,’ Your voice cut through the little silence that had floated between the three of you, you turned your head looking at Caitlin. Your mummy hummed a little in acknowledgment, ‘Can I talk to mammy, just me and mammy please,’

Caitlin smiled and placed you down in the middle of the bed, making sure you were all comfy against the pillows. There used to be times Caitlin would feel a tinge of insecurity if you’d want to just talk to your mammy. Perfectly normal, not feeling like she was integrating well into yours and Katie’s dynamic, but she was long over that and enjoyed seeing that bond you had with your mammy, ‘I’ll be right across with Kenzie if you need me,’

Your mummy placed a kiss against your forehead before leaving you and your mammy alone. You yawned a little, Katie almost jumping in to suggest you having a little sleep while she stayed on the phone with you, but your voice stopped her before she could say anything, ‘Mummy said you might be a bit sad, you’re more quiet,’

Katie gave you a small smile, they tried to be as open with their feelings with you in hopes that when you’d feel safe enough to talk to them about your feelings, ‘It’s been a hard day Starfish. A big loss but seeing you now makes it all better,’

Your little eyebrows furrowed while you were thinking, ‘Y’know mammy, mummy lost big too. Yous are the same!’ Katie smiled, a little laugh at the way your eyes lit up when you’d made the connection. Your mummy’s games hadn’t been going all that well either.

‘I guess we are, aren’t we,’ You were happy that you could get a little laugh from your mammy, your efforts to comfort her you believed to have succeeded. You tried to not think too much so you wouldn’t accidentally frown and worry your mammy, but you were starting to realise how hard it was when you were away from either of your mums when they were upset. Wishing they could be happy all the time and never sad.

‘Gonna give you a hug mammy,’ You held the phone against your chest. Katie smiled and, even though you couldn’t see, she held her phone against her chest. To anyone else it might seem strange but to Katie it was really comforting, even though the slight ache in her chest wishing that it was real.

‘I love you Starfish, you give the best hugs,’ Soon enough you’d be home and able to give your mammy a real hug.

#woso x reader #katie mccabe x reader #caitlin foord x reader #woso imagine #woso one shot #woso fanfics #woso community #katie mccabe imagine #katie mccabe #caitlin foord imagine #caitlin foord #auswnt #auswnt x reader #irewnt #ireland wnt

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sometimesanalice · 9 hours ago

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Morgannn!! 💖 oh I’m so, so happy you liked this! Fluffy, fun, and flirty vibes for days!

I’m so happy that it was something that made you smile! 🥰🥰

More for you!!

Oh, this was absolutely delightful and fun and exactly what I needed after this week! I broke into giggles and a smile more times than I could count! I love everything you write, but sometimes you pop off with the best little details and phrasings and it's such a joy to read your writing!—🥹🥹🥹

And while the sure to be terrible, no good, horribly bad idea hadn’t been yours, you weren’t entirely sure what you were thinking when you’d even agreed to it in the first place.

Quite literally the vibe for modern dating, and especially with how many men always forget Feb 14th is a holiday!!!!!— I just imagined her being like “are you sure??” like five times and this guy being like “it’s a Wednesday like yeah”. But truly, the amount of me not utilizing the notifications on their built in calendar is a CRIME. But especially on international hearts day!

And well, if your date didn’t appreciate it, then that was a him problem.

Men don't appreciate good fashion. That's why we dress for the group chat and ourselves!— the girlies(gn) just want to look and feel cute! But also, you know that group chat was popping off with the🔥 emoji, lol

But chances are if your date is here then he has already seen you. A bright beacon of pink amongst varying shades of brown and woodgrain.

This visual this gave me! A beacon of pink! Get her a drink!— goodness knows miss ma’am needs one! She was just trying to go with the flow and have fun! But I loved trying to find ways to highlight just how out of place she was there, not only like with how she felt but also the setting!

“You look like you’re in need of a date,” a warm, raspy voice offers.

STOP, THIS GOT ME!— I MEAN CAN YOU IMAGINEEEEE

An amused laugh escapes you. “Are we ranking mustaches now? Because if that’s the case, I’m sorry to say that I’d have to give it to Selleck.”

Snaps for Selleck mention.— the OG mustache man!

Oh.

AN ITALICIZED OH, SO YOU KNOW IT'S GOOD!!!— ITALICIZED OH SUPREMACY!! (Also I’m so endlessly tickled by the amount of support the italicized oh has gotten 😂 I know I posted about it specifically, but I love how much love we all have for those two little letters!)

You watch stunned as he saunters away, admiring the way the light wash jeans he’s wearing form to his long legs, before taking a moment to send a string of words punctuated with more than a few exclamation points to the group chat.

This was entirely too relatable. Those jeans are too slutty and the group chat must know! (nothing wrong with taking a lil pic either 🤫) — I was so obsessed with the idea of her being like “you guys won’t believe what happened” and her phone just blowing up the other night of her best babes wanting allll the tea! You know the brunch talk is going to be popping! (But the slutty beans and that cock walks are a lethal combo!!)

The two are pretty well matched in skill, you observe with keen eyes, as the balls skate across the Top Gun insignia, against the rails, and into pockets.

This whole pool scene was so fun! You captured Jake and Bradley's game with so much descriptive detail, it made me want to watch the movie again! Jake would absolutely get hustled, that man has too much ego to not get played.— ahhhh!! This is the best thing you could have said because Morgan I know nothing about pool lmaooooo 😂 I was reading as much as I could and snooping on r/billiards to figure out what was going on hahaha! All the while cursing myself for deciding her ace needed to be her sneaky pool shark skills. He would SO get played, he wouldn’t be able to help himself!

In that moment you are Midas touched, the blood thrumming through your veins feels like liquid gold.

This is quite literally one of my favourite ways a kiss has been described. So visual, yet you can feel it. It's going to be rolling through my brain for a bit, I love it!— stopppp!!!!!! 🥰🥰🥰🥰 there’s always so much pressure to try and get a first kiss right, so that makes me so happy that it landed well with you!! 🫶🏻

For the Plot

Summary: Things aren't looking too good for you, sitting alone at the Hard Deck waiting for a man who might not show. Until Bradley Bradshaw sits down across from you and turns your entire night upside down.

Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Reader

Length: 7.7k

Warnings: fluff, so much flirting, and an italicized oh

Going on a first date on Valentine’s Day is unarguably the worst possible idea that anyone has ever had.And while the sure to be terrible, no good, horribly bad idea hadn’t been yours, you weren’t entirely sure what you were thinking when you’d even agreed to it in the first place.

The guy you were planning to meet tonight was cute enough, even if you were still undecided about the mustache. And while the chats between the two of you had been pretty good as far as it goes getting to know a literal stranger, you were hopeful that it could be even better in person. The fact he was in the Navy was still a bit of a consideration for you, but not a deal breaker.

In retrospect, the name of the bar should have been your first clue and the location paired with the causal beachy exterior covered in planes should have been the second.

You had been expecting to see more than one girl all done up in pinks and reds tonight, but you couldn’t have been more wrong. And you swear to god, somewhere you hear a record scratch as you step into the Hard Deck, because you are surrounded by nothing but a sea of olive green and khaki and denim.

And you have never been so clearly out of place in your entire life.

There was nothing about your ensemble that was even remotely fitting for the literal Navy bar you’d found yourself in.

The ice pink mini slip dress you’d dug out of your closet was admittedly a little much for a first date, but since it was Valentine’s Day you figured why not lean into it a bit. And well, if your date didn’t appreciate it, then that was a him problem.

Or so you’d thought at the time, because now it was a decidedly you problem.

The silhouette was simple enough, with the gentle drape of the cowl neck and the barely-there spaghetti straps, but the shiny sheen of the fabric made a statement of its own. It wasn’t something you got to wear very often for as much as you loved it.

But then you’d gone ahead and paired it with the tallest, most ostentation heels you had. The effort had been worth it though because the pearl encrusted block heels made your legs look like they went on for days. Even if it had been a feat trying to get the dainty buckle done with the way you’d been rushing out of the house with your beaded bag in tow.

The whole look was something you’d sure would come with Cher Horowitz’s seal of approval. However, the patrons of the Hard Deck you were less sure about. And even though there were civilians- like yourself- scattered about the bar, none were anywhere near as dressed up as you.

There are more than a few pairs of eyes on you as you stand there with your feet glued to the uneven wooden floors, as the door with its porthole-shaped window slowly closes behind you with a squeaky creak. The twinkle lights above your head felt more like a spotlight, illuminating how out of place you are in this moment.

Your hand is still clutched on the handle unsure whether you’re going to make a run for it or not. You are more than a little tempted to hightail it back to the parking lot and text your date to claim a bout of food poisoning from the safety of the driver’s seat in your car.

But chances are if your date is here then he has already seen you. A bright beacon of pink amongst varying shades of brown and woodgrain.

“Oh my god,” you mutter under your breath, trying not to panic. Officially a victim of your own bad decision making.

You take a quick scan of the room, trying to decide what your next move should be. There’s a woman behind the bar with kind but clearly inquisitive eyes. A blonde with a wolfish smile eyes you from where he stands next to a man with broad shoulders bent over what must be the pool table, hidden behind the paneled half wall. By a dart board, there are a couple men with their heads turned towards you, the game seemingly forgotten as they discuss the spectacle that is you.

There are hundreds of planes dangling over the bar, patches and plaques littering the walls and rafters, rounders suspended from the ceiling laden with too many ceramic mugs to count. It was all done with a heavy-handed, maximalistic approach that you’d take a moment to appreciate under any other given circumstances.

When you spot an open table tucked away in the corner of the room it feels like life raft to the iceberg of a situation you’ve put yourself in. Mindful of the scuffed, uneven floors- because the last thing you need is to eat shit or twist an ankle in front of room full of curious onlookers- you hustle over to the spot in hopes of having a moment to regroup.

Once you’re situated- shrugging off the ivory cardigan you’d topped your outfit, trying to keep the nervous sweat that wanted to break out over your body at bay- you pull out your phone and check the time only to realize you’re devastatingly on time. Five minutes early, to be specific.

So you wait.

And check your phone again and the notifications in the dating app, just in case you missed something.

And wait.

You try to play it cool, skimming posts on Instagram and replying to some overdue texts. Finding anything you can to keep yourself occupied to ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach the longer you sit there. Alone.

Now you’re not just simply embarrassed, you’re mortified.

You can still feel the eyes, the energy steadily shifting from curiosity to sympathy over the last thirty minutes you’ve been waiting all alone in the corner of a Navy bar you had no business being in for a man who clearly wasn’t going to show.

So much for doing it for the plot, you think to yourself with a shake of your head.

Another minute ticks by with no message and you decide you’re more than ready to hightail it out of there. Fully aware that you’re about to become a topic of conversation that won’t have to be restricted to only covert glances and muffled whispers. But hopefully, they’ll at least wait until the door closes behind you before the chatter starts up for real.

With a sigh, you reach for your beaded bag, just as a large body slips into the chair across from you, with an ease that is in contrast to the bulk of muscles you catch in your peripheral vision.

“You look like you’re in need of a date,” a warm, raspy voice offers.

It’s the smile that you catch first. Not quite a grin, but something familiar and friendly and charming in the way it crookedly pulled to the left. Followed closely by the rich chocolate brown eyes that were squarely trained on you with a look that was just as earnest as it was playful. But what surprised you the most was the way he was sitting in the stool across from you just as comfortably as if he was supposed to be there all along.

There was no way you could have prepared yourself for the sheer level of attractiveness of this man.

He was in a league of his own with those curls and wide shoulders. The white and olive green stripped crochet shirt he was wearing didn’t hurt either, especially the way the top buttons were undone giving you glimpse of a chain around his neck and the chest underneath it. He didn’t need to be in uniform- or even in a Navy bar- for you to tell he was a military man. Not with the confident way he held himself.

Even if the mustache he was sporting made it feel like the universe was playing tricks on you, but he more than wore it well.

You huff out a self-deprecating laugh. “What gave it away?” you ask. “The way I’ve been watching the door? Or just the general look of regret and embarrassment?”

“Embarrassed? What do you have to be embarrassed about?” His eyebrows pull together, perplexed. He shakes his head like he disagrees with even the suggestion of it. “I think the only person who should be embarrassed is the guy who is missing out on sitting across from you right now.”

You give him a soft smile of your own in return for the cinnamon sweet words. There’s a genuineness in his tone that makes some of the tightness that had settled in your shoulders from the moment you’d walked in release.

“That’s kind of you, but I think I’m going to head out,” you say, nodding to the door you never should have stepped through in the first place.

He gives you a teasing tsk. “And let a dress like that go to waste? Now that would be a shame.”

The appreciative look in his gaze that sets off a swarm of butterflies in your stomach. And then his eyebrow ticks up, just a little. Part invitation, part dare. And you can’t say you’re not intrigued.

There’s a decision to make.

You could leave now and cut your losses. There was a reason you had a back-up pizza in the fridge and had left you well-loved copy of You’ve Got Mail sitting out on your coffee table.

Or you could stick around and see what happens next.

You tilt your head at him, just as teasing. “Would it now?”

“It would,” he states, sincerely.

Before you can reply, your phone lights up with a new notification, pulling you out of the whisky haze you’d found yourself in.

His eyes dip down to your illuminated screen. “Is that him?”

“It is,” you confirm, almost regretfully. You open the app and skim the message. And then read it again.

There’s no sorry, no apology for cancelling a half an hour after the time for the date that had been his idea in the first place. And then he’d even had the audacity to tack on a cavalier maybe another time at the end.

Unbelievable.

He lets out a low whistle. “That bad, huh?”

“Apparently, I should have been the one to remind him that the fourteenth of February is a calendar holiday and a fan favorite day of the greeting card companies.” It’s so ridiculous you’d laugh if you weren’t so annoyed by the lack of consideration and the not-so-subtle blame he’d tried to shift on you. “Even though I did double check if he was sure about meeting up today, I guess I didn’t realize I actually needed to spell out ‘Valentine’s Day’ for him.”

The man across from you doesn’t bother holding back the less than impressed look on his face. And you decide you like that about him, that he wears his thoughts so openly. It’s refreshing.

“Do you mind if I take a look at his profile?”

You shrug and pass your phone over. You were planning on blocking West the second you had a moment anyways. You see him roll his eyes and guess it has something to do with the amount of shirtless gym selfies.

He snorts as he scrolls, “Please, his mustache has nothing on mine.”

An amused laugh escapes you. “Are we ranking mustaches now? Because if that’s the case, I’m sorry to say that I’d have to give it to Selleck.”

“Fair enough,” he concedes good-naturedly, as he hands you back your phone. “But am I at least a close second?” There’s no mistaking the flirtatious tone in his voice.

You hum and take full advantage of the opportunity to look at him unabashedly, mapping the contours of his face because you can.

To simply call him handsome would be an understatement.

The way the golden light of the sunset is hitting him you catch some sunkissed strands in those soft looking waves of his hair. There’s the beginning of some crinkles around the edges of his eyes. You notice the scars on his face, some that look long healed and others that are still a light pink- like the one on the side of his neck and beneath is ear. And that mustache on him worked for you, one hundred percent.

There’s a playful glint in his eyes as he lets you assess him that leaves no question as to whether or not he’s been flirting with you. You like the way he’s looking at you and the way he’s easily made you forget about being overdressed and how uncomfortable you were even just five minutes ago. You’re having fun. And while you still haven’t answered his question from earlier, you have no doubt that he’d show you a good time if you let him.

“Maybe not a close second, but yours is certainly up there,” you tease.

He grins. “I can work with that.” There’s something about the way he adds on for now that has a spark dancing up along your spine. And then he sticks out his hand, “I’m Bradley.”

It’s a good name. It suits him. It’s one you think you’ll enjoy the way your tongue will curl around the letters of it in your mouth.

When you give him yours in return, he sits up straighter in his seat, like he’s won a small victory.

You don’t doubt that he’s the chivalrous type, the fact that he’s gone out of his way to come over to try and turn this evening around for you says more about him than any dating profile with nonsense questions and overthought answers ever could. But with a man like him, one who’d swoop in to save the night of a stranger because she looks like a damsel in distress, there’s an answer to a question you need to hear first.

“Bradley, this isn’t a pity thing, is it?” You were right, you like the way saying his name feels. You drop your hands into your lap, as you search his eyes. “Because if it is, that’ll make me feel worse than being stood up did.”

The way the words were sitting out and open on the table between the two of you made you feel vulnerable in a way you didn’t like. But you’d rather know now before anything goes further. Doing it for the plot or not, your ego could only take so much bruising in one evening.

He pins you with a look so serious that you feel it down to your toes. “Trust me, this is furthest thing from a ‘pity thing’, as you put it,” Bradley says, his tone slipping down a few gravelly notes. “Because if I’m being honest, if that asshole had actually shown up, I don’t know if I would have played fair.”

Oh.

A thrilling rush of warmth courses through you as your cheeks heat up.

You nod, trying to not look as affected as you feel. “Ok, I believe you.”

“Good,” he smirks, his gaze dropping down and lingering on your lips. You didn’t realize you’d trapped your lower lip between your teeth, you release it immediately. “Because you should know, I would have come over sooner- the second I saw you, actually- if I’d known. That’s some dress, sweetheart,” Bradley continues, “Plus, you’d be doing me a favor.”

You couldn’t help but be curious, so you lean in closer. “Oh, how so?”

Bradley mirrors you, crossing his thick forearms over each other and leans in that much closer. “I haven’t had a Valentine in years,” he says it like he’s letting you in on a secret.

For the first time all night, you don’t regret wearing the dress. You don’t regret the ostentatious shoes or the glimmering beaded bag. You don’t regret walking through that creaky door. You don’t regret showing up tonight.

How could you when you’ve just been served the best plot twist you’ve possibly ever experienced? A meetcute you never could have seen coming.

You realize just how close your faces have gotten and lean back in your seat, from fear of thinking you might do something stupid, like kiss him. “Will you stop with the big cow eyes, if I agree?”

Those crinkles around his eyes deepen, “Good to know they still work, I wasn’t sure if I still had it.”

You press your lips together trying to hide your smile, all too thoroughly charmed, but the corners of your mouth curl up all the same.

“Trust me, you have plenty.”

And Bradley’s own smile gets even wider.

Anyone in the bar can see how pleased with himself he is at your words. It rolls off of him in steady waves and swirls around your shins and ankles.

He makes a show of settling further into his seat, now that it is officially his seat. “What’re we thinking? One milkshake, two straws?”

You play along and pretend to ponder the offer for a moment. “That seems more like a second date type of activity, does it not?”

“You’re right, something to look forward to for next time,” he responds, not missing a beat. “So, can I buy you a drink?”

“I’ll allow it.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

There wasn’t a menu or anything on the table when you sat down, so you aren’t sure what all is offered here. You thought you might have caught a glimpse of a laminated stack near register when you’d first walked in, but you hadn’t wanted to draw any more attention to yourself at the time by getting up again and wandering around and reminding people just how out of place you’d been.

You look around and see a mix of ceramic steins, pint glasses, beer bottles, and a few stems of wine on tabletops and in the hands of the other patrons.

The noise of the bar had become a faint white noise in your ears as the two of you talked, but it comes back in full force now.

“If they have rosé, I’d take a glass of that.” It isn’t hard to miss the hesitation in your voice, feeling a little silly defaulting to your usual go-to. You don’t imagine they go through a ton of pink wine here. “But, uhm, anything on tap would be fine too, if they don’t.”

Bradley’s lips twitch up. Not in a smirk, but something caught between amused and something else you can’t quite describe.

You try not to fidget under his warm gaze, “What?”

He slides out of his stool and rounds the table, setting a big hand on the armrest near your elbow, “There’s something you should know about me, sweetheart.”

“And what’s that?” you ask, more than a little breathlessly. Feeling a little high off of the smell of his leather and vanilla cologne, and something underneath that that reminds you of kerosene in a way that makes you want to breathe him in even more.

Bradley dips down close, his lips just a whisper from your ear, and murmurs, “Pink is my favorite color.”

Your head tips back on its own as you laugh. Its unabashedly loud and bright and delighted thing that fills the nooks and crannies of the corner you’d tucked yourself away into. And if a few heads turn your way because of it, that’s alright with you.

You don’t believe him, not one little bit. But that’s part of the fun. The back and forth, the flirting, the banter, the teasing. He’s so quickly turned this night around for you, you already know your cheeks are going to hurt by the end of it.

The sound of Bradley’s own laughter chases after yours. It’s warm and raspy and boyish, and you like the sound of it. You like him.

“One rosé, coming up,” he says, giving your shoulder a light squeeze before he steps out of your space. “There’s nothing I like more than a girl who commits to a theme.”

You catch his wrist, his skin warm under your palm. “Wait, what’s it really?”

“Red,” Bradley says, then gives you a slow once over, making your pulse spark in your veins. “But you’ve got me second guessing myself now.” He gives you a wink and then heads towards the bar.

When he comes back, only a few minutes later, he has glass of familiar pink wine in one hand and a bottle of beer in the other. And oddly enough, a straw tucked into the pocket on his shirt.

“It’s almost a perfect match,” he notes, when he sets it in front of you.

“At least I won’t have to worry about staining if I end up spilling on myself.”

Bradley chuckles and moves his stool in closer to yours, sitting back down with more smooth grace than a man with his build has any right to move. He tips the neck of his beer towards you, and you lightly tap your wine glass against it.

You take a sweet sip. “So.”

“So,” he repeats, with a teasing lift of his eyebrow.

“What’s your move?” you ask, running a glossy tipped finger around the rim of your wineglass.

“My move?” And there’s that grin again, one he doesn’t try to hide as he takes a sip of his own. “‘m pretty sure I’ve been showing you my moves since I sat down. I’ve never been good at being subtle.”

Bradley pulls the straw from his pocket and taps it a few times against the shellacked woodgrain table top. He takes the flimsy wrapper carefully starts twisting it, a little furrow of concentration forms between his brows, spiraling it until it’s pulled taut against itself.

You set an elbow on the edge, resting your chin on your hand as you study him. “But what’s the big move? I know you have one,” you press further.

His hands are big, calloused and rough, but capable. You want to know the story behind the scar that’s near the base of his thumb. You note that he wears his watch on the right instead of the left, and you pocket that new discovery for yourself the way a kid enthusiastically collects rocks in a park.

Bradley takes that piece of paper and folds it in half before twisting it again.

You watch in fascination as that pleased grin transforms into a confident smirk, like he’s enjoying even just the thought of showing you his big move. He looks like good trouble.

Bradley’s eyes slowly lift to yours, his hands pausing whatever he’s doing with that wrapper. He shoots a thumb to the left towards the end of the oval shaped bar. “You see that piano over there?”

“Mhm.” It’s an almost purr.

“That’s my big move.”

You feel your eyebrows lift in surprise. Bradley gave off such hometown golden boy vibes, you’d never have expected that he’d be the musical type too. The idea of seeing those hands fly over a set of black and white piano keys made your stomach tighten deliciously in anticipation.

“Am I going to get to see it?”

His gaze is steady on you when he replies, “Yeah, sweetheart, I’ll show you my move.”

A grin stretches across your face and you feel downright giddy, as you wiggle your shoulders in triumph.

Bradley shakes his head amused, and then refocuses his efforts on the task he’d started with the straw wrapper. He struggles only for a moment- those large fingers getting in the way- as he tries to open the end just enough to slip the tail though. He gives it one more final twist, securing the loop, before inspecting his handiwork.

“Now, since we’re valentines and all, it seemed only fitting that I get you- well, make you- a little something.” Bradley gives you a soft, boyish smile as he holds out his palm towards you, and in the center of it is a perfectly crafted paper ring. “Sorry, I couldn’t find you a Ring Pop on short notice.”

The words escape you for a moment at the sheer sweetness of the gesture.

Gently, you take it from his outstretched hand, and slip it onto the pointer finger of your right hand, adjusting it with care until you have it situated just right.

“I usually wouldn’t be able to accept something so grand on a first date. But for you, I’ll make an exception,” you say, liltingly. “Thank you, Bradley.”

You look down to appreciate it again, more than a little tempted to take it off and tuck it securely into your purse for safekeeping. For as much as you liked your dress and bag and your shoes, that little paper ring was now your favorite piece of the outfit you were wearing.

When you glance back up at him, his cheeks have the faintest pink hue to them. The little nonchalant shrug he tries to give you does nothing to hide how pleased he looks. “I make a mean daisy chain too. We might have to wait a couple months for Spring, but I’m good for it.”

Your mind flashes with an image of you and him in a park with a picnic basket sat between the two of you, and those large hands of his threading celery green stems together. It’s a pretty picture.

“Well, aren’t you just a regular modern day Renaissance man.”

“I’m a man of many talents,” he rasps, silky smooth. It makes goosebumps raise along your arms. “Now, I’ve told you mine. Can’t say I’m not dying to know what your big move is. Am I going to get to see it, sweetheart?”

“Maybe,” you muse, lifting your glass to take another sip, “If you’re good.��

Bradley hooks a foot under you stool and tugs you just a few inches closer. “Just out of curiosity, what’s your position on kissing on a first date?”

You bend forward towards him and think you hear his breath hitch, you smile. “I’ll keep you posted.”

You’re still looking at his lips when a shout from across the bar startles you both.

“Bradshaw!”

Bradley mutters a string of curses and then blows out a breath, giving you a smoldering look that tells you that the conversation is far from over. You’re more than willing to let him try and change your mind about where he lands in the mustache rankings.

You look over your shoulder to see the with the sharp smile from earlier waving your date over to the pool table. “I take it you know, Malibu Ken?”

“Unfortunately.” A mischievous look coasts over his face. “But I’ll get you all the Ring Pops you could ever want if you say that to his face.”

You laugh. “I’m holding out for that daisy chain.”

Another holler rings out from across the room, the same Southern drawl as before.

“Seems like he wants your attention. Is he a Leo?”

He snorts. “You know what, he just might be. But more like he’s been waiting for the right moment to annoy me since I ditched him to come talk to a pretty girl instead.”

You try not to preen at the compliment.

“The relentless type, huh?”

“You don’t know the half of it. I think I’m about thirty seconds from him queuing up “You Make Me Feel So Young” on repeat just to fuck with me,” Bradley explains. There’s a story there and you want to know more. “I know I still owe you the big move, but is it alright if I try to show off a little for you now? Just to get off my back for the rest of the night, then I’m all yours.”

You feel like you’ve just pulled an ace from your pocket.

“What are the stakes?” you ask, intrigued.

“Two hundred dollars and a whiskey,” Bradley replies.

You let out a low whistle, trying to school the catlike grin that wants to overtake your face. “That’s a lot of Ring Pops.”

The corners of his mouth curl up. “I was thinking dinner for our third date,” he says. “I’m buying for our second, of course. But it’s only right that we split the spoils of war.”

The sound of a brass band rings out over the staticky speakers and Bradley hangs his head down and lets out a long-suffering groan. You playfully pat his shoulder in faux commiseration.

You pretend to consider it for a moment, but you already know your answer. “Okay,” you agree, “Just as long as you’re okay with a little respectful ogling. You like my dress, and I like those jeans you’re wearing.”

He laughs, it’s a throaty rich sound. “I’d be offended if you didn’t.”

You gather for you purse and sweater as Bradley stands. His hands come to your waist, helping you off the chair, your bodies closer than close. It’s a forward move- he knows it, you know it- but with him, you don’t mind at all.

Bradley offers you his hand and you take it in yours; his fingers slip between yours easily like the two of you have already done this before.

The two of you only make it a few steps before you tug on his hand, waiting until he looks at you from over his shoulder before asking, with a lifted brow, “Bradley Bradshaw?”

He huffs out a not-so-exasperated sigh, “I blame it on the 80’s.”

“Whatever you say, Brad-Brad.” It’s the one and only time you’re ever going to say it, you decide. You like saying his name too much to shorten it. And his back may be turned to you now, but that now familiar chuckle still makes its way to your ears.

Bradley leads you to the bar first, where he buys another glass of rosé and a beer for himself. When you try to pass your credit card to the woman behind the counter, he takes it, and rasps into your ear, “Let me.”

He tucks it right back into your purse as the sound of brass instruments starts up yet again.

“Like a dog with a goddamn bone,” you hear him mumble. And you press your lips together to keep from laughing. Sure, you’d rather be seeing his big move, but you can’t claim not to be amused by all of this.

He nods to a group of people in the corner near the popcorn machine when the two of you enter the alcove with pool table. Some of his other friends of his you assume.

You send them a little wave, one that they return in greeting. You can tell they’re curious, but you’re grateful when they resume their conversation instead of making you feel like your date with Bradley had become a spectator sport for their viewing entertainment.

The first thing Bradley does is introduce you to his friend. It’s a little thing, but he does it without prompt or awkwardly leaving you to take the initiative yourself. You appreciate the way he is still prioritizing your comfort the way he’s been doing it since he first sat down across from you.

The second thing he does is pull out a chair for you. Not with a fanfare, not with a flourish. But like it’s something that’s innately ingrained in him. You get the sense that the gentleman thing isn’t an act with him, it’s who he is.

Jake rests a hip against the table. “Sorry to interrupt your date, but Bradshaw and I had some unfinished business.”

You wave him off, it’s not a big deal. Not when you’ll have the rest of the night with Bradley. Plus, you’re eager to watch this play out between them, curious about their gameplay.

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s get this over with,” Bradley rumbles, as he arranges the balls in the rack. And you wonder if he lost the lag before he’d made his way over to your table for one.

He comes back over to you, and leans on the ledge next to you as he chalks his cue. You’d thought about slipping your sweater back on, with the outside chill pressing against the line of glass windows at your back, but Bradley had more than enough warmth radiating off of him that you didn’t need to.

“You that eager to be out a couple hundred, Bradshaw?” Jake grins, as he leans over the side of the table. He turns his gaze to you and sends you a wink right before he breaks, sending the cue ball barreling into the others with a resounding clack, scattering them across the table.

And then they’re off.

It’s a rapid fire of back-and-forth banter between the men as they take their shots. Mostly good natured, but undeniably competitive. Smirking when they land their shots, and snarking over fouls. Clear that neither of them wants to lose.

Jake is all confident posturing, playing low over the cue with a lightly too tight grip. It’s the only thing that gives him away that he’s not the easygoing player as he wants people to think he is. Choosing higher risk shots that would highlight his ability versus some of the more straightforward options laid out for him, and skilled enough that it pays off most of the time. But after a couple rounds you note he’s too quick to stand up after taking his shot, not enough follow through because he’s too eager to see if his gamble pays off.

Bradley is all loose-limbed ease, clearly comfortable in both his skin and at the table. You can tell he’s probably playing quicker than he normally does, clearly trying to hurry up the game for your sake, even though he doesn’t need to. Although he does take his time as he positions himself around the table, only adjusting his bridge every now and then. Always with a 1-2 shot, a warm-up stroke followed by a steady hit. Watching him you catch his tendency to throw out his elbow of the follow through.

The two are pretty well matched in skill, you observe with keen eyes, as the balls skate across the Top Gun insignia, against the rails, and into pockets.

When Bradley’s not up to play, he’s by your side, right at your elbow. And when he is, it’s your eyes he’s looking into the moment he stands back up, seeking out your reaction. But more than once you feel his eyes on you as you watch them play.

True to your word, you to admire him in those snug fitting jeans. And when he catches your appreciative gaze, he sends you a wink before lining up his next shot.

Jake sinks another solid into the pocket he’d called only moments ago, and turns his dimpled smile at you, “You still sure about your date with the old man, chickadee? I bet I could show him up in that department too.”

The way he says it, you know he’s just teasing, probably just to rile you date up and get a reaction from him.

“Unfortunately for you, I think I have a thing for mustaches now,” you toss back, unbothered. And Bradley smiles into his drink.

You watch as Jake lines up his next shot and hits the white with a compact stroke.

“Double hit,” you declare.

“Dammit,” Jake curses.

You look over to see Bradley looking at you with a focused look on his face. Like there’s a theory clicking into place, one he needs the answer to. Wordlessly, he hands you the cue.

“You sure?” you ask.

“Two hundred dollars sure,” he states.

You take it from him with a sly grin.

Bradley’s thighs brush against the front of your knees, you know if you parted them even a couple inches, that he’d fit just right between them. His hands landing on your waist again as he assists you off the stool you’ve been perched on. And you’re starting to think he just likes an excuse to touch you, not that he needs one because you already more than like the feel of his hands on your body.

You walk the pool table, running a finger around the rails as you do. Evaluating the balls on the table like they’re chess pieces. The slow clip of your heels on the floor like the tick of a clock as you take your time deciding your approach.

“You’re the stripes,” Jake offers helpfully. “Don’t worry, I’ll even let you have a free shot.”

And you can’t help but laugh because this is going to be fun.

“Bradley?” you ask, leisurely chalking your cue.

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“Do you mind?” You gesture to the spot behind you, and he catches on quick with a not-so-subtle glance at the short hem of your skirt.

He sets his beer down and comes to stand behind you, there’s just enough space between the two of you that you don’t have to worry about hitting him with the cue, his broad from proving you the coverage you needed to bend over the table. While you don’t think you’d mind Bradley seeing the silk thong you had on underneath your dress, you weren’t exactly up for flashing the whole bar.

You haven’t played in a while, but it’s a muscle memory at this point, as you map out your moves. Seeing the lines and angles and arcs in your mind’s eye before anchoring your bridge.

You look at Bradley from over your shoulder, only to see his eyes are trained on the ceiling with his tongue pressed against his cheek. A gentleman, albeit not an unaffected one. A tendril of smokey gratification curls its way along your spine. You turn your head back to the pool table looking between the cue, target, cue ball, target.

It’s a smooth stroke with a satisfying crack. A clean three-rail shot that lands the striped five into the pock you’d intended for it.

“Damn” is all Jake says. His eyes you up, clearly impressed.

“You sure about that free shot, Jake?” You stand up and smooth out your dress, just for the show of it. “Or do you want to make it double or nothing instead, Malibu Ken?” You hear Bradley snort from behind you.

And just like you thought, he wasn’t one to back down from a challenge, “Deal.” Jake turns to Bradley. “I just let your girl hustle me, didn’t I?”

“You sure did,” Bradley says with a grin, but his eyes are on you.

Neither are surprised when you sink your next shot too. The six sailing into the left corner pocket.

On your next shot, you may or may not deliberately foul. A tactical choice that sets Jake up with a less than ideal position on the table, knowing it’ll be a difficult shot for him to make.

“Now you’re just toying with me, aren’t you?” Jake grouses.

You just smile and take a sip of the rosé that Bradley hands you, neither confirming or denying.

Surprisingly, he banks it. But his good luck only lasting through that one play. Because on his next, the ball glances off the side rail at too acute an angle to reach the intended pocket and he groans.

Not quite ready to be done, you ease off a little. Enough that they both know you’re going easy on him to extend the game longer, just so that he can catch up to you.

But soon enough, soon there’s only your eight ball left on the table.

“Looks like you’re about to be out four hundred dollars, Jake,” you say with a self-satisfied smirk.

“Just put me out of my misery already.”

You turn to Bradley, who has been carefully positioning himself behind you the whole time. You hold out the cue to him and ask, “Do you want the honors?”

He shakes his head. “Go on, finish him off, sweetheart. I’m enjoying the show.”

And when your final ball tips into the side pocket, Jakes resounding groan is drown out by the whistle Bradley lets loose between his thumb and pointer finger, as you turn towards him beaming.

“The atm’s by the restroom.” Bradley sounds only too happy to remind Jake as he closes the gap between the two of you.

You look over his wide shoulder, “As for the whiskey, something expensive please, Malibu Ken.”

Jake huffs a grumble but nods all the same as he goes to round up your winnings.

“Scored four hundred dollars and a valentine, that’s not too shabby, if I do say so myself,” you preen to Bradley.

“Think that might have been the best thing I’ve seen all year,” Bradley announces. “The hottest too, if I’m being honest.” You feel your cheeks heat under his gaze. His finger slips under the thin strap of your dress that had fallen off your shoulder somewhere along the way. He slides it back up and into place, treating it like some delicate thing the same way he did that paper wrapper. “Where’d you learn to play like that?”

Normally, this is when you’d rerack, but you’ve never had a Bradley Bradshaw looking at you before.

“I took a class in college over the summer as an elective credit, and it turns out I had a knack for it,” you explain with a playful little shrug.

“I’ll say.” He takes another step closer. “Did you just show me your move, sweetheart?”

“One of them,” you grin.

You don’t have to press up to his height, not with your pearly heels.

You wrap your arms around his neck and bring his lips to yours for a kiss. A sound of surprise escapes from his throat. You feel the curve of a smile before his hands slide around your waist to pull you closer.

The scrape of his mustache against your upper lip sends electricity racing along every nerve ending in your body. In that moment you are Midas touched, the blood thrumming through your veins feels like liquid gold. It’s unhurried, like he’s been waiting to savor the feel of your mouth against his. Exciting and new as you learn the taste and touch of him. You knew it was going to be good, but even so, it’s better than you could have expected.

“Think you just snagged that number one spot of my list of favorite mustached men,” you say against his lips.

“Suck it, Selleck,” he rasps.

You inhale the amusement of his light chuckle, letting it go to your head like champagne bubbles, before he slips a hand around the base of your neck and pulling you in close once again.

A couple hours later, you find yourself at home on the couch. Your cheeks a little sore from how much smiling you’d done tonight, as Tom and Meg trade words over a plate of caviar on screen.

It was only much later that night you’d gotten to see Bradley’s big move.

He’d surprised you with his voice and the talented way his fingers glided over the white and black keys. An expensive glass of amber colored liquor sitting atop the old piano as he played, and four hundred dollars tucked safely away in your purse.

You’d given him your number when he’d walked you to your car, only distracting you for a few extra minutes with his mouth, before you’d left for the night, hoping that you’d hear from him soon.

A notification lights up your phone, and a ribbon of thrill unspools through you.

You sigh when you see that it’s a notification from your dating app. You’re wary to open it, not wanting anything to color your night, but you figure now is as good of time as any to block the guy who had nothing on the one you’d spent your evening with.

When you see the name of the person who’d sent you a message, you click into his profile with lightning-fast fingers, skimming all the details to things you hadn’t had a chance to learn yet.

𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰

𝐀𝐠𝐞: 𝟑𝟓

𝐉𝐨𝐛 𝐓𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞: 𝐏𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐭

𝐒𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐥: 𝐔𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐕𝐢𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐚

𝐏𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬: 𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥

𝐙𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐜 𝐒𝐢𝐠𝐧: 𝐂𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫

There is a picture of him in uniform, grinning to someone out of the frame. And another one of him shirtless on the beach, surrounded by some of the faces you’d seen tonight at the Hard Deck.

But it’s the answers to the prompts that he’d picked, that set your heart fluttering.

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐟 𝐈 𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭: 𝐈 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐩𝐩 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲. (𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐰 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐡𝐞𝐫.)

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐬: 𝐈 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬, 𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬.

𝐈 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭: 𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐩𝐨𝐨𝐥 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐬.

That one makes you laugh.

You open the message from him, one that had been sent with a rose.

𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰: 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐈 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐨𝐧 𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞? 𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨, 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐬𝐨𝐨𝐧? 𝐈 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐈 𝐨𝐰𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐨𝐩.

You don’t even have to think.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐤𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝?

And you can’t help but grin to yourself as look at that paper ring still on your finger. Because you know, this app won’t be on your phone for much longer.

Not now that you’ve met him.

Happy Hearts Day, friends! Thank you for reading!

And a big thank you to Jordan ( @gretagerwigsmuse) for all the support and encouragement and general woogirling over Bradley Bradshaw!

You can read my other stories here!

Taglist:

@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken @callsignspark @notroosterbradshaw @tongue-like-a-razor @laracrofted @ofstoriesandstardust @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @startrekfangirl2233 @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @angelbabyange @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @imaginecrushes @keyrani @chicomonks @artemissunn @mayempress @eddiemunsonreader

#thank you for reading and reblogging!#I’m just so happy you liked it!! 🫶🏻#the babe with the big move

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natsredbra · 3 days ago

Text

Velvet & vice

summary: You meet a girl at work. A bit more unconventional than most expect.

warnings: stripper!reader, customer!L, smut at the end, strip clubs obv, strap referred to as cock, alcohol (very benign)

a/n: big things are coming…..i actually loved this idea sm and i wasn’t sure if the person that sent it wanted a whole ass fic but i couldn’t resist the temptation guys. i hope you enjoy this cause there will definitely be a pt2

word count: 3-3.3k

The night was hazy as usual, a steaming dressing room in the backstage with a bunch of dancers getting ready. You yourself stared into a mirror as you applied glitter to your eyelid, a thousand thoughts running through your head. You were fairly new to all this, at least comparing to some of the other girls which sometimes proved to be catty and mean - not all of them though, not even most of them either. And for all it’s worth, you did make a friend! Jackie, was her name. Like you, she was looking for a job as a broke collage student, and she’d been in the game for a bit longer, kind of like your guiding light.

“You okay?” She asked, putting on some hairspray as she realized you were focusing on the mirror for a minute too long. “Did you eat?”

“No no, yeah, I did, I just kind of spaced out…just y’know - when your head does that weird thing and you just think a lot.” You said, tearing your eyes away from the mirror to look at her. She was zipping her light blue skimpy dress over the langerie she wore. Just as the rest of you, she looked gorgeous.

“Yeah babe, it’s called overthinking.” She said in a soothing, slightly sarcastic tone. “C’mon, you’re up next”

Oh shit.

You took one last glance at the mirror, making sure everything was up to par before emerging onto the stage, seeing the crowd awaiting you. It always gave you a rush, to feel so desired to be seen.

Clicking your platforms, you approached the pole, spinning around it while everyone cheered, some of the regulars you recognized chanting your name.

Halfway through the song - The Morning by The Weeknd, amongst the sweaty men you caught sight of a few girls, the tall brunette in the middle shyly eyeing you. It must’ve been her first time, you thought, she placed a few bills on the stage, 20s you presumed.

The little wink you gave her once you finished off sure was noticed, making her breath hitch. Sue you, okay? You barely get any girls here, especially ones this pretty.

The DJ collected all your tips as you got off the stage, passing Jackie who was next. It was now your turn to scower the area and get that money. You deserved it after all, dealing with the Wall Street drunk - type of men all day.

Shooting seductive smiles and making eye contact went a long way, especially when they slipped you extra just for letting a quick touch linger. You may have been relatively new, but you knew how to play them better then most. You knew how to make them feel like you gave them everything, not realizing that they left with nothing.

Waiting for anyone else to apporach again would be fruitless, and honestly by the looks of it unwelcome too. So you decided to have some overdue fun and went over to the booth where the brunette sat, greeting her friends as well.

Sure, they looked like they had money to spend with that Dom Perignon on ice resting on their table, but you were interested in something else, though you would never admit it.

As usual you made a show of your beautiful self, swaying your hips slowly as you made your way over. It was what you did best. The party lights worked in your favor, making you seem like you walked right out of a movie. Or heaven. Finally, you approached the group which consisted of two brunettes, one that was yours, you decided, and a ginger girl with who you assumed was her girlfriend, a beautiful mixed woman sitting next to her.

“Hello girls, anyone looking for a dance tonight?” You asked in a sultry tone, leaning your elbows on the table and making direct eye contact with the forementioned girl. She was illuminating, really, with the dark eyes and hair that draped over her shoulders, standing tall like the world owed her for existing and breathing. Just your type. Only a plus that she was loaded and would likely spend a fortune on you alone.

“C’mon Lot.” The redhead girl whispered to her, kicking her under the table. C’mon Lot, you thought to yourself too.

“Uh- yeah, okay, hell yeah.” The brunette said with determination as she stood up, you hooked your arm with hers as you led her towards the private room.

“I’ve uh- I’ve never been here before.” She said, breaking the silence between you.

“No? You seem like you know your way around.” You replied in a rasping tone, a low grin gracing your face as you pushed the padded red door open.

The girl seemed slightly flushed as she plopped down on the leather couch, looking up at you with her capturing brown eyes.

“What’s your name?” You asked as the song started playing, attempting casual conversation.

“Uh- Lottie.”

“Lottie.” You let the name roll off your tongue along with your hips against hers, your back inches away from her chest.

She couldn’t help but focus her gaze on the globe of your ass, doing her best not to jerk her body upwards as you worked your own. You were ethereal, she thought.

“What about you, what’s your name, angel?” Lottie asked in a hushed tone, her hands shaky as she slipped a bill into your glittery g-string.

“Y/N. I like angel though.” You replied with a small chuckle at the end

“Angel it is.”

It seemed a tad bit intimate, even to you. She wasn’t a pig, no. She would never touch you unless you begged her to, even though her eyes were undressing you on their own.

“So uh- this is what you do or- or you go to school or something?” She stammered, clearly flustered

“Yeah. I go to collage here.” You answered, swaying your hips to the rhythm

“Oh, me too! I haven’t seen you before though.” Lottie urged, subconsciously jerking her body towards yours.

“It’s a big school, honey.” You murmured into her ear, along with a swivel of your waist, making her eyes roll to the back of her head. “How was your day?”

“Uh - oh, uh kinda shitty. Dad’s a dick, so.” She replied. Yes, she stuttered because of you. Maybe it was the way you smelled, looked- or maybe it was the setting.

“M sorry Lot. But I’m sure you feel better now.” You honeyed, making sure to lock your eyes with hers once more.

Turning around to hover over her lap, your perfect looking boobs were right in her face, knocking all air out of her lungs. You moved like water, practiced and teasing, the lacy bra you wore giving away a hue of your pink nipples as you dropped to your knees between her legs.

“Song’s over, baby.” You reminded her with a small smirk.

All she could do was stare down at you with a lustful gaze until she realized the impact of your words, frantically nodding.

“Sorry, yeah, I should get back home anyway.” She stammered, extending a hand to help you get up.

You took it happily, intertwining your fingers with hers as you led her out, Jackie shooting a small smile your way as she prepared for her own client.

Turning to look at the girl beside you once more, her eyes were already tracing your figure.

“Come again, Lottie.” You said huskily, letting go of her.

“Wait- angel!” She yelled out, making you stop in your tracks.

The girl walked up to you again, standing face to face before slipping a - holy shit, 500$ bill into the strap of your bra.

“Make sure to keep track of it.” She whispered into your ear before walking off, back to her friends.

You stood there, stunned. It was good enough that you got a cute, respectful client but apparently she was loaded too? I mean yeah, obviously but- even more than you thought, actually. You definitely hoped she'd visit again.

---------------------------------

Standing out the back with your black coat over your costume, you lit up a cigarette, leaning against the wall while exchanging a tipsy conversation with Jackie, talking smack about some of the clients.

Above you, there was a sign with the club's name reading 'Blacklight', ironically written and glowing in a fiery red.

"So! He pulls out like- a couple hundred and basically demands me to take off my bra! Like dude, you're not seeing my tits for anything under a thousand!" Jackie exclaimed laughing, to which you followed suit. "I did dance for a girl though. Doesn’t happen often."

"Yeah? Did I see her?" You asked, suddenly a bit more interested

"I think she was with that same crew as the hottie you had." Jackie said, narrowing her eyes in curiosity as she took a puff of her pink strawberry vape. "Shauna."

"Oh, cool...this was Lottie." You sassed, raising your brows, "Hottie indeed."

"Hm, okay...oh girl, your shift ended." Jackie asserted, checking her phone for the time

"Fuckin' finally. I'll go get dressed, see you tomorrow." You said in a bit of a rushed tone, stubbing the cigarette with your heel before going back inside.

“See ya.”

You got back to the ready room, greeting another dancer named Jade who was apparently getting ready to leave too. She was one of the nice girls as well, your other friend out here.

"Good game tonight?" She called out, looking up from the bag she was packing.

"Bit better then usual." You said in a flat voice, getting back into your day clothes. And you couldn't bother to take off your makeup - do it at home.

"Oh, great. Need a ride?" She asked, turning to look at you.

"No it's okay, I'll catch a cab. Thanks J." You replied, giving the girl a small smile

You remembered, before putting on your sweater, the generosity that rested in your bra. Pulling the bill out, before folding it you noticed something written on it. A phone number, signed Lottie. You pondered there a little before scrambling the paper along with the rest of your cash. While smiling to yourself just a little. It was like something you could only daydream of.

—————————————

Waking up in your apartment at around 3pm, you were groggy and a bit hungover. It had been a couple days since you’d met Lottie and since then, you weren’t able to stop thinking about her. Sure, you’d gotten phone numbers before but it was from creepy, middle aged guys promising to take you to a very good party to someone’s yacht. Hard pass.

Finally you collected your thoughts and got out of bed heading to the bathroom to take your hair rollers out, and maybe reflect on your thoughts. You were scheduled fairly late tonight, which already made you internally groan - still, it was better then working Mondays.

Now you did externally groan when you realized you were out of coffee, at the worst possible moment too. Okay, maybe not the worst- but still, you liked the dramatics.

This might actually be good, it made you get out of the house and walk all the way over to your local coffee shop. You’d been so slammed with school, you barely got out if it wasn’t for work, so you needed the fresh air and a small break.

Finally as you got there, placing your order and sitting at one of the tables. The familiar dim glow of the cafe washed over you as you made a mental note of the songs you’d want to play tonight, as well as planning to work the main floor. Your thoughts still lingered, on Lottie, that is. As tempting as it was, you weren’t gonna-

Okay, you pulled out the bill with her number, eyeing it for a moment before realizing how ridiculous it must’ve looked, staring at 500 bucks, so you quickly typed the number in.

Sure you’d always been told not to fuck around with anyone you meet at work, but this was definitely not the kind of person Jackie and Jade referred to, and anyway, you’re young! What’s a little-

“Hello?”

The voice called out, unmistakably Lottie. For a moment you were frozen in place, unsure of what to say. But you needed to say something.

“Hey. It’s Y/N, from the other night, I’m not sure if you remember.” You finally spoke.

“Oh…right, I wasn’t sure if you’d call.”

“Well, here I am. Calling.”

“Hm, calling…why?”

“I uh- I wanted to see if you planned on coming by again. Don’t get that many nice customers that tip well too.” You said in a low, teasing tone, practically hearing her smirk over the phone.

“Right. I mean, I might. Think you’ll make it worth my while?” She tried to appear smooth, but there was a noticeable tremble to her voice

“Of course I will.”

“Then I’ll see you, angel.” She sounded almost giddy

Maybe this whole thing was better than you expected it to be.

—————————————

The night in the club was as usual, teetering on the edge of being kind of fun and absolutely exhausting. It was a late Saturday night, the busiest time of the whole week, with only a few dancers available, just your luck.

At least the tips would be through the roof. Judging by the looks of it, some of these men could take care of your entire rent in just one night. Oh but how you had to work for it.

Lucky you however, you’d just finished your dance into a split when you spotted her. Standing confident as ever, in the front of the audience, Lottie.

Shooting you a sly grin, she walked away from the stage, blending into the deep sea of people in front of you. Quickly collecting all your money, you returned to the dressing room. Your mind went a thousand miles an hour, jumping at every thought and possibility. Really, you weren’t expecting her to return, or maybe you just didn’t wanna get your hopes up. Still you were surprised.

Returning back to the main floor, you spotted her sat at the bar. This time, she was alone, all yours.

“Hey, angel.” Lottie said as she saw you approaching, taking a sip of what you assumed was a cosmo.

“Hi, Lot. Nice to finally see you.” You replied with a bit of a teasing tone.

“Yeah uh- I wasn’t sure if I overstepped the other night. I know you must get creeps like that all the time.” She apologized, the slight grimace on her face softening once she saw your small smile.

As tough as she looked, she was a sweetheart really.

“Are you calling me angel to be cute, or did you forget my name?” You asked, sitting next to her.

“No! No, I remember your name, Y/N, right?” She scurried, obviously not realizing you were joking. But a nervous chuckle did leave her when she did. “You said you liked angel.”

“I did, yeah.”

“Anything for you?” The bartender, and your good friend and coworker asked you.

“I’ll have a martini. Extra dirty.” You said huskily before looking back at Lottie, all the sparkles on your eyes beaming at her. There was a clear implication to your words, one even she could pick up on. It was also a small joke.

“Hard to imagine you with a dirty martini dressed in that.” Lottie teased.

And yes, she was right. Tonight, you wore a very cliché pink babydoll that barely covered you up. In fact, if you walked outside in it you’d likely be arrested for public indecency. The type of outfit you’d imagine with a piña colada, maybe.

“I’m more than meets the eye, Lot. So, I’m assuming you were looking for a dance tonight?” You marveled sarcastically, earning a soft giggle from the girl.

“Actually, no. I- I wanted to see you.” She said, sipping her pink drink yet again.

“Well aren’t you sweet.” You honeyed, nipping at your own cocktail. “Didn’t think you’d actually show.”

“Of course I would.”

“Then why come only after I called you?”

“I told you, I was worried I freaked you out or something…I’m really glad you called though.” Lottie asserted, physically restraining her eyes from raking all over your exposed, stunning form.

“Well I am too. You look nice tonight.” You said in a sweet tone. And you weren’t lying either.

Her makeup was pretty minimal, but she had put on a black, semi-tight dress that reached her mid thigh, showing off just enough cleavage to make you want more. It was as if you had a corny high school crush on the girl you met a few days ago, and judging by the way she acted, neither of you were opposed to it.

“I’m gonna ask you something, and you’re more than welcome to say no.” She said in a more serious manner

Fuck.

“Okay…”

“Would you like to…check out my place tonight?”

Bingo.

To understand you, you’d have to understand that you thought life was all about exciting, new experiences. Going home with a beautiful stranger being one of them. Maybe you didn’t know her last name, but you sure as hell were gonna find out the color of her underwear.

“…Sure.”

—————————————

The ride to her house completely went in and over your head as you stood by the front door, seeing her fumble with the keys while you traced her neck with slow, teasing kisses, pulling her back against your front.

Finally she swung the door open, shutting it behind you before picking you up with ease.

You crashed your lips against hers, securing your legs around her waist as she stumbled across the hall, carrying you to what you assumed was her bedroom.

She was strong, stronger than she looked, and was definitely playing into it when she tossed you onto the bed. Hovering over you, she pushed your shirt upwards while leaving a trail of kisses and spit on your jaw.

Her thigh found its way between yours, making you jolt your hips upwards, a movement she relished.

“You’re such a responsive girl, aren’t you?” Lottie called out above you, dragging the thigh up and down your center.

Earning a nod from you she continued her ministrations as she threw your top somewhere across the room. It felt like a fever dream, hooking up in a million dollar house with a girl who is just about your age. No time to be bitter about money though, not when her mouth is eagerly exploring every inch of your skin.

"Lottie please-" You coaxed out as she traced the waistband of your pants.

"Please what? Talk to me, angel." Lottie whispered, although she was already undoing your zipper.

"Please, just fuck me, take me." You stuttered.

Seconds after her soft hands traveled over your plushy, bare thighs, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

Leaning in the taller girl kissed and nipped your tummy on her way down. Her touches were hurried and desperate, earning soft whines from you the more they went on. Finally facing your heat and seeing the wet patch on your panties, Lottie sucked in a sharp breath before hooking a finger into your underwear and moving it to the side. The first dip of her tongue into your folds was unmatched, at first slow and unsure. She was trying to figure you out, to see what movements make your breath hitch and your back arch.

Soon enough she found that one spongey spot, the friction on it making you mewl under her. Discarding your panties quickly, she pulled you further into her, throwing your legs over her shoulders and eating you as if you were her last fucking meal. Latching her lips onto your clit, her digits flew to your leaky hole, begging for entrance which you happily granted.

She moved inside you with practice and ease, hitting your g-spot over and over and over.

“Lottie - fuck, I’m gonna come.” You whimpered, not quite expecting her next course of action.

She pulled out, releasing your bud with a wet pop. The grin on her face grew when she saw your expression, needy and unsatisfied.

“I think you’re about ready for my cock, angel.” She said - it was her turn to be a tease.

Going back up, she pressed a searing kiss to your lips. It was quick and wet, just like your oh almost reached orgasm.

Soon enough she strapped up, hovering over you as the tip poked at your entrance. Jolting your hips, you tried to lure her in, at this point becoming completely mindless and putty in her hands.

Getting the signal, she finally slid into you, nice and easy. Watching your blissed out face made her own contort in pleasure, as if she could feel just what she was doing to you. Her hips moved slowly and deliberately, getting you used to the wonderful stretch she provided. Throwing your head back in a silent scream, Lottie picked up her pace, gripping your hips to keep you steady.

Jesus Christ, whoever said strippers fuck best was right. She took note of you under her, fucking back onto the length as if your life depended on it, letting out sweet, filthy pleas just for her.

Crouching down to kiss you, she whispered against your lips. “You look so fucking good baby. So beautiful.”

Her words only urged you on, making you let out desperate cries as the tip of the toy kissed your cervix simultaneously.

“Lottie I’m so close.” You warned again, though this time, it was encouraged.

“Come for me angel, go on.” Lottie whispered into your ear, her words finally pushing you over the edge and making you gush on her cock.

“God, you’re good.” She said, pulling out of you and collapsing next to your tired form.

Your chest heaved with the intensity of the encounter. Turning your head to look at her, you were met with a soft gaze and a smile. You had a hankering this would not be the last time you experience this girl.

#yellowjackets #yellowjackets thoughts 💭#yellowjackets showtime #yj season 3 #yellowjackets x reader #lottie matthews thoughts 💭#lottie matthews x you #lottie matthews smut #lottie matthews x reader #lottie mathews x reader #lottie matthews #lottie yellowjackets

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gffa · 2 days ago

Note

I love your blog but I can't remember whether or not you're an author BUT I do remember that you know how characters are Supposed To Be.

So-

Do you have any tips on how to write Mace Windu?

Hi! I've written a few Star Wars fics, but probably not ones you've read. 😂 But here is what I would say about writing Mace Windu (or even just if you want to have fun discussing him, I'd love to know what others would say are the best ways to write him!): Mace is someone who is severe with an undercurrent of deep care, this is someone who is serious but whole-heartedly believes in helping others and doing the right thing as best he can. He is a Jedi to his core, which means he holds compassion as the highest value and there's a subtle warmth to him if you care to look. He will place his life on the line to help people, if others have done their best, he will acknowledge it, if they have something of value to add, he will turn to them and ask them to say what they have to say, he will make sure his clones get through a battle if there's any way he can help them, he will gently touch the Zillo beast's face to comfort it, he will jump down into a ravine and smile at a child who needs help, he will stop to ask baby Anakin if his chip removal scar is healing, he will patiently explain Jedi beliefs to him if he's not quite getting it, he will grump at Yoda that their campaign isn't going the way he'd like, but will still easily sit down and meditate with him and find comfort in that. He's not someone who is a big ray of sunshine, he's too serious for that, he has far too much responsibility on his shoulders and holds them with gravitas, he'll tell someone to take a seat if they're getting out of line (he has more patience with children, but adults he'll treat as adults), he's not going to coddle someone who isn't trying their best, but at the heart of him, he is someone who genuinely wants the best for people, who will wrestle with his anger over injustice and win over it because he has spent a lifetime wrangling his anger into compassion, because he truly believes in the Jedi path, and always do what he believes is right. He takes administrative politics seriously, because he knows that he can't just defy them without consequences that would hurt people in the long run, which may appear cold to others who don't really know him but fundamentally, Mace Windu is a deeply caring man who is trying to help as many people as he can, he has dedicated his life to helping all people, even those who would spit on him, he still does his best to understand their circumstances and find sympathy for them. (Like when Prosset Dibs fell to the dark side, tried to kill Mace and said that he would dance on the Jedi's graves, Mace's response was to say that it was their duty to help him back to the light and put him on archive duty, rather than any serious punishment.) Mace can occasionally crack a very dry joke, he does have a sense of humor, but it's fairly rare. He'll be curt if he's having a bad day, especially if someone is getting out of their lane at him, but not unfairly and never with cruelty. He's a phenomenal athlete even among the Jedi, he's brilliant at what he does, there's a reason he helps lead the Jedi, this is someone who embodies the very best of them. Admittedly, I'm biased because Mace is one of my favorite characters, so I'm less aware of his flaws (even if I'll defend why he's sometimes short with people, it's true that he can sometimes come off as abrasive and not as patient as he might in better times, but I think Mace should be allowed to have frayed nerves sometimes, too), but I do genuinely believe that Mace should be written as someone who is a very serious faced person but loves the galaxy so deeply that it's woven into his bones, who loves his culture and his people, who loves the people of the galaxy, who would give all of himself to help them.

#lumi.txt #star wars #mace windu #meta

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arcane-vagabond · 3 days ago

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Two Birds: Chapter One

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader x Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw

Summary: Growing up in the midwest meant that you weren't exposed to many of the dangers of the world, and it also meant that you missed out on some of what life had to offer. Taking a leap, you move to New York City with a few personal belongings and the little money you have left in your savings. You become good friends with your roommate and, by extension, the people at the club she works at. However, it isn't long until you catch the eye of not one, but two mafia bosses that rule the city with an iron grip. Will you stay out of their clutches, or will you give in and become another pawn in their wicked games? (Mafia!AU)

Content Warnings: Cursing, Mentions of guilt, Gentlemen's club (off hours), Flirting, Handsy Bradley and Jake, Pet names, no use of y/n. I think that's it, but please let me know if I missed something!

Word Count: 3.9k

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

A couple of weeks had passed, and you were now entering your third month of living in the city. Annie had been right, you had become fast friends after long nights spent gabbing about anything and everything, and late mornings after the previous night’s binge drinking. Your roommate was a fun, happy-go-lucky soul, and you loved her all the more for it.

Your job at one of the local bakeries near the heart of the city provided you with enough money for your portion of the rent, food, and enough to spend however you saw fit, a feat you still weren’t sure how you managed. Your boss was a lovely older woman in her mid-fifties who greeted you with a smile every morning as you clocked in for your shift. Thankfully, she preferred to do the early, early morning prep work herself along with her daughter, so you weren’t expected to walk through the doors until sometime around eight every morning.

You enjoyed the tediousness of the job, the routine giving you something to latch on to in the unfamiliarity of the big city. Annie had been coaching you diligently on how to navigate the never-ending, concrete streets and sprawling subways. Your Midwest manners were quickly stamped down by your burgeoning experience with the different crowds that inhabited the city.

“Don’t walk around at night by yourself if you can avoid it,” Annie had told you during your first week there, the two of you headed back to the apartment after you had decided to go out for dinner. “There are a bunch of crazies out here, Mousie. Me? I’m used to this place, but you got that air about you that just invites people to take advantage.”

You hummed, trotting a few paces to try and keep up with her much longer legs. She cast you a sideways glance with a grimace of an apology.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean anything bad by it,” she sighed, hands pushed into her pockets as she slowed slightly to give you a break. “You’ll perfect the art of the ‘don’t fuck with me’ vibe before you know it, Mouse.”

And you liked to think that you had come along way in the few weeks you had spent in the city, perfecting your mean, scary face so that people wouldn’t approach you. Some still did, but the number had certainly decreased. Though, you still felt the nagging feeling of guilt every time you outright ignored someone, averting your eyes and hanging your head as you walked a little faster down the street.

Today was a day you, thankfully, had off. Though, you still rose early, your body already used to the schedule of the bakery, and as you stretched in bed, your mind wandered to the container of chocolate chip cookies that sat on the counter in the kitchen. A gift from your boss, albeit they were cookies that would have been thrown in the trash anyway due to their age of only two days.

You lay in bed for the next half hour, dozing as the light of the day streamed in past your curtains, illuminating your still plainly decorated room. Annie had offered to take you shopping for more decor, but you had insisted on earning your own money and paying for your own decor.

“It’s not like I don’t have the extra cash, babe,” she told you, lips pulled back into a grimace as she watched you flit about the apartment.

“I’m serious, Annie,” you told her, glancing over your shoulder at her as you set the mop to the side. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate it, but I don’t want to take advantage of your kindness either.”

“How is it taking advantage if I’m offering?” She muttered with a scoff. You had shot her a warning look before placing your hands on your hips.

“I need to prove to myself that I can do this,” you sighed, feeling your shoulders slump.

“Alright, alright,” she relented, giving you an understanding smile. “But if I give you gifts, you have to accept them. It’s a law or something.”

You smiled fondly at the memory, pulling a pillow close to your chest, one of Annie’s many “gifts” as she called them. Your eyes flickered open with a stifled yawn before you lazily rolled over on to your feet. You padded out the door and down the hall to your shared bathroom, Annie’s soft snores filtering out past her closed door. Her job often kept her up until the early morning hours, and there were days where you were headed off to work just as she was walking through the door.

You brushed your teeth and got ready for the rest of the day, settling on a pair of faded jeans, a plain, white t-shirt underneath a beige cardigan and a pair of simple sneakers. You didn’t have much planned for the day, but you had been meaning to check out one of the bookstores downtown. Your groceries were getting low too, and you knew you’d have to go and get more soon, adding a trip to the grocery store to your list of things to do that day. You settled on the couch with a cup of tea, inhaling the aromatic steam that wafted up towards you as you turned on the TV, the news popping up to greet you. A string of violent crimes plagued the city, but you had slowly become accustomed to that news as well during your time there.

Eventually, you grew bored with the news, choosing instead to turn on the latest crime documentary from Netflix, the serious tones of the detectives and witnesses filling the quiet, morning air and lulling you back to a place somewhere between sleep and awake.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed when the sound of Annie’s door opening jolted you awake. You blinked, shuffling to sit up on the couch just as she trudged through the doorway, rubbing sleep from her eyes and looking around blearily.

“Wha’ time’s it?” She asked, voice thick with sleep as she rubbed her face. Her hair was sticking up every which way, her eyes still ringed with the tinges of last night’s makeup. You knew she must have had a particularly late night.

“Uh,” you started, glancing at the clock above the stove, “just before noon.”

“Shit!” She hollered out, eyes growing wide and panicked as she turned to sprint back into her room. You heard a commotion from her room before footsteps sounded in the hall, leading to the bathroom where the shower creaked to life, the spray hitting the tub. You sighed, hoisting yourself up off the couch to rinse your mug out in the sink. The shower didn’t run long, and soon you heard the creak of the valves turning off, soft thuds and movement coming from behind the door. Annie burst out, drying her hair furiously as she padded into her room wearing nothing but the small towel wrapped around her.

“Cannot believe I overslept,” she griped, her door closed just enough to provide herself some privacy as you waited in the kitchen.

“It’s a bit early for you to head down to the club, isn’t it?” You asked, brow furrowing. Usually, Annie didn’t head in for another couple of hours, and you heard her let out a huff as she appeared back in the kitchen dressed in a pair of jeans, fitted black top and matching heels. Even running late, she still looked immaculate.

“Bosses want us there extra early today to try out some new routines,” she explained.

“Bosses?” You frowned. “I thought your boss was Reuben?”

“He is,” she assured you, digging through her purse to make sure her keys were still inside. “But the big bosses are coming in today.”

“Who are the big bosses?” You asked, leaning over the counter. She paused, pressing her lips firmly together before giving you an uncertain look.

“No one you wanna get involved with, Mousie,” she said finally. “I mean, they’re nice enough guys, but…”

She trailed off, and the implication wasn’t lost on you. You offered her a tight smile, glancing at the stovetop clock once more before waving her off.

“You better get going before you’re even more late,” you warned, nodding to the time. She cursed again, shouting a quick “thanks” over her shoulder as she sped out the apartment, the door slamming closed behind her. You let out a sigh, rolling your eyes affectionately after her before grimacing at the apartment. Perhaps you would make it to that bookstore another time. For now, you settled on grabbing your own purse to go grocery shopping.

You had just made it back into the apartment when your phone buzzed. You settled the bags on top of the counter, your fingers aching with the strain of the multitude of bags before fishing your phone out of your bag. Annie’s name flashed across the top, and you quickly unlocked your phone before your eyes landed on the all too familiar words.

I forgot something at the apartment.

Could you grab it for me and bring it by the club pretty please? :(

You huffed out a laugh, typing out a quick response to let her know that of course you would bring whatever it was she forgot to the club for her.

You’re the best! Came her even quicker reply, and you just knew she had been pacing nervously backstage, biting her fingers in that terrible habit she had when she was nervous.

It’s a pair of silver heels and a hot pink boa. They should be on my desk chair. You can’t miss them!

You shook your head, noting how she herself missed them in her rush out the door this morning, but dutifully made your way to her room, pushing the door open as you stepped inside. Sure enough, the heels and the boa lay draped on top of the chair in question, and you quickly gathered them up in your arms to bring back into the kitchen. You grabbed your phone, firing off a quick reply.

I’ve gotta put groceries up really quick, but then I’ll head over. Give me about an hour?

Anything for you, Mouse! I owe you!

You laughed outright at that. This wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for your roommate, and you often found yourself making the trip down to the club to bring her something she forgot. You set your phone down and made fairly quick work of the groceries, storing the bags underneath the sink for later use. You grabbed your things before grabbing the heels and the boa, pausing to grab the box of cookies that still sat on the counter before making your way out the door and locking it behind you.

It was about a twenty-minute train ride to the neighborhood where Annie worked, and you exited the subway with a squint as your eyes readjusted to the daylight. You walked a block south, coming upon the familiar, unassuming building with a sign that read “The Hard Deck” in a pretty, pink scrawl across the top of the entrance. A man dressed in all black stood by the door, his face mean and intimidating with eyes hidden behind a pair of dark sunglasses. You grinned up at him as you approached, and a hint of a smile pulled on his lips as he caught sight of you.

“Hey Tony,” you greeted, wiggling your fingers with the hand that held the heels and the boa. “How’s your day been?”

“It’s better now that you’re here, Mouse,” he chuckled, relaxing his posture somewhat. “I take it Annie forgot something again?”

“Yeah,” you shrugged, rolling your eyes playfully. “Name a time she hasn’t, you know?”

He laughed at that, his head resting against the brick of the building as he rolled his shoulders out.

“She used to tear out of here like a bat from hell before you came to town, ya know,” he grinned. “Wonder what she’s gonna do when you’re not around anymore to spoil her like this.”

“Well,” you started, “hopefully that won’t be for a while yet. Now, do you want a cookie before the others eat them all?”

“Thought you’d never ask,” he laughed, pushing off from the side of the building to peek into the box you held in your hand. He grabbed one, taking a bite and humming as you walked past him and into the building.

When you had first found yourself stepping into Annie’s work, you had been apprehensive, expecting a seedy, little hole in the wall with sticky floors and tacky decor. Instead, you were greeted with a clean, sultry business that Annie told you had earned a reputation of being the best in the city.

“It’s actually pretty classy,” she had told you when you first asked her about what she did for a living. “It’s a lot of high end clients that frequent there, and they tip pretty well too. It’s decent pay to begin with and the manager is a pretty good guy too.”

You had met Reuben on one of your first trips to the club, the handsome man not being at all what you expected from a manager. He was young, for one thing, hovering somewhere between mid-thirties and forty if you had to guess. He was dressed to the nines every time you saw him, a friendly smile always on his face as he greeted you. He was nowhere to be seen now as you strolled into the Hard Dark, voices filtering out from different areas of the large room and from backstage as your eyes swept the area.

There were no windows, the only lights coming from the artificial ones that hung overhead. The main color was black, a red carpet curving across the floor and red drapes hanging from off the walls with gold accents placed everywhere. It gave a feeling of old Hollywood, almost.

“There you are!”

You turned just as Annie rushed over to you, pulling you in for a tight hug. She pulled away, grabbing her heels and boa from you.

“You’re a lifesaver, Mousie!” She beamed, and you waved her off.

“I wasn’t doing much anyway,” you told her, shifting the box of cookies into your now free hand. “I brought the cookies too for everyone.”

“You’re so sweet, babe. Come hang out with us for a while,” she cooed, pulling you further towards the main stage. Familiar faces of the different staff greeted you as you walked through, several waving and others following you once they spotted the bright pink box in your hands. You often brought goodies from the bakery, making you an instant hit with the employees at the club.

“What did you bring for us today, Mouse?” Bryan, one of the bartenders called.

“Cookies!” You called back with a smile.

“You’re such a godsend, hun,” said Lindsey, one of the other dancers. “I never have time to go to this place before it closes.”

“One of the perks of being roomies with an employee there,” Annie grinned at her, swiping a cookie as you set the box down on the stage and opened the lid. Several others clambered toward the stage to snag a cookie before retreating and allowing the next wave in. You were so caught up in the conversations happening around you that you didn’t notice the figure come out from the back.

“What’s going on here?” A deep timber asked. You noticed Annie stiffen visibly beside you before turning your head to look at the newcomer. He was tall, brown hair curled against his forehead that pointed towards a pair of golden brown eyes. Scars littered the golden skin of his face, and you couldn’t help but notice the strong muscles that lay hidden beneath his dress shirt. Your lips twitched at the sight of the mustache that hung above his upper lip, but you quickly tamped it down as you took in the nervous faces around you. He swaggered over towards where you stood, the small crowd parting easily for him, and you had to tilt your head back just to meet his gaze.

“Shouldn’t you all be working?” He pointed out. His voice was light, playful even, but the underlying warning in his tone was palpable, and all but Annie and yourself hastened to get away. You swallowed slightly, shifting uneasily at the change in the atmosphere. Annie stood still next to you, not saying a word which was unlike her.

“And who might you be?” He asked, leaning against the stage with a smirk. “Think I would have remembered a pretty face like yours. You lookin’ for a job, hm?”

“She’s my roommate,” Annie replied before you could say anything. “She’s just stopping by to drop off a few things I forgot is all.”

“Is that so?” The man hummed, peeling his eyes away from you long enough to cast her an unreadable look before they shifted back to you. “So you’re the little mouse Reuben mentioned pops by from time to time, huh?”

“I guess,” you muttered, fingers playing with the hem of your shirt as you looked anywhere but at him. You felt his smirk grow as he leaned into you, his nose almost brushing yours in the process. You squeaked at the sudden proximity, eyes widening as the smell of his cologne encircled you, the scent of sandalwood, vanilla, and something woodsy ensnaring you as he spoke.

“My name’s Bradley, Mouse,” he murmured, lips curling into a sultry smile as he laced a finger through the loop of your jeans. “You gonna give me a taste?”

You had the distinct feeling that he wasn’t talking about the cookies that still sat on the stage. Without thinking, you grabbed the box, bringing it between you and Bradley, putting some distance between the two of you enough so that you could try to scramble for a coherent thought.

“Here,” you squeaked. Bradley looked stunned for a second, brown eyes wide as he looked from you, down towards the box. There was a moment of still silence before he tossed his head back with a loud laugh, one that caused several people nearby to jump. He looked back at you with a wicked grin, taking the box from your hand and putting it back on the stage with an added chuckle. He grabbed your waist, pulling you flush against him and bringing a hand up to cradle your face as he leaned down, his breath fanning over you.

“I might just have to keep you, honey,” he purred, eyes hooded as he drank you in. Your face warmed at the combination of his words and his hand around your waist that slowly started to wander.

“What are you doing, Rooster?”

You jumped at the new voice, turning your head with a gasp as your eyes landed on the stranger standing next to Reuben. His square jaw was clenched in what you could only assume was annoyance, narrowed, green eyes moving from Bradley down to you. His face softened slightly, brow arching as he took you in. You thought you saw his lips twitch in the hint of a smirk before neutrality settled over his features once more.

“Hey, Mouse!” Reuben greeted, his friendly demeanor almost unnerving. He acted as if you weren’t being held captive in the arms of a strange man, instead looking from you towards where Annie stood behind you. “I didn’t know you were stopping by today.”

“Annie forgot something,” you offered weakly, breath still ragged from how close Bradley still held you.

“Rooster,” the blond man spoke up, his voice commanding attention, “you’re scaring the poor thing. Why don’t you let her go?”

Bradley grunted but let you go slowly, shooting you a wink as you backed up a couple of steps. The blond man stepped forward, hands shoved into the pockets of his expensive looking pants as a slow smirk crawled onto his lips.

“So you’re the little mouse we’ve heard so much about,” he drawled, stopping just in front of you. You shrugged, not saying anything as you averted your gaze. The man arched a brow at you, taking a hand out of his pocket to place a finger underneath your chin, lifting it so that you met his emerald gaze.

“Words, darlin’,” he purred, something twinkling in his gaze as you looked at him. You swallowed thickly.

“Yes,” you replied, earning a hum. The man’s finger traced along your jaw before his hand cupped the side of your neck gently, almost possessively.

“Good girl,” he praised, and something inside of you unexpectedly preened at the words. He leaned forward, the smell of patchouli and a hint of citrus hitting your nose at the movement. His lips brushed against your ear as he murmured, “my name is Jake.”

A shiver ran up your spine, and you felt his lips curl into a grin at your reaction.

“Shouldn’t we be getting back to business?” Bradley snapped, looking put out as Jake withdrew from you. The blond snorted with a roll of his eyes as he stepped back towards his companions.

“Since when do you give a shit?” He asked, the challenge hollow as he kept walking, Reuben quick to fall in line behind him. Bradley frowned as he watched Jake walk past, a muscle twitching in his jaw. His eyes looked back at you, lips curving in a thoughtful smile before shooting you a wink and following his two companions.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding, Annie coming up behind you quickly.

“I am so sorry,” she cried, blue eyes big and sorrowful.

“Why are you sorry?” You asked with a snort, brushing your hands down your rumpled shirt. “They’re the ones who’ve never heard of personal space, apparently.”

“Babe, do you not realize who they are?” She asked, brow furrowing as she studied you, lips pursing as she shook her head.

“Of course you don’t,” she muttered, placing a hand on her forehead as she sucked in a breath. “God, I’m so fucking stupid sometimes. How could I forget to tell you one of the most basic things?”

“Annie, what are you talking about?” You asked, crossing your arms as a sinking feeling came over you. Her eyes snapped open as she looked at you with an uncharacteristically solemn expression.

“There’s a lot more to this city than you realize,” she told you. “There are groups always grabbing for power and control of it, and right now there are two who are going head to head: the Daggers and the Harpies. You just met the two men who are in charge of the Dagger syndicate, Mouse: Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin and Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw. ”

Your heart sank, and your head involuntarily whipped around towards where the group of men walked off to. You spotted them sitting in one of the booths, Reuben talking animatedly about something or other, but your stomach did a flip as you realized that both Jake and Bradley were already looking at you. The blond arched a brow at you while the brunette waggled his fingers at you with a playful smirk. Annie followed your gaze, sighing before continuing.

“And it looks like you’ve gone and caught their eye.”

A/N: Still trying to figure out where to take this one ngl, but I would love to hear your thoughts about what you'd want to see!

As always, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated. I no longer do taglists, so if you would like to be notified on when I post, please follow my sideblog ( @arcanevagabond-library ) and turn on post notifications! You can find me and my works on AO3 under the username arcane_vagabond. Until next time!

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rei0408 · 10 hours ago

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1- A mixt of a dog and cat

2- A cat collar with a medal writting his name. Otherwise, maybe nuts, because he like it

3- Painting

4- Sweep the floor, do laundry. He don't dislike it, he doesn't really care

5- I'm not sure... He have lost one eye but have great reflex and attention, so not sure. He doesn't have a license too

6- The same that the other

7- No

8- I don't think, but maybe yes after have meet me?

9- I will introduce him as a weird and cold guy, saying that even with the for first impression, he's really kind and attentionate. It's will be probably well, but I don't think that they will talk together.

10- Cuddle! A lot of cuddles

11- Health together, mental ill artist x mental ill artist or weirdo... x weirdo! :3

12- Red, especially dark red and black.

13- Introduce me like his partner, saying that I'm not innocent of what I look like. Maybe weird, but really kind

14- Cat, he's clearly a cat (Fun fact, the cat of the illustration of his source have a cat named Towa! And they have lost the same eye that him!)

15- Probably just chocolate

16- Just by my name

17- I can't really say it... (NSFW)

18- I don't really know... He reassure me/give me comfort when I need it, so maybe it's a way to show his love? He does things too, like chores.

19- My scars, he love scars

20- My kindness(?), that I take care of him (the best that I can)

21- He have make a paint of me! It's chaotic and beautiful

22- Yeah. If I ask, he would. Sometimes he pick food on my plate for teasing me, but it's doesn't bother me

23- Turquoise/light blue with some red

F/O Ask Game!!

A list of questions to answer about your f/o!! You guys can just go down the list and answer them all (I'd love to see it!!!) in a reblog, orrr you can reblog and have others ask you these questions in your inbox! Have fun!! PROSHIP, NOT FOR YOU!

What animal does your f/o remind you of?

If you got your f/o a gift, what would you get them?

What is your favorite hobby to think about doing with your f/o?

What chores would your f/o do around the house? Are there any they REALLY dislike?

Would you trust your f/o to drive a car?

What kind of ringtone or notification sound would you have for your f/o?

Would your f/o fight someone online?

Does your f/o believe in soulmates?

How would you introduce your f/o to your friends? How do you think that would go?

What's the first scenario that comes to your head when you think of being with your f/o?

What dynamic would you use to describe you and your f/o?

What color do you associate with your f/o?

How would your f/o introduce you to those they care about? How do you think that would go?

What animal do you remind your f/o of?

What would your f/o get you for Valentine's day, if anything?

What does your f/o call you in their head? What do they call you aloud/to others?

What does your f/o like doing with you the most?

How does your f/o show their love best?

What's your f/o's favorite feature of yours?

What're your f/o's favorite personality traits of yours?

If your f/o drew you, how would you describe the art piece?

Does your f/o share food with you?

What color would your f/o associate you with?

What?? Who's tagging their friends again?- not me... I just really wanna see yalls answers. Formal invitation lest you become worried I don't wanna see it. @jpeg-indulgence @starshakez @moxanji-real @frankys-wife @katsenbergs-soulmate @katanahusband @fl0ralsxgar @one-winged-dreams AND LITERALLY ANYONE WHO SEES THIS.

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n1xx0lait · 2 days ago

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Robin! Jason Todd Ghost

Ive really liked the idea on how theres a literal GHOST of Jason Todd, like his childhood or smth and it would be fun if he was just the ghost of the manor like the manor needs a ghost, its a manor.

Imagine Robin! Jason Todd Ghost chilling around the batcave, accidentally tripping the batsibs or messing with important paperwork. I could see him play around the manor since i mean hes a kid right? And hes dead so he doesnt really have anyone to do or talk too.

For Example: While Bruce would work on a case on the Batcomputer, Robin! Jason Todd Ghost would sit next to him all the time, especially when Bruce would pull all nighters. He likes to keep his dad company.

When the Bats are out of the manor doing patrols and what not, he would follow Alfred around, accidentally spilling the soap water from the bucket used for mopping or dropping the broom once or twice. This doesnt go unnoticed by Alfred but he brushes it off.

This would go on with the rest of the BatSiblings, Robin! Jason Todd Ghost would pick a sibling sometimes to spend the day with around the manor, he gets all sad when they leave the manor since hes kinda stuck there, his soul is stuck there.

I want to add another funny fact like, what if Duke or Tim can feel his presence? Not in like a psyche way but like in a way that says "this house is definitely fucking haunted im not insane shut up" like imagine Duke crashing out because his 3rd mug of the day is thrown across the room and noone believes him that its some ghost—A child ghost nonetheless thats fucking with him

Or what if Tim would be working late for WE in his bedroom, 3 days barely any sleep and he just hears footsteps or books falling off shelves. It wouldnt convince Tim easily that there is a ghost but like it gets so bad to the point Tim considers it being a possibility, logical thing to do was tell everyone ofcourse and the rest of them shut him out with the excuse of "dude, you havent slept in 3 days"

But what if Present Red Hood! Jason Todd feels his presence aswell? What if he walks down the manor halls and hears light giggles and laughter and he knows its from his younger self but he doesn't dare tell a soul. I mean if his younger ghost self found peace in watching over everyone in the manor then who is he to stop him?

#batfamily #jason todd #bruce wayne #batman #dc robin #red hood #batfam #batfam shenanigans #ghost jason todd #ghost au robin

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taelophone · 24 hours ago

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Surfer Boy! Luigi headcanons

trigger warnings ─ himbo . mentions of blood . fwb . nothing else I don’t think …

Surfer Boy! Luigi . playlist (spotify) . moodboard

You know when the weather starts to get warmer and the seagulls at your pastel-colored beach house begin to increase in volume, a certain man is gearing up to pop up inside your house at ungodly hours of the morning.

Squeej: how did he stumble upon your companionship?

When you first met Luigi, you probably found him outside wayyyyyy past twelve in the morning. He looked cold, his jaw was literally clattering, but he had the biggest grin on his face as he ran after the ride with his blue marbled surfboard.

You stopped him to ask if he was okay and if he’d like to come inside and settle down for a bit, as you had never seen him in your life. At first he refused, explaining through cold chatters that the tide was the highest it’s ever been and he was really having fun, but after pointing out that he had no shirt and would have to stay in his swim trunks until the morning if he didn’t at least get in his car— he decided coming inside wouldn’t be so bad.

You learned very quickly that he was from Maryland and liked to visit this particular beach because it was quiet and rather clean compared to other beaches. Plus, the coastal line featured some pretty big rocks, so it was kind of his favorite spot to come during the summer.

Keys: how did he become your “roommate”

Do not get it twisted this man is not paying rent. After around two summers of Luigi staying at your house during the summer, you gave him a spare key to use in case of emergencies as he loved staying out on the shore until long after dark. You were INCREDIBLY tired of him waking you up with a loud knock at your door.

He’d be standing there all cold and shivery, a little hermit crab in his comically large hand as he struggles to fit the board through the door a little. That’s when you told him then and there you’d have a key made for him so he didn’t have to wake you up every night.

And he uses that key for anything BUT emergencies my god😭 if the tide is low or he’s sore from over surfing, he’s sprawled on your couch like he owns the place while twirling the keys around his pointer finger.

“OH—! My god, Luigi, where did you come from?” ”Oh good morning! Yeah the tide is way too low today so I’m just gonna wait until it picks back up again.”

Sometimes you threaten to take his keys whenever you catch him outside In the FREEZING COLD sitting on his board in the middle of the ocean lmfao

Surfers Salt: What’s he like?

Despite the fact that every time you talk to him it seems like he’s just saying random bullshit, he is extremely smart! When you walk the shore with him, he’ll point out the washed-up jellyfish and tell you exactly what kind it is and how to properly get it off of the coast.

He always smells like light sea salt and some sort of nautical conditioner, but he wears a light and “clean” scented cologne like Dolce and Gabana Light Blue. When the boardwalk gets too crowded, he’ll lead you around by your wrist or waist and you notice how calloused his hands are. They’re rough, glazed over with years of scraping wax on and off of his board, but somehow manage to feel like delicate little angel kisses when they hold onto yours.

Is so unseriously serious. Like is deadpan with all of his jokes, dry, sarcastic, corny, lame ass humor that occasionally gets interrupted by the most jaw dropping filthy double entendres and sex jokes you’ve ever heard in your life. He says them, then will gasp and look at YOU like YOU said it!

“So wait, when you ride your board, how do you keep-“ “You can ride my board.”

And suddenly he’s shouting ew and pointing at you in BROADDD DAYLIGHT.

But other than being a quiet menace, he actually brings you back something every time he goes surfing or visits the board walk by himself. He’s found you an actual pearl, several full seashells, a sand dollar, some lost insignificant jewelry, a couple hermit crabs, a baby turtle, and much much more.

At random times, he’ll suddenly talk in the most corny surfer accent and go “woah, GNARLY!” In your ear when you’re doing something. He thinks it’s so fucking funny

Relationship: What’s going on?

I feel like with Surfer Boy Luigi SPECIFICALLY, you’ve known him for a little bit. Like 4-5 years. After literally housing him for the summer, staying in contact the whole year to make sure his spot is still tendered for his arrival, you’ve grown relatively close.

How close is close? This close. After around a year or so, he’s randomly started laying on you after coming in from surfing. He’s literally SCORCHING, he’s laying ALL his body weight on you, and he’s talking about a cute little baby seagull he took a picture of on his disposable camera because he’s a sustainable man.

He DOESN’T WEAR SUNSCREEN, which is such a problem because when he sprawls around and accidentally lays on it, he bitches about the pain. Will only wear it if you put it on for him— he claims it’s because he “can’t reach” but it’s really because he doesn’t want to nor does he like the feeling of it lol. It’ll stay on if you do it tho!

Your relationship with Luigi is kind of ambiguous…? Transactional..? Idk I haven’t decided yet. BUT, I can say in full confidence that you’ve hooked up with him a couple of times. You still can’t even answer that. all you know is one day he came inside earlier than ever (like 4PM) panting and giggling, tossing himself on top of you like usual and SOMEHOW things escalated.

anyway, besides that, he has actually bought you a fair bit of jewelry! I did say he doesn’t pay rent, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t tried/doesn’t pull his weight around the crib lol. He gets you a lot of things and does a LOT of housework, you just never see him do it because he’s just extremely active at 3-4 in the morning.

Like you won’t see him do the dishes, but you’ll wake up to the dishwasher all unloaded and everything neatly put away with a little box of earrings on the coffee table with a little note.

“Waves. Got u this :) - Pep”

If he ever gets an injury, like scraping his knee or bloodying his nose, he’ll bolt through your front door whining like a child for you to help him. He’s PERFECTLY able to do it himself, he just doesn’t want to.

That’s it, you can stop reading now <3

Taglist ; @lorelaisg1lmore @flaca335 @7luvrs @fancyyanci @f4b111 @born444u @4ngelv4l

#luigi mangione thoughts #luigi mangione x reader #luigi mangione x you #luigi mangione fanfiction #luigi mangione fanfic #luigi mangione x y/n #🌊⋆Surfer Boy! Luigi AU⋆｡°்

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iimplicitt · 2 days ago

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DIRTY LITTLE SECRET PT. I | CL16

part one - part two

charles leclerc x fem!character

a/n: i feel bad for charles in this one whoops. inspired by dirty little secret by nessa barrett. part two will def have some good luck, babe! undertones. this is short and not that sweet. enjoy the angst

requests open

wc: 1.4k

His phone lit up in the dark room, casting the space in blue luminescence. He knew who it was, he didn’t need to check. It was practically routine any time she came to a race weekend. Charles was at her beck and call, always groveling. It had been that way for years.

Her dirty little secret, kept hidden from the world. He was hers. Charles kept telling himself he was okay with that but every now and then that little creature would crawl up from the depth of his mind, reminding him that she wasn’t his.

It wasn’t like they were completely unknown. To everyone else they were just friends. Supportive and caring. Nothing more, nothing less. Charles had to stand there and watch as she ran off with another guy every now and then. Confused but willing when she’d still call him to meet up, knowing it was wrong but not caring because he was selfish that way. He’d greedily take whatever parts of herself she’d give him.

Besides, he was doing it to himself at this point. She’d been up front the moment they decided to cross the boundaries of what had been an innocent friendship. They had lied there, tangled up in his sheets with city lights gleaming outside of whatever hotel they had been in. Her head rested against his chest and he drew circles into her back.

“Don’t give me your heart,” she had whispered. A warning. Either for him or herself, he didn’t know.

Charles didn’t think much of it until the next day when they were in the paddock and he’d gone for her hand. A little hurt when she slipped away from him, sparing him a glance before walking away to go talk to Lando.

He understood quickly enough when he found them making out later that night in a club.

They weren’t meant to be known, it was just for fun. She told him he could back out whenever he wanted with no hard feelings. They could just be friends, like usual.

He never said no when she called.

Never said no when she pulled him into her room by his shirt, mouth crashing onto his. Saying no never crossed his mind when his hands danced up beneath her skirt.

When baby had slipped out of his mouth one day he hadn’t noticed until she paused and looked at him. Her expression unreadable, her eyes a little sad. Or maybe it was pity.

“What’re you doing that for?”

Charles opened his mouth to respond, but he didn’t know what to say. That kind of intimacy isn’t what she wanted. At least not from him. “Sorry,” he muttered, watching as she turned away from him and texted on her phone. Her new boyfriend, or not quite. Considering they had sex last night, the hickeys Charles left on her hidden beneath her shirt.

He knew what he was doing was awful. But he kept telling himself one day he wouldn’t have to sneak out the backdoor of her house when her boyfriend got home early. That one day it would be his own home she woke up in. He wanted lazy mornings with her. He wanted to take her out, dance, kiss her with reckless abandon.

Charles was patient, he could wait. She’d realise soon enough she didn't need to find comfort in others. Part of him felt like she knew already but was just pushing off the inevitable. It was scary, giving yourself over to someone so completely. He knew in their case it was a bit complicated. Years of pushing and pulling, what ifs and attraction neither wanted to address.

They were best friends, nothing would change that and he knew he’d always be there for her. Despite the distance she tried to put between them sometimes, he knew she’d always have his back.

Monaco had been a dangerous test on his self control. After he won and he saw her from where he was standing on the top step of the podium, smiling at him with tears in her eyes, he ran to her afterwards. Picking her up and spinning her around, the sound of her laughter was heaven in his ears. Charles nearly kissed her, but he caught the warning in her eyes before he did. There are eyes around. Not here. Have you lost your mind?

He was nearly tempted to do it anyway, but after a moment he set her down, using all of his will power to remove his hands from her waist.

“Thank you for being here,” he said instead. Still happy of course, but his smile a little less bright. Hesitant. Not knowing how to act around her.

She gave him her own quiet grin, reaching a hand out to squeeze his own and he felt his heart trip over itself before she let go. “I know how much this race means to you.”

He nodded, taking in any of the small doses of affection she doled out to him.

Though later at the after party, when his eyes danced around looking for her like always, his heart melting a little when he saw her laughing and drinking with Oscar’s girlfriend, he took a few steps forward before coming to an abrupt halt.

Carlos came up behind her, arms sliding around her waist, comfortable. Familiar. She leaned into him, tilting her head back to let him kiss her.

It felt as if the world had been yanked out from under his feet. Hurtling through space, the lack of oxygen making his head spin. His teammate? Really?

When the opportunity arose as he saw her walking off to the bathroom, he came up behind her and grabbed her arm, spinning her around.

She blinked up at him, a bit dazed by the sudden aggression. But as her eyes flicked over his face her lips pressed into a line. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Carlos? Seriously?”

She yanked her arm out of his hold, her brows furrowing as if he were being unreasonable. “What’s wrong with Carlos?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. He supposed he was being a little unreasonable. All the times he knew she was in a relationship but he still happily obliged whatever desire she wanted, went down on her whenever she asked, let her nails rake down his back and when he’d pull on her hair the way she liked, when she moaned his name instead of her boyfriend’s… he hadn’t batted an eye.

Lando had admittedly hurt a bit, but he knew it wasn’t much between them. A fling. Excuses were all Charles made. But his teammate? That felt too close. Too real. Too personal even, because why not him? Why not ever just him?

She sighed, as if reading his mind. “Charles,” she started slowly. Tip toeing around the topic. Because he knew she knew. He’d known she’s known for a while now. She knew he was in love with her.

“Listen, I didn’t mean for this to get this far.” She gestured between them and he could feel his heart beating in his ears. “And we have fun, a lot and it’s always been nice but I don’t need to be this grand love of your life.”

He closed his eyes, suddenly wishing he hadn’t come out tonight. Wishing he was anywhere else.

He flinched when he felt her hand gently cup the side of his face, eyes opening to meet hers and he already knew what she was going to say.

“We don’t have to be in love, Charles.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but what? What else was there to say? He’d been a fool, he knew that. She warned him from the start but he had blindly held onto hope.

“I don’t want to be in love.” Her hand fell from his face and she stepped away from him. “Not with you.”

Charles stood there. His ears were ringing. Dazed. Dizzy. Watching as she went off to Carlos, falling into him so easily and smiling as he kissed her.

He should’ve blocked her number. Should’ve deleted it.

When his phone rang two weeks later he stared at it for a moment. Hating her. Hating Carlos a little bit, which he knew wasn’t fair.

He hated himself as he picked up, muttering a Hello and I’ll be over in ten minutes.

tag list: @theonottsbxtch @fortunapre @ashbone @c8lap1nto @taasgirl @stopeatread @dying-inside-but-its-classy

#Spotify #f1 #formula one #formula 1 #f1 fanfic #fanfic #charles leclerc x female oc #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc #cl16 imagine #cl16 #charles leclerc angst #situationships

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thesongofthesiren · 3 days ago

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I don’t know who needs to hear this, but I just want to say, as someone who used to wear acrylic nails for at least a decade, they are such a fucking sham.

Growing up I was always fed the idea that nails meant you didn’t have to do anything? Which was supposed to be considered a good thing? Like “teehee I don’t have to do anything I’m so spoiled” but they try hiding from you how fucking fun it is to actually do things.

Ever shoot a gun? Fucking phenomenal. Hit your target? Feels fantastic. That aside, being able to take a gun apart, study how it works, and put it back together? Absolutely amazing.

Ever use a fucking power saw? Power tools in general are invigorating. Built a whole work bench in the detached garage. Talk about something being actually empowering.

I had to stop playing piano because of my nails. Who chooses fake nails over literally getting to create art?! Crazy. I can’t believe once upon that time I actively made that choice.

Gardening? Couldn’t imagine trying to do that with nails. Getting dirt stuck in there for days? Would feel horrible. Feeling self conscious when you go to get them fixed because of how dirty they are. I forgot how much I loved playing in the dirt as a child. I love the smell of soil. It makes you feel more connected to the Earth. I talk to my plants, I read to my plants. I love my plants.

Book Nooks! They’re models you get to put together. Super small parts. Glue needed. So far put together a model greenhouse and a model library. Would literally be impossible with fake nails. You feel so accomplished when you’re done. Takes about 6-8 hours to do most of the time. There’s electrical you get to put together. Sometimes you’re twisting wires together trying to get the lights on lol. Love those things.

Getting to work with your hands feels great. It’s freeing. Fake nails completely strips you of that. When I had nails on I had problems simply trying to button a blouse…. that’s depressing to think about.

I know basically all radfems know of this. So this is more for the cryptos. The lurkers. The ones in the shadows who are curious. Who want to learn.

Im telling you. You don’t know what you’re missing.

#don’t even get me started #on how long it took my real nails to heal #it took almost a year #radical feminism #radblr #radical feminist community #radical feminists please interact #radical feminists welcome #free your hands and become a little more free in the process #anti beauty culture #anti beauty industry

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mint-yooxgi · 2 days ago

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Honestly though, guys...

I can't tell you enough how therapeutic it's been to write a completely self indulgent fic that's more than likely never going to see the light of day. Things have been rough the past few months given everything going on, and it's served as a great pick-me-up to write.

So here's the sign you're looking for! Go ahead! Write that self-indulgent fic you've always envisioned! Be shameless about it!!

Have fun and just enjoy yourself, life is too short to confine yourself to a box and worry about what others may think. What matters is you and your own happiness, and sometimes, you've got to create a fun little escape yourself.

#admin's thoughts #thought you'd ought to know #update #hehehe #seriously though #I've smashed out over 156k in just under three months #it's honestly so freeing #like #this is for ME #not anyone else #:')

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hyuniemyunie · 2 days ago

Note

Mob psycho characters reacting to you wanting to paint their nails (platonic, w mob and reigen and whoever else)

A Splash of Color

mob psycho 100 characters x gn!reader

sfw

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

(ФωФ):

(　・ω・) hehe

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･

The Con Artist Gets Conned

"Okay, hold on, hold on." Reigen leaned back in his chair, hands raised in mock defense. "Let me get this straight. You want me, a grown adult businessman, to let you paint my nails?"

You nodded.

"For free?"

Another nod.

Reigen squinted. "What's in it for me?"

"An upgrade to your style," you said, waving a bottle of gold nail polish in front of his face. "C’mon, you already wear those gaudy rings sometimes. Think of it as an extension of your fashion sense."

He glanced at the bottle, then at you, clearly weighing his options. The self-proclaimed master of persuasion was, for once, on the receiving end of a negotiation.

"Hypothetically," he said, leaning forward, "if I were to let you do this—totally hypothetically—what color would you recommend for a man of my sophistication?"

You smirked, placing the gold polish in his hand. "This. Makes you look classy."

Reigen turned the bottle over, examining it like it was some kind of ancient artifact. "Gold, huh? That does scream money… power… success…"

"Exactly."

He sighed, shaking his head as if he were making a huge sacrifice. "Alright, alright. But if anyone asks, you bribed me."

You rolled your eyes and pulled his hand toward you. He twitched slightly when you started painting his nails but stayed put, resting his chin on his free hand.

"So, uh, you've done this before, right?" he asked, watching you work.

"Yeah, Reigen, I'm not running a scam," you deadpanned.

"Good, good. Wouldn't want to get a botched job, you know? Presentation is everything in my line of work."

You took your sweet time finishing, knowing full well that Reigen was trying (and failing) to act nonchalant about it. When you finally leaned back, the gold polish gleamed under the light, smooth and flawless.

He lifted his hand, wiggling his fingers. "Huh. Not bad."

"Not bad?" you repeated. "It looks great."

"Yeah, yeah, fine, great." He smirked, admiring his nails. "Maybe I should start offering 'spiritual aura enhancement' sessions where I paint clients' nails. Think I could get away with charging 5,000 yen for it?"

You groaned. "Reigen, no."

Reigen, still admiring his nails: "Reigen, yes."

An Anxious Makeover

Serizawa's eyes widened in sheer panic when you approached him with a bottle of nail polish in hand. His fingers clutched the hem of his jacket, his shoulders tensing like you’d just asked him to commit a federal crime.

"You—you want to paint my nails?" he stammered, already looking for an escape route.

You nodded enthusiastically, wiggling the bottle in front of him. "Yep! C’mon, it'll be fun!"

He glanced around as if hoping someone—anyone—would save him from this situation. Unfortunately for him, Reigen wasn’t here to provide a convenient distraction.

"U-uh, I don’t know," he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don’t think it’s… uh, my thing?"

"You don’t have to love it, just try it," you coaxed. "It’s not permanent, and I promise you won’t die from it."

Serizawa still looked unconvinced, but his resolve was crumbling fast under your relentless persuasion. He sighed, hesitantly holding out a trembling hand.

"Okay, um… just—just a little, okay?"

You grinned, carefully grabbing his hand. His fingers twitched nervously, but he didn’t pull away. You chose a nice, subtle green for him—something calming, something that suited him.

As you worked, Serizawa kept his eyes glued to his hand like it was about to combust. He was so ridiculously tense it was kind of funny.

"You can relax, y’know," you said, blowing gently on the drying polish.

"I am relaxed," he lied, voice an octave higher than usual.

You chuckled. "If you say so."

When you finished, he stared at his freshly painted nails in absolute bewilderment, like he couldn't quite believe this was real.

"...It actually looks kind of nice," he admitted hesitantly.

"See? Told you!"

He let out a nervous chuckle, rubbing the back of his head. "Uh, thanks. I think."

You patted his shoulder. "You survived. Proud of you."

Serizawa exhaled dramatically, like he had just been through a harrowing ordeal. But despite his initial panic, he didn’t immediately run off to remove the polish. Small victories.

Steady Hands, Unsteady Heart

You had barely finished the question before Mob gave you a slow blink, his expression unreadable. His hands, neatly folded on his lap, tensed ever so slightly.

"You… want to paint my nails?" he repeated, as if trying to confirm he had heard correctly.

You nodded enthusiastically, already pulling out your small collection of nail polish bottles. A mix of vibrant and pastel shades clinked together, reflecting the soft light of the room.

Mob stared at them for a long moment, his eyes flicking between your excited expression and the assortment of colors. "I don't mind," he finally said, voice steady.

You could tell he wasn’t excited, but he also wasn’t against it. He was just… Mob. Neutral. Calm. Unfazed by most things.

"Do you have a color preference?" you asked, already grabbing his hand.

His fingers were warm and surprisingly smooth—except for a few tiny calluses on his fingertips, probably from training at the Body Improvement Club.

"Um…" He hesitated, his brows furrowing just slightly. Then, with the same level of careful deliberation as if he were about to move a building with his mind, he pointed at a bottle of dark blue polish. "This one, maybe?"

It made sense. A subtle but nice color, something not too bold or attention-grabbing. A shade that wouldn't stand out too much at school.

As you started painting his nails, you noticed how still he kept his hands, barely moving at all. His breathing was slow, measured, like he was concentrating deeply on something.

"You’re really good at this," you said, dragging the brush along his thumbnail. "Most people twitch a lot when I do their nails."

Mob blinked again, his gaze on the wet polish. "I’m used to staying still for long periods of time," he explained. "Sometimes when I meditate… or when I'm controlling my powers."

That made sense. You chuckled. "Well, I appreciate it. Makes my job easier."

Silence settled between you both, but it wasn’t awkward. Just comfortable. Mob seemed to be… enjoying it, in his own quiet way. You wondered if he’d ever done something like this before.

By the time you finished, the dark blue polish gleamed under the light. Mob lifted his hand slightly, studying it with mild curiosity.

"It looks nice," he said, his voice as even as ever—but there was a tiny hint of satisfaction there.

You grinned. "Want me to add little stars or something? Make it space-themed?"

Mob paused. Then, after a moment of consideration, he nodded. "That would be nice."

He let you carefully dot tiny white stars onto each nail, his expression never changing—but when you finished, you swore you saw the slightest uptick at the corner of his mouth.

Mission success.

The Reluctant Participant

Ritsu gave you a long, skeptical look, his arms crossed.

"You want to paint my nails?"

"Yup!"

A pause.

"I don't know…" He shifted slightly, looking vaguely uncomfortable with the idea. "I don’t think it suits me."

"That’s the fun part! Who cares?" You waggled a bottle of deep red polish at him. "It'll look cool, promise."

Ritsu exhaled, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He looked like he wanted to decline but also knew you weren’t going to give up.

"...Fine," he muttered, reluctantly holding out his hand. "But make it quick."

You grinned, wasting no time in getting started. His hands were noticeably different from Mob’s—tenser, fingers twitching every so often, like he wasn’t sure he wanted to be here.

"You’re so stiff," you teased. "Relax a little."

"I am relaxed," he lied.

You snickered and continued painting. The deep red color looked good on him—dramatic, almost elegant. You figured he might actually like it if he got over his initial embarrassment.

When you were done, he examined his nails with an unreadable expression. He didn’t immediately say anything.

"...It’s not bad," he admitted at last.

You smirked. "Told you."

He sighed, flexing his fingers slightly. "If Teru sees this, he's going to say something annoying."

"Let him," you said. "Bet he’ll be jealous."

Ritsu rolled his eyes, but you swore you saw a tiny smile before he turned away.

Mr. Fashion Icon Himself

Teru squinted at the nail polish bottles like he was judging their worthiness.

"Hmm," he hummed, tapping his chin. "If I’m going to do this, it has to match my aesthetic."

You rolled your eyes. "So you're in, then?"

Teru scoffed. "Obviously. If I can pull off bleach-blond hair, I can definitely pull off painted nails."

Fair point.

You let him sift through the colors, watching as he analyzed them like he was making a major life decision. Eventually, he settled on a gold polish, holding it up with a smug smile.

"This one. It screams style."

You nodded, already unscrewing the cap. "Good choice, your highness."

Teru smirked. "I do have excellent taste."

Unlike the others, he had no issue sitting still. In fact, he was way too into it, watching you paint with a fascinated gleam in his eye.

"You’re surprisingly good at this," he commented.

"Thanks," you said. "You're surprisingly vain."

He gasped dramatically. "Vain? Me? No, no, this is just self-care. You wouldn’t understand."

You snorted but kept painting. When you finished, Teru inspected his nails with a pleased nod.

"Flawless. As expected," he said, flipping his hair.

"You are way too into this."

"Listen," he said, admiring his nails, "if you ever need someone to model your work, I’m available."

You flicked his forehead. "Noted, diva."

He simply grinned.

Chaos in a Small Package

Sho had zero hesitation. The second you pulled out the nail polish, he grinned like you had just handed him a brand-new way to cause trouble.

"Oh, hell yeah," he said, slamming his hands on the table. "Do mine bright red."

You blinked. "No hesitation? No complaints?"

"Why would I complain?" Sho scoffed. "Nail polish is cool as hell. I bet my dad would hate it."

Ah. There it was.

"Is that why you want it?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Nah," Sho said, waving a hand. "But it’s a nice bonus."

You snorted and got to work. Sho, unlike literally everyone else you’d painted nails for, was completely at ease. He drummed his fingers on the table as you worked, barely sitting still.

"You gotta stop moving," you warned.

"Sorry, sorry," he said, clearly not sorry. "I'm just excited. Maybe I should get my toes done next."

"One step at a time, dude."

Sho grinned, watching the glossy red coat settle on his nails. "Man, this is sick. I look awesome."

"You already thought you looked awesome."

"Yeah, but now I have proof." He wiggled his fingers, admiring the way the light reflected off them.

You shook your head fondly. "Glad you're happy."

"I should do this to Ritsu," Sho mused. "Bet he’d be all pissy about it."

"Please don’t give him another reason to punch you."

Sho cackled. "No promises!"

#mob psycho 100 #gn reader #gender neutral reader #gn!reader #reigen x reader #mp100 reigen #mob psycho reigen #mp100 x reader #mp100 shigeo #reigen arataka #serizawa katsuya #sho suzuki #teruki hanazawa #kageyama shigeo #mob psycho shigeo #mob shigeo #shigeo kageyama #ritsu kageyama

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