Do you think you can write a story where the female reader is dating one of the jackass guys and the female reader has a little kink for hands and one of the jackass guys doesnโt notice it until one day during a stunt he notices how the female reader pays a little closer attention to his hands so he decides to confront her then TURNS INTO SMUT๐
IM SORRY THIS IS BAD I TRIED! i made this like they're sort of flirts instead of dating, hope that's okay!!
The first thing you notice when Johnny walks into any room is his hands. Youโve known him long enough to see them in actionโthe way they grip the railing, the flick of his fingers as he gestures, even the subtle calluses from years of stunts. Itโs not just admiration; itโs a little thrill that runs through you every time your eyes drift down to them. You catch yourself tracing the shape in your mind when he isnโt looking, imagining how strong they must feel wrapped around yours.
โHey, you hiding over here?โ Johnnyโs voice breaks you out of your reverie. Heโs grinning like he knows exactly what youโre thinking, and for a second, you freeze.
โUh, noโฆ just checking out the set,โ you mumble, trying to sound casual.
He leans against the railing beside you, and your heart skips. Thereโs something magnetic about him, the way he carries that reckless energy, like heโs always on the edge of chaos but somehow still in control. You glance down at his hands againโknuckles slightly scraped, veins prominent from gripping the stunt gearโand you canโt stop yourself from imagining them on you, moving with that effortless strength.
Johnny notices your gaze. โYou staring at my hands again?โ he teases, nudging you lightly with his elbow.
You flush but donโt look away. โMaybe,โ you admit softly, the word barely audible.
He laughs, low and rumbling, and it makes your stomach flip. โYouโre such a freak,โ he says, shaking his head. Then his fingers brush yours accidentally as he passes you a roll of tape, and the spark is immediate, electric. You feel it from your fingertips all the way up your spine.
The day on set moves in its usual chaotic rhythm. Cameras whir, crew members shout directions, and Johnny moves through it all with that unshakable energy that draws everyoneโs attention. You stick close, pretending to help with props or handing him water, but really, youโre watching his hands, how they grip the pole before a stunt, the way he adjusts his gloves, the casual flick of a wrist as he jokes with someone.
Every small touch sets your nerves alight. When he laughs and slaps your hand lightly in a playful reprimand for holding a prop wrong, you can feel the heat pooling low in your stomach. You bite your lip to keep from reacting too obviously, but itโs hard when every motion, every glance from him, seems to tease something deeper inside you.
During a break, he sits beside you on a crate, stretching his legs out lazily. You canโt resist letting your eyes linger on his hands as they rest on his knees, fingers curling slightly. He notices, of course. Johnny always notices.
โYou like looking at these, donโt you?โ he asks softly, tilting his hand so you can see the knuckles and scars more clearly. The teasing in his tone makes your pulse quicken.
โIโฆ maybe,โ you whisper, trying to sound casual but failing.
He grins, leaning closer, letting his hand hover near yours, just close enough to make your skin tingle. โYouโre impossible,โ he murmurs, and you can feel itโnot just the thrill of his proximity, but the slow, simmering heat that builds whenever his hands are near yours.
As the crew calls everyone back to set, he grabs your hand, squeezing it briefly before letting go. The touch is fleeting, but it lingers in your mind like fire. All day, you catch yourself sneaking glances, imagining those strong, familiar hands tracing over you when no one is looking.
By the end of the shoot, your thoughts are entirely consumed by him. His hands. How they move, how they feel, and the way he seems to know exactly how much to tease without crossing the lineโexcept in your imagination, where the line doesnโt exist.
You catch him watching you as you walk back to the trailer. His eyes glint with mischief, and you know heโs already aware of the effect he has on you. A small, private thrill rushes through you at the thought. One day soon, youโre pretty sure heโll do more than just tease. And just the idea makes your pulse race as you picture what might happen when those hands finally get your full attention.
The next morning youโre back on set, and itโs the same chaos youโve come to expectโprops scattered, cameras being adjusted, everyone buzzing with energy. Johnnyโs already in the middle of it all, cracking jokes, hyping everyone up, that familiar reckless smile plastered across his face.
You try to focus on the stunt board in your hands, but your eyes betray you the second you see him pulling on his gloves. The leather creaks under the strength of his grip, and the veins along his forearms stand out as he flexes his hands, stretching them before another wild idea takes shape.
You swallow hard.
Johnny catches you. Of course he does. His dark sunglasses slide down just enough for you to see the smirk tugging at his lips.
โYouโre not even pretending to hide it anymore,โ he calls out, loud enough for a couple of crew members to glance over in confusion.
Heat rushes to your cheeks. โShut up,โ you mutter, burying your face in the clipboard.
He laughs, the kind of laugh that makes everyone else around him grin, but his attention doesnโt leave you. As the crew disperses to set up the next shot, Johnny wanders over, leaning his weight on the crate beside you.
โYou know, most girlfriends stare at their boyfriendโs ass or chest,โ he teases. He holds his hands out deliberately, wiggling his fingers in front of your face. โBut not you. Youโve got a thing for these beat-up paws, huh?โ
You roll your eyes, trying to play it off, but your pulse betrays you. โYouโre ridiculous.โ
โAnd youโre busted.โ His voice drops lower, just for you, and it sends a shiver down your spine. โI swear, every time I catch you looking, it makes me wannaโโ He cuts himself off, grin widening. โWell. Maybe I shouldnโt finish that sentence out here.โ
Your stomach knots at the way he says it, casual but heavy with suggestion.
The day moves on, but Johnny doesnโt let it drop. Every chance he gets, he teases you with those hands. Passing you a bottle of water, he lets his fingers graze over yours a beat too long. During a break, he stretches, making a show of cracking his knuckles. When you hand him a helmet, he deliberately brushes his thumb across your palm as he takes it.
By the time the last stunt wraps, youโre wound tight with tension.
Later, when the crew clears out for the evening, you find yourself lingering in the quiet. Johnny is leaning against the hood of a beat-up production van, his hands shoved in his pockets, hair messy, sunglasses gone now that the sunโs dipped lower. He looks relaxed, but you know betterโheโs waiting.
โYou gonna come over here, or you gonna keep pretending you donโt want to?โ he asks, voice soft but sharp enough to cut through the silence.
Your feet move before your brain catches up. He smirks as you step closer, until youโre standing between his knees. His hands slip free from his pockets, and your breath catches automatically.
โGod, youโre predictable,โ he says, watching the way your gaze drops instantly. He tilts your chin up with his thumb and forefinger, forcing you to meet his eyes. โSay it.โ
Your voice shakes. โI like your hands.โ
His grin is wicked. โI know you do.โ He trails the back of his knuckles slowly down your cheek, and the simple touch is enough to make your knees wobble. โYouโve been staring at them like theyโre the only thing holding you together.โ
You bite your lip, your breath quickening as his fingers trace your jaw, feather-light, before brushing down the side of your neck.
โMaybe I should put them to better use,โ Johnny murmurs.
The words hang between you, thick with promise. His hand slips behind your neck, tugging you closer until your foreheads touch. You can feel the warmth of his breath, the slow drag of his thumb across your pulse point, the tension strung so tight it feels like a wire about to snap.
And just before he kisses you, he pulls back with that infuriating grin. โBut not out here. Gotta give the crew something to wonder about.โ
He lets go, slipping his hand back into his pocket as he walks off toward the trailer, leaving you breathless, buzzing, and already imagining whatโs going to happen when he finally stops teasing and gives you exactly what youโve been craving.
By the time you make it back to the trailer, your chest is tight with anticipation. Johnny has that effect on youโleaving you wound up, flustered, desperate, but still laughing through it all. Itโs infuriating, and addictive.
The trailer door creaks open, and you step inside, the faint scent of cigarettes and leather lingering in the air. Johnnyโs already there, sprawled across the couch like he owns the world. He glances up from whatever heโs fiddling with, that slow grin spreading across his face when he sees you.
โKnew youโd follow me,โ he drawls. His voice is lazy, cocky, but the spark in his eyes says heโs been waiting.
You shut the door behind you, your pulse pounding in your ears. โYou didnโt exactly give me a choice.โ
Johnny pats the spot beside him. โCome here, darlinโ.โ
You move toward him, but before you can sit, his hand shoots out and catches your wrist. The grip is firm but not painful, and the simple feel of his fingers curling around you makes your breath stutter. He watches your reaction with that same mischievous glint.
โUnbelievable,โ he mutters, tugging you closer until youโre standing between his knees. His thumb brushes lazily against the inside of your wrist, dragging across your skin like heโs testing how far he can push. โYouโre shaking already. Just from this?โ
You swallow hard. โMaybe.โ
โMaybe, my ass.โ He chuckles, low and warm. โYouโve been eye-fucking my hands for weeks, and now you canโt even stand still when I touch you. Youโre so easy, baby.โ
Your cheeks burn, but the heat in your stomach only coils tighter.
Johnny leans back, pulling you with him until youโre straddling his lap. His hands settle on your hips, heavy and commanding. You bite your lip as his fingers dig in, dragging you closer against him.
โLook at you,โ he murmurs, almost in awe. โAll this over a pair of busted knuckles and calluses.โ He lifts one hand, holding it up between you like evidence. The skin is rough, a faint scar cutting across his index knuckle, veins rising as he flexes. โThis what youโve been drooling over?โ
Your eyes lock on it before you can stop yourself, and he laughs, shaking his head. โJesus. Youโre hopeless.โ
But instead of teasing more, he presses that same hand to your cheek. The contrast of rough skin against soft makes your whole body tremble. His thumb drags across your bottom lip, tugging it down just slightly.
โOpen.โ
The command is soft, but you obey instantly. His thumb slips past your lips, pressing down on your tongue, and your eyes flutter shut as the taste of salt and skin fills your mouth. You suck gently without even thinking, and the groan that rumbles from Johnnyโs chest makes your thighs clench around him.
โFuck,โ he hisses. โThatโs what you want, huh? You wanna suck on my fingers like a good little slut?โ
You nod, cheeks heating, your lips wrapped tighter around his thumb. His grin is wicked, approving. He slides another finger into your mouth, stretching your lips around them both, and you moan at the sensation.
โThatโs it,โ he says, voice roughening. โLook at you. So fucking needy for my hands.โ
His other hand slides down your spine, pressing you firmly against his lap. You can feel him hard beneath you, the heat radiating through his jeans. Every shift of his fingers in your mouth, every subtle scrape of calloused skin against your tongue, only makes the ache between your legs sharper.
When he finally pulls his fingers free, a strand of saliva connects them to your lips. He smears it across your cheek with a grin. โMessy girl.โ
You can barely catch your breath before his hand closes around your throat. Not tightโjust enough to hold, to remind you whoโs in control. His thumb rests against your pulse, and you swear he can feel how fast itโs racing.
โYou think I didnโt notice?โ he whispers, leaning in close. โEvery time I touched you, every time I passed you something on set. You were practically shaking with it. Iโve been dying to see you like this.โ
His mouth crashes against yours before you can respond. The kiss is rough, hungry, all teeth and tongue, his hands framing your face, holding you still like youโre something precious and breakable. Your fingers claw at his shirt, desperate to anchor yourself.
Then those hands are everywhereโon your jaw, sliding down your throat, gripping your waist, sneaking under your shirt. Each touch is deliberate, worshipful in its own filthy way, and you canโt decide if you want to melt or explode.
โTake this off,โ he growls, tugging at your shirt. You yank it over your head, and his palms are instantly on your bare skin, dragging over your ribs, cupping your breasts through your bra. His thumbs flick against your nipples, and you gasp into his mouth.
โGod, I love how responsive you are,โ he mutters. โI barely touch you, and youโre already soaked, arenโt you?โ
You nod breathlessly, grinding down against him.
โProve it.โ
Before you can ask how, his hand is between your thighs, palming you through your jeans. The pressure makes you whimper, and Johnny smirks. โThought so.โ
His fingers make quick work of your button and zipper, sliding into your waistband. You arch into his touch, desperate, as he drags his rough fingertips over your panties. The friction is unbearable, perfect.
โJohnnyโโ
โShh,โ he murmurs, kissing the corner of your mouth. โLet me take care of you.โ
His hand slips inside, finally pressing against your wet heat. You moan, clinging to his shoulders as he teases you, circling your clit with maddening precision. His fingers are so much bigger than yours, thicker, stronger, and every stroke feels like itโs pulling you apart piece by piece.
โYou feel that?โ he whispers against your ear. โThatโs what youโve been waiting for. My hands all over you, exactly where you need them.โ
When he slides two fingers inside, the stretch makes you cry out. He groans at the sound, pumping them steadily, curling just right to make your whole body tremble. His palm grinds against your clit with every thrust, and you canโt hold back the shameless moans spilling from your lips.
โFuck, baby,โ he breathes. โYouโre gripping me so tight. Bet I could make you come just like this, huh? Just from my fingers.โ
You nod frantically, nails digging into his shoulders. โYesโplease, Johnnyโdonโt stop.โ
He doesnโt. His pace quickens, the wet sounds filling the trailer as he fucks you with his hand. He keeps his eyes locked on your face, watching every reaction like itโs the best show heโs ever seen.
โThatโs it, darlinโ. Take it. Take my fingers like the desperate little slut you are.โ
The filthy words make your walls clamp down harder, and youโre spiraling, your body strung so tight itโs about to snap. His thumb circles your clit with ruthless precision, and you breakโcrying out his name as you come, shaking around his fingers.
Johnny growls, dragging it out, fucking you through it until you collapse against his chest, panting and trembling.
He pulls his hand free slowly, deliberately, and holds it up between you. His fingers glisten with your release, and his grin is feral.
โLook at that,โ he says. โAll from these hands youโre so obsessed with.โ
Before you can recover, he pushes those same slick fingers into your mouth. Your eyes roll back as you taste yourself, sucking greedily. Johnny watches, groaning low in his throat.
โFuck, baby. Youโre gonna be the death of me.โ
When he finally pulls his hand away, he cups your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his. His kiss is softer this time, almost reverent, but his words are anything but.
โYouโre mine,โ he whispers. โThese hands? Theyโll ruin you if you let me.โ
And the worst partโthe best partโis that you want nothing more than to let him.
