bad influence: robert e.o. speedwagon x fem! reader
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!
Warnings: Smut, oral (male receiving)
Word Count: 341
“Bloody hell.”
Fingers dance along the tops of Speedwagon’s thighs as his cock sits heavy in your mouth. His head falls backwards to rest against the brick wall he’s leaning against with a soft thud when you press forward to take more of him into the cavern that was your wet mouth. He gives a hard swallow, and his eyelids flutter closed at the sensation.
You give a hum around his cock in response, eyes flickering up at him to drink in his disheveled appearance. Pavement bites into your knees, but you didn’t care. Not when Speedwagon looked as good as he did right now. While he had less than innocent intentions when he pulled you down this random alleyway on Ogre Street, he certainly wasn’t expecting you to drop to your knees with a playful tug to his slacks.
It’s like you didn’t even care about the possibility of getting caught when you tugged his half-hard cock out, the thought alone having him twitching in arousal.
“Love, Jonathan’ll be lookin’ for us…” Speedwagon murmurs into the chilly, night air as he forces himself to look down at you. Your eyes meet his own with a glance up at him through your eyelashes, and Speedwagon swears that his heart skips a beat.
You pull off his cock with a wet ‘pop’, hands splayed across the heated skin of his thighs to keep your balance between his legs.
“Jonathan can wait a little longer.”
Speedwagon’s brown eyes widen at your words with a sharp gasp falling from his lips when you take him into your mouth again. He stifles a groan with one of his rough, calloused hands covering his mouth. The other remains balled up in a fist at his side, afraid that if he were to touch you that you would change your mind.
He removes the hand at his mouth to give a shaky chuckle before the breath is knocked from his lungs when you hollow your cheeks around him.
HI HI I came across ur account and I rlly love ur writing style! Is it okay if I request a speedwagon x reader. I'm not really good with plot lines 😭 so maybe something along the lines of where speedwagon also got injured during the first fight with Dio, and the reader is caring for him. Maybe just slight nsfw, nothing too extreme yk :D tysmmm 💕
HEYYYY HOW U DOIIING 😼🙏
Omg I love mamma Speedwagon but I have never EVER written for him, this is super excitiiing and I loved writing this!
I made it not so SPECIFIC nsfw, more like romantic and leaving more to imagination, just some soft passionate romance for this baby Speedy. I really hope its what you wanted!! Pls feel free to write me again for a fluffier version if you don't like it.
ENJOY! <3
....
Ash and Aftercare
Speedwagon x Reader (SLIGHT nsfw)
The Joestar manor burned behind you—crimson flames licking the sky like a devil’s applause. The night had swallowed the air in smoke and silence, broken only by the distant groans of crumbling stone.
You ran through it. Barefoot. Dress torn. Heart hammering like war drums in your chest.
Jonathan, the Joestars heir, had survived, that you knew. He was recovering inside the mansion’s west wing. But it wasn’t him you were searching for in the rubble.
You found him slumped near a cracked column beneath a half-fallen arch, coat blackened with ash, hat missing, blonde hair darkened with blood.
“Speedwagon!”
Your voice caught like silk on thorns. A painful scream of fear escaped from your lips.
He turned his head slowly, blinking at you through a smear of soot across his brow. “Hah… I thought I’d imagined you.” Even though the sight of him moving and talking dramatically broke some tension inside your chest, you ran as fast as you could to reach his figure.
You dropped to your knees beside him, hands already shaking as they reached for his wounds—one deep along his ribs, still bleeding sluggishly, another down his shoulder like a cruel fingerprint of Dio’s fury.
“Why didn’t you say you were hurt?” you breathed, panic pressing hot against your throat.
He gave you that crooked, gallant grin. Even bloodied, it had a way of softening you. “Figured Joestar needed the spotlight for once.”
“This isn’t funny,” you hissed, voice cracking as your hands hovered over his skin.
“I know,” he murmured, quieter now. “But if I don’t smile, I’ll pass out. And I really wanted to see you one more time before I did.”
Your throat tightened.
You ripped the hem of your overskirt and pressed it firmly to his side, ignoring his hiss of pain. “Don’t be dramatic.”
His breath hitched as your hand held pressure, fingers stained red. “Can’t help it. Not with you lookin’ at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m worth savin’.”
Your eyes snapped up to his.
He meant it.
He meant every broken little word.
---
You helped him into the mansion through sheer force of will and stubbornness, both of you leaning on each other as if any wrong breath might be your last. You brought him to the your guest chambers— that weren't nothing as fancy as the Joestar's ones but at the very least they were quiet, cool, and most importantly, safe.
By the time he sat on the edge of the bed, Speedwagon was pale, trembling. But his eyes never left you. Not when you washed the wounds. Not when you undressed him slowly to clean and bandage. Not even when your fingers hesitated just under the bruises blooming across his ribs.
The silence between you was loud.
Heavy.
And when you brushed his hair back, he leaned into it.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
You said nothing. Only kissed his forehead, lingering there.
“I’m not done with you yet,” you murmured against his skin.
He chuckled, weakly. “God, I hope not.”
The lamp, painting gold over Robert’s bare chest and the curve of his shoulder. The scent of smoke had faded, replaced by fresh linen, dried blood, and the faintest trace of your perfume lingering on your fingers.
He lay propped against the headboard, breath slow, lips parted. Still recovering. Still bruised. But watching you—always watching you.
“You’ve been starin’,” he murmured, voice like gravel laced with honey.
You scoffed softly, trying to look away. “You’re the one half-naked in a bed, Speedwagon.”
“And you’re the one still dressed like you’re not tempted.”
That made your breath catch—just a little. He noticed.
You deeply looked at him, deliberately, until you stood beside the mattress. His eyes tracked you with aching reverence, as though you were some fever dream conjured by blood loss and longing.
“You scared me,” you said quietly, kneeling beside him again. “Out there. I thought I was going to lose you.”
His hand brushed your cheek—knuckles rough, movements careful. “You didn’t. I’m right here.”
The kiss came naturally.
Soft at first. Just the ghost of your lips brushing his—testing, tasting. He breathed your name like it was a confession, his hand tangling in the back of your hair as your mouths pressed together again, deeper this time.
Heat bloomed between you. Slow, intoxicating.
His lips were urgent, but not rushed. Like he wanted to memorize every tilt of your mouth, every sigh you made when his hand slid down your spine. You climbed into the bed with him, straddling his lap carefully, your skirts pooling around his hips.
He hissed at the pressure near his ribs but didn’t pull away. “I’m fine,” he murmured into your mouth. “I don’t care if it hurts.”
You kissed him harder in response—hands roaming across his chest, over gauze and bruises. He groaned against you, one hand at your waist, the other caressing the curve of your thigh, just under your skirt.
Your breath hitched as his hand slipped higher. He pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, eyes wild and reverent all at once.
“Tell me to stop,” he rasped. “I’ll stop, right now.”
You shook your head slowly. “Don’t.”
The shift was subtle. The way your hips moved against his, how his fingers clutched you tighter. The kiss broke, only to start again—deeper, messier, laced with something far too raw to name. Hands sliding where they shouldn’t, clothes slipping from shoulders, gasps swallowed by eager mouths.
You felt his pulse under your palm. Fast. Unsteady. Just like yours.
And when he laid you down beneath him—gentle, careful, eyes locked with yours—it wasn’t about lust.
It was about being alive.
About still being alive.
....
The storm had passed.
His body rested against yours, heavy with exhaustion, skin flushed and cooling slowly beneath the linen sheets. There was only the soft warm light of the lamp on the nightstand and the slow, steady drum of his heartbeat against your palm.
Your fingers traced lazy patterns along the edge of his shoulder, slipping over the thin line of a bandage.
“You alright?” you murmured into the quiet, lips ghosting over his jaw.
Speedwagon let out a breath—something between a laugh and a sigh. “Better than alright. You’ve got magic in your hands, y’know that?”
You huffed a smile against his neck. “I think it’s just bandages and tenderness.”
“No,” he whispered. “It’s the way you looked at me. Like I wasn’t just lucky to be alive… but deserving of it.”
That silenced you.
Because somewhere in the quiet, between bruises and breathless gasps, you’d realized it too. This wasn’t a fling. This wasn’t just proximity or adrenaline. It was what had been building since that day on Ogre Street—when you saw a gangster drop his blade for honor and loyalty.
You shifted to face him, tucking a strand of blonde hair from his forehead.
“You’re more than what they see, Robert. You always have been.”
His eyes softened, those stormy blues glinting gold in the candlelight. He leaned into your hand, kissed your palm like it was sacred.
“No one’s ever said my name like that.”
You kissed the scar on his ribs. “Then they didn’t deserve to.”
He chuckled, voice hoarse and warm. “If I’d known nearly dying would’ve brought me here, I might’ve thrown myself at Dio’s boots sooner.”
You narrowed your eyes playfully. “Don’t joke like that.”
He sobered instantly. “I’m sorry. I just… I don’t know how to be with someone like you. Someone who sees through all the bluster and still—”
“Loves you?” you whispered.
He stared at you for a long, quiet moment.
Then nodded.
Slowly. Reverently.
“I do,” he murmured. “God help me, I do.”
You curled into his side, arm draped across his stomach, heart beating steady against his chest.
“No gods here tonight,” you whispered. “Just you and me.”
And when he fell asleep, hand still wrapped in yours, you stayed awake just a little longer—watching over him the way he always watched over Jonathan, over everyone.
But tonight, he was the one being held.
And you wouldn’t let go.
........
THIS ONE WAS SO COOL i loved it so freaking much it was so romantic to write and to imagine, please, let me know what u think in the comments and suggestions!!
🎵 Outlaw running from the law but he's got nowhere to run to 🎵
🎶 Big law he broke it and ran faster than the lightning bolt 🎶
Introducing Speedwagon in my folklore au, or at least his werewolf form. I have some fun lore about werewolves in my au, but I haven't fully fleshed it out yet. I am trying desperately to get past my art block so I can begin drawing the comic I have in mind but alas, college is kicking my ass.
#writing community
#ratblr
#f1
