#im trying to rotate them lol | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sugurugetoshairbrush · 2 months ago

Text

thinking about playing with geto’s hair to help him unwind after a stressful week

the air hangs heavy, oppressive with summer's clinging humidity—a fitting backdrop to the surge in curses running rampant through japan. your days blur into an unrelenting cycle: exorcise, write reports, collapse in your dorm. you call it a blessing, a chance to strengthen your technique—but deep down you know that each mission brings you closer to the brink.

the fatigue is nothing short of infectious, spreading through jujutsu high like a virus. but this week, geto's weariness went beyond mere exhaustion—it teetered on the edge of total defeat. you and gojo had noticed it immediately, an unspoken observation of his too-polite words, dull eyes, and the barely-there smile he wore like armor.

although gojo is usually aloof when it comes to these types of social cues, his six eyes truly lives up to its name when it comes to geto. gojo notices his unfinished meals and lack of appetite, resorting to (in very gojo-esque manner) attempt to hand-feed him and offer up his most sacred sweets.

you'd teased gojo for his attentiveness, but he'd fire back that you were no better, always rushing to geto's side the moment he'd returned from a mission, dragging him along to a number of alleviating activities. you'd even made the mistake of inviting him to a smoke sesh with shoko, a decision you were still getting shit for since any invite to geto automatically extends to gojo—the embodiment of shoko's nightmare blunt rotation.

but today geto had been particularly elusive, so you find yourself messaging gojo privately to discuss your concern. unsurprisingly, gojo is a little too eager to engage...

S. Gojo | Today at 9:37 PM nd u saw how quickly he excused himself after giving his report ?? he didn't even scold me after yaga pointed out that my handwriting was completely illegible :0

You | Today at 9:39 PM sooo you knew that it was illegible? mbn to never worry about the consequences of your actions & ofc i noticed!! he seemed restless during that whole meeting

S. Gojo | Today at 9:40 PM just say ur jealous lol nd I noticed that too it was pretty distracting u think hes still on edge from the mission?

You | Today at 9:43 PM in his defense it doesnt take much to distract you i dont even think his mission was particularly difficult though didn’t he exorcise a bunch of grade 3 curses

S. Gojo | Today at 9:43 PM yeeah but remember he still has to absorb them hes trying to increase his collection i could yak rn just thinking ab it

You | Today at 9:45 PM truee idk how he does it honestly it must be rlly wearing him down tho i rarely see him now :(

S. Gojo | Today at 9:46 PM yeahhh he keeps hiding out in his room classic avoidant tendencies

You | Today at 9:48 PM astute observation dr. gojo that would imply he needs some space huh

S. Gojo | Today at 9:48 PM rightttt but

You | Today at 9:50 PM but? (i like where this is going)

S. Gojo | Today at 9:50 PM luckily space isn't in our vocabulary (i knew u would) lets go bother him :3

You | Today at 9:51 PM im alr omw to u :3

stuffing your phone back into your sweats, you begin making your way to your co-conspirator. it's pitch black outside save for the dim light of the flickering lantern hung at the dorm’s main post, but gojo’s room is only a couple doors down. you push open the slightly ajar door and are met with a tart, saccharine scent wafting from gojo’s not-so-secret stash of hard candy.

squinting forward you spot the culprit red-handed, splayed out across his bed, and likely one candy away from a sugar rush. your exasperated exhale breaks him from his sugar trance and he rolls over to prop himself up on his side, crinkling about eight discarded candy wrappers in the process.

"so nice of you to join me tonight~”

you wrinkle your nose at his lopsided grin, “gross satoru, a grown-ass man eating in his bed.”

gojo sneers peering over his glasses which are slowly slipping down the slope of his nose to retort, “and you are a grown-ass woman who still sleeps with stuffed animals so I don’t wanna hear it.”

he sticks out his bright red tongue before tossing the empty wrappers onto the floor to clear up some space. you consider pointing out the digimon plushie that's visible from underneath his bed but decide to let it slide, seating yourself next to him. you are instead much more interested in gawking at the ginormous bag of candy sitting before you.

"there's actually no way you plan on eating this entire bag yourself, right?" you eye his glossy, red-stained lips "your dentist must hate to see you coming."

“and I would happily take on that challenge but—" he pauses to lift a piece of candy wrapped in shiny gold paper, "I actually picked up this bag earlier because I noticed it has these hard candies with honey filling.”

"how considerate and out of character of you," you tease.

he pouts puffing his cheeks out defiantly, "yeah so this stays between us because I can't have you running around ruining my feared, distinguished, and carefully constructed reputation—"

"of being an arrogant asshole?" you finish.

"no silly, I was gonna go with alpha male."

he smugly turns over to lay flat on his stomach, picking out the honey-filled candies and kicking his feet that hung off the edge of the bed. ah yes, the tell-tale sign of an alpha male giggling and kicking his feet while rummaging through sweets.

"right."

you lean back onto your hands making contact with something hard beneath the blanket. upon further inspection, you uncover gojo's beloved nintendo ds littered with sailor moon stickers. you lift it onto your lap tracing a finger over the peeling edge of a bright-eyed feline luna.

gojo glances over at the movement, "I'm just about done, bring that too."

you sit upright pocketing a couple pieces of candy for yourself along with the ds while he shoves as much candy as physically possible into his grey flannel joggers. stretching your legs out you rise to your feet pulling him up by his arm along with you. you’re pleasantly surprised to be met with the soft, warm brush of his skin rather than the cold pressure that is the icy barrier of his infinity.

although you should be accustomed to gojo deactivating his infinity around you, you couldn't help but lightly shudder as the comforting warmth courses through your body. because despite your argumentative banter, you reveled in the fact that the gojo satoru was surrounded by trusted friends who made him feel comfortable enough to let go of the technique temporarily. he hums softly kicking on his slippers and rising off the bed.

now towering over you, he shifts his weight, fully intending to take a long stride toward the door—until your hand presses firmly against his chest, stopping him in his tracks.

“listen—y'know I love you 'toru but before we go in there I'm gonna need you to promise to dial it down about five notches—" you take a breath and press your palms together in a pleading gesture, "so we don’t overwhelm him."

you’re met with a scoff and quirked snowy-white brow, “tch I'm not stupid I know how to read a room."

you release a shaky "okay" clearly unconvinced.

he rolls his eyes swatting at your hands and looping his arm around yours to pull you forward, “now let’s go visit our sweet sugubear~” you playfully bump shoulders giddy because you’re all too aware of geto’s ability to render you both docile.

lifting a hand to tug down your beige baby tee where it had bunched up from gojo’s arm, you allow yourself to be led to geto's room.

upon arrival, you are greeted with silence and the distant droning buzz of cicadas. the soft glow from gojo's ocean-blue eyes illuminates the door, and you can’t help but admire their determined sparkle.

“suguruuuu are ya in there? we know you are so let us in loser.” he accompanies his request with a sharp, forceful knock.

you snort at this tactless approach, slipping your arm out from his to swat at the back of his head. you take a gentler approach, knocking lightly, your plea sincere.

“hey um suguru, we know it’s late but we were hoping to unwind together since we haven’t really had a chance to hang out recently and we know how tiring the past few weeks have been for you and um...well all of us and well we y'know—” you pause from your rambling momentarily, banking on gojo swooping in.

“we miss you 'ru” he finishes loudly.

you both cock your heads sideways towards the door to listen for movement and jolt back when you hear the shuffling of feet move across the floor.

you lean in towards gojo, your voice a whisper, “he’s alive.”

geto's muffled voice responds, “yes yes I'm alive, sorry to disappoint,” his voice sounds strained yet still cracks into a low chuckle. he pulls the door open revealing himself to be dressed in a baggy black sweatsuit wrapped in a thick grey blanket that's pulled around his shoulders and draped over his arms. his eyes are clouded by dark bags and his hair is strung messily around his head, his lips fixed into a friendly, albeit forced smile.

gojo, slightly amused by the disheveled geto in front of him, opens his mouth to say god knows what, but geto promptly warns, “don’t make me regret opening this door satoru.”

"so scary sugu, don't be so mean," he dramatically shivers and you can hear the pout lacing his voice. you giggle into your palm at geto's stern look and gojo tugs sheepishly at his unruly milky-white hair. he approaches the darker-haired man placing a firm hand on geto’s shoulder before continuing inside. you follow suit and hear geto's lock click back into place behind you.

gojo immediately makes himself comfortable kicking off his slippers at the foot of the bed and falling face first onto geto's pillows with a sigh. he pulls out the candy from his pocket and drops a handful beside him. you remove your slippers and neatly arrange them while geto sulks over to the bed. he sits upright next to the candy and you drop yourself beside him pulling your knees into your chest. you all bask in comfortable silence before geto is the first to break.

"already infesting my bed with your sugar addiction huh, satoru?"

"no sufogu, bwought dese fa you" his words come out jumbled from the press of his mouth to the pillows.

geto lifts a single candy to his lap and carefully unwraps it. you lean into his side and point, "these candies are filled with honey 'ru, thought they could soothe your throat some."

geto gingerly lifts the candy to his lips proceeding to gently coax out the flavor, savoring the sweet taste. he tilts his head back, eyes crinkling into a thin line and shoulders easing.

“s'good, thank you."

while he revels in the soothing effect the candy is having on his throat you shift your attention towards his hair situation.

"did we wake you? it looks like you just had the nap of a lifetime." you reach up to twist a strand of hair that somehow defies the laws of physics sticking out horizontally.

"no, not at all," his eyes soften casting downward, "sleep's been more like a privilege lately."

gojo's dumbass barrels right past any underlying message there, nuzzling his face deeper into the pillow, "s'cwazy cuz you haf the soffest bed."

as expected, geto with the patience of a saint, is unbothered by his lack of awareness, reaching out to affectionately ruffle gojo's hair, which earns him a soft, satisfied sigh.

you roll your eyes at how pliant and disgustingly submissive gojo had magically become in a matter of seconds. in turn, you thread your fingers deeper into the stringy black clump that was currently geto's hair.

"ugh there's no way you let your precious hair get this tangled, it physically pains me to look at," you clutch your chest dramatically.

geto reaches up to touch the hair in question, his fingertips lightly brushing against yours. he swallows uneasily, "it's gotten pretty bad huh."

you shoot him a sympathetic look carefully removing the hand in his hair to avoid yanking his scalp. you would never admit it aloud but there isn't much you wouldn't do for him; he's reliable, a comforting presence, and his character is unshakable. no matter how unpleasant or dismissive you and gojo could get at your worst, geto was there. so you didn't hesitate to make him an earnest offer.

"let me untangle it. I just so happen to be extremely skilled at detangling, probably from my years of experience—“ you gesture to your own hair twisting a loose curl around your finger, “—and don’t worry I make adjustments for the tender-headed, just ask utahime."

"wait who said I'm tender-headed?"

you snort and simply gesture to the ground, "just sit down here, okay?"

you try your best to mask your excitement since you love geto’s hair: it’s jet-black, long, and soft to the touch. it always smells fresh, with a hint of vanilla from his shampoo. it’s honestly attractive refreshing to see such well-groomed hair on a man.

geto silently complies, crouching next to your feet to fold up and place down his blanket before retrieving his brush from a nearby drawer. anticipating the whine of an excluded gojo, you reach into your pocket and toss his ds onto his back.

"here satoru, so you don't get bored in the next minute"

he eagerly turns over and powers on the handheld device. he is so easy to placate, if he wasn’t a gojo you would frankly be concerned for his safety.

geto settles between your legs, back against the bed, and expresses his interest, "whatcha playing there 'toru? pokémon?"

you start to nimbly section off his hair using the brush and begin working on the ends.

gojo shuffles closer to the two of you and tilts the screen so geto can get a look.

"nintendogs?" geto asks sounding exasperated and you catch a quick glimpse of a black-and-white spotted puppy pawing at the screen.

you suppress a giggle because gojo truly never disappoints and continue working your way up your section unraveling a particularly large tangle.

"try not to sound so disappointed 'ru its so fun~ its got tons of adorable doggies to play with and its harder than it looks! honestly its a lot of work."

now that absurdity earns him a laugh as you smooth down the top of your section mumbling under your breath, "yeah work."

"well I don't know about all that—but I'm glad you've discovered this month’s hyper-fixation" geto responds with a yawn.

"thank you...i think," gojo replies before quickly being distracted by the incessant yapping of his digital pets.

you take your time working through geto's hair, carefully pulling apart tangles and smoothing out ends, admiring the glossy shine reflected in the low light of his dorm. once thoroughly detangled, you brush through his thick locks while running your fingers through his bangs that don’t quite reach back far enough.

you hear a low hum when your fingers lightly scrape along his scalp so you continue your ministrations to hopefully allow him some semblance of peace. the yapping coming from gojo's direction becomes white noise as you get lost in thought admiring the silky-smooth feel of geto's hair against your fingers.

the satisfying swish of the hairbrush running from root to end sounds strangely cathartic. you note how his hair has grown considerably since the last time you had seen it completely down. it cascades down a little past his shoulders curling up slightly at the bottoms when released from the confines of the brush.

you gather all his hair back intending to indicate that you had finished until you notice a breathy rumbling being released steadily from his mouth. you peer over his head to see his eyes gently resting shut, with a tranquil expression softening his features as his lips part slightly with each slow breath.

somehow he has managed to look perfectly serene, yet impossibly striking. it was a relieving sight to see after this past week made you believe that his face had become permanently fixed into a frown.

"hey—“

you swiftly press a finger to a startled gojo's lips gesturing to the sleeping geto that had slumped into your lap. gojo quickly powers off his game and cranes his neck to get a good look at geto's face.

he stifles a laugh and wraps an arm around your shoulder, "mission accomplished huh?"

you nod contently as a warm gust of his strawberry-scented breath fans your face.

gojo seats himself next to you and begins running his fingers through geto's newly tamed hair. geto releases a long sigh and you can't help but think its awfully cute.

"bet I can do a better hairstyle than you can" gojo challenges, because of course he does. you still take him up on it though; partly because you're competitive, and partly because you want to keep soothing geto through his much-needed slumber.

you smirk at gojo before parting geto's hair down the middle. taking the left side you begin splitting it into four parts to work on a fishtail. you had always wondered how one would look on him if he ever let down his taut bun.

glancing towards gojo whose eyebrows are furrowed in deep concentration, you notice his glasses had been completely removed as he’s struggling to complete a french braid. the braid is somehow tight, loose, chunky, and thin all at once—effectively securing your victory. his pale fingers weave clumsily through one another to continue down.

gojo scowls looking dissatisfied with his work thus far and begins undoing his current progress. near geto's temple the braid had twisted awkwardly and as gojo pulled the strands apart he was met with resistance accidentally yanking geto's head back suddenly.

the motion jolts you all backward and shakes geto awake releasing a pained wince from the rough pull.

"what the fuck guys”

"gojo you had one job" you moan. gojo's white eyelashes flutter apologetically and he rubs soft circles into the spot he had just pulled.

"didn't mean to sugu"

you roll your eyes at his allergy to explicitly apologizing and shove him away from geto's head. dejected, he slowly inches himself to the edge of the bed until he slides down next to geto. he pops a hard candy between his lips that seemingly appeared out of thin air and leans his head onto geto's shoulder.

you swear you can make out a hushed murmur sounding close to a sorry. geto hums and you go back to playing with his hair. you decide to make an effort to style his hair in a way that he can achieve on his own. you lift gojo's head gently to retrieve the hair that had been trapped underneath so he can snuggle in closer, and you begin working on a half-up, half-down style.

once satisfied you make the executive decision to loop the half-up ponytail into a bun and pull out his bangs to frame his face.

geto’s voice calls wearily out, "having fun back there?" his eyes are half-lidded from dozing off, and at this point he’s completely malleable to your touch.

"I'm actually taking this opportunity very seriously sugu."

you retrieve your phone and open the front-facing camera, handing it to him. he positions it in front of his face to view the finished look.

the corner of his eyes crinkle, but you can still make out the deep violet of his irises scanning over your handiwork.

"I actually like this a lot, it looks great," he praises.

gojo cracks an eye open so he can weigh in.

"I don't hate it."

at that you flick the nape of his neck harshly and geto chuckles at the subsequent wince feeling rightfully avenged for earlier.

“so seriously how do I look?”

“pretty—“ “—handsome” you and gojo both blurt out at once.

an awkward silence follows, and you can't help but giggle at your brazen, synchronized boldness.

searching for a way to ease the tension, your eyes fall back onto the camera in geto's hand and you motion towards it to refocus everyone's attention, "well we've clearly established that you look great so don't let the photo go to waste."

you catch his lips curling slightly before he complies, extending his arm to get a better shot. gojo leans back onto geto's shoulder and lazily holds up a peace sign, his cheeks tinged strawberry-red to match his lips. you scoot forward resting your chin on geto's other shoulder, tilting your head slightly and flashing a playful grin.

“perfect, my new lock screen,” you say, giving geto’s bun one final twist.

geto chuckles, low and warm, and gives your knee a gentle pat. “well, in that case, I’m honored.” he shifts his weight, stretching his legs out, visibly more at ease than when you’d first arrived. beside him, gojo, not missing a beat, looks up, hands folded across his chest.

“but of course, I'm more honored, I'm literally the honored one”

geto looks over the image zooming in slightly, "keep talking and you'll be the one cropped out satoru."

this ignites their usual bickering and you scoff. you watch as geto’s shoulders softly shake with laughter and you swear he seems lighter, the tension of the last few weeks loosening. maybe, just maybe, things could return to normal soon.

at least, for this moment, you all felt a little more like yourselves.

#i love them both #self indulgent asf #gojo x reader x geto #satosugu #satosugu x reader #hidden inventory arc #canon divergence #otaku gojo #getou suguru x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jjk crack #jjk smau #jjk fluff #jjk x black!fem reader #shoko ieiri

386 notes · View notes

nova-is-a-writer-now · 4 months ago

Text

Highway Heat

Summary: Your car breaks down in the middle of nowhere and the trucker you flag down offers more than just roadside assistance.

A/N: Lord oh lord… I tried to be good i swear, i really tried to behave. The thing is my sweet beta reader @hautecouture02 requested a little roadside encounter one shot with Joel, specifically asking for FLUFF, and i swear on everything holy I tried my best to keep it PG… but sometimes things don’t go as I planned. So here, take this absolute filth of a one shot that’s little more than PWOP. ENJOY!!!!

Warnings: As previously stated, this is pretty much PWOP, Trucker!Joel i know nothing about trucks lol, maybe some dub!con at first but the internal dialogue shows hella consent, groping, fingering, a bit of praise and a bit of degradation, pet names like so many of them im not gonna list them all almost too many pet names if you believe in such a thing, grinding, oral male receiving, deep throating

Masterlist

You’re a good person—hell, a great person even. You give your spare change to homeless people, you donate to the puppy shelter every once in a while, you hold your friend’s hair back when they’re throwing up in the back of the club. You’re definitely not the type of person who deserves to be stranded in the middle of nowhere, sweating buckets despite wearing nothing but a spaghetti strap tank and the tiniest pair of shorts you own. This feels like some kind of cosmic punishment.

It is, undoubtedly, the worst possible time for your car to stop working. You’d been putting off the usual checkups on your car for months, knowing full well it was overdue for an oil change, a tire rotation—or whatever men who know their way around a toolbox always say. Your ex used to handle all of that for you, always acting like it was his job to make sure your car ran smoothly. He was that kind of guy who would go out of his way to make your life easier—didn’t mean he was above cheating though.

So now, you’re stuck in your geriatric Honda Civic, the AC busted and the engine refusing to start.

After a few minutes of trying to will it back to life, it’s clear you’re stranded.

You step out of the car, and the heat hits you like a goddamn slap to the face. The road’s deserted, no signs of life for miles, and of course, your phone has no signal. Perfect. Just fucking perfect. You glance down the road, hoping for a miracle, when you spot the rough outline of a truck—a big one, maybe a sixteen-wheeler—coming up in the distance.

Relief washes over you for about two seconds before your brain kicks in, running through every horror movie scenario. But it’s not like you’ve got a buffet of options, so you throw up your hand, waving the truck down as it rolls closer.

It’s a beat-up old thing, paint chipped and covered in dust, but it comes to a slow stop right behind your car. The door creaks open, and out steps a man.

He’s tall, broad, with a face lined with age and tan from long days under the sun. The net cap he wears lets a few of his longer dark curls peek out, the front pieces overpowered by graying hair. He sports a faded plaid shirt and jeans, a pair of well-worn boots kicking up dust as he steps toward you. His dark, intense eyes size you up like you’re part of the landscape he’s used to navigating.

“You alright there, sweetheart?” His voice is deep and gravelly, but the drawl is the star of the show, thick and sweet like honey.

You clear your throat, trying to keep your frustration in check. “Car broke down. Won’t start. No service either.”

He nods slowly, like this is exactly the kind of situation he expects to find out here. “Well, good thing I’m passin’ through.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes a little at that, but desperation makes you bite your tongue. “Think you could take a look?”

He stares at you for a moment, long enough that you wonder if he’s going to offer any help at all. But then he lets out a low sigh, scratches the back of his neck, and walks over to your car, popping the hood like it’s second nature.

For a while, there’s nothing but the sound of him tinkering under the hood, the occasional grunt or muttered curse as he checks things out. You stand there awkwardly, feeling the heat bearing down on you, watching as beads of sweat gather at the back of his neck.

Finally, he steps back, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Shit’s runnin’ on fumes. When’s the last time you had it serviced?””

You shift, feeling stupid. “A while. My ex used to handle it, and, uh… I’ve been busy.”

He gives you a look, something between amusement and pity, before shaking his head. He leans against the car, arms crossed. “I can tow you to a shop in the next town, but it gon’ be a ride.”

You blink up at him, surprised at his offer. “You don’t mind?”

“Nah,” he says, with a shrug, “I’m headin’ that way anyway.”

He moves back to his truck, grabbing a few chains and a tow hitch from the back. Within minutes, he’s hooking up your beat-up Honda Civic to the rear of his truck, working with the ease of someone who’s done this a hundred times before.

“You sure this is safe?” you ask, watching him as he tightens the last chain.

“As safe as it’s gonna get,” he replies with a shrug, brushing the dust from his hands. “Ain’t no mechanic shop out here, so this’ll do ‘til we get to the next town.”

You hesitate, then eye him. “You’re not gonna, like, chop me up and throw me in a ditch, are you?”

He chuckles at that, a nice gravely sound. “If I was, don’t think I’d tell ya, sugar. But no, I ain’t in the business of chopping people up.”

You look at him for a bit longer before sighing. “Fuck it, let’s go.”

He turns, heading back to his truck, his broad back facing you and making it a hell of a lot harder to concentrate

“Name’s Joel, by the way,” he says, glancing back over his shoulder as he opens the passenger door for you.

“Thanks, Joel,” you say, stepping up into the truck’s cab, the cool air from his AC hitting you like a blessing. Maybe your luck hasn’t run out just yet.

You sink back into the seat as he climbs up on his side of the cab, letting the icy air wash over you. There’s something else prickling at your senses though—something that has nothing to do with the temperature. It’s him.

Joel’s glances are obvious, a little too long, lingering like he’s sizing you up. Normally, it’d make you roll your eyes, maybe even tell him off. Old guy like him eyeing you up is nothing you’re unfamiliar with. But today? With the way your body feels sticky and tired, and the way the breakup has left you all out of sorts… you’re almost enjoying it.

You’ve been craving attention and the shitty one night stands with guys from dating apps have done nothing to satiate that need. It’s been months since anyone has touched you and that rational part of your brain that would be yelling at you to be aware of the sleazy old trucker who just picked you off of the side of the road is sounding real quiet right now.

“So…” His voice pulls you from your thoughts as he shifts in his seat, resting one hand lazily on the wheel. “Where you headed?”

You hesitate, eyes on the road ahead. “Just… trying to get home.”

He hums, slow and deliberate. “Home, huh? Got anyone waitin’ on you there? Boyfriend?”

The word slices through you, sharper than you expected. You tighten your jaw, glancing out the window. “No. Not anymore.”

Joel makes a sound, somewhere between a laugh and a grunt. “Well, ain’t that a shame. Pretty thing like you, all alone.”

You should hate the way he says it, the way his eyes flicker toward you like he’s just waiting for an opening. But instead, there’s a strange warmth pooling in your stomach, your pulse picking up in a way you’re not proud of. You shift in your seat, crossing your legs like it’ll somehow tamp down the growing tension in your body. He doesn’t miss it, his smirk growing a little wider.

“That line work on most girls?” you quip, trying to keep things light.

Joel chuckles, the sound low and dangerous. “Depends on the girl. But you look a little… flustered.”

Your cheeks heat up, and it’s not just the sun this time. “I’m not flustered.”

“Sure about that, darlin’?”

You glare at the open road, biting your lip as you try to ignore the way his words are messing with your head—and your body. It’s been way too long since anyone’s looked at you like this. Really looked at you.

The silence stretches out as the truck rumbles along the deserted road. You try to focus on anything but the tension in the air and find it’s impossible. His presence feels inescapable, it fills the cab wrapping around you, pressing down on every nerve.

“You never told me,” Joel says after a while, breaking the quiet. “Where’s home?”

“Texas,” you say quietly, your voice a little steadier now. “But I’m not in any rush to get back.”

“Family trouble?” he asks, his eyes flicking toward you again.

“Something like that,” you mutter. “It’s complicated.”

He hums in response. “Don’t I know it.”

You shift in your seat, crossing your legs, catching Joel watching you out of the corner of his eye. His gaze lingers a little too long on your bare thighs, and there’s a flicker of something dark passing over his face, but he says nothing.

You want to ignore it—God, you should ignore it—especially since you’re stuck with him for a while longer. But the rising heat in your body and the quickening pulse beneath your skin make it hard to think straight, harder still to make good decisions.

So you bite.

“You gonna keep staring, or is this part of your charm routine?” You cock a brow, trying to ignore the way warmth crawls up your neck.

A slow smirk curls at his lips, but he doesn’t look away. If anything, he leans in closer, his hand resting just near your leg, making the air between you buzz. “You think I’m layin’ it on too thick?”

“Little bit,” you quip back, though your voice betrays you with how soft it comes out. You bite your lip, trying to stay sharp, but his eyes flick down to the movement, and the pulsing need low in your stomach tightens. “It’s not working, though.”

His smirk widens, like he’s enjoying this far too much. “Funny. Seems to me it’s workin’ just fine.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t hide the way your heart races when he shifts closer, his fingers brushing against your leg. The touch is light, almost casual, but it’s enough to send a shiver racing up your spine, your breath catching in your throat.

“You can roll your eyes all you want, doll. It don’t change the fact I can see what you need, clear as day,” he purrs, his voice dropping lower.

“Oh yeah? And what’s that?” you snap back, though your words lack the heat you want them to have.

“Little bit of attention.”

He reads you too well. It drives you insane. “I don’t need anything from you. Just get me where I need to go.”

A quiet chuckle rumbles from his chest. “That so? ’Cause the way you’ve been shiftin’ in that seat says otherwise.”

You bristle at his words, but the truth sticks like a thorn. There’s a reason you haven’t told him to stop, a reason you haven’t shut this down. You’re tired, frustrated, and the way his eyes keep grazing over you… you can’t stop wondering how easy it’d be to let him pull you under, to let him take all your worries away.

“You’re losing it, old man,” you shoot back, even though you know it’s a losing game. He sees right through you, but that doesn’t mean you’re gonna make it easy.

“Am I?” he purrs, his hand sliding up to rest fully on your thigh. “So, you don’t want me touching you like this, darlin’?”

The way he says it—slow, deliberate, laced with that sweet, thick accent—it’s all innocence, even though everything about it screams otherwise. You know you’ll be hearing that “darlin’” in your head later, when you’re playing with yourself.

You smirk, giving him a little more rope. “I didn’t say that.”

He hums, eyes flicking between the road and your legs. “And I’m guessin’ you wouldn’t say a word if I moved my hand higher, would you?”

Your legs part just slightly, almost like an instinct. Barely noticeable to anyone else. But not to Joel.

“Look at you,” he drawls, a shit-eating smirk spreading across his lips. “Already makin’ it easier for me.”

You’re about to fire back, ready to keep this banter rolling, when his fingers slide higher. A soft sigh escapes your lips before you can stop it.

“You ready to stop actin’ up, or we still playin’ cat and mouse, pretty girl?” His eyes lock on yours, dark and unwavering.

Your pulse quickens at the challenge in his voice, your breath catching in your throat. His fingers are still on your thigh, warm and rough, and it’s messing with your head. You know you should stop this now, make him pull his hand back, but you’re not sure if that’s what you want.

“I’m not acting up,” you murmur, trying to hold on to some sense of control, even though his touch is making that damn near impossible.

His grin widens, like he’s got you exactly where he wants you. “Mhm, sure you ain’t.”

You glare at him, but it’s weak. Pathetic, really, and the worst part is he knows it. He knows how to get under your skin even though he has known you for half an hour, knows exactly what buttons to push to unravel you just enough to keep you hanging on.

“I mean it,” you snap, though your voice wavers. His hand shifts slightly on your thigh, fingers curling just enough to make your stomach twist into knots.

“I wanna believe you,” His voice is low, a quiet rumble that vibrates through you, all the way down to where you’re aching for him to touch you. He leans in a little more, so close now that you can feel the heat radiating off him, smell that familiar scent of worn leather and something dark and intoxicating. “But you keep lettin’ me touch you. Kinda sends a different message, don’t you think?”

Your heart’s pounding in your chest, the steady rhythm of it loud in your ears. You don’t know how to answer, don’t know if you want to answer. Every rational thought in your head is telling you to stop, but your body isn’t listening.

Instead, you shift slightly, your leg pressing into his hand, just enough to encourage him to keep going. His eyes darken, and a slow, dangerous smile tugs at his lips.

“Thought so,” he mutters, and then his fingers start to move again, sliding higher, testing the boundaries you haven’t set.

You bite your lip, trying to hold back the sigh that’s clawing its way up your throat, but it slips through anyway. He hears it, of course he does, and the satisfied gleam in his eyes makes your face flush with heat.

“You wanna tell me to stop, now’s your chance,” he murmurs, his voice soft but carrying an edge of challenge, like he knows damn well you’re not going to.

His gaze shifts between the road and you and it almost seems like every time those eyes are back on you they become darker.

You glance at him, your heart in your throat, and there’s that flicker of hesitation—you should say something, should stop this before it goes any further—but the way his fingers are brushing higher, dangerously close to the ache between your legs, makes it impossible to think straight.

So you just meet his gaze, and you don’t say a word.

His smirk grows, and his hand drifts even higher. “Good girl.” This time he fully gropes your thigh, groaning like he’s been waiting to unleash this. “You wanna take these off for me, sweetheart? Let me give you as much attention as you want.”

He must have some psychic hold on you because you follow his instructions with no hesitation this time. Your fingers eagerly unbotton your shorts and pull the zipper down, lifting your hips to shimmy them down.

He looks at you for a lot longe than he should taking into account he’s currently driving a beast of a vehicle. “Lord above… you’re a sight and a half, darlin’”

He goes back to massaging your thigh, making circles with his thick fingers, going each time higher. Once he reaches your panties he stops and just rests his hand there, right at the edge of where you want him most. His fingers teasingly brush the fabric, enough to make you gasp, but he doesn’t go any further.

“You’re gonna have to ask for it,” he rasps, his voice thick with something darker now. “Tell me what you want, pretty girl.”

His words are like a key turning in a lock, and your resistance crumbles. You can’t deny it anymore, not when his hand is right there, so close to what you need, your entire body burning up under his touch.

“Joel…” you whisper, your voice almost pleading now, barely more than a breath.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, his hand pressing a little more firmly, his fingers tracing along the outline of your heat through the fabric. “That’s what I wanna hear.”

Your breath stutters, and your hips shift on their own, pressing into his hand. You’re barely hanging on, the tension between you two crackling like a live wire, but he’s still holding back, waiting for you to give in completely.

“Please…” you finally manage, the word spilling out before you can stop it. It’s humiliating and liberating all at once.

“Please what?”

You let out the shadow of a moan. “Please touch me.”

Joel’s hand slips under the fabric, his fingers finally finding your core, and the groan that escapes him sends a shockwave of heat straight to your core. “Good girl,” he breathes, his voice like gravel as his fingers start to move in slow, torturous circles.

Your head falls back against the seat, a whimper escaping your lips as he finally gives you what you’ve been craving. “Jesus, Joel…”

“Feels good, huh?” he rasps, his eyes flicking from the road to you, watching the way your body reacts to every touch, every motion of his hand. “Told you I know exactly what you need, baby.”

You’re melting under his touch, your body humming with the pressure of his fingers moving against you, his voice guiding you deeper into the haze of pleasure. You’re not even sure what’s more intoxicating—the way he’s touching you or the way he’s talking to you, that low, commanding tone unraveling you completely.

“That’s it, sweetness, grind on my fingers, make that little pussy feel good” Joel growls, having a harder time keeping his eyes on the road now.

“Fuck… that feels you good da-“ you stop yourself before you’re able to finish the word. Your ex didn’t like you calling him that, so you usually kept that particular kink under wraps, but something about Joel is making it surface back up.

He looks up at you, pupils blown out. “Say it… say wha you wanna say baby.”

You lose all restraint and moan loudly. “It feels so good, daddy.”

“That’s right, babygirl.” He moans “Daddy’s fingers make your pretty cunt fucking drip don’t they?”

His words send a wave of pleasure through your body, a mixture of shame and intense arousal surging in your chest. You’re too far gone to stop now, letting the haze of lust pull you under completely.

“Yes,” you whisper, the word slipping out like a confession. “So fucking wet.”

Joel’s fingers move faster, rough and skilled, coaxing you into a rhythm that has you arching your back against the seat. His other hand grips the wheel tight, knuckles white, and you can tell he’s barely hanging onto his self-control, but that only makes it hotter.

“Jesus, you’re a fuckin�� dream,” he growls, voice thick with desire. “Been wantin’ to ruin you since the minute you sat your pretty ass in this truck.”

The vulgarity, the way he talks to you—it should feel wrong, but instead, it’s like gasoline thrown on the fire already burning inside you. You grind down harder on his fingers, chasing the high he’s offering, the tension building fast in your core.

You glance over at him, his jaw tight, eyes darting between the road and you, and there’s something so filthy about the way he’s trying to keep it together while driving, the way his control is slipping. You want to push him, make him lose it completely.

“You’re losing it too,” you pant, breathless, pushing your hips into his hand. “Can’t even keep your eyes on the road, can you?”

His gaze snaps to yours, dark and predatory. “Careful. Keep talkin’ like that, and I’ll pull this truck over.”

The threat in his voice makes you shiver, heat pooling low in your belly. You’re right on the edge, your body strung tight as a bow, every nerve lit up under his touch.

“Do it,” you challenge, voice breathless and wrecked.

Joel’s eyes flash with something dangerous, his hand gripping your thigh so hard it almost hurts. Without another word, he swerves the truck off the road, gravel crunching under the tires as he pulls into a secluded spot off the highway.

Your heart is pounding, adrenaline mixing with the arousal as he throws the truck into park and turns to face you fully. The look in his eyes is feral, like he’s done holding back, and you brace yourself for what’s coming next.

“Such a little attention whore, baby,” he growls, unbuckling his seatbelt with one hand, the other still teasing you between your legs. “I’m all yours now.”

In one swift motion, he pulls you onto his lap, your thighs straddling his hips, the weight of his hard length pressing against you through his jeans. He is big, a lot bigger than you expected and it makes your mouth water,almost like your body is showing you how badly you need him in a million and one ways.

His hands grip your hips possessively, eyes locking with yours as if daring you to make the next move.

You don’t hesitate. You grind down on him, both of you letting out low moans at the contact. The friction sends sparks flying up your spine, and you can already tell this is about to be the kind of reckless, dirty, no-going-back encounter you’ve both been craving.

Joel’s hands slide up your back, fisting in your hair as he pulls you down to feast on your neck. His lips trail down, biting at the sensitive skin there, and it’s too much, too intense. You feel like you’re going to combust right here in his arms.

“You taste so fuckin’ good,” he mutters against your skin, one hand slipping between you to push your panties aside, his fingers slipping through your slick heat again. “Filthy little slut, letting a stranger put his fingers inside you. Gonna make you come so hard you forget your own name, pretty girl.”

Your hips buck against him, the promise of release so close you can taste it. “Fuck, Joel, please…”

“Try again. You know better.” his tone is firm and commanding, all the previous playfulness gone.

“Please daddy, let me come”

“That’s it,” he groans, his thumb circling your clit with just the right amount of pressure, pushing you right to the edge. “Come for me, darlin’. Let me feel this tight little whole clench on my fingers.”

The way he says it with such authority, has you unraveling in his lap, your entire body trembling as you come hard against his hand. Your vision goes white, pleasure crashing over you in waves as you grip his shoulders, nails digging into his skin.

Joel watches you, his eyes hooded and hungry, soaking in every second of your release. He doesn’t stop moving his fingers until you’re shaking from the aftershocks, your body limp and boneless against him.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice low and satisfied as he finally pulls his hand away, bringing his fingers to his lips to taste you. “Tastes even better than I imagined.”

You’re still catching your breath, head buzzing from the intensity, but the way his hardness presses against you makes it clear you’re far from done. It’s not like those other times when finishing a guy felt like an obligation, when the effort barely felt worth it because they didn’t take the time to get you there first. But Joel? Joel made you come so hard you can’t help but want to return the favor. It’s not a chore—it’s something you crave.

“My turn,” you murmur, fingers already working at the button of his jeans.

His grip tightens on your hips, eyes darkening as he watches your hands move, but there’s a flicker of restraint. “Don’t think that’s a good idea, sweetheart. Can’t have this beast of a truck just parked in the middle of the road.”

You shift back onto your own seat, lifting your leg off his lap to give yourself the space you need. The desire to make him feel just as wrecked as you burns in your chest, so you lean down, your gaze steady on his as your fingers trail lower.

“You can drive,” you say, voice low, teasing. “I’m not stopping you.”

Joel’s eyes flash with something dangerous, his jaw ticking like he’s fighting with himself. For a second, you think he’s going to tell you to stop, but then he huffs out a breath, shaking his head with a low chuckle. “You’re trouble.”

You smile up at him as you feel him start the engine again, your hand slipping lower, teasing him through his jeans.

Joel’s breath hitches as your fingers brush against him, a low growl vibrating in his chest. His hand tightens on the steering wheel, knuckles turning white as he tries to focus on the road, but you can tell he’s losing the battle.

His jaw clenches, a muscle ticking in his cheek as he tries to keep his cool, but you can see right through it. The way his body is responding to your touch, the way he’s barely holding it together, it only spurs you on.

You undo his jeans and pull the zipper down, feeling the heat radiating off him. His breath stutters, and his hand slips to grip the side of the seat, trying to ground himself as you free him from the confines of his jeans.

You wrap your hand around him, feeling how hard he is, how thick, and the groan that escapes his lips sends a thrill through you. “Fuck,” he breathes, eyes flicking between the road and you, his control slipping more by the second.

You lower your head, your lips grazing his tip, and Joel’s entire body tenses. His hips buck up, instinctively searching for more, and you can’t help but smirk as you take him deeper into your mouth.

“Holy shit,” he groans, his voice rough and ragged, his hand instinctively flying to the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair. “You’re gonna get us both killed.”

But even as he says it, there’s no hint of him wanting you to stop. He keeps urging you on in slow, measured strokes. The tension in him is palpable, and you can feel the way his control is fraying with every flick of your tongue, every inch you take him deeper.

His breathing grows ragged, and he glances down at you, eyes dark with heat and disbelief. “You’re so pretty with a fat cock stuffed in your mouth baby, look at you ”

You hum around him, the vibration making his hips jerk again, and the low groan that rips from his throat sends a fresh wave of adrenaline coursing through you. He’s unraveling, right in front of you, and you’re loving every second of it.

You pick up the pace, your hand working him in tandem with your mouth, and Joel’s growl turns guttural, his grip on the wheel tightening. “Right there, darlin’ girl, don’t stop…” he hisses, head tipping back slightly as his hips move in time with your rhythm, chasing the release that’s so damn close.

His eyes flick between the road and you, pupils blown, struggling to stay on course even as his focus is being torn apart by you.

“Fuck, baby… I’m not gonna last if you keep—” He cuts himself off with a harsh groan, his hips bucking again, muscles taut and trembling as he loses the last shred of his composure. He’s completely at your mercy now, and it’s making him wild, his control slipping fast.

You don’t let up, your hand dropping lower to play with his balls, and he’s right on the edge, teetering dangerously close. His breath comes in ragged bursts, and his body tightens under you, his hips jerking harder, more desperate now.

“Where do you want it, baby?”

Instead of answering you take him deeper down your throat, your nose burrowing in the dark curls at the base of his cock, his smell so musky and intoxicating it makes you dizzy.

“Shit, shit—” Joel’s voice is a strangled growl, and then you feel him pulse in your mouth, a low, guttural moan tearing from his throat as he finally comes undone. He’s barely holding onto the wheel, the truck swerving just enough to make your heart race, but it’s clear he’s past caring. He spills hot and hard into your mouth, the sound of his release drowned out by the pounding of your own pulse in your ears.

You keep going, milking him for every last bit, until he’s trembling beneath you, his breathing ragged and uneven. When you finally pull away, he’s still gripping the steering wheel like it’s the only thing anchoring him to reality.

“Holy fuck,” he mutters, his voice rough and wrecked. His eyes flick down to you, wild and wide, before darting back to the road. He lets out a breathless, incredulous laugh, shaking his head. “Best hitchhiker I’ve ever picked up, that’s for damn sure.”

As if on cue, the truck finally pulls into the shop, the hum of the engine fading, the weight of what just happened still hung thick between you two. Joel cuts the ignition, his hand lingering on the key for a beat too long, like he wasn’t quite ready to step back into reality. He realizes his now soft cock is still out and starts to zip himself back up.

You try to gather yourself, smoothing your clothes and brushing a hand through your hair as if it’d erase everything that had gone down on that highway. You can tell it’s gonna stick with you for a good while longer though.

Joel clears his throat, glancing over at you with a look that was somehow both satisfied and conflicted. "Well, we’re here," he mutters, but his hand was already fishing in his back pocket for something. "Here." He hands you a crumpled business card, his name scrawled across it with a number underneath. "In case you run into any more car trouble or, y'know... anything else."

The corner of his mouth twitches, like he knows damn well this had nothing to do with the rugged old thing and everything to do with the heat still simmering between you. You take the card, trying to hide the smirk tugging at your lips.

"Thanks," you reply, pocketing it casually, though the way your heart raced gave you away. "For… you know, all of it."

He just gives you that signature look of his—half-smirk, half-smolder—and with that, you slide out of the truck, legs still feeling like jelly as you walked away. You didn't even need to turn around to know his eyes were glued to your retreating figure.

#joel x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #joel miller #trucker!joel #joel smut #joel miller smut #joel x reader smut

291 notes · View notes

qlossytbh · 7 months ago

Note

Hello my love can you do a spencer reid x reader who experiences olfactory hallucinations (smelling things that arent there) please i just scared the shit out of myself cus i smelled a burning power outlet for like an hour 😭 the whole time i was unplugging everything and i thought my house was going to catch on fire 😰 i want him

𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬- 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 you experience olfactory hallucinations and spencer’s there to experience the rollercoaster that come with it lol

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 fem!reader, established relationship, just a lot of fluff, allergies (ugh), reader is freaking out (anxiety), me pretending to be science-y and act like i know what im writing about!

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 1.2k

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 i actually loved this request because I myself experience olfactory hallucinations due to my allergies and it’s really cool seeing someone else who has it! i unfortunately smell a wide varieties of things such as spoiled food, clogged toilets (yay!), and tobacco (love that for me)

𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

You rubbed your right eye vigorously, sniffling loudly with a following groan. Your hand then fell to its familiar rhythm, writing down your notes as you tried copiously to ignore the stuffiness that enclosed throughout your throat and nose. Your face itched gratingly, the corners of your eyes running with tears that wouldn’t seem to leave no matter how many times you tried blinking them away.

You had taken your allergy medication about thirty minutes ago and it wasn’t easing up— you felt puffy and somewhat aggravated.

Your T-shirt hung around your hips loosely, bunched up onto the chair you sat on at the desk of Spencer’s apartment, completing an assignment you needed to get done for your current job. Your hair was damp, ends still wet from the shower you had taken to decompress your sinuses.

You suddenly stopped all together, mind running blank. Twisting around in your chair, you turned to the kitchen and lifted your chin, staring down the ambience as if it was looking right back at you. What was that smell?

It was smokey and acrid and rotten and— definitely not supposed to be floating around the apartment. Unless something was wrong, you thought. You stood quickly, bare legs meeting the cold air as you patted over to the kitchen.

Your eyes scanned it frantically, checking for any signs of smoke or if any of the gas burners were on. Your heart was beating gratingly against your ears. The silence was so heavy you were beginning to feel dizzy. It was the type of quiet that made your skin crawl all the way up to the nape of your neck.

You sniffed again, trying to make sure you hadn’t hallucinated smelling what you had but much to your dismay— it still smelled like something was burning.

You hastily made your way to the desk, grabbing your phone and opening your contact list. It was only a few passing beeps from the other line before a voice rang out. “Hello?”

“Spence,” Your boyfriend picked up on your tone quicker than you would’ve preferred.

“Hey,” He said, sounding like he was reassuring you that he was there, voice soft although he didn’t necessarily know what had made you so distressed in the first place. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m okay.” You tucked a strand of hair behind your ears shamefully, glancing over at the kitchen.

“I’m pulling into the driveway right now, what’s going on?”

You bit the flesh of your bottom lip, making your way back into the kitchen. “Did you leave any of the burners on? Or plugged in anything you maybe— shouldn’t have..?”

Spencer paused on the other line, almost in profound contemplation. “No. I didn’t, why?”

“Because it smells like something is burning Spence,” You reached at the small handles of the ovens burners, rotating them all to signal they were off. “Are you sure you didn’t leave anything in?”

“I’m positive,” Somehow he could practically feel your hesitation, so he continued. “Baby, I have an eidetic memory. I would’ve remembered leaving something on,”

You huffed, still not entirely convinced because the smell was right there. It wasn’t strong, which caused even more anxiety to swirl inside of you, but it was there. The sound of a car door slamming shut was heard on the other end of the phone. “I’m freaking out,”

“I’m getting into the elevator, I’ll be up in a few seconds,” You paused.

A few rather long seconds later, the door pushed open. Spencer glanced at the handle, brows furrowed in annoyance. “It’s not locked— Why isn’t this locked?”

Your habit with leaving doors open was a problem, but it currently wasn’t your biggest. The strong smell still floated around, dancing through your nose and torturing you slowly. “Screw the door, do you not smell that?!”

Spencer closed the door behind him and set his bag down, along with his shoes. You watched him from the kitchen, crossing your arms across yourself and hugging your body closely.

“Where is the smell?” He stalked over towards the kitchen. His eyes lingered on the sight of you wearing nothing more than a t-shirt. It was something he didn’t think he’d ever get used to.

“I don’t know where it’s coming from,” You griped. Spencer really tried to find where the smell was coming, only so that he could ease you from your anxiety, but he really didn’t smell anything.

“I don’t smell anything love,” He reassured, looking over towards the stove just to be absolutely, positively sure.

“How do you not–?” You stopped, face falling from its tightened up expression. A relief unlike any other fell over you the second you understood what was going on.

“I’m–” You rubbed your temples, letting out a breathy laugh. “I’m an idiot,”

Spencer furrowed his brows, quickly walking beside you and setting a very much needed and comforting hand on your shoulder. “What?”

You remain quiet, reaching out and wrapping your arms around his torso and burying your face into his chest. Spencer stood there, muddled by your behavior but nevertheless happy to oblige with whatever you deemed necessary to feel better. He wrapped his arms around you, rubbing a few soothing circles onto your back.

“Yeah, I get olfactory hallucinations,” You trailed off, resting your cheek on his chest and not yet looking up at him.

“Phantosmia?” He quipped. You pulled away, looking up at him inquiringly.

“Huh?”

“Phantosmia,” He shifted his arms down to your waist. “It’s a sensory perception disorder where people experience smelling odors that aren't present in their environment. Unlike actual smells, which are triggered by external stimuli interacting with the olfactory receptors in the nose, phantosmia originates internally within the brain.”

You pulled a face. “Well, I call them olfactory hallucinations.”

“Well, medically they’re called phantosmia.” He countered. You narrowed your eyes as he tucked a strand of damp hair behind your ear.

“Show off.”

He huffed out a laugh. “I thought you liked it when I talked a lot.”

You hummed. “Yeah, that's true”

Unfortunately, you got olfactory hallucinations– or phantosmia– often. And it should’ve been the first thing you recalled once Spencer was denying any smells of burning outlets and gas. It always simultaneously flared up when your allergies did, meaning you probably should’ve known better— definitely would’ve saved you the near heart attack.

Spencer dragged his hand up and down your waist instinctively while you poked a finger into the rough surface of his chest “Got some more info for me smart-ass?”

Spencer gave you a look, rolling his eyes at your ridiculous giddy grin. “It isn’t very common. When it comes to disorders that affect the sense of smell, phantosmia makes up 10% to 20% of cases.”

“Well that makes me feel unique.”

Spencer bit back the need to tell you that you were already unique, but he referred against it. Not because he didn't want to— he always wanted to. But he knew he spent every single chance he could get to telling you how special you genuinely were to him.

“For some people, the odors that they hallucinate are pleasant, like freshly baked sweets—“

“You're joking,” He shook his head. You huffed, drawing your lips into a pout. “Do you know what I'd give to smell that instead of a goddamn burning outlet— it gives me anxiety.”

“Yeah, but look on the bright side,” Spencer leaned forward kissing your forehead. You basked in the simplicity and loveliness of his touch. “At least there wasn’t actually a burning outlet.”

“Yeah,” You smiled up at him. “That's true.”

371 notes · View notes

90ekz · 1 year ago

Text

HANDY(WO)MAN

connie springer x fem!black!reader

in which: connie never lets you jerk him off, and you show him what he’s missing.

tags: hand kink, bondage/shibari, sub!connie, black feminine reader, nicknames (princess, baby, ma), snowballing (im sorry.)

notes: been gone so long and my first fic back is about this bum :/ i missed y’all tho lol

“pleaseeee con! this would be a dream come true!” you beg to connie as your head rests in his lap. he makes a face as you mention this fact, still not understanding the appeal in all this.

see, in your almost year of dating, connie has never let you touch his cock with your hands. blowjobs? he welcomes them, just no hands. titfucking? great, take your bra off, but handjobs? he’ll get all red in the face and lock himself in the bathroom for hours if you even get close to it.

you can’t pull off his pants for him, or put your hand on his thigh, or tug him by his belt—yeah, he’s that squeamish.

“why are you so obsessed with jacking me off anyway? we do everything else in bed already—“

“exactly! we do everything else kinky in the damn world, just lemme give you a handjob, boy.” you flick the middle of his forehead lightly, watching as a blush spreads across his cheeks. you really wanted to go through with this, and he could tell.

to be clear, connie is by no means shy about sex or his own dick, considering the things you two have done in bed. despite this…

handjobs scared him.

it isn’t the act of getting one, so much as it is his fear of cumming as soon as your pretty little nails wrap around his cock. your hands were his weakness. whenever you touch him, he has to run to the bathroom just to keep from ruining his pants in front of you.

connie eyes your hands that are currently playing with the strings of his sweatpants. you’re giving him those doe eyes that you know he can’t resist, and his cock is already hardening in his pants.

“only if you want to, of course. but ya know… don’t knock it ‘till ya try it.”

“…you’re real annoying, you know that? fine, do your thing.” he smirks down at you as your own smile widens, and you spring up and begin to pepper kisses along his cheeks and neck, whispering to him how much he’s gonna love this.

somehow, none of that begging prepared for what you had in store for him.

“baby, are you sure all of this is necessary? this is… a lot for just a handjob..”

connie felt his cheeks rapidly heating as you tied not only his hands, but his arms flush against his back as well. he could barely move his upper half, due to the nature of the ropes. they extended all the way up to his biceps, and looped around to his waist and chest in a way that restricted most of his movement.

he’d always loved bondage in bed, and this was a bit excessive for his tastes, but he couldn’t complain with the way your eyes were twinkling with excitement.

“i gotta make sure you don’t try to ‘run’ like you claim i always do. you gon’ take this shit.” you lay your head on his waistband, trying not to sound condescending as he turns red.

you start slow, your hands run along his bare chest a bit first, eventually moving down his abs. the sight of your fresh set of acrylics (that he paid for; what a man) with a “C” in cursive on your middle finger sliding down his body made his dick throb.

your hands were perfect to connie. he adored everything, the size, your knuckles that were a few shades darker than the rest, your nails—even when you let them grow out a little too long, the rings that decorate them, it all just made him so weak.

at first (much to his displeasure), you just massage him through his underwear, letting him adjust to the feeling first. he lets out a few grunts and his arms instinctively buck against the restraints.

“…ma, you gon’ joystick my shit all day or you gon’ get to work?”

“don’t be a queen. i’m having my fun, so just sit back and enjoy princess.” you hold in a laugh at the whine that slips out of his mouth because of the nickname. you rotate your palm against the head of his cock, still not bothering to take off his ethikas just yet.

connie’s breath comes in a little sharper when you repeat this motion, which makes you smile. he was reacting just as you wanted him to. he takes a deep breath just as you slip your hand under his waistband and tug at the base of his cock.

“haah—oh fuck!” his hips snap into your grip as you properly jerk his cock now. you tug his underwear down, and smile when he springs to life.

meanwhile, connie is trying to find any excuse to not focus on the way your hands were pleasing him. you begin to find your rhythm and he’s making sounds you’d never heard from him before. you were doing this shit on purpose, hell, your nails were done and scraping his thighs, your fingers accessorized with golden rings on each finger and currently adding a whole new feeling to the motion on his cock.

your movements were slow and deliberate, yet so fucking good.

“oouuu shit—slow d-down!”

“‘m not even going fast, con.” you chuckled, completely enamored by your boyfriends moans. you run your teeth against the skin of his neck, your free hand holding his jaw in place. you wanted him to see what he’d been missing all this time.

connie’s eyes squeeze shut with every stroke on his sensitive dick, but you reminded him to focus. there was something so embarrassing about this compared to everything else the two of you did in bed, yet he couldn’t put his finger on it.

all that was on his mind was: “don’t cum, don’t cum, don’t cum.”

your thumb grazes over his slit and suddenly he’s forgetting all of his previous thoughts, spurts of cum shooting out of his tip all over your hands.

“awww, there you go baby, that’s it…” you peppered his face with kisses through his orgasm. you were a bit surprised, since you didn’t even notice how close he was to cumming. connie twitches in your grasp as overstimulation sets heavy in his bones.

“okay—okayyyy, baby! too much, shitshitshitshit-“

you giggled as you released him, watching his abdomen twitch with the waves of his orgasm rolling over him. a smug grin rested on your face as he came down, rolling his eyes when he caught you looking at him.

“don’t.”

“bae, look at my hand! you liked ittttt.”

you had a point—your fingers were completely covered in your boyfriends load, now dripping onto his lap. he’d never cum that much before, you were honestly impressed. you licked a small stripe onto your tongue before pressing your lips against his. connie gasped against your mouth with wide eyes before relaxing, his tongue swirling around yours.

you pulled away, watching the blush bloom on his face.

“ewww, nigga you gay. you just ate nut!” connie smacks his lips dramatically, exclaiming that it was your fault.

“you ain’t never jackin’ me off ever again.”

673 notes · View notes