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in your nsfw alphabet for roy you mentioned him being a bit of a brat tamer and a tease, especially with the “cause i’m so damn mean” scene, i was wondering if you could write a smut for him like that where reader has been making little comments all day and he finally has enough? i loveee the way you write for roy (and all of them tbh)
ughhhh, i love you so much for thissss, I swear I am gonna make out with you so hard..
WARNING! This will contain ( SPANKING, THREATENING TO TIE UP / USE BONDAGE, LIKE 4 SECONDS OF SPITTING IN HIS FACE, ORGASM DENIAL, & FINGERING ) PLEASE DO NOT ENGAGE IF YOU CANNOT HANDLE SMUT CONTENT / DO NOT LIKE THIS / KNOW THAT YOU WILL BE TRIGGERED!
"Oh, just because I'm so damn mean.."
Five hours.
For five hours now, you had been throwing snarky comments his way and shooting deadly looks at every chance. The first comment of the day had been when he served you a cup of coffee, not draining the coffee grits like you liked. The second when he hadn’t kissed you before leaving. The third comment came when he tracked dirt into the house. He tried to brush it off as maybe you hadn’t gotten enough sleep, or maybe the heat was wearing your mood too thin. Hell, he had snapped at people plenty of times because of the heat. But then came the final comment, “For a man who just learned how to read, you’d think you’d be able to read that I don’t want you in the goddamn house, Roy”, that set him off. You were being a brat, an unbearable one.
“One more word.” He points a stern warning finger in your face, “One more goddamn word out of you, and I swear I’ll take you over my knee.”
“You’d hit me?” You scoff, narrowing your eyes hard at him.
“Damn right I will, I’ll spank your ass raw if I have to.” He nods, “You’re being unreasonable, unbearably unreasonable. I can’t help you if you don’t talk.”
“Maybe, I don’t wanna talk, Roy.” You argue, purposefully being difficult.
“You don’t wanna talk? Pff, you sure as hell had no problem talking moments ago.” He snaps back, still heated by your comment. “Now, either you tell me what the hell crawled up your ass and died. Or you go and cool off on your own. I won’t be having that tongue of yours anymore.”
His words hang in the air for a beat, before earning a condescending scoff from you. Narrowing his eyes hard at your reaction, he was trying to be reasonable, to have a little mercy on you. You were normally a reasonable woman, rarely did you ever act this way. So it must’ve been a damn good reason. He just needed to have the patience with you that you often had with him, to figure out what it was that was riling you up so much. Taking a sharp breath in through his nose, he lowers his hand from your face, collecting himself. His hands fall to his sides, the glare on his face dropping.
“I don’t like cursing at you, I just wanna know what’s hurting you.” He tries, hoping to gently pry out an answer from you. “You can tell me.”
You don’t respond at first. You let the silence ring out as you stare at him, no clear expression on your face or hint of what you were feeling in the moment. It was like staring at a blank chalkboard.
“( Y/n ), what’s upsetting you?” He presses, “I’m not mad, I just wanna know how to help you.”
“Are you done being a prissy little bitch who wants to talk about their feelings? Because I don’t have time for that bullshit.” You argue back, a provoking glimmer in your eyes.
Clenching his jaw tightly at the biting insult, it takes a moment before realizing that you were doing this just for the fun of it. There was no true explanation behind the snarky comments or the provoking looks. It was just for the love of it, and it sets his blood on fire. Letting out a low grumble at the taunting cock of your head, he grabs at your wrist, dragging you back inside the house. His grip was firm, not enough to hurt you. But, enough to make it clear that you had finally set him off. Kicking open the door, he doesn’t bother to take off his boots, not worrying about the dust that gets trekked in. Ignoring your onslaught of insults and protests, he bends you over the nearest solid thing he could find, slapping your ass as hard as he can without hesitation. The palm of his hand stings and tingles from the impact, slowly turning a bright red. But, he doesn’t care.
“I ought to tie you up for how you’re acting.” He hisses, “Is that what I gotta do now? Treat you like the damn horses?”
“Did you just spank me?!” You shriek, kicking and squirming against the kitchen table.
“Damn right I did, I told you I would if you kept up the bratty attitude of yours, and you did.” He argues back, “You asked for it, so don’t act so damn shocked.”
“Roy, get the fuck off me!”
“Not until you lose that damn attitude." He shakes his head, “I’ve been putting up with it all day and I sure as hell am not gonna put up with it all night.”
Landing a solid backward kick to his shin, he lets out a yelp of pain, his grip dropping on you immediately as he clutches his shin. Despite the kick, there’s no true anger in your eyes at his manhandling. Just a daring look that screamed, “Fight back, cowboy”. It sent a wave of heat down him, and not just the kind of heat that came from anger. Shifting in place as his pants suddenly feel a little tighter than usual, he doesn't dare to fix his growing boner, knowing that if you saw it that it would only encourage you further⎯and that was the last thing that he needed right now. Taking a step towards you, you don’t back down from him, stubbornly provoking him back with a glare.
“You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?” He provokes, “You just want to fight, or are you finally admitting the truth that everyone knows? That you’re the biggest brat in all of La Belle.”
“I beg your deep fucking pardon? I know damn well that you are not calling me a brat, Roy Goode.” You snap back, knowing that deep down there was a little truth behind his words.
“Well, if the boot fits.” He scoffs, making your nostrils flare up from anger.
“Say that again.” You sneer, giving him a chance to correct his words.
“If. The. Boot. Fits.” He repeats, emphasizing hard on his words.
“Okay, cowboy.” You counter back, mimicking his sharp tone.
Watching your hands curl up into tight fists at your side, you suddenly lunge at him, intending on tackling him down to the ground. Bracing for the impact of your bodies colliding, he wraps his arms tightly around your waist, trapping your hands at your sides. Not giving you any time to react, he sweeps you off your feet, keeping you trapped in his arms with only the tips of your toes dragging against the ground. He had taught you how to punch, and he knew damn well that you could knock him flat on his ass if given the chance. Letting out a string of curses at him, he tilts his chin down, watching as you kick and squirm violently in his hold⎯looking a lot like a feral barn cat who was being forced into domestication by a stubborn toddler who knew no better.
“Put me the hell down, Roy.” You demand, “Right now, I ain’t playing.”
“The only way I’ll be putting you down is to hog tie you.”
“I’m gonna shove my foot so far up your ass, Roy Goode, that I’m gonna make you my own personal puppet!” You threaten, spitting a glob of spit in his face.
“Now, that isn’t very kind. I ought to put that damn mouth of yours to better work.” He huffs, his grip tightening on your waist.
“You touch me with that cock of yours and I’ll scream bloody murder, Roy Goode.”
“I rather you be screaming my name instead.” He counters back cheekily, shaking you up and down for good measure.
Letting out a harsh scoff at his cheeky comment, you manage to wiggle one of your hands free from your side, landing a solid slap to the side of his head. Grunting in pain at the impact, he refuses to let go of you, knowing that it would only open the floodgates to more hits. Which to be frank, he wasn’t in the mood for at the moment. Not when you need to be reminded that acting like a brat would only get you into trouble Walking back over to the kitchen table, he puts all his weight on your back, forcing you in a bent over position. You immediately try to claw at him the moment your hands are free, but he grips onto them with one hand. Forcing them above your head, he puts a little more weight on your, your breasts being smushed against the stain wood of the table.
“God fucking damn it, Roy!” You shriek in frustration, trying to kick at him.
“Don’t use the Lord’s name in vain, darling.” He warns, shooting the back of your head a light disapproving look.
“The Lord can kiss my⎯” You start, but he cuts you off with a hard slap to the ass.
“Don’t use the Lord’s name in vain.” He repeats, a little more stern than before.
You comply, knowing that deep down there was still a part of him that took Frank’s over-bearing religious bullshit to heart. Using his free hand to pull up your skirts, he pushes as much of it on the table, leaving your bare ass exposed. A light shudder shoots down his spine at the sight of your bare ass, not expecting it. Usually you wore a thick pair of drawers and a petticoat. But, today you had probably gone commando. God, you truly were the devil in disguise. A cruel cruel woman. Barely restraining the strangled groan at the sight, he trails his bare hand over your ass, feeling the muscles tightening as you stiffen underneath him⎯waiting for what he was going to do next.
“Whore.”
“I was in the middle of washing clothes, I didn’t have a spare.” You argue, but it falls flat.
“I don’t see the wash board and tub out. Don’t lie. You weren’t washing any clothes.” He argues back, “You were thinking of ways to piss me off all day.”
“I⎯” You try to argue, but he cuts you off.
Trailing his hand down the curve of your ass, he slips it between your thighs teasingly, just barely brushing against your slickening folds. Though, he might as well have not touched you. Gritting your teeth in frustration at his teasing, you blindly kick at him, the heel of your work boots hitting his ankle. Letting out a harsh ‘oi’ that he often used for the horses, he abruptly presses his thumb against your clit, giving no warning before he starts rubbing fast circles over it. You choke on a breath immediately, back arching involuntarily as you squirm against his hold. But, he remains firm in keeping your hands pinned above your head and your body trapped against the table.
It’s downright embarrassing how quick your orgasm was already coming. A thin layer of sweat sticks to your skin, as your thighs twitch and tremble. Normally, it took you a while because of the amount of foreplay. But, there was something about the way he was manhandling you around like you weigh nothing. Digging your nails into the table, you buck against his hand, trying to soak up as much of the pleasure in fear that he decides to stop. You had been acting like a brat all day, and he was fed up. It was only fair for him to stop and leave you hanging. Chewing harder on your bottom lip to muffle any noises, the heat in your lower gut builds up, your orgasm creeping closer.
“Roy!”
“One more word and I’ll stop.” He threatens, with a surprising seriousness in his tone.
“But, Roy⎯” You try to explain, but he doesn’t listen.
True to his word, he stops abruptly.
Dropping you like you were yesterday's scraps, it takes you a solid seconds to process, blinking dumbly. Then, anger takes over the shocked confusion. Flushing a bright pink as he ruined a perfectly good orgasm, you push yourself off the table, turning to glare at him. The urge to strangle him for denying you floating around your head a little loudly. Prick. You were embarrassingly close, and he just denied you. Who does that?
“What the fuck, Roy?!” You curse, "You can't just do that! That's fucking cruelty!"
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Synopsis: You catch Roy staring at Jim's letter, and he asks you to help him read it. (Reader is a stray taken in by the Fletcher household before the events of the show.)
Word Count: 1358
enjoy! xx
When you stumble around the corner of the stables, the last thing you expect to see is Roy with a letter in his hands.
Conversations with Alice flood back to you. The letter is recognisable, of course, from the late night whispers in the warm enclosure of bed. Being as the house was small, and the extra beds were for Iyovi and Truckee, there wasn't much in the way of space. As such, the only place for you, when you'd shown up to their home one afternoon - was in Alice's bed. Somewhere in the back of your mind you remember sharing beds like this with the girls of your family, way back when. At the ranch, with Alice, you'd lay cuddled together on cold days and poles apart on the hottest.
Most nights Alice liked to pillow talk; telling you things she'd die before admitting to her son or to his grandmother. Listening to her came easy, her voice the steady warmth of sisterly whispers and ears neither of you otherwise had. She'd tell you her inner thoughts, her most secret tales, her plans, her wonderings. And most nights you'd be lulled to sleep by her talk before ever hearing the full of it.
For days after Roy's arrival, the shared bed whispers were far more of a conversation than they usually were. You'd both eagerly chatted, low voices wavering between bewilderment and wonder. And when Alice told you about the letter she'd found - Roy Goode, Lucy Cole, Jim Goode, California... it had taken Iyovi's vexed visit to your room to get you to stop talking about it and at last surrender to sleep.
The letter, she'd said, was unopened. Now, having seen Roy staring down at the folded, yellowed paper the way he was, you could only surmise that he'd at last worked himself up to reading it.
You try and duck back around the corner, but Roy calls you right back inside on the instant. His voice is low when he calls your name, but not hesitant. Purposeful. Soft.
"It's alright. Really," he beckons. "You come here needing something?"
"Nothing much. Just wanted to check on Maybelle," you nod to one of the horses in confession. "Would hate to interrupt. I'll just go on and get."
"No, no, you’re not interruptin' none. Fact I'd welcome the company. Won't you join me?"
This time you let your hands fall down your skirts in defeat and meander your way back in. The sand coloured beauty you'd called Maybelle nudges her face happily into your hands when you greet her, and you giggle lowly when you feel a puff of her hot breath between your fingers. Maybelle is all the more eager when you give her a gentle scratch about her ears, ever the easy lover.
"You got a real way with 'em," Roy mentions.
"Comin’ from you that means a mighty lot. Truckee and I got to agreeing that you're some sorta horse whisperer, you."
"Oh, is that so?" He nods in approval, "Well. My point still stands. You got a real way with them yourself, Milady."
"You always call me that. Milady. I'm no lady, Roy. I'm just some girl who the old wind blew the wrong way and won't take back." Your voice catches when you deliver the words, and you swallow, busying yourself with Maybelle's tangled mane in order to hide your expression from Roy. Talking about your old life, remembering wandering the woods, and the day Iyovi found you…it always brings a catch to the back of your throat, a sting in your eyes.
"Seems to me you could be a lady, being as you're so lost,” he tells you gently. “You could be a real regal lady, and we'd all be none the wiser, you could be. I'd believe it."
Your tears disappear before they're realised.
"And we don't know none about you, either. Seems to me you could be some Lord and we'd not know."
Roy laughs low. "I'm no Lord, Milady. That much I do confirm." He nods his head toward the pistol lying atop his jacket, over by his feet. "That ain't the common object of a Lord now, is it? Least not in my books. Well, wouldn't be if ever I read me some. Books."
"You can read them aplenty now. Thanks to Alice and Truckee and Callie's old primer, you'll be reading up a damn storm."
"Thanks to you too, Milady."
"You know you're always welcome. I'd help you over again if you needed it," you tell him. You stare into his eyes when you say it, way into his soul. You mean it. Every word.
"Help me now," Roy whispers. Slow. His ask comes in a gentle wave, entirely at the mercy of your answer. His want, the sea to ask, your willing, the moon to accept. Roy picks the letter back up and smooths the creases over his knee. "Help me read it."
"Your brother's letter? Isn't it?"
Roy nods slowly.
"I need you to help me read it. If you want to, like. If you want to. Please?" The letter flutters shut on his lap, and he sighs, running a hand wearily over his face. "It's just that...I'm afraid I don't know to read nearly enough words."
"Sure you do. I've seen you sounding them all out, and you get ‘em all eventually. You'll be dandy."
"I'm not so sure I wanna take that chance. Not with this. I wanna understand everything he's saying to me." For a moment the two of you only stare. Maybelle nuzzles your shoulder. Roy's soft blues pierce.
Hell. Jim's letter sure ain't no primer.
"What do you say?” Roy punctuates his question by patting the hay beside him.
You'd never much enjoyed sitting in the hay, being rough, scratchy and poking as it is. Sometimes the stuff would stick right in places you'd rather it didn't, and other times would strike through ripped holes of the thrice mended skirt you wore. Alice's old one, naturally, faded and many times patched, thin enough to make sure you'd feel every bit of that hay. Still, the invite of Roy's morning blues was proving themselves a feat to resist.
Roy smooths out his letter after he unfolds it. When he begins to stumble over the words, you realise he's sitting so close you can feel the vibration of his voice through his arm, pressed against yours.
Later, in bed, you lie awake for hours longer than is your usual. Sometime after too much tossing and turning, you lie flat on your back and admit your truth with a breathy sigh.
"He wanted me to read his brother's letter with him," your whisper is sleek and barely there in the night. "And I did."
A lilt of silence drifts as a stray breeze cools your shoulder. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say Roy Goode is a fool in love." Alice's words have you smiling stupidly into the dark. You had not known if she was awake to hear you, though you were not surprised; Alice was always there when she was needed, and Alice was always right.
The afternoon memory is a ghost in front of you, as if you're watching it all happen in the shadows of the night. His letter fluttering to the floor. His hand finding yours. Your arms encircling him. His arms tight around your back, hand on the back of your head. The way your hair stood on end as his breath graced your neck.
Then, as if she can see the memory with you, Alice laughs a soft laugh. "And I'd say he's not the only one. Whatever are we to do with you?”
You roll over onto your back. It’s a few minutes later when Alice’s muffled breathing announces she’s at last surrendered to sleep.
“Will you miss me when you go on, to your brother?”
Roy Goode had taken your face in his hands. From this angle, the sunlight hit his glistening eyes just right. From this angle, the face of this wanted killer was fragile, expectant.
Can you please do these in one if you can but w roy goode
1) overwhelmed, but happy crying during sex
6) marathon session (they just fucking keep going, babyyyy)
6) accidental i love you’s during sex
.
roy goode x f!reader
blurb (-1k)
prompt : marathon session (they just fucking keep going, babyyyy)
okay so i’ve already gotten requests from other characters with both 1 & 3, and i didn’t want to write the same for two characters so i did marathon sex for roy 👩🏾💻 i hope that’s fine and you can still enjoy !!
Roy is underneath you, naked, sweaty, and already looking half-ruined by the time your hips start moving over his cock again.
Which is a little dramatic of him, if you’re being honest.
The man had been the one to pull you back into his lap after you both swore you needed to catch your breath, his hands sliding over your bare thighs like he had every intention of behaving until you settled over him and felt him hard against you all over again.
Now the room is hot enough to feel mean about it, the sheets are twisted beneath both of you, and Roy’s head is tipped back against the wall with his jaw tight as you ride him slow enough to make his restraint everybody’s problem.
California has the nerve to stay warm even after sundown, and Roy Goode has the nerve to look pretty with sweat sliding down his chest.
You’re naked in his lap, knees pressed into the thin mattress, body sore in ways that should probably make you quit but only make every roll of your hips feel filthier.
His cock fills you with that deep, aching stretch that keeps making your thighs tremble, and because you’re a terrible person, you keep grinding down just to feel the way his breath breaks when your cunt squeezes around him.
“Darlin’,” he warns, voice rough and low, one hand gripping your hip while the other spreads warm across your lower back.
You look down at him, mouth swollen from all the kissing, skin damp, pride absolutely undeserved considering your legs are seconds away from giving out. “What?”
Roy’s eyes drop between your bodies, watching himself disappear into you again, and whatever decent thought he had leaves his face immediately. “You keep doin’ that, I ain’t gonna last.”
Which is bold, really, considering he’s already come twice and still has the audacity to be buried inside you like neither of you have learned a single lesson all night.
You sink down slowly, taking him until your hips are flush with his, and Roy groans like you’ve finally managed to shoot him properly.
His fingers dig into your waist, his stomach flexing under your hands, and when you start bouncing on him with what little strength you have left, he tries to help you without making it obvious he’s losing his mind. His hips rise into you in short, rough thrusts, then harder than halfway, until the rhythm turns sloppy while he watches your tits bounce with each lift of your hips like it might fix something in him.
The whole thing is too much: his cock, the heat, the wet sound of you taking him, the way his eyes keep moving over your naked body like he can’t decide where to look first.
Apparently, Roy decides the safest option is nowhere at all, because he kisses you hard and slips out from under you before your cunt can finish milking him empty again.
You whine at the loss, embarrassingly loud, but the sound catches in your throat when his hand wraps around his cock.
Roy sits there between your spread thighs, flushed and breathing heavy, stroking himself with rough, lazy pulls while his gaze stays fixed on the mess between your legs.
His cock is slick from you, flushed and thick in his fist, and you would be more offended about being left empty if he didn’t look so good jerking himself off in front of you. His thumb drags over the tip, his jaw flexes, and you watch his self-control crumble by inches.
“Well,” you breathe, smiling even though your body feels wrung out, “don’t stop now.”
Roy gives you a look, dark and almost amused, hand still moving. “You tryin’ to kill me?”
“Maybe.”
Roy leans forward and kisses you hard enough to steal whatever smart thing you had waiting, his bare chest pressing to yours as he pushes you down with more hunger than grace.
The mattress gives beneath you, damp sheets sticking to your skin, and by the time your head hits the pillow, he’s already between your thighs again, guiding himself through the slick mess you’ve both made like his self-control died somewhere around the second round and nobody cared enough to bury it.
Roy hooks one of your legs over his shoulder, kisses the inside of your knee like he’s sorry in advance, and thrusts back into you so deep your mouth falls open with nothing useful coming out.
The angle is downright evil. His cock presses exactly where it shouldn’t, and you feel every inch of him because there’s nothing between you but sweat, skin, and the filthy stretch of him filling you again.
“Oh, there?” he breathes, quiet as ever, but there’s enough smugness in it to make you want to bite him.
You settle for clawing at his arm while he fucks you into the mattress, both of you messy, sticking together everywhere your bodies meet.
His chest brushes yours with each thrust. Sweat drips from him onto your skin. The room smells like heat and sex, and the bed creaks loud enough that you’re half sure the whole boarding house knows Roy Goode is not nearly as polite as he looks.
When you come again, it’s not graceful.
Your hands grab at his shoulders, his wrist, the sheets, anything you can reach while your cunt pulses around him and your leg trembles against his shoulder.
Roy drops his forehead close to yours with a rough groan, his rhythm faltering as you clench down on him again and again, milking every ounce of restraint right out of his body.
The man never stood a chance.
He comes buried deep, hips pressing hard between your thighs as he spills into you with a shudder, one hand gripping your raised leg while the other braces beside your head. He stays there afterward, breathing heavy, cock still twitching inside your sore, messy cunt like he hasn’t learned a single lesson all night.
You turn your face against the pillow, smiling even though your body feels entirely wrung out. “You done?”
Roy lifts his head just enough to look at you, cheeks flushed, hair damp at his forehead, mouth swollen from kissing you, and there’s something almost innocent about him right up until his gaze drops between your naked bodies.
His hips give one slow, mean little roll that makes you gasp.
