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logansargeantsbabymom · 1 month

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Las Vegas SMAUs

Grid x Fem!Reader

A/N: I totally lied to you guys. I thought about this idea since I'm vacationing here in Vegas and I HAD to do this and post it! I also haven't posted a SMAU in a while so enjoy!

Follow my instagram account (THATS STRICTLY FOR THIS BLOG) for updates on when i post and fun stuff like that!

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Logan Sargeant:

The club was a whirlwind of flashing lights and thumping bass. Logan Sargeant and I were relishing our rare night out, the high energy of the club contrasting sharply with the intensity of race weekends. We were at a VIP table, enjoying the night when I noticed a drunken man stumbling our way. He was clearly inebriated, his movements erratic as he navigated the crowd.

He stumbled up to our table, his eyes squinting as he focused on Logan. “Hey, bro,” he slurred loudly, drawing attention from nearby tables. “What’s with the arm candy? She’s probably just here for the perks. You know, the money and stuff.”

I tried to ignore the comment, hoping it was just drunken nonsense that would pass. Logan’s face, however, flushed with visible irritation. “Hey, man, can you keep it down?” he asked, attempting to defuse the situation with a calm but firm tone.

But the man was relentless. “Seriously,” he continued, leaning in and jabbing a finger in Logan’s direction. “She’s a trophy girlfriend. You’re the fool for thinking she actually cares about you.”

Logan’s patience snapped. He stood up abruptly, his face a mask of controlled rage. “That’s enough!” he shouted, his voice cutting through the music. “You don’t get to talk about her like that!”

The man responded with a drunken shove, which sent Logan stumbling back into the table. Logan’s anger boiled over, and he lunged forward, shoving the man back. The situation deteriorated rapidly. The drunkard, enraged, retaliated, and within moments, they were on the floor, trading blows. The club’s atmosphere shifted from lively to chaotic, with patrons crowding around and whipping out their phones to capture the scene.

The club’s security team, alerted by the uproar, rushed over. The bouncers struggled to separate the two men amidst the spilled drinks and scattered debris. I followed the commotion to a small, dimly lit back room where Logan was being held. His face was a mixture of frustration and remorse as he paced back and forth.

“I just couldn’t stand by and let him talk about you like that,” Logan said, his voice trembling with regret.

I handed over the bail money to the officer, my hands shaking slightly. “I know you were trying to defend me, but we need to be more cautious. Let’s get out of here and go somewhere more low-key.”

The officer uncuffed Logan, and we quickly exited the back room, avoiding the remaining crowd as we left the club and sought a quieter place to regroup.

Lando Norris:

The casino was abuzz with activity, the clinking of chips and murmurs of excitement filling the air. Lando Norris and I were at one of the high-stakes poker tables, deeply engrossed in the game when a rowdy guest at a nearby table began making disparaging remarks.

The man’s voice cut through the noise of the casino, slurred and obnoxious. “Hey, look at her,” he called out, his gaze locked on me. “She’s probably just here to use you. All this is just a front.”

I felt a rush of discomfort but tried to ignore him, hoping he would tire of his behavior. But he continued, his comments growing increasingly personal. “Seriously,” he said, his voice growing louder. “She’s a gold-digger. You’re just a fool if you think she’s with you for any other reason.”

Lando’s face turned a deep shade of red. His jaw clenched as he tried to control his anger. “Can you keep your mouth shut?” he snapped, but the man’s taunts only escalated. “You’re pathetic, mate,” he continued. “She’s just using you for the money.”

Unable to hold back any longer, Lando stood up abruptly. “That’s enough!” he shouted, his voice cutting through the casino’s cacophony. He shoved the man, who staggered backward before lunging at Lando. The two men clashed in the middle of the casino floor, exchanging punches and grappling fiercely.

The crowd around us quickly swelled, with many pulling out their phones to record the spectacle. Chips flew, and the poker game was abruptly abandoned as patrons turned their attention to the unfolding drama. Security arrived promptly, but it took several minutes for them to separate Lando and the man, who were both covered in scratches and bruises.

I rushed to the security office, my heart pounding as I handed over the bail money. “I’m here to bail out Lando Norris,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

Lando, visibly shaken and with a mixture of frustration and regret on his face, looked at me. “I didn’t mean for it to get this far,” he said, rubbing his sore knuckles.

The officer uncuffed him, and I led Lando out of the casino, away from the curious onlookers and the chaos, in hopes of finding a quieter place to calm down and enjoy the rest of our evening.

Charles Leclerc:

The hotel lobby was a haven of luxury and calm, a stark contrast to the scene that was about to unfold. Charles Leclerc and I were relaxing in the plush seating area, enjoying a moment of peace after a hectic day. The tranquility was shattered when a drunk guest began making loud, derogatory comments.

“Hey, look at her,” the guest said loudly, his voice carrying across the lobby. “She’s probably just here for the perks. What a joke.”

Charles’s face tightened with irritation. I could see the anger building in his eyes. I tried to stay calm, hoping the man would back off. But the guest continued, growing bolder with each comment. “Seriously, man,” he said, leaning closer, “she’s just here for your money. You’re fooling yourself if you think she’s actually interested in you.”

Charles’s patience wore thin. “You need to stop!” he shouted, standing up with a mixture of anger and determination. “You don’t get to talk about her like that!”

The confrontation escalated quickly. The guest shoved Charles, and Charles responded by shoving him back. The lobby, once a serene escape, was now filled with chaos as the two men clashed. Guests looked on in shock, some pulling out their phones to capture the altercation.

Security arrived promptly, intervening to separate Charles and the guest. The atmosphere was electric with excitement as the crowd buzzed with whispers and recordings. I followed them to the security office, my heart racing as I handed over the bail money.

“I’m here to bail out Charles Leclerc,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

Charles looked at me with a mixture of frustration and regret. “I didn’t want things to get this bad,” he said, his voice filled with regret.

The officer uncuffed Charles, and I guided him out of the office. “Let’s go back to our room and try to put this behind us,” I suggested, hoping to salvage what was left of the evening.

Carlos Sainz:

The high roller suite was the epitome of luxury and relaxation, but that changed abruptly when a drunken guest began making derogatory remarks. Carlos Sainz and I were enjoying the opulent surroundings when the guest’s behavior grew increasingly obnoxious.

“Hey, look at her,” the guest slurred, his voice cutting through the suite’s refined atmosphere. “She’s probably just here for the money. What a joke.”

Carlos’s expression went from relaxed to visibly angry. “Can you keep it down?” he asked, trying to avoid a confrontation. But the guest’s comments grew more personal. “Seriously, mate,” he continued, “she’s just a trophy for you. You’re a fool for thinking otherwise.”

Carlos’s patience snapped. “That’s enough!” he shouted, confronting the guest. “You don’t get to talk about her like that!”

The situation quickly escalated. The guest shoved Carlos, who pushed back, and within moments, they were grappling on the floor of the luxurious suite. The suite, once a haven of elegance, was now a battleground. Security arrived, struggling to separate the two as the crowd of high-rollers looked on, many recording the scene with their phones.

I followed them to the security office, my heart pounding as I handed over the bail money. “I’m here to bail out Carlos Sainz,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

Carlos looked at me with a mix of frustration and regret. “I didn’t want things to get this far,” he said.

The officer uncuffed Carlos, and I guided him out of the office. “Let’s get out of here and try to enjoy the rest of our night,” I suggested, hoping to salvage what was left of our evening.

Daniel Ricciardo:

The Strip was alive with its characteristic energy and noise, but that vibrancy took a turn for the worse when a drunken tourist began making crude comments about me. Daniel Ricciardo and I were strolling along the famous street, taking in the sights and sounds, when the tourist’s behavior became intolerable.

“Hey,” the tourist called out, his voice slurring. “Are you just looking for a sugar daddy?”

Daniel’s mood shifted from relaxed to visibly tense. “Please, just stop,” he said, trying to defuse the situation. But the tourist continued, growing bolder. “Seriously, mate,” he persisted, “she’s just here for the money. You’re a fool if you think she actually likes you.”

Daniel’s anger was palpable. “That’s enough!” he shouted, confronting the tourist. “You don’t get to talk about her like that!”

The situation escalated quickly. The tourist shoved Daniel, who responded by shoving him back. The confrontation turned into a physical altercation, with the two men trading blows on the sidewalk. A crowd quickly gathered, with many pulling out their phones to record the fight.

The police arrived swiftly, intervening to separate Daniel and the tourist. The crowd buzzed with excitement as the officers dealt with the situation. I made my way to the police car, my heart racing as I handed over the bail money. “I’m here to bail out Daniel Ricciardo,” I said.

Daniel looked at me, his face a mix of frustration and regret. “I didn’t want things to get this bad,” he said, rubbing his wrists where the handcuffs had been.

The officer uncuffed Daniel, and I guided him away from the chaos. “Let’s get out of here and find somewhere quieter,” I suggested, hoping to end the night on a better note.

Lewis Hamilton:

The upscale bar was supposed to be a retreat from the hectic pace of Las Vegas, but that changed abruptly when a drunken guest began making disrespectful comments. Lewis Hamilton and I were enjoying our time at the bar, savoring the luxury and ambiance when the guest’s behavior took a turn.

“Hey,” he called out loudly, slurring his words. “What’s she doing with you? She’s probably just a gold-digger.”

Lewis' face tightened with anger. “Please, stop,” he said, trying to ignore the comments. But the guest didn’t relent. “Seriously,” he continued, “she’s just here for the money. You’re a fool if you think she actually likes you.”

Lewis' anger flared. “That’s enough!” he shouted, standing up with visible frustration. “You don’t get to talk about her like that!”

The situation quickly escalated. The guest shoved Lewis, who responded by pushing back. The upscale bar, once a sanctuary of peace, turned chaotic. Security rushed in, attempting to separate the two as patrons pulled out their phones to capture the scene.

I followed Lewis to the security office, my heart racing as I handed over the bail money. “I’m here to bail out Lewis Hamilton,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

Lewis looked at me, frustration and regret evident in his eyes. “I didn’t want things to get this out of hand,” he said.

The officer uncuffed Lewis, and I guided him out of the office. “Let’s get out of here and try to enjoy the rest of our night,” I suggested.

Oscar Piastri:

The lively atmosphere of Fremont Street was a stark contrast to the chaos that unfolded when a drunken spectator began making crude remarks about me. Oscar Piastri and I were enjoying the vibrant street scene when the spectator’s comments grew increasingly obnoxious.

“Hey,” he yelled, his voice slurred and loud. “What’s with her? She’s probably just a gold-digger!”

Oscar’s face shifted from cheerful to furious. “Please stop,” he said, trying to avoid a confrontation. But the spectator was relentless. “Seriously,” he continued, “you’re just flaunting her around like a trophy. What a joke.”

Oscar’s anger flared. “That’s enough!” he shouted, pushing the spectator away. “You don’t get to talk about her like that!”

The argument quickly escalated into a physical altercation. The spectator, caught off guard, retaliated, and soon they were engaged in a full-blown fight. The crowd on Fremont Street gathered around, many of them recording the commotion on their phones.

The police arrived quickly, separating Oscar and the spectator. I approached the officer, my voice steady but my heart racing. “I’m here to bail out Oscar Piastri,” I said, handing over the bail money.

Oscar looked at me, a mix of anger and regret in his eyes. “I didn’t want things to get this out of hand,” he said.

The officer uncuffed Oscar, and I took his arm as we left. “Let’s get out of here and find somewhere quieter,” I suggested, hoping to leave the chaos behind us.

George Russell:

The luxury pool party was supposed to be a highlight of our trip, but a drunk guest’s comments soon ruined the evening. George Russell and I were lounging by the pool when the guest began making loud, derogatory remarks.

“Hey,” he called out, his voice dripping with mockery. “Look at her. She’s probably just here for the free drinks and a rich boyfriend. What a cliché.”

George’s face darkened. “Can you keep it to yourself?” he asked, trying to remain calm. But the guest didn’t stop. “Seriously, mate,” he continued. “She’s just a trophy. You’re fooling yourself if you think otherwise.”

Unable to stay quiet, George stood up. “You don’t get to talk about her like that!” he shouted.

The situation escalated quickly. The guest shoved George, who pushed back, and the confrontation turned physical. Security intervened, and the party-goers began recording the drama. George was soon escorted away in handcuffs, while the crowd buzzed with excitement.

I approached the security office, my heart racing. “I’m here to bail out George Russell,” I said, handing over the bail money.

George looked at me with a mixture of frustration and regret. “I didn’t want things to get this bad,” he said.

The officer uncuffed him, and I guided him out. “Let’s get out of here and try to salvage what’s left of our night,” I suggested.

Lance Stroll:

The exclusive lounge was meant to be a relaxing escape, but it turned into chaos when a disrespectful guest started making lewd comments about me. Lance Stroll and I were enjoying a quiet drink when the guest’s remarks took a turn.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he said loudly, “are you just here for the rich guy? What a cliché.”

Lance’s face turned red with anger. “Please stop,” he said, trying to defuse the situation. But the guest didn’t relent. “Seriously,” he continued. “She’s probably just a gold-digger. You’re pathetic for thinking otherwise.”

Lance’s patience snapped. “That’s enough!” he shouted, confronting the guest. “You don’t get to talk about her like that!”

The argument quickly escalated into a physical confrontation. Security arrived, separating Lance and the guest while patrons began recording the scene. Lance was handcuffed and escorted away, and the lounge buzzed with excitement.

I approached the security office, handing over the bail money with a sigh. “I’m here to bail out Lance Stroll,” I said.

Lance looked at me, clearly frustrated. “I didn’t want things to get out of hand,” he said.

The officer uncuffed Lance, and I took his arm as we left. “Let’s get out of here and try to enjoy the rest of our night,” I suggested.

Max Verstappen:

The luxury restaurant was meant to be a serene dining experience, but a rude patron’s comments quickly shattered the calm. Max Verstappen and I were enjoying a quiet dinner when the guest’s remarks began to pierce through the ambiance.

“Hey, look at her,” the guest said loudly, “she’s probably just here for a free meal and a rich boyfriend. How cliché.”

Max’s face turned from relaxed to enraged. “Can you keep your comments to yourself?” he asked, trying to stay calm. But the guest continued. “Seriously, man,” he sneered. “She’s just a gold-digger. What a joke.”

Max’s patience snapped. “You don’t get to talk about her like that!” he shouted, confronting the guest.

The situation quickly escalated. Max shoved the guest, who retaliated, and before long, they were grappling on the floor. Security intervened swiftly, and the restaurant’s patrons began recording the altercation. Max was soon escorted away in handcuffs, while the restaurant buzzed with excitement.

I approached the security office, my heart racing. “I’m here to bail out Max Verstappen,” I said, handing over the bail money.

Max looked at me, a mix of anger and regret in his eyes. “I didn’t want things to get this bad,” he said.

The officer uncuffed Max, and I guided him out. “Let’s get out of here and enjoy the rest of our evening,” I suggested.

Pierre Gasly:

The exotic car showroom was a spectacle of luxury and opulence, but it turned chaotic when a rude guest began making derogatory comments about me. Pierre Gasly and I were admiring the cars when the guest’s remarks took a turn.

“Hey,” he said loudly, “look at her. She’s probably just here to find a rich guy. What a joke.”

Pierre’s face tightened with anger. “Can you stop?” he said, trying to ignore the comments. But the guest persisted. “Seriously,” he continued, “she’s just a gold-digger. You’re a fool for thinking otherwise.”

Pierre’s anger flared. “That’s enough!” he shouted, confronting the guest. “You don’t get to talk about her like that!”

The situation quickly escalated into a physical confrontation. Security intervened, and the showroom’s patrons began recording the drama. Pierre was soon escorted away in handcuffs, and the crowd buzzed with excitement.

I approached the security office, handing over the bail money with a sigh. “I’m here to bail out Pierre Gasly,” I said.

Pierre looked at me with frustration and regret. “I didn’t want things to get this out of hand,” he said.

The officer uncuffed Pierre, and I guided him out. “Let’s get out of here and try to enjoy what’s left of our night,” I suggested.

Arthur Leclerc:

The rooftop bar was a high-end retreat with stunning views, but it took a turn for the worse when a drunk guest began making crude comments. Arthur Leclerc and I were enjoying the evening when the guest’s behavior became increasingly obnoxious.

“Hey,” the guest slurred loudly, “look at her. She’s probably just here for the free drinks and a rich boyfriend. What a cliché.”

Arthur’s patience wore thin. “Can you keep it down?” he asked, trying to defuse the situation. But the guest continued. “Seriously, man,” he persisted. “She’s just a trophy girlfriend. You’re a fool if you think she actually cares about you.”

Arthur’s anger flared. “That’s enough!” he shouted, confronting the guest. “You don’t get to talk about her like that!”

The situation quickly escalated. The guest shoved Arthur, who retaliated, and before long, they were on the floor, grappling fiercely. The rooftop bar, once a serene escape, was now filled with chaos. Security arrived, attempting to separate the two as patrons recorded the altercation on their phones.

I followed Arthur to the security office, my heart racing as I handed over the bail money. “I’m here to bail out Arthur Leclerc,” I said.

Arthur looked at me with a mix of frustration and regret. “I didn’t want things to get this bad,” he said.

The officer uncuffed Arthur, and I guided him out. “Let’s get out of here and try to enjoy what’s left of our night,” I suggested.

Paul Aron:

The high roller lounge in the casino was meant to be a luxurious experience, but it turned chaotic when a drunken guest began making derogatory remarks about me. Paul Aron and I were enjoying the exclusive atmosphere when the guest’s comments took a turn.

“Hey,” the guest slurred loudly, “look at her. She’s probably just here for the rich guy. What a cliché.”

Paul’s face turned red with anger. “Please, stop,” he said, trying to ignore the comments. But the guest didn’t relent. “Seriously, mate,” he continued. “She’s just a trophy girlfriend. You’re a fool for thinking otherwise.”

Paul’s patience snapped. “That’s enough!” he shouted, confronting the guest. “You don’t get to talk about her like that!”

The situation quickly escalated. The guest shoved Paul, who retaliated, and before long, they were grappling on the floor. The high roller lounge, once a haven of luxury, was now filled with chaos. Security arrived, struggling to separate the two as patrons recorded the scene with their phones.

I followed Paul to the security office, my heart racing as I handed over the bail money. “I’m here to bail out Paul Aron,” I said.

Paul looked at me with a mix of frustration and regret. “I didn’t want things to get this out of hand,” he said.

The officer uncuffed Paul, and I guided him out. “Let’s get out of here and try to salvage the rest of our evening,” I suggested.

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traumagician · 2 years

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I know someone posted the timeless main theme already, but my favorite musical moment in Goncharov is definitely the song that Katya sings in the cabaret just before the infamous poker scene with Sofia... and her reprisal of it just before she "dies" (EVEN THOUGH I STILL THINK EVERYTHING POINTS TO HER FAKING HER DEATH) just breaks my heart every time....

The music supervisors did their homework on this one too, because the lyrics are actually from a famous poem by Russian poet Alexander Blok, and they just fit the tone of the show SO well...

Night, street, lamp, drugstore,

A dull and meaningless light.

Go on and live another quarter century - nothing will change.

There's no way out.

You'll die, then start from the beginning;

It will repeat, just like before:

Night, icy ripples on a canal,

Drugstore, street, lamp.

UGH! THE THEMES! THE BLEAKNESS OF IT ALL! Anyway, if you need me I'll be hiding in my room and being absolutely normal about all this... and I may post more hard-to-find clips from the soundtrack to my music blog @traumaticmagic later

#goncharov #goncharov (1973)#music #original music #unreality

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nikkento-writes · 2 months

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Bad Romance

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x f!reader

Rating: Explicit - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Word Count: ~2.7k

cw: Wild West au, no curses au, violence, implied sex work, explicit language, explicit sexual content, smut - PIV sex, blow job, cunnilingus, dirty talk, pet names, creampie

Summary: You’re the Vixen Viper, an outlaw on the run with an outstanding bounty. You find a temporary safe-haven at the Star Saloon, protecting the women who work there while they protect you from the authorities. One night, a bounty hunter by the name of Toji Fushiguro shows up, threatening to cause some trouble. Somehow, you find the perfect way to subdue him.

Author's Note: This is a repost from my old blog! I originally wrote this as a request for a milestone event I was doing and it's still one of my fave fics that I've written, so I wanted to share it on here. I'm thinking of writing a Part 2 to this, we'll see! I just love the idea of Toji in the Wild West, idk, I think it fits him very well. Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are never expected, but always appreciated. Thanks for reading! Divider credit to @/fic-dumpster.

Midnight at the Star Saloon is always lively with rambunctious activity. It’s the perfect time for stragglers moseying through town or the miscreant locals to stop by for a break, meaning booze, gambling, or sex. Usually all three in one night. You’ve been a regular here for almost three months now, befriending the women and men who work hard to keep the patrons satisfied. Whether it’s serving alcohol until they fall out of their seats, enabling poker addictions, or riding their cocks in one of the private rooms upstairs at a special rate, they do it all to make an honest living. Though on occasion, customers will cross the line.

And that’s where you come in.

It started two months ago, after you had frequented the saloon enough times to be considered a regular. It was around three in the morning when one of the barmaids approached you, asking you to follow her upstairs. She led you into the private room all the way down the hall, and inside was another worker, sitting at the foot of the bed, cheek swollen and a black eye all on the left side of her face. That’s all you needed to see to set you off. The perp had already left, but you knew who he was as soon as she described him. And, of course, like all assholes do, thinking they got away with it, he came back. When he did, it was you this time who took him upstairs to that same bedroom, dressed in one of the barmaid’s outfits. You, who flirted with him and stripped him naked on the bed, promising to give him exactly what he deserved. And finally, it was you who robbed him and held a sharp blade to his pathetic penis, threatening to slice it right off if he ever showed his ugly fucking face in this town again. You haven’t seen him since.

At that time, your friends at the Star Saloon already knew you were someone who could handle things. Maybe it was the way you dressed at first, often showing up in cowboy attire, ready to book it if the situation called for it. Or maybe it was because they recognized you from the wanted posters plastered in the next town over, your silly nickname the Vixen Viper in big bold print below an unflattering photo of you from the last time you landed in jail, right before you escaped. They never mentioned it; never reported you to the authorities. Instead, they welcomed you in with open arms. There’s a bounty on your head for the crimes you committed against sleazy men like that, but you hold no guilt for your actions. To you, and to all the women in the saloons you’ve frequented, it’s justice. They need someone like you to protect people like them. Because lord knows that no one else in this godforsaken world will.

You’ve lasted three months in this town without the authorities catching on to you yet. You look quite different from your poster when you’re done up in makeup and a frilly dress, dagger concealed in the garter wrapped around your thigh. And with the help of your friends, you’ve managed to hide in plain sight, posing as one of the barmaids while you patrol the late-night crowd for any possible threats. Violence against these women has significantly lessened since you’ve been around. The rumor amongst the patrons is that men who misbehave get their money taken and their dicks chopped off, which is pretty spot-on to the actual truth. So fortunately, for both the workers and the customers, there isn’t any trouble.

Tonight is a little different.

You lean against the bar doing your usual inspection, checking for people who are causing a ruckus or getting rough with any of the ladies. You’re dressed similarly to them, though you never get requested to entertain in one of the private rooms above, considering you don’t go out of your way to flirt with any of the men. You lack the illustrious charm the others do; you’re only here for when things get ugly. It surprises you when a mysterious stranger on the other side of the room points to you directly, wiggling his finger to beckon you over. He smirks, the prominent scar on his lips curving with it. You grab your drink and walk over to him, curious to see what this is about, sensing that it can’t be anything good.

When you reach his table, you give him your most cordial smile. “Good evening, sir. Is there something I can help you with?”

He grins, waving to the seat across from him. “I was hoping you can join me for a little chat.” His tone is even, though there’s a hint of something sinister in there. Maybe it’s your imagination or better yet, your intuition. You’ll soon find out.

You drag the chair out, plopping into it, laying your hands flat on your lap, palm pressed to the knife hidden beneath your skirt. He scans you up and down before asking, “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

Resisting the urge to roll your eyes at him, you answer, giving him a fake one, of course. He nods, accepting it. “Toji Fushiguro. Pleasure to meet you.” He holds his hand out, which you take reluctantly, shaking it. His grip is firm, callouses rough against your own. “I saw you and knew I had to meet you.”

Your raise a brow at him. “Oh? What about me caught your eye?"

“Thought I recognized you from somewhere.” His gaze lingers on yours, expression unwavering.

Your heart stops momentarily, a rock settling in the pit of your stomach. Not here, not now. You swallow thickly, feigning ignorance. “Really? From where?”

He slides you a rolled-up paper, nodding his head for you to open it. “Take a look.”

Trembling now, you obey, unraveling it slowly until you see the words WANTED: ALIVE and your face staring back at you. There’s no need to go any further. You fold it up immediately, heart racing, glancing at your surroundings hoping no one else is listening in on your conversation. As calmly as you can, you lean forward towards him, muttering, “So what, are you going to arrest me? Hog-tie me in front of all these people?”

He inches even closer, noses nearly touching now, his breath tickling you. “Now, I’m a gentleman. I like to know a woman first before I tie her up.”

You scoff. “So what, am I supposed to come quietly then?”

He glances at your mouth, then back to your eyes. “I’m willing to negotiate if you have something to offer.”

You clear your throat, intrigued by his response. “Let’s discuss this somewhere more private,” you say, grabbing his wrist and dragging him up the stairs with you.

“Lead the way, Vixen.”

You lead him to the very end of the hallway, the furthest room away from the bar downstairs. There’s a fire escape just outside the window, your best chance to evade arrest. First, you’ll have to subdue him.

Inside, you lock the door shut, turning to face him. “Are you a police officer?”

He shakes his head. “Guess again,” he answers, opening his coat to display the gun and knife hanging on his belt.

“Bounty hunter,” you state, glaring at him.

“Yup. And you, my dear, have a very hefty bounty on your pretty little head.” He steps towards you, caging you between his arms, your back flat against the door. Although you remain untouched, his presence is suffocating.

“What do want?” you ask him, breathing in deeply through your nose.

“All the loot you robbed from those scumbags. Enough to exceed the bounty I’d get if I brought you back with me.”

You smirk. “Is that it?”

“And a deal,” he adds. “A partnership.”

You stare at him, confused. “What?”

He laughs, amused by your reaction. “I’ll admit, I’m a fan of your work. Drifting through town-to-town, robbing sleazy assholes. And you haven’t been caught until now. It’s impressive.”

You’re caught off guard by the praise, relaxing just the slightest bit. “So, what do you propose?”

He lets his arms down, placing his hands in his pockets while he explains himself. “There are several bounties for men exactly like the ones you hate. If you promise to help me get them, I won’t take you in tonight. I’ll even give you some of the money. If you’re good.”

“And why can’t you do this yourself?”

“It’s easier to get a guy when his guard’s down. If there’s a pretty little thing like you seducing him, catching him will be easy as pie.”

You stare at him, contemplating his proposition. It’s an easy decision for you to make. It’s either this, or jail. “Fine. You have a deal.”

He offers his hand to you. “Put it there, partner.” His tone is soft, almost sincere. You can’t help thinking that if this were any other scenario, you’d find him attractive. Hell, even in this one, you’re drawn to him. You take his hand, shaking it. He tugs you in closer, voice low and seductive. “I think we should celebrate this new friendship. What do you say?”

You smile at him, what feels like the first genuine one of the night. Maybe this isn’t as bad as you initially thought. When you close the distance, his mouth is on yours quickly, lips smacking, wet and sloppy. He slides out of his jacket, letting it thud loudly on the hardwood with his weapons weighing it down. The shirt he wears is tight on his body, clinging to him, emphasizing his muscular physique. You can’t remember the last time you were intimate with a man without the intention to backstab him. In fact, it’s been a while since you were intimate at all. With him guiding you, however, you match his movements naturally, sliding your hands up his torso, pawing at his chest as his hands squeeze your hips, pulling you towards the bed.

He moans, slipping his wide tongue past your lips, deepening the kiss and exerting his dominance. “Can’t wait to see what the Vixen Viper can really do,” he huffs, hoisting the hem of your dress, bunching it in his fist. His fingers trail the inside of your thighs, stopping at the garter, feeling the handle of the knife strapped to you. He clicks his tongue, mouth hovering your ear, hooking his finger to snap the elastic against your skin. “You really are dangerous.”

You let out a whimper, your pussy throbbing with arousal. He grabs the blade by the handle, whipping it out from its holster, tossing it to the other side of the room away from you. You chuckle, lifting your arms up so he can strip you properly. “Are you scared of me?”

He removes your corset swiftly, squeezing your bare breasts in his hands, thumbs flicking at your nipples. “I don’t want to get stabbed in case you change your mind.”

You shove him onto the bed, where he lies flat on his back, watching you straddle his lap, naked. “If I do that, then I wouldn’t get to fuck you.”

He laughs loudly, biting his lip. “Oh? You’re the one who’s gonna fuck me?”

“Yeah, I reckon,” you reply, unbuckling his belt and undoing his zipper. He continues to watch you intently, groaning when you shimmy his pants off to release his cock. It flops against his abdomen, even bigger than you imagined, all veiny and girthy. You salivate at the sight of it, opening your mouth for a taste.

“Fuck,” he curses, head relaxing into mattress, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling as you sink down on him, swallowing him up until the tip hits the back of your throat. You bob up and down on his shaft, gripping the base of his cock, swirling your tongue around the head. “You suck cock like a fucking whore. Did your friends out there teach you that?”

You grasp his balls in your hand, squeezing them tight, causing him to shudder. Shaking your head, you say, “I learned this from experience.”

He smirks. “Yeah? Come here. Put this pussy on my face. Bet I can teach you something you haven’t learned yet.”

You release him, crawling up his body until your wet cunt is pressed to his lips. His tongue laps at your arousal, swirling around your aching clit. You grip the top of the headboard, grinding on him. “Oh fuck!”

His hands surround your ass, squeezing at your soft cheeks, fingers digging into your flesh. He hums into your skin, the vibrations adding to the sensation. He nods beneath you, encouraging you. “That’s it, sweetheart. Take it. Take it like a good slut.”

He takes you into his mouth, slurping at your clit until your gushing all over his face, your orgasm shiny on his lips and chin. His eyes are wild with excitement, peering up at you between your legs. Kissing the plush of your thighs, he says, “Well, go on then, Vixen. Fuck me.”

Soon, you’re sinking down onto his fat cock, pussy already soaking wet with slick and spit. He fills you up to the brim, taking a few seconds to adjust to size comfortable. When you’re ready, you start to bounce on his lap, his cock thrusting in and out of you smoothly. He hits your sweet spot over and over, stimulating you into another messy orgasm after just a few solid strokes. Your tongue hangs out of your mouth, drool leaking down your chin, throat dry from the incessant moaning.

“Look at you. So fucked out for me,” he growls, planting his feet on the bed, taking control. He grabs onto your hips firmly, pounding up into you, watching your entire body convulse with each delicious thrust. “You talk a big game, but you like being manhandled like this. You’re just a slutty little hole waiting to be ruined. Waiting for the right man to use you.” He presses his thumb to your clit, massaging it with deep strokes. “Seems like you finally met the perfect partner.”

“Fuck, Toji!” you cry out, unraveling once again.

He increases his pace, the bed creaking noisily below you. “That’s it, baby. Come with me. Gonna breed this perfect pussy. Gonna fill you up so fucking good.” He pulls you down towards him, wrapping you in his arms, kissing you fiercely as he pumps his load inside you.

You both lay still for a moment, catching your breaths, Toji peppering delicate smooches along your neck. You’re surprised at how gentle he’s being, considering his brutish behavior from earlier. When enough silence passes, you look at him, grinning. “What a way to celebrate, am I right? Partner?”

He laces his fingers with yours. “The beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

After you clean yourselves up as best as possible, you snuggle together under the covers, him spooning you from behind. “’Night, Toji Fushiguro.”

He nuzzles his nose to the nape of your neck, whispering, “What’s your real name?”

You smile, grazing your lips on his knuckles, actually giving it to him.

~~~

Toji Fushiguro, the most sought-after bounty hunter in all the west, wakes up the morning feeling fantastic.

He glances to his side, hoping to see his lovely new partner still peacefully asleep beside him. To his surprise, no one is there. He inspects the room, searching for clues on where she ran off to and notices nothing.

And that’s when it hits him. There’s nothing in the room.

All his clothes are gone, his weapons, the wallet full of cash buried in his pockets, even the very blanket they fell asleep under. He’s as naked as the day he was born, confused and beguiled until he finally realizes it. He’s been robbed. And it was the Vixen Viper who robbed him.

The only thing he finds is her wanted poster, folded up on the bedside table, a small note scribbled to the back of it:

Toji - Thanks for the fun night, but I don’t do partners. Maybe the next time you catch me, I’ll reconsider.

He laughs, unable to contain his smile as he reads her real name signed at the end of it.

#toji fushiguro smut #toji fushiguro x reader #toji smut #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #toji x you #toji fushigro x reader #jjk smut

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gloriousmonsters · 2 years

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also i feel like murdering someone is very metal actually

#poker face live blog #like we sing about death and the devil here ma'am i think killing someone doesn't exactly make you Uncool

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bamboobooshark · 27 days

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REMY LEBEAU X LITTLE!READER

⊹ ࣪ ˖🂱 ⋆˚⟡ CG!REMY HEADCANONS : 590 WRDS

<RATING: PG, FLUFF & AGERE>

A/N : I will be working on requests at some point, but the lack of writing self indulgent work is making me lose motivation SO TAKE SOME CG!REMY HEADCANONS!!!!

CARD GAMES .

You better bet that Remy loves teaching you how to play card games. Nothing like poker or anything, but kid games like Go Fish and UNO. He’s always glad to pull out a deck of cards when you say you’re bored and play with you for hours on end. Despite being amazing with card games, he lets you win just about every other round. He wants to make sure both of you have fun and no one ends up pouting and crying.

If you’re a particularly sensitive little, he lets you win every single time. Even if the rules of the game are tight, he’s going to find a way to let you win.

If you’re a little one who likes a bit of a challenge, he’ll play more intensely with you. He loves to see that adorable smile on your face when you know you’re about to win against him.

Either way, it ends in praises and high fives for you doing so well.

RULES .

Remy doesn’t have a lot of rules for when you’re little. He trusts you won’t do anything idiotic, but he has rules set in place to make sure of it. If you ever break any of his rules, he’s never mad at you. He might sound a little irritated, but he’s just concerned and scared for you for the most part. He’ll make sure you’re alright, call you sweet names, hold your hand, and even take you out for a little treat. That man will do anything if it means you understand he’s not mad at you.

NAMES .

As far as names go, Remy calls you “cher” or “mon chéri” all the time. He refuses to call you anything else than those two names when you’re little.

“You like t’little toy Gambit got for y’cher?”

“Does mon chéri need anythin’?”

“Look a’you, cher. Gambit’s so proud of you.”

You always giggle when Remy calls you either name. Sometimes he says it so much that you remind him that you have an actual name, but he shrugs in response. He prefers the name he’s given to you over anything else.

CLINGY BEHAVIORS .

Although Remy is really lax about rules and regulations for when you’re little, he is constantly with you. All the time. He will not leave you alone. Even if you’re upset about something, he’ll do whatever he can to get you to talk to him about it rather than shutting yourself in your room.

He’ll cater to your love language too. If you prefer gifts, he’ll sit on the living room floor with you and make some cute crafts with you, or he’ll take you to the mall and go to every single store with you until you find something you want. If you like quality time, he’ll sit on the couch all day with you and watch whatever movie or show you want. Acts of service? You know how much this man likes to cook. He loves to make food for you if you don’t feel like it. Scratch that; he’ll let you lay around and get you anything you ask for so you don’t have to move a muscle. Words of affirmation from him are endless praises and compliments. He tells you how cute you are, how you’re such an amazing kid, that he’s proud of you, the whole deal. He’s a sucker for physical affection too. He loves it when you wrap your arms around one of his, hold his hand, lay your head in his lap, or are just snuggled up against him.

#gambit #gambit x reader #gambit x you #gambit x y/n #cg!gambit #remy lebeau #remy lebeau x reader #remy lebeau x you #remy lebeau x y/n #cg!remy #agere #agere fic #marvel agere #sfw agere #sfw interaction only #headcanons #bambooboofic #bamboobooshark

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i-drop-level-one-loot · 7 months

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Ngl, you were one of the first tumblr blogs that awakened the monsterfucker in me, did not ever expect I would be here, uhh I love your work especially the alien pet one!! Anyways uhhhh can I request an NSFW cannibalistic giant x human reader, can be any gender, idk if this classifies as monster or not idk??

Sorry this took so long!

(Requests still closed, old request)

*NSFW* Yandere!Cannibalistic Giant x GN!Reader

Short drabble CW: death, abduction, animal death, no lemon just lime, non con touching, NSFW, hands-free orgasm

"Stop ignoring me."

Numb and silent, the abducted human sat as motionless as a living corpse. They had fought back for the first few weeks, crying and begging for their life, attempting escapes whenever they thought they had an opening, but now (Reader) understood that they truly had no hope of ever leaving the giant's side alive, and it killed them before he had a chance to.

When the campsite was attacked, they watched as their friends were torn apart, limbs easily ripped off of their bodies and devoured right in front of them. In the roulette of fight, flight, or freeze, (Reader) threw themselves at the monsters mindlessly, despite being barely thigh height in comparison. They stabbed one of the giants with a barbeque poker, but it barely pierced his thick flesh. He didn't even let out a sound of pain; it was like (Reader) had thrown a pillow at him and not attempted to spear him.

The fiery haired giant (Reader) had attacked picked them up by the back of their shirt like a cat, examining them long enough for their adrenaline to dissipate.

Shockingly, he did not eat them like he did their friends.

Instead the bloody giant hoisted (Reader) over his shoulder and left his brethren to continue the carnage.

For weeks the traumatized human sat by the giant's side, inescapable. He never hurt them, but threatened them nearly every day.

"If you try to run again, I'll bite your legs off."

"Such a pretty little human; I'm sure you taste just as good as you look."

"When I finally scalp you, your hair will make a fine necklace."

It became monotonous, the threats of harm and death, so when the young adult finally cracked, the words didn't startle them into reacting, even when he escalated his taunts.

"I told you to stop ignoring me." He warned, grabbing his victim under the arms like a child and raising them up to eye level. (Reader) felt as though they couldn't will themselves to care. Their life was already over: there was no hope.

He opened his mouth as wide as he possibly could, and slowly placed his captive's head inside. When he couldn't feel them squirm he slid them in deeper until his teeth scraped their collar bone and upper shoulder blades. His teeth gently dug into their skin. It was supposed to be intimidating, a reminder that at any moment he could and would eat them, but when he still couldn't feel them move he pulled them back out, his eyebrows knitted together in what was either concern or disappointment.

A loud chuckle rumbled like thunder from another giant who had been watching with amusement from across the way. "Uh oh, Pinyon! Looks like you broke your new toy!"

The abductor harrumphed before carrying (Reader) somewhere private, grumbling out a venomous sounding "They aren't my toy.."

In the seclusion of his tent, he suddenly had a change of attitude, acting in a way he had never done before. He pressed his face against their stomach while holding their back in a fashion that felt like a caress. Tears formed out of confusion at the seemingly tender action. They had already accepted their death, so why was he hugging them?

"Interesting little one.." the giant's voice vibrated across their abdomen. "Please do not ignore me.."

When he was a child, Pinyon found a squirrel that had fallen out of a tree. He didn't know what was wrong with the animal, but it seemed injured, and it sounded like it was struggling to breathe. Meat was meat. It didn't matter what the meat was, everything the tribe found was food for them, whether it was animal or human. However, this wasn't a conquest, it wasn't a fight. It was his first struggle. The poor thing was struggling.

Pinyon picked up the little creature, unsure of why his chest felt so heavy. The thing bit him. It didn't hurt, and it didn't anger him. It made him happy. To see it fight back. The action showed Pinyon that the squirrel was still alive, and that it was going to be fine. He cared for the squirrel as tenderly as a human cared for a pet dog; bringing it food and gently trying to nurse it.

Then, the squirrel died.

That was it. He went to feed it, and it was limp. There was no sound, no blood, it just stopped.

When you're raised to eat whatever is given to you, when you're told that "meat is meat", it's easy to forget that the creatures screaming for mercy are alive.

He didn't know why, it wasn't the first time someone had fought back, and it wasn't his first human kill..

But the look on the little human's face as they leapt out at him with a pitiful excuse for a weapon reminded him of that squirrel.

"It doesn't matter if you hate me, or if you're scared of me. Even if it's to scream at me, don't ignore me."

The brief kindness was over in a second, the confusion and hope leaving (Reader's) body as quickly as it came. Just as the tears began to form and the weight lifted off their shoulders the giant squeezed them closer to his face and breathed in deeply. Wearing only their tattered undergarments, his breath felt hot against their bare stomach. It was an intimate gesture that gave birth to a new kind of fear, one that (Reader) hadn't previously considered.

His wet tongue left his mouth and poked their gut.

It wasn't the first time he had tasted them, but there were no promises of pain and consumption this time; instead there was a half lidded expression on his face that made (Reader) instinctively clamp their thighs shut.

Their hands flew to his face as they pathetically attempted to push him away with all of their strength. But the struggle seemed to excite him more, as he began licking their stomach more intensely, planting kisses along the tops of their pelvis as he traveled lower down their body.

"STOP!" (Reader) cried out as they bruised their fists on his forehead. Their body was quivering involuntarily as his drool began to mix with their sweat, dripping down towards their underwear. Pinyon's lips were too close to their last shred of apparel, and they felt shame as his breath tickling their body felt physically pleasurable.

"Is this what I need to do now-" his words agitated their sensitive body, making them arch their back in an attempt to put distance between is mouth and their crotch, "-so you'll stop ignoring me?"

(Reader) loudly sobbed, knowing that he could see how wet their clothing had become. It wasn't because he was attractive, or because they wanted him. The way he was holding them, the warm words hitting their lower half, it stained their underwear with arousal. The abductee wanted to beg him to look away, to explain that it wasn't him, that they weren't turned on. But only sobs came out as his sharp teeth slid into the underpants' belt line and tore their last line of defense down to their ankles.

#sorry for the wait #yandere #yandere x reader #gn reader #yandere monster #yandere monster x reader #cw death #cw mentions of cannibalism #cw animal death

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