#mechanic!reader

[togrowoldinv]

Fix

Milf!Wanda Maximoff x Mechanic!Reader

When you get a house call to fix a car, you have no idea that your payment will come in the form of sleeping with the customer

Warnings: Smut! 18+ please! Kissing, cursing, oral (r receiving), fingering (W receiving), Wanda thirsting over mechanic’s jumpsuit, needy Wanda

Note: Hehe this one is fun. Reader is a mechanic/handywoman/all around fixer of things (including all of Wanda’s needs). Enjoy this one!

Wanda Maximoff Masterlist, Main Masterlist

For the summer, you have picked up odd jobs here and there to build up funds for when you go back to college. You cleaned, babysat, and even worked at your family mechanic shop these past few months.

Before fall really began, you decided to go on one more mechanic’s call. It was guaranteed to bring in significant funds for your semester ahead, so you figured why not. But as you stand in front of the house, you realize why no one else wanted to take this call.

You heard from talk around the shop that Mrs. Maximoff wasn’t an easy client. She was intimidating and could be quite evasive with her payments. You had seen her around town before bossing her kids and her husband around.

But still, you take a breath and knock on her door. You need the money.

The door swings open a moment later to reveal Wanda. She is wearing a blue blouse with an apron over her waist. You haven’t seen her up this close before. She is beautiful.

“Hello, ma’am, I’m here to fix your car,” you say.

“Just you?” She asks, glancing to see if anyone is with you. When she sees it’s only you, she shakes her head.

“Yes ma’am. I can get to work if you show me the car,” you say.

“Just a minute,” Wanda says. She sounds annoyed by your ask.

Wanda disappears and returns a moment later with no apron on. She has the car keys in her hand. You step to the side to let her lead the way.

“My husband runs this car too hard,” Wanda says. “I think it’s something with the transmission?”

“That’s what we were told, yes. But I can do a full workup if you would like,” you explain. You hold your hand out for Wanda to give you the keys. She hesitates.

“Are you sure you’re qualified?” Wanda asks you.

“I guarantee it, Mrs. Maximoff,” you say.

The way you say her name makes her stomach burn with a feeling she hasn’t felt in years. She hands you the keys, and you take them with a polite smile.

“I’ll be inside if you need anything,” Wanda says.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

You get to work on the car. It is a transmission issue, which you know will take a while to fix. You waste no time getting out your tools and parts from your truck. Luckily, you have fixed this issue before.

You’re so focused on the car that you don’t notice Wanda watching you from the window. She is still cooking, but she steals glances out to see you bending over the hood of the car. It’s making her feel unsettled. She feels downright on fire when you pull down the top of your uniform and wear only a tank top over your chest.

After a couple of hours, Wanda makes some sweet tea and walks out the door with a glass for you.

“How’s it coming along?” She asks. Her voice startles you a little bit, but you recover quickly.

“Just a few more hours, and she’ll be good as new,” you say. You turn to face her. Her short hair rests perfectly around her soft face. Her green eyes shine bright in the afternoon sun.

“For you,” Wanda says, holding out the glass of tea.

“Oh- um thank you,” you say. You’re suddenly aware of the grease on your hands. You feel like you shouldn’t touch her glasses. When you try to rub your hands clean with no avail, Wanda holds back a chuckle.

“Here,” she says, stepping closer to you. She brings the glass to your lips and tips it just enough for you to take a sip. The sweet liquid refreshes you quickly. Wanda seemingly knows when to pull the glass away from your lips.

“Thank you,” you tell her. “That’s really delicious.”

Wanda nods in agreement. She knows it is. She lingers as you look back to the car.

“Well, I should get back to work,” you say.

“Right, of course. Let me know if you need anything, sweetheart.”

Your heart jumps at the term of endearment, but you try to ignore it. All southern ladies talk like that, so it didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t mean anything.

Wanda goes back inside and tries to busy herself with chores, but she finds herself looking at you again. The grease all over your pants and hands do way too much for her. She decides to give up on her chores. There was no use.

You finish working on the car about three hours later. Wanda is on the porch when you finish. How long had she been there?

“I’m all finished, Mrs. Maximoff,” you tell her. You approach the stairs, and she makes no move to stand up from the porch swing. You step onto the porch.

Wanda’s eyes rake over your arms that are muscular and the way your collar peeps out from the tank top. You feel her eyes on you.

“Do you want to come in and wash up?” Wanda asks. Her eyes meet yours.

“Oh, I really should get back to the shop,” you say.

“But you’re all dirty,” Wanda says.

“The truck is too,” you reason with a laugh.

“Come wash your hands at least,” she says. She won’t take no for an answer. You nod and follow Wanda inside.

She walks you to the kitchen sink, where she goes as far as putting soap on your hands for you and turning on the water. Wanda watches intensely as you wash your hands clean. Her mind can’t help but wonder what else you can do with those hands.

“Thank you, Mrs. Maximoff,” you say.

“Oh, you can call me Wanda,” she says. “And it’s no problem. Here drink some more tea.”

You take the glass with your own hand this time. She watches as you swallow the drink down quickly.

“Before you go,” Wanda begins. “Do you know how to fix a leaky faucet?”

You noticed the sink had a slight leak when you turned the water off.

“I do,” you say. You glance at your watch. “I can take a quick look.”

“Thank you, dear.”

Wanda places a hand on your arm and rubs it slightly. You wonder if she notices you shiver.

“I’ll just go get my tools,” you say.

Wanda waits for you to return. She decides she will make a move. Life is short. Why not?

You come back inside, and Wanda sits up on the counter next to the sink. Her legs are spread a little unnecessarily wide. You can see up her skirt when you kneel to look at the pipes below the sink.

“Do you see where it’s leaking?” Wanda asks a few moments into your investigation.

“Not quite yet,” you say. “I may have to turn the water back on to see.”

“Won’t that get everything wet?” She asks. You can’t exactly identify the meaning of her tone.

You stand back up and see Wanda has spread her legs even wider. Her hand is between her legs, and she bats her eyes at you.

“Mrs. Maximoff- um- Wanda,” you begin. “I really should-”

“You should fuck me,” Wanda says. “Please?”

“Oh,” you don’t know what to say. Here is this beautiful woman waiting for you. “Won't your husband be home soon? And the kids?”

“We’ve got time,” Wanda says. “Please sweetheart, I was watching you all day. You are so hot and so good with your hands.”

Wanda lifts her skirt over her hips to reveal thin, lacy white underwear. They leave very little to your imagination. She makes grabby hands at you, and you step closer to her. She holds your biceps in her hands. Wanda leans close but stops short of your lips.

“You’ve been keeping me achy and needy all day, baby. Can you fix it?” Wanda asks.

“Yes- yes ma’am,” you say.

Wanda rewards your answer with a kiss. Her movements are deliberate as she moves her tongue into your mouth. You kiss her back and rest your hands on her hips.

“Oh, fuck,” Wanda says once she breaks the kiss. “I need you.”

“You’ve got me, ma’am.”

You move your fingers to pull her panties to the side. Her folds are wet with her slick. You run your fingers over her and then lick them. Wanda’s hips jerk up at the sight of you tasting her.

“Delicious,” you say, putting your fingers back over Wanda’s pussy lips.

You push past them and insert your fingers into her one at a time until she’s taking three of them. Wanda makes the most beautiful sounds as you move in and out of her. Your other hand pushes up her shirt. She lifts it over her head and unclips her bra.

Your mouth switches between her nipples and her lips as you continue to finger her. Wanda grips your arms tight as you fuck her.

“So wet and tight,” you tell her. “So fucking good, Mrs. Maximoff.”

“Fuck,” she mumbles. “I’m going to come.”

“Come for me, Wanda.”

Her hips move erratically as she feels herself let go for you. You don’t relate your movements during her entire orgasm. She looks perfect as she reaches peak pleasure.

You kiss her lips softly and move your fingers out of her. When you go to put them in your mouth, she stops you. Wanda brings them to her mouth and sucks each one as she keeps eye contact with you.

“Fuck,” you groan at the sight. You feel your own body aching.

“I want to taste you,” Wanda says.

You help her down from the counter, and she drops to her knees in front of you. She slips the jumpsuit further down your body to reveal your pussy to her. Wanda moans as she brushes her nose against your clit and begins to lick through your folds.

“Mm, I love the way you taste, baby,” Wanda says. “You’re just perfect.”

You let yourself get lost in the feeling of Wanda eating you out. It’s never felt this good before. It doesn’t take her long to bring you to an orgasm, especially when she adds a finger to work with her mouth.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you groan as Wanda cleans you up.

You pull her up and kiss her deeply. Your tastes intermingle on your tongues. Wanda runs out of breath first, but you keep trying to kiss her. She chuckles.

“I don’t even know your name,” Wanda says, resting her forehead against yours.

“Y/n,” you supply.

“Y/n,” she tries it out. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“You too,” you say, a smile on your face.

You hold Wanda against you for a few moments before she tells you she has to clean up. You help her get dressed and kiss her once more before you exit the house.

“Hey wait!” Wanda yells after you. You turn back around. “I didn’t pay you.”

“Consider it paid for,” you say. “Call us again for anything you need fixed, alright?”

“Anything?” Wanda teases.

“Anything, Mrs. Maximoff.”

No more than two days later, Wanda makes her first follow-up call to you. Turns out you got so caught up in her that you hadn’t fixed her sink. Or maybe you didn’t fix it on purpose.

Either way, you can’t wait to see her again.

[sinstear]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ❝ SUBURBAN BLUES ❞

ㅤㅤㅤㅤpairing. milf!abby x mechanic!reader

SUBURBAN BLUES, Abby Anderson, the southern peach of the neighbourhood, the sweetest to ever be in the bluebonnet state has built a family to be proud of. With a blue collar wife, Ellie, and her baby cub Remi to take care of her life should feel complete, whole. Yet on the cusp of a failed marriage, she’s lonely, struggling to do everything this household requires. She seeks solace in someone else and that friend just happens to be you. ⛧ warnings. not really any smut in this part, but still 18+, tooth-rotting fluff, a lil sprinkle of our dear old angst, flirting, mostly from reader, they are a heavy flirt oops! but abby secretly loves it, tehe wc. 5.3k masterlist.

There’s nothing like summer heat in the middle of August. In California, it could be more than brutal, the cruel heat waves penetration from the tall windows making Abby nearly sweat underneath the warm sun. As far as it was, it could surely make an impact. After nearly half the night, not to mention a few hours this morning, she finally got Remi to sleep. Even if she felt light-headed, her sweet baby’s screams turned into murderous knives each time they came hurling towards her head.

Ellie didn’t really seem to like getting up, only if she was asked. Abby got tired of asking so she would get up in the hour of rooster, cooing her six month baby back to sleep. Godbid anyone disturb her sleep. Ellie was the working one in the family, she was owed her rest, according to her.

As time went on, it was difficult on every level not to feel a certain kind of resentment. It rested on Abby’s tongue, a weapon to use as she wished. When she feels particularly exhausted, she reminds Ellie of why she’s so goddamn tired. Taking care of a child, much less a baby, is a full time job. Most days, she feels as if she’s doing it all alone. Without the help of her wife, the one who is supposed to be there, they choose to do this together but she can’t help but feel as if she’s all alone in this. 

It all boils over on a Sunday afternoon, heat rises as long with overflowing emotions, suppressed until Abby has finally had enough.

Ellie with her hand on her hips as pinches at her forehead, repeatedly rubbing over the skin. It’s a necessary fight to be had, she knows it even if she’d rather ignore it, Abby has reached her limit. With crimson cheeks, and an irate frown, she’s calm as ever but she talks so lowly, the only thing keeping her from screaming off the top of her lungs is her sleeping daughter upstairs. 

“You don’t help, Ellie. You’ve completely checked out. See? Even when I’m talking to you, you’re not here!” Abby snaps her fingers in Ellie’s face to regain her attention. “I might as well be expressing my concerns to a wall.”

“I’m listening.” Ellie argues. 

“Yeah, just about as well as you listen to Remi’s cries at night.” 

Abby knows it’s backhanded, she wants it to hurt but at this point part of her wonders if you’re even listening to her. She doesn’t even bring up the fact they haven’t had sex since she gave birth. Not a bone in her body wishes to vocalize her need for affection, to be touched, loved — cared for. 

Ellie opens her mouth for a countless number of excuses to tumble out but Abby knows her too well. She won’t have it, not for another moment. 

“Just do better, Ellie.” 

The remainder of the afternoon, Abby spends it with Remi. Feeding, burping before putting her down. Mindlessly, she focuses on tasks requiring no further though. Deep cleaning the fridge, finishing the laundry, and she vacuuming the living room when she finally breaks down. 

She wants nothing more than to smash their wedding picture to bits. Five years ago, she would have said it was the happiest day of her life, but now the day she had Remi was. Even if having her daughter reshaped her marriage for the worse, the only kind of magic she finds is those baby blue eyes staring back at her. 

She still has the love of her life even if it’s shifted from her wife to her daughter.

All Abby has time for is Remi, she can’t cater to a relationship where she’s the only one fighting for it. Ellie is content with hiding in the shadows of their issues, spending her time away from Abby in any way she can. This time Ellie goes for a run around the neighborhood, when she runs into you. 

It isn’t the first time, the two of you tend to go jogging at the same time. Ellie joins for a bit, but you’re usually passing her. It’s a bit of a bruise to her ego. Your endurance is better than hers, but you make fun of it, it’s really that big of a deal. It’s a nice stress reliever and it’s a stroke to your ego. 

Bending over the hood of your car, just in your black shorts clinging to your sweaty body and your sports bra slightly wet, Ellie approaches sitting next on the stool next to your massive tool box. They’ve spoken a few times, nothing more than surface level conversations. Small talks that numbs your brain, good enough to get rid of the silence but not enough for a friendship to blossom. 

“So,” Ellie pauses, “How much do you know about cars?” 

Ellie wants to slap herself in the face for being so painfully awkward, she might as well have stumbled over her words, that would have been less embarrassing. You stand up to your full height. Ellie would say it’s intimidating, just a little, especially when it always looks like you’re going to punch a bitch out if they say one wrong thing to you. 

You’re really the pariah of the neighborhood. Most of the time, you don’t come to cookouts assembled by the neighbors, you keep to yourself, the only time you’re ever seen by anyone is on the weekends, working on whatever car you’re flipping next. Jesse, the man who lives on the other side of Ellie, knows you work at a shop, but that’s the only detail anyone has seemed to pull out of you. 

“You know I’m a mechanic, right?” You gesture to the massive tool box, one that probably cost more than Ellie’s monthly salary. You shut the hood of the GT-R, clearly you weren’t going to get some silence but you didn’t mind, your back could use the break. Taking the towel out of your pocket, wiping the grease and grime off your hands and forearms, wiping the excess sweat off your head forehead.

“Well obviously.” Ellie says. 

As if you didn’t just have a drill in your hand moments ago. 

“What do you need?” You keep it short and sweet, especially the way Ellie is looking you up and down. As if you’re something to be devoured, you shrug it off, grabbing the tools you’d be using and dispensing them into the drawers. 

“It’s this collectible car, we have a 67’ camaro but it doesn’t run. We have a new motor for it and a new timing belt but I can’t replace it. I fucked it up the last time so my wife is adamant about me not touching it again.” 

You offer her a light chuckle, of course she fucking did. Idiots thinking they can do it after watching one video and then get stuck somewhere in the middle, fucking up the vehicle even more. At least Ellie wasn’t pretending like she knew what she was doing. Still, you didn’t know if you could get past the way she’s looking at you, a desperate need curved into her eyes. One you sure as hell would not be giving to her. You weren’t going to be caught in some fucking mess. 

More than anything, you enjoy your quiet life. Day in and day out, there’s solace in a steady life, no surprises. It’s the way you like it. Going to work, coming home and going for your evening run, working on cars until you're met with the midnight sky until the day repeats itself. It’s predictable, easy — comforting even. 

“It’s going to cost you, m’not free.” 

“Of course, whatever you want.” 

Curtly, you nod as if you’re asking if she needs anything else but Ellie sits there looking at you like a deer in headlight, emerald eyes so lost in yours but you’re just looking at her with a scrunched face and furrowed eyebrows. You’re positive you would find drool on your garage floor if you met her where she sat. You want to chuckle when she flexes her arms as if you’re supposed to be impressed by it. 

Ellie opens her mouth as if she wants to say something else, but you cut her off. Grabbing a business card, with your work cell on it and handing it to her. “Text me when you want me to come over and take a look. Just give me a little heads up so I can move around my schedule.” 

“Yeah, of course.” You chuckle as she stands up losing her footing as she stands

up. 

“Well, I guess I’ll see you around then. Maybe for our next run?” 

Our? 

“Sure, Ellie. Have a nice night.” You keep it short and sweet, scared she might try something else if the interaction lasts any longer. Closing your garage door, finally in silence away from the prying eyes of Ellie. Her poor fucking wife, you thought. Such a sleazeball for making starry eyes at someone you’re not married to. Regardless, you’ll keep your head down, you don’t want to get tangled into someone else’s mess. 

Treating yourself to a hot shower, you let the steam nearly suffocate. The water pressure hits your back perfectly, helping with some of the tension you carry from your shoulders. Today’s work finally catches up to your body, shutting your eyes as you let the water wash away the sweat and dirt, the muddy gray water pooling at your feet. It’s the most relaxing part of your day and you don’t take it for granted. Some days it’s the one activity you look forward to the most, as depressing as it sounds. It isn’t long until you’re falling asleep in your clean, cold sheets, soothing your body to a full night’s rest. 

—

You were running late. Sure, they live next door, and you wouldn’t have far to go, but shit you were late. You had promised you’d be there to fix the car at 10, and as you stumbled through the living room, trying to get yourself ready and boots on your feet, you noticed it was a little after 10:30 on the click above the stove, almost taunting you that you had overslept. Which wasn’t like you. You were always on time, maybe just a couple minutes early. 

Shrugging on your jacket the minute you step outside into the crisp air, you shoved one of your breakfast protein bars in your mouth, your toolbox tucked under your arm, and your hand quickly slammed the door behind you. Winching at the loud sound that echoes through your eyes. If you keep slamming things, you’re going to have to end up fixing the door every goddamn night.

You could tell Ellie and her wife, who you still have yet to meet, have lived here  for a while just based on how neat and tidy their garden was. The flowers still looked fresh, watered regularly, and overall the colors were beautiful. You’ve not been here a long time, but long enough to know that you barely see Ellies car in the drive, the spot usually empty whenever you go outside. Did she have someone to keep it that pretty? Her wife, maybe? Shrugging away your thoughts, you took a few long strides up the pathway, up the 3 steps and stumbled over one of the plant pots when you weren’t looking where you were going. Knocking the ceramic off the step completely and breaking just beside you with a loud crash.

“Shit, fuck!” You groaned, kneeling down to pick up the broken pieces carefully, nipping yourself in the process of trying to clean up the mess. “Jesus Christ.” You frowned, looking around, suddenly more nervous than you were for being late. “Fuck.”

You were so into trying to clean up the mess your dumbass had made that you weren’t fully focused on a certain blonde looking through the window on the door, watching you clumsily throw the small piles of soil into the other flower pots, still wanting everything to look as pretty as it did when you walked up their pathway. “Are you okay?” Came a gentle voice. A voice that caught you so off guard that you almost fell down the steps this time.

“Oh fuck, hi!” You stammered, standing to your full height when the door opened and a small giggle had caught your attention. “Shit, I swear I didn’t break it on purpose, I wasn’t looking where I was going and somehow walked right into it. M’sorry.” You apologized profusely, your breath getting caught in your throat when your eyes found baby blue ones staring back at you. 

Her blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders, down her back, a soft smile tugging at her plump lips, one of the thin dress straps fell down her shoulder, and you didn’t know where to look all of a sudden. Her pretty face? Her freckled shoulder? Her legs? Shit, focus dumbass. “I spoke to your wife, well I assume she’s your wife, told me about a car that you needed fixing so uhm, here I am”

Really? Why are you nervous right now? She hasn’t even said anything.

“Or if you’re busy I can come back later—”

“You’re bleeding.” She cuts you off, eyebrows furrowed and it’s then when you realize she’s not even looking at you. More so looking down. Your hand was bleeding. How didn’t you notice or feel it?

“Sorry?”

“Did you cut yourself on the pot? Come in, I can fix it for you and you can tell me what Ellie told you.” You don’t miss the huff she lets out when she simply wraps her hand around your arm, and tugs you into her home. Hiding the blush on her face at the firmness of your muscles beneath her hand.

The coldness from outside was gone just as fast when you found yourself standing in the hallway, the warmth from the living room fire instantly stopped the small shake of your body as you watched her halt in her steps, turn around and quirk an eyebrow up at you. “Are you coming?” Her sweet voice spoke, soft and smooth like honey.

Fuck. Maybe.

“Yeah, yeah, m’coming” 

Your legs pick up, feet moving towards her while she slips into the kitchen, the fruit scented perfume filling your nose the more you walk, the more you follow her like a love sick puppy. Really, what the fuck are you doing? She’s married. “Is the cut deep?”

“It’ll be fine, seriously, you don’t need to fix me.” You chuckled under your breath. “It happens all the time, always breaking something and getting injured.” 

“So you're a clumsy person?” Her next question comes, looking at you with a soft smile. A smile you’ve never seen before. Especially not by someone so beautiful, so sweet. 

“I wouldn’t say I’m clumsy, sometimes I see things and I just get,” you paused, a smirk curving up on your lips when you find her looking at you, waiting for you to finish. “Distracted by pretty things.”

Her cheeks flush, something you don’t miss as she beckons you to sit on the stool beside the small island in the middle of her kitchen. “M’sure that’s it.” She giggled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. 

“It is.”

“What did Ellie tell you?”

You turned your head and if it wasn’t for the fact you were sitting down already, your knees would have buckled beneath you and sent you flying to the floor when you found her bending down, reaching for what you could only assume was a first aid kit, and making soft grunts trying to reach it. “Jesus.” You mumbled, biting your fist.

“Did you say something?”

“Just that I like the flowers in your garden. S’pretty.”  You coughed, squirming around on the stool and trying to contain the thoughts swimming around in your head. Swallowing when she stands up and looks over at you. First aid kit in hand.

“Oh, thank you,” She smiled shyly, placing the small green box on the counter. “I love my garden, it helps me with stress. Minus getting my clothes dirty, I hate that part.”

I don’t. I’d love to see you in dirty clothes. 

“So you tend your garden?”

“If I left it to Ellie, they would all be dead.” The smile she gives you doesn’t meet her eyes. It wasn’t like the previous smiles she’s given you. It seems more emotionless. “Sorry.”

“For what?”

“Not used to talking to someone about hobbies I love doing,” Her fingers felt soft against your skin when she lifted your injured hand, your rough skin against her softer skin had shivers running down your spine.

“Your wife doesn’t talk about them?”

“Doesn’t really talk about much apart from work, but s’okay. I’m Abby by the way.” 

Once you introduced yourself, you shook her hand with your only good one and smiled at her. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Abby. If it helps, i would gladly love to hear about your other hobbies.”  

Abby’s breath hitched in her throat, was it because you wanted to know about her and all the things she loved, or was it because you were touching her? She wasn’t sure, but she didn’t mind it. You were kind and gentle, something she hasn’t felt in a while. “I warn you, they can be boring.”

“Impossible. I will listen no matter what.” 

Abby was careful with your wounded hand, cleaning the cut with one of her antiseptic wipe gently, dabbing away the drying blood, as well as the fresh with a neatness you hadn’t see before. Just like her flowers, she took care of you like you were fragile, always mumbling what she was going to do next, warning you the antibiotic might sting a little. Stunned at how you didn’t even flinch, and then she was asking herself things. Were you used to getting injured? Had this happened before that you barely reacted to anything like this before? Abby had many questions, but then again, so did you. Of course.

“Have you guys been married long? Wait can I even ask that?” 

“You can, if you want a truthful answer,” Abby replied with a soft laugh that had your heart racing. “We’ve been married long enough to have a daughter, if that’s what you want to know. She takes care of her, in her own way, i guess.”

“We don’t have to talk about your wife, if you don’t want to. We can talk about more of your hobbies if you’d like. Or even talk about your daughter, i bet she looks just like you, hm?”

“Didn’t Ellie tell you about the car? I wouldn’t want to bore you with things about my life.”

“What about you is borin’, sweetheart?” God fucking damn it. 

The way you were looking at her made her feel seen. Of course, Ellie’s had looked at her before, but she’s never looked at her the way you are. Like you really wanted to know her, wanted to know her likes and dislikes. Looking at her like she was everything. You were looking at her like she was the only woman in the world, something her own wife doesn’t do. And she loved it. “I’m a mother who stays at home—”

“Who tends to her own garden, looks after and takes care of her daughter, fixes an injured person who was stupid enough to broke her really petty plant pot that i still need to clean up. Wouldn’t call you borin’, love, i would say that you just live life differently and none of that is borin’. I think it’s pretty beautiful, it seems like your wife is the borin’ person in this situation, but what do i know? Maybe the fact she makes you tend your own garden while you’re already takin’ care of your child. Not my business though, just an observation, if you will.” You shrugged, licking your lips and smirking at her. 

“She does care, in her own way.” Abby found herself defending her wife, a wife who barely see’s her. Why? Abby still loved her, or maybe she thought she did, she wasn’t so sure what she felt half the time. Ellie’s never there for the important parts. She misses the different yet small milestones her daughter makes and that makes Abby’s blood boil. If she can’t be there for her wife, she sure as hell can be there for her daughter.

“Never said she didn’t, Sweet. I’m just sayin’, if you were my wife, gave birth to our daughter, i would not let you lift a finger.” You found yourself admitting, eyeing her up a little more than you should be doing. Ellie, her wife, asked you to fix her fucking car, so why are you flirting with her wife? “I mean, those dirty clothes you mentioned, you’re telling me she doesn’t even wash them for you?”

“She has a job.”

“She also has a family.”

Wrapping the bandage around your hand, Abby pouted at your sudden wince and cleared her throat. “There, done.” The Blonde murmured, the tears welling up in the corner of her eyes didn’t go unnoticed by you, and before you could even do anything, Abby’s wiping them away and smiling again. “The car is in the garage—”

“M’sorry if i made you upset,” You sighed, reaching your hand up and wiping away the droplets that fell down her cheek. “That wasn’t my intention, you just, you’re doing everything, you know? S’not fair on you is all i’m sayin’.”

“I appreciate you worrying, but m’okay.”

“Well, I live across the street, so if you need someone to talk to, just come over” You smiled, the thud of your boots hit the floor as you push yourself to your feet and tugged at your jacket sleeves. “Right, your car.” 

Ignoring the fire in her stomach, Abby just nodded, moved toward where the keys were hanging up and grabbed the one for her car, completely oblivious to the way your eyes were raking her up and down, licking your lips and turning around just so you could keep yourself calm. “Okay, I think it’s this one— are you alright?” She giggled upon noticing you weren’t facing her anymore.

“Yeah, just hot in here, no?” You huffed softly under your breath. “Might be in for a heatwave this week.”

More like you’re in heat. 

“Well, if it gets too hot in there, i’ll bring you something to drink, if you want.”

Your eyebrow quirked up as you turned slightly, looking at her with that stupid fuckin smirk. Oh, what a pretty housewife she is, you thought. “Thanks, Sweetheart.” The petname rolled off your tongue so smoothly and in a way that had Abby’s stomach fluttering.

“Y—You’re welcome.” Well fuck.

Just as you grabbed the keys from Abby’s soft hands, the sound of loud crying rang through the baby monitor and had the blonde frowning but quickly smiling at you again. That smile was going to get you into trouble. You were fucked. “Shit, sorry, I need to go and feed her. If there’s anything you need for the car, it—”

“Don’t worry, Love. I got everything i need.”

This time, you didn’t miss the dark crimson blush Abby was sporting as she rushed out of the kitchen to attend to her daughter.

—

After the next few weeks, you’ve considered Abby to be a good friend. You didn’t mind listening to her problems, you very much enjoyed being there for her when no one else seemed to notice how much she struggled. Having a newborn and an absent wife was no easy feat, especially when you feel like you’re doing it alone. 

The amount of times you’d been able to be there for her were piling up, one after the other, bringing you closer to her. It’s the only reason you felt the need to wish her a good evening before you exit for the night. All the grease and oil on your body, the aching in your lower spine bending over the hood, you need rest — badly. 

Coming through the garage, her car started acting up and giving her trouble so she hastily called you, again — you couldn’t find her in the living perched on the couch, where she’d usually be with her daughter but you couldn’t find Abby there. You climb up the stairs, going into the nursery when you see her cradled in Abby’s strong arms, but she uses every ounce of a gentle hand when her daughter’s in her care. 

With her eyes shut, she couldn’t have been possibly aware of how exposed she should feel. The dress she’d been wearing pulled down to her waist, her upper torso exposed, but all you could focus on was her breasts. Full, breathtaking breasts, her baby girl suckling on the milk funneling into the infant’s mouth. You try to move, look away, save yourself but you can’t. As if your feet are nailed to the hardwood, you’re unable to move an inch, only in awe of the women in front of you. 

The beautiful blonde taking away every last breath you have. 

You’re thinking about how much you wish to touch them, feeling the soft skin in your palm, how sensitive they would be, thumb grazing her lactating nipple. Would she whimper, whine, or even let a moan fall from her lips? The squeeze in your thighs is involuntary, the rapid beat of your clit as you drool over the sight of her breasts. They are so full, begging to be sucked and teased. Before you can help it, you’re drifting to unspeakable thoughts, the image of your mouth sucking on her nipples, another white substance falling on your tongue. Allowing your taste buds to revel in it as you swallow every drop. 

There’s an even more unimaginable thought coming to mind, one you’re not sure you can allow yourself to indulge in, if you do, there might be no point of return. Then you’re reminded of the sparkling rock on her left finger, the one that glimmers in the moonlight. Even if her wife isn’t around, you shouldn’t abuse that? Right? 

Abby begins to stir, blue eyes opening slowly as blonde eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Silently she questions the limits of a taboo dream and finite reality, her eyes adjusting to the bright light seeping from the hallway. 

Then there’s a creak, as soft as it should sound, the silence makes it echo. Abby comes to full alert, but then she just sees you. Yet, you feel like a deer in the headlights, caught red handed gawking at your employer’s wife. Vulnerable and exposed, and you’re acting like a teenager who's seeing tits for the first time. Severely, you’re in awe at the kind smile she offers as she cradles Remi to her chest. The sweet youngling, finding safety in the comfort of her mother’s arms. Too strong for her own good, after the little bits you’ve picked up from her over the past few weeks, all you can do is look upon her with intense admiration.

Abby motions for you to move closer, but you’re still nailed to the ground, too anxious to move any closer when she’s so exposed. You’re not sure if you can keep eye contact with her when your sight craves to drift south. 

Jesus, get your shit together. Fucking freak. 

Slowly, you get closer to her but thankfully she saves you, asking for the baby pink bib placed on top of the dresser. There’s also a blanket, but Abby doesn’t ask for it, leaving you even more puzzled. Does she not care to be covered? Perhaps, she feels comfortable? You try not to tumble down the dangerous black hole, wiping it from your mind entirely. 

“You think I would have remembered to grab it but she’s sleeping and I don’t want to wake her.” Abby coos at her daughter, lightly smoothing over her blonde hairline, almost invisible to the eye. 

“Yeah—” You speak quietly, not wanting to wake Remi. “Here.” 

Abby offers small thanks, with a gentle hand she wipes the milk from her face, making sure she’s clean of it as she continues to rock her to a peaceful slumber. “I wanna apologize,” You croaked out after a few minutes of comfortable silence, not wanting to startle either of them, as your eyes found a small canvas on the wall.

“Apologize?” Abby repeated, looking up from her daughter, a tired smile on her face, to find you no longer looking at her, more like admiring the paintings in the room over everything else. “For?”

“Interrupting something that’s very special between a mother and their child. It’s getting late, so i was just coming to find you to tell you i should be heading home, but i couldn’t find you, so” You were still nervous, rightfully so, but Abby didn’t seem to mind. She thought it was cute.

“My wife,” Abby paused, softly chuckling on how to explain it without seeming like she was overreacting. “She doesn’t, well, she never really has an interest in me doing this? I guess she just doesn’t like it, which is fine, but it’s okay that you’re here. It doesn’t make me uncomfortable that you’re standing there, so you can stop acting like it’s making me uncomfortable, please” She laughed. A beautiful sound you always want to hear from her. 

“She doesn’t stay with you?” Your reply was short, almost a scoff. “That seems a little shi— stupid.” You catch yourself quickly with a nervou laugh as you remember her child was quite literally still in her arms, in the same area as you and asleep. “I think it’s beautiful, if that helps. She’s missing out on a lot, you know?”

Abby doesn’t know how to repsond for a while. Part of you thinks you’ve overstepped on your words, insulted her wife in a way you didn’t mean to. But she just smiles at you again, and shakes her head. Those blue eyes piercing into yours which has you holding your breath at how pretty she looks. “It helps. A lot, actually. Thank you”

“You’re uh, welcome.” You nervously laughed and rubbed the back of your head. You didn’t know why she made you so nervous, but you were also not complaining about it too much. If anything, you loved it. Maybe that was because you were a freak. A freak who was thinking about touching her tits not even an hour ago. “I should really get going though, is there anything else i can help you with before i go?” You smiled.

Are you flirting right now? Shut the fuck up, she’s married.

“No, it’s okay,” Abby whispers, not wanting to wake her daughter up, who was soundly asleep in her arms. “You’ve done enough to help me, with the car and everything. I could make you something to eat when you’re here again? An extra thank you for helping me” She suggested, her lips curving up into a smile which has you forgetting how to breathe for a few seconds. 

“I would like that, Mrs Anderson”

“You can call me Abby, you know?”

Her question, such an innocent one on her end, had you smirking deviously, like the freak you were and looking at her like she was your prey and you were ready to pounce on her at any given moment. “Mommy sounds better rolling off my tongue. Well … to me at least” You gave her a subtle wink before walking out of the room. 

[sturn777]

imagine an au where chris is like a known racer in LA and like wins every race. ofc every car racer (illegal) needs their own personal mechanic. bitchy!reader is his

car racer!chris x mechanic!reader . | ( female!reader ) wc : 1k ( masterlist ) + ( request )

lana's note : hi guys i'm backkk. i'm gonna try to write some more, and go thru my asks since it's the weekend,

the night is loud. engines roar, tires squeal, and neon lights reflect off the slick asphalt. it’s a back alley in east la, the kind of place where reputations are built and crushed in seconds. the air smells like gasoline and burnt rubber, a haze of smoke lingering as people crowd around the starting line, waiting for the next race to begin.

and, as always, chris sturniolo is at the center of it all.

he leans casually against his car, a black mustang that looks like it could eat pavement for breakfast, his arms crossed and a cocky smirk plastered across his face. his reputation precedes him—undefeated in every race he’s touched, a legend in the underground scene. everyone knows him, and everyone either wants to be him or beat him.

but the real secret weapon?

you.

you’re leaning over the hood of his car, grease smeared on your cheek and your tank top clinging to you from the heat of the garage earlier. your hands are small but quick, twisting a wrench as you tighten a bolt with practiced ease.

“you good yet?” chris calls out, his voice carrying over the noise of the crowd. “if you keep rushing me, i swear i’m gonna let this thing fall apart on the next turn,” you snap back, not even looking up.

his smirk deepens. “yeah, okay. like you’d let me lose.” you straighten up, wiping your hands on a rag as you glare at him. “don’t tempt me, sturniolo. you’re not that special.”

“could’ve fooled me,” he quips, raising an eyebrow. you roll your eyes, but there’s a flicker of a smile tugging at your lips. he always knows how to push your buttons, and for some reason, you always let him.

“car’s good to go,” you say, tossing the rag at his chest. “try not to crash it, yeah?” he catches the rag easily, grinning as he steps closer. “what would i do without you, huh?”

“lose. obviously.”

the race kicks off with a deafening roar, and you’re standing at the edge of the crowd, arms crossed, watching as chris’s mustang takes the lead almost immediately.

it’s always the same. the way the crowd cheers, the way the other drivers grit their teeth trying to keep up. and the way your heart races, even though you’re not the one behind the wheel.

you hate to admit it, but there’s something about the way he drives—reckless but calculated, cocky but skilled—that keeps you glued to every race.

he wins, of course. like he always does. and when he pulls back into the lot, he’s met with cheers and high-fives, but his eyes are already on you.

“told you i wouldn’t crash,” he says, climbing out of the car, sweat glistening on his skin. “congrats on not sucking,” you reply, pretending not to notice the way your stomach flips when he smirks at you.

“come here,” he says, jerking his head toward the car. you frown but follow him as he leans against the hood, patting the spot next to him.

“what?” you ask, standing instead of sitting. “sit down,” he says, his tone softer now. “why?”

“because you work harder on this car than i do, and i think you deserve a moment to enjoy the win too.”

you blink, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. reluctantly, you sit next to him, your legs dangling off the edge of the hood. “happy now?”

he chuckles, leaning closer until his arm brushes yours. “getting there.”

you turn to him, your breath catching slightly at how close he is. the noise of the crowd fades, the world narrowing down to just the two of you. “you’re annoying,” you mutter, though there’s no real bite to your words.

“you love it,” he fires back, his voice low and smooth. your eyes meet, and for a moment, you’re not thinking about the race or the car or the crowd. all you can think about is the way he’s looking at you, like you’re the only person in the world who matters.

“shut up,” you say softly, leaning in.

he doesn’t shut up, of course. instead, he leans in too, his lips brushing yours in a way that’s both cocky and careful, like he knows exactly what he’s doing and wants you to know it too.

the rest of the world doesn’t exist anymore. it’s just the two of you, tangled up in each other, the heat of the moment matching the heat radiating from the mustang’s engine. his hands find your waist, pulling you closer, while yours tangle in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan against your lips.

“you sure about this?” he murmurs, his voice rough, his breath hot against your skin. you smirk, tugging him closer. “don’t act like you haven’t been waiting for this.”

he grins, and the next thing you know, he’s lifting you onto the hood of the car, his lips trailing down your neck as your fingers tug at his jacket. “careful,” you tease, your voice breathless. “scratch the paint, and i’ll kill you.”

“worth it,” he mutters, his lips capturing yours again.

taglist : ( @emely9274 ; @bluestriips ; @loveparqdise; @st4rcs ; @starwebber9 ; @conspiracy-ash ; @sweetrelieef ; @chris-hallelujah ; @leoslaboratory ; @matttsangel ; @awnmaneez ; @heartss4clauu ; @mattsstarlet ; @madisturni )

divider : @issysh3ll

[siriuslysmutty]

You know, I'm always seeing Butcher!Ghost, Cop!Price... etc, etc...

What about Mechanic Reader who's always tinkering in the humvees, covered in grease and has to climb up to reach into the engine. Youre telling me deployed men with no access to porn look at that you bent over the hood, shoulder deep in the chest of a machine and they not like... "You know I got this old shit box, come over to my place, I'll pay you..." and then crank the fucking heat up so you're drenched in sweat as they watch you work on their vehicle.

[naffeclipse]

Sparks and Oil

Mechanic!Reader x Mob Boss!Eclipse

Commission Info

I have the pleasure of writing @zayaayame's Crimes and Justice AU with a mob boss Eclipse visiting his favorite mechanic! Their dynamics are so fun together and of course, the boy is utterly endeared with the one fixing him up.

Content Warning for suggestive themes and robotic injury.

———

The animatronic, silver and gleaming, slips out the door with a cheerful wave of their newly restored digits on their left hand. You return the gesture with a gentle smile. When the door falls shut after their departure, you breathe a sigh. Exhaustion tugs at your seams; a day’s work worth. You step towards the open sign and flip it to close. Everyone has been taken care of. In terms of emergencies, your door is always open, of course, but as far as appointments go, you’re done.

Before your hand can find the deadbolt and slide it into place to lock up for the night, a shadow falls over you from outside. The lampposts lining the street already burn brightly, and the dusk is dying deeper into a fresh night. Slowly lifting your head, murmuring pleas to not be who you think it is, you find just the one you weren’t looking for.

Eclipse grins. A sharpness encases his brilliant red and black silicon and his sun rays jut out like red-hot pokers. Dressed sharply in a pink dress shirt, red vest, and black slacks, he reaches down with a hand from his lower set of arms to push the door open and step inside.

“Hello, spitfire,” his optics, burning orange, like the sun when it sets on a smoggy evening, go up and down your form. “Aren’t you looking like a dish tonight. And your prosthetics have never had more shine.”

“Eclipse.” You roll your eyes at his romantic attempts to appease you. You cross your arms, one of sleek metal and one of your natural, muscular flesh folding in your agitation.

“Aren’t you happy to see me?” he asks and saunters a little closer. His lower arms are spread wide in greeting but you are not the least bit impressed. His grin is rough and rugged. His upper set of arms hang steady by his side. 

You tilt your head in the slightest. His pink sleeves are strangely rolled down, covering the intimidating factor of his thick limbs, but you spy a spot of grease on the corner of his left shoulder. Wires poke at the fabric from underneath.

It is bad enough to have a mob boss darkening your door. It’s worse when he needs your service.

“What happened? Wait, no.” You turn around, stepping one prosthetic forward before swinging your natural one after it in a swift stride. “I don’t want to know.”

“Not even a little?” He follows after you, a towering animatronic with the strength to break whatever he’d like with his four arms—three arms, currently. “You don’t want to know how the other man fared?”

You already guess that he’s six feet under and the less you know of illegal goings-on while managing your mechanic shops, the better. 

Ushering into the back room where your private workshop resides, you point to a low table and move in muscle memory, gathering tools and acquiring the necessary components to fix an injured shoulder joint. Afton Robotics services all animatronic parts and pieces, but they are not fun to get on hand. Eclipse is at least considerate enough to make monthly donations to your mechanic shops for all the scouring you do for him.

“Take a seat,” you command instead. “Don’t you have your own mechanics?”

Eclipse purrs a low sound as he settles on the edge of the metal table. He is too tall and imposing even when you stand before him, preparing your tray of tools for the procedure.

“Of course, but they don’t have the same touch as you, spitfire.”

You whip a glare at him before resuming arranging the parts you will need.

“Watch your tongue—and roll up your sleeve.” You stop at his side, ready.

“If you insist,” he rolls deeply in his voice box. Immediately, you stand on edge.

Now what?

To your chagrin, the mob boss’s lower set of hands gladly gets to work unbuttoning his vest. A flame flickers within you. Eclipse grins as he takes his agonizing time to uncover his torso, his pink shirt husked in favor of giving you a free look at his rugged design and bright red colors of warning. Your eyes roam unwittingly before his grin turns sharp like a shark watching you bleed.

Your natural hand reaches over you to twist and adjust your prosthetic arm as you battle the maddening urge to toss him back onto the street. When he finishes setting aside his shirt and vest, you immediately zero in on the torn arm dangling off of his shoulder by a few, straining wires.

“Do you like what you see?” he asks, resting his hands on the legs of his black slacks. His optics flash. “I can show you more.”

“Are you injured anywhere else?” you reply clinically. 

Eclipse clicks his metaphorical tongue in disappointment.

You lift a hand to the damaged framework and the connector. It’s not as horrible as you feared, but it is a nasty wound. Oil drips freely now that you’ve exposed the sight of damage and wires spark with short bursts of burning light.

“Will you shut off power to your top left shoulder?” 

Eclipse tilts his head and the sparks stop spitting out from exposed copper wires. Now there’s no need to fear frying yourself on an open current. You gladly step closer and begin to salvage what pieces you can and mentally account for what you will need to replace as you remove bullet-chewed pieces.

“You know,” Eclipse rumbles amid your concentration, “I wouldn’t have to find you at the oddest hours if you were closer.”

His lower right hand snakes around your waist. You ignore how his large palm ghosts just over the clothes of your jumpsuit before lightly caressing your spinal implant. The metal vertebrae whirl in a myriad of flashing, wild colors. He hums a low sound.

Lowering his head to your shoulder, a kiss presses into your shoulder, touching the sweat and grime you’ve accumulated throughout the day. You almost jump but force yourself to focus on splicing two wires to repair the strain they endured. Then, once you finish, for good measure, you snap a glare in Eclipse’s direction.

“If you kiss me while I’m working on you, I might make a mistake, and you will pay for it.”

“Understood, spitfire.” He chuckles but his hands still roam over your body. 

Even as you stand and bend over his wound, his fingers trail over your muscled arms and touch the cords of strength along your back, trailing down your hips to your strong thighs. Scars bump underneath his smooth, metallic touch. He even stoops low to study a few marred knits of flesh along your arm where your prosthesis joins with your body. 

If you weren’t so focused on replacing the connector of his shoulder, you might have caught a glint of guilt in his optics. He instead rubs your arm softly.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he breathes an electric breath. “You should move closer to me, so I can keep you safe. It’s so dangerous out here.”

You scoff and don’t bother to lift your eyes from the task at hand. His model is familiar if not threatening. He was built to be a weapon and a weapon he has made himself.

“Oh, you wound me, spitfire,” he croons dramatically.

“Do I,” you give dryly. “I doubt I could wound you as much as whatever did this to you.”

The precision of your tools fit between metal slats and wires, restoring what was once blasted apart by a gunshot. No, you don’t think you could hurt him like this.

One of his hands falls over his chassis and he swoons while keeping still enough for you to work.

“So cruel, so heartless. And I only offer all of my parts to you,” he sighs. If only you could have taken his voice module and switched it off. 

“You’ll live,” you promise. Against your will, a tiny small slips over your lips when Eclipse straightens, his optics slipping over you in a low burn. “There. You’re all patched up.”

You turn away to reach for a rag to wipe your greasy fingers on but the hand you just restored takes you by the arm. Falling still, you feel one of his other hands move into the pocket of your jumpsuit, depositing what feels to be a thick wad of cash. Another crook of a finger captures your chin. Slowly, you rise to meet his eyes, caught in the bright orange light of his optics.

“Thank you, spitfire.”

Your lips part to ask how it feels if the current flows well and if his movement is hindered at all, but he silences you with a kiss. His metallic mouth presses over yours. He’s warm and strong but mostly, gentle. You make a soft sound, surprised and furious and flustered by his audacity. He pulls slowly away from you as if savoring every last drop.

“I’ll see you again soon.” His grin is harsh and handsome, and you boil. He can’t do that to you just because he can. But he leaves you speechless, left with oil-slick fingers and a buffering mind as he slips to the front of the shop and out the door, into the night.

You burn where you stand. Your hand moves to your lips and traces where his kiss still simmers in your skin, and you groan. 

If he doesn’t get killed, you’ll kill him one of these days.

[toxicyeuriii]

Hello friend, may I humbly request, pretty please, a boothill×reader fic? The condiments matter not, for I need sustenance, food to feed myself. Please, oh great weaver of words, make me a tapestry of delectables, all in the image of our beloved boothill.

Hello anon! Thanks for the ask >///< first time writing for a hsr character and tbh I was bluffed with how the fic was gonna be but eventually I thought of something! I was going for a sorta fluff type, though you can interpret the type lmao. But honestly Boothill is such a fun character to read/write! Thanks again for the ask! I hope you aren't hungry after the fic ^^

Before you start reading though, reader is gender neutral and works as like a hardcore hacker/mechanic kinda (silver wolf and vill-v inspired) but honestly the hacker part isnt that noticable, you and boothill are in a relationship (ofc) and he calls you darlin and sugarplum.

☆ -------------------------------------------- ☆

"And then that son of a nice lady came up to me and went pow-pow!"

Boothill exclaimed while you were working on a commission. The commission in mind was a gun repair for guess who? Boothill. His gun got knocked out of his hands during a bounty and got broken on the slide and muzzle, which is being a pain in the ass for you.

"Mhm...."

You said while getting a screwdriver and unscrewing some of the screws that are on the gun.

Boothill apparently thinks that he needs to explain how his gun got damaged, which he doesnt honestly. Though you dont say anything, it's better than silence if you're being honest. And, you know he wont shut up anyways.

"And then when I went to grab my gun, an' then that lil' shirt bag shot the gun outa my dang hand! Ha! But lil' did he know my other hand was a gun too"

"Wait so your gun was shot out of your hand?"

"Yeah, anyways I turned in that mother forker, hehe"

"Huh... Is your hand okay? Do I also have to fix that?"

You said with a little scoff.

"Bingo!"

He said while shooting a finger gun at you.

"You're paying me"

"Wait huh?, but darlin' seriously?"

"Well you shouldn't had been a idiot!"

You said while turning to stare at him, he looked baffled. He was getting a free gun repair while he got to just chill out on the workshops couch.

"Well I thought that you were gonna like, include it was gonna be free, sugarplum"

Sometimes you think he doesnt common sense. Which makes sense, no way you're going to give out a free gun repair to him because you felt nice and hes your boyfriend....

"Yeah well, you can give me some credits, thats the least you owe me"

You said with a little smile, you also like messing with him. You dont have a good poker face to he honest...

He crosses his arms and lays back.

"Fine, whatever"

He was silent for a moment.

"Also quit that smirkin' "

He also said with a little smile, to to which he just covered up with his hat.

You also couldn't keep your 'annoyed' facade up, which you just started to chuckle.

"Stop acting like you aren't! Heh"

"Nuh uh, you seein' things darlin"

"Mhm, sure"

After a little silence his gun was finally done, which you took off your goggles to inspect further, and in your eyes it looked brand spankin new.

"Your gun is donee~"

"Finally, ha. With other mechanics it'd prolly take forever, good thing my sugarplum is the best"

He said while sitting up and coming behind you, while putting his arm over your shoulder.

"Thanks, darlin' "

"Yeah yeah, get on that table, gotta fix your hand now"

You said while getting up and pushing him over to the fixing table, it was mainly for him incase he needed a charge or a fix up. You put back on your goggles and then accessed the damage on his hand.

"Doesnt look too bad"

You said while getting the blowtorch.

"I'll just melt it and mold it back in its shape, good thing the bullet didnt go to deep and into your wires"

You said while also getting some metal scraps from the junk drawer.

"Make sure not to mess up my arm any more, darlin' "

"Trust meee, you know I'm good at what I do!"

"True, do ya thang"

With that you began to get to work, surprisingly it was easier to fix than that gun, which now, that gun is your number one enemy to fix. Though it did save you alot whenever you tagged along boothill in his bounty hunting, you occasionally did to get some data and neat stuff from whoever's yall were hunting for. Sometimes boothill would ask you to hack into security systems for he can get in there without any extra work, but mainly whenever he was feeling lazy.

After some melting and molding, his arm was like new.

"Done"

You said while rolling your chair around to where you put your blowtorch at. You sat up and stretched while taking off your goggles.

"Awe, ya such a sweetheart"

He said while standing up and stretching his metal limbs.

"Dontcha worry, I'll give ya those credits soon sugarplum"

"You better, 'sugarplum' "

"Hey!, that's my nickname for ya"

You chuckle while he comes up to you and ruffle your already messy hair.

"Yeah, sureeee"

He chuckles a little also while bowing his hat.

"Well i gotta get goin' see ya?"

"See you, dont get anything broken again.."

You teased while he hugged you goodbye and talking his departure.

"No promises!"

☆ ------------------------------------------- ☆

Hope you all liked the fic! First time writing him so it might not be in character much, if not then sorry! Anyways have a good day and bye! ^^

[j0kers-light]

Random arse request that popped in my head ( feel free to ignore )

How would J be with reader that is not a girly girl, more boisterous, buts heads with him when it comes to being told what to do, loves getting down & dirty with things ( tinkering with her Harley ) something along those lines Like heck, she carries her own concealed knife when she just goes to the shops.

Love you ✨️🩶

My beloved @jaysmentalspace bless you! 🖤✨

We need some tomboy!reader around here!! Come on in and I hope you enjoy. I love this request, thank you for sharing!😘 AND I ADORE YOU MORE!

You rolled your eyes the first time Joker gifted you a pink purse gleaming with diamond and charms ew. He learned the hard way you're not a girly girl. You set it on fire.

You prefer to get down and dirty, to get grease in between your fingers and have sweat running down your brow.

Messy buns and large overalls are your go-to outfit and you love a good pair of steel toed boots. It’s not weird for you to pull out a wrench from your back pocket than a tube of lipstick.

The only pink thing you own is a scrunchie and its your baby niece's. It has a home around your gear shift in your modified Chevy.

Joker is pleased to note you can handle your own. Loud and boisterous, you made it clear day one that he will not boss you around.

Your feisty attitude is why he’s so attracted to you. You get right in his face and tell him what’s good. He forgets why you’re mad at him, he’s 👁️🫦👁️

The first time you cuss him out, J literally clutches his pearls. His Bunny isn't a bunny after all. 👀 more like a tiger..

You win 6/10 of the arguments because you pick up something metal and heavy and wave it around like it’s a pencil. Joker shuts up real quick when your accent makes a rare appearance.

Joker is curious as to why you're never at home at night. You are at home, just not at the apartment.

The shop is your real home. You route all your mail there so it might as well be home. you have a bed there so 🤷🏽‍♀️

With rare parts mounted as artwork, bare concrete floors, the smell of fuel in the air, music constantly blasting, and tools scattered everywhere, there’s really no place like home.

You lost hours tinkering on a car or six and most importantly, your bike. She’s your baby. Your pride and joy and you gave J quite the stare when you talk about her out of context.

"I gotta check on Harley. She probably misses me, I'm spending all my time with you."

He freezes like a computer screen. Is this a joke? Are you seriously friends with his psychotic ex? What other Harley are you referring to?

Granted at the time, Joker had no clue what you did during the nights he's gone. He knows you're well protected (he's seen your concealed knives when you polish them at home)

You're like a ninja with the accuracy you throw them. He's been a target once or twice... very pointy. 👀

No, he’s not afraid of you getting hurt, more like he's afraid for the other person who dares to mess with ya.

"I'm tellin ya Boss. This chop shop on Dorian St. keeps refusing to pay for protection. We need to send a message."

It was a mere suggestion. A low priority on Joker's list but he had nothing better to do so he gathered a few of his goons and headed over to this shop.

How dare this shop operate on his turf and not follow the rules? He gets 50% of profit or they have an unfortunate accident. What’s so hard to understand?

The more he thought about it, the more it seemed to annoy him. You didn't answer any of Joker’s texts or calls today so he was already in a sour mood. Perhaps delivering this message would relieve some stress.

Joker and his goons stormed the shop thinking it would house several people, given that multiple cars were hoisted up on mechanic lifts. It would take a big crew to restore them all.

Joker eyed a bike parked away from the rest of the vehicles. It stood out and called to him.

He immediately took his knife to it. The destruction drew everyone's attention—even yours despite you welding on a car in the back.

Someeone had stopped your shop music. You were supposed to be alone for the night—you locked up tight after Jason left. You stopped welding and flipped up your mask to investigate.

You rounded the row of modded cars in various states of repair to witness your boyfriend sabotaging your baby.

Someone to your right noticed your presence and drew their gun. Soon a chain reaction occurred until the entire shop was waiting with bated breath for Joker's orders. To shoot or not to shoot?

He was still abusing your bike when one of his goons coughed. "Uh Boss?"

Joker did a double take seeing you standing in the middle of his men—glaring at him like he was the bad guy. Oh. He was, but still!

"B-Bunny? Whatcha doin' here?" J asked.

You threw your welder’s helmet at Joker in anger. He caught it and that seemed to set you off even more.

"What the f__k does it look like I'm doing, Joker?! I'm working! And you... you destroyed Harley!" You wailed as you ran over to access the damage.

Everyone else cringed at the name you dropped. Did you not know? Obviously not.

Your focus was solely on your vintage motorcycle.

Her handlebars were bent, her sick paint job ruined, and did he really have to carve a penis onto the leather seat? "Really Joker? What are you five?"

"I.. uh.."

"Uh uh uh what? Speak up J! Do you normally go around trashing people's prized possessions on a Thursday night? D__n it, you owe me new parts, J! And I want them new."

You glared at a guy who was staring too hard at your tube top and overalls combo. You were alone for the night so you didn’t think your outfit was an issue, but the multiple eyes on you ticked you off.

"And whaddya lookin' at you f__king perv? Aint neva seen a pair of tits before? Yeah that it? Why don't I give ya something to look at then?"

You balled your fist, preparing to swing when Joker dragged you back. "Woahhhh easy there doll.." He joked.

You whirled on him instead.

"I ain't a doll! You and your gang of dickheads can get the f__k outta my shop before I put them to work! Nothin’ but a bunch of sorry sons of b___hes. Move out my way! Breaking in an’ ruining my s__t.."

You pushed past Joker’s stunned goons towards your office so you can start ordering replacement parts.

Meanwhile Joker is standing there like... So that's my girlfriend everyone.

[yourstrulyrani]

mechanic!simon riley headcanons ~ part two

mechanic!simon riley who swore he fell in love with you the minute you walked in the shop, your eyes wide but your expression serious. his usual customers are on the older side and always men who are too insufficient to fix a car on their own, so you were the perfect change of pace.

mechanic!simon riley who knew as a woman you were highly likely to get ripped off by other mechanics, so he was glad you came to his shop. he makes sure to offer you water and some light snacks. he doesn't do that with his other customers, but you're an exception.

mechanic!simon riley who thought it was hot when you got straight to the point before he could even introduce himself. you already diagnosed your car before you came because like simon, you knew how you could get scammed in repair shops. you nodded when he asked if you knew a lot about cars and he replied with, "a woman after my own heart."

mechanic!simon riley who is already wearing a short-sleeved t-shirt, but rolls up the sleeves to his shoulders so you could get a view of just how huge his biceps were. it doesn't help your temptation when you see that his tattoo sleeve in fact does continue up until his shoulder.

mechanic!simon riley who on purpose makes sure his t-shirt lifts a little bit higher than usual while he's working on your undercarriage. he's lying down under the car, and makes sure to extend his arms higher so he can tease the gorgeous combination that is his happy trail, abs, and v-line to you.

mechanic!simon riley who drains the oil in your car on purpose while he's working on it just enough so that you have to come back a second time and so that he has an excuse to see your gorgeous self again.

mechanic!simon riley who doesn't let you pay for any of the repairs you needed. he reasoned with you saying you had enough trouble driving the car to the shop as it was, and doesn't want to add on to it.

(idk)

[shouyuus]

18+, mdni, vi-shaped but what else is new

car mechanic!vi who's basically been working at her dad's autoshop hounds auto since she was like seven years old, running around handing vander the fuel pressure meter and fetching water, who grows up in the garage to the point that all vander's regulars know her by name and also all her favorite sweets (bc she DOES have a sweet tooth, despite her tomboy looks).

car mechanic!vi who's closet is exclusively stained gray tanktops, leather jackets gifted to her by all her dad's patrons, and old denim from thrift shops bc she likes how they feel worn in and also why bother getting "nice" clothes if they're just gonna get greased up anyway? who hums to herself when she's working, always has a cool beer chilling in the garage fridge and is doing her best to make sure she can send powder to caltech bc she knows her sister is a genius and is gonna be like a rocket scientist one day.

car mechanic!vi who laughs when you pull up one day with your 1960's cherry red corvette, climbing out of the driver's seat with your white fishnets and your pink croptop and your plaid miniskirt, your heart-shaped sunglasses propped on top of perfectly blown out bangs, and the only thing vi can think when she lands eyes on you is how much she'd enjoy taking you apart on the hood of your car, your thighs hiked onto her shoulders, your palm-prints inked into the bright red paint of your car.

car mechanic!vi who grins slow, slings a greasy towel on her shoulder as she comes out to greet you, hitching an eyebrow as you motion towards the car, your cheeks stained the most adorable shade of pink she's ever seen, saying --

"i think there's something wrong with it --" but when you purse your perfectly glossed, cherry-tinted lips, vi has to force herself not to lose focus because sweet baby jesus on a harley, that should be illegal.

"-- think you can help...?" you shuffle your feet, glancing at her even as she takes her time looking you over, doing nothing to hide the way her eyes rake over the length of your body and back up again.

"sure thing, sweets. mind if i pop the front?"

you swallow, nodding eagerly; vi doesn't miss the way your eyes linger on her arms and perhaps flexes harder than is absolutely necessary when opening up the front hood of the car.

car mechanic!vi who bends over to take a closer look and actually does miss the way you physically have to tear your eyes away from the bend of her ass, because holy shit? it does not help that vi shifts to lean further into the hood, a slip of skin peaking out from beneath her tanktop, and suddenly, there's a spring-water rush of blood behind your ears, threatening to drown out all other sound as she pulls back with a shrug.

"looks like the cooling system's busted," she says, scratching at the back of her neck, frowning as she looks back at you, "there's a couple things we can do --"

you swallow, "just a couple?" you ask, before you can stop yourself. you squeeze your eyes shut as the words leave your mouth. woops. fuck.

car mechanic!vi who blinks, cocking her head at you before a smirk teases across her lips. she leans back against the front of your car, crossing her arms loosely over her chest.

"yeah, for the car. but... dunno, if you wanna stick around for a bit, i can think of a ton more things we can do..."

you lick your lips, scuffing your mary janes against the cool pavement of her garage.

"define a bit... and also a ton..."

vi's grin is crooked; there's a fox-bright gleam in her eyes as she pushes off the car and makes her way towards you -- and for a moment, you can't help but wonder if she's a lamb in wolf's clothing, or perhaps (the thought singes a tantalizing line up your spine) just the damned wolf itself.

car mechanic!vi who tells you that for the car, she can either order all the parts that have suffered wear and tear, and then just replace them.

"issue with that is, in these older models, even with the parts replaced, it won't last you too long before you'll need them redone again."

"so..." you teeter, looking around at the various tools hung across the walls, every inch of space utilized to maximize efficiency, the high ceilings, the slow-turning fans, the propped up cars, some missing the front two wheels, some just a skeleton of mechanical parts.

"but lucky for you, one of my old man's pals just put a brand new crossflow radiator into his 1960's corvette, and he paid me to help him rig it. and i can do the same for you."

by the way vi smiles, it's obvious that this is the option she thinks you should go for. you blink.

"cross... flow... what?"

vi stares for a few seconds before letting out a startled laugh.

"wait -- i thought you said this was your car?"

you nod, fiddling with your hands behind your back.

"and... you've got no idea how to take care of a vintage car like this, do you?"

you shake your head, feeling a now-familiar heat prickling into your cheeks.

"my -- my dad got it for me for my 21st birthday..." you say, just on the other side of petulant.

car mechanic!vi who hums low in her throat and closes the distance between you in a few quick steps, a hand drifting up to trace along the line of our cheek.

"and you're just daddy's little princess, aren't you?" she asks, noticing with a dull ache in her belly, the way your breath hitches at the word princess.

she bites back another smirk as you bob your head once, your eyes flickering down to her lips before refocusing on her again.

"well..." she draws out the word, tugging back, a satisfied warmth pooling in her chest at the way your lips push out into perfect pout at her distance, "if you wanna give you daddy a call to ask what he might want..." she lets her words trail off. but you're already shaking your head, your eyes bright, your expression over-eager.

(she thinks you just might be the end of her; if she doesn't end you first.)

"no!" you squeak, "i -- i mean -- whatever you think is best --" you amend hurriedly, blushing something furious as vi leans back up against her workbench, her gaze locked on the shape of you, the hunger in her eyes now so evident that it sparks goosepimples down the lengths of your arms.

"yeah? you trust me that much, pretty girl?"

you nearly go into anaphylactic shock; your lashes flutter.

vi thinks she might honestly blow a fuse as you look shyly back at her, your gaze somehow both molten and hard.

"y-yeah. i do. i -- i trust you."

car mechanic!vi who wastes no time drawing up a plan for your repairs, but when you glance over the receipt, you notice that the number at the bottom is way, way too long, and you're fairly certain (even in your advanced stages of crush-induced lightheadedness) dollar amounts aren't usually broken up by dashes.

"is this... where i should send the payment?" you ask, holding up the handwritten receipt.

vi grins, tossing you a look over her shoulder as she steps out from behind the wheel of your car, now parked safely in her garage.

"nope. that's just my number."

"your..." you look back down at the scribbled series of digits. oh.

"so... are you gonna text me the final cost?"

vi chuckles, "sure, sweets -- if that's what you'd like. and if you're feelin' real frisky -- we can text about other stuff too."

your breath catches in your throat like thread around a barbed wire fence. you nearly drop the receipt.

"l-like what?" you ask.

"oh... i dunno..." vi says, the tease now obvious in her voice as she makes her way around the shop, gathering this tool and that, bending down to haul a massive toolbox from beneath a set of shelves. your mouth physically waters at the flex in her biceps as she carries it all back over to her workbench.

"maybe about the kinda coffee you like," she says, leisurely, "or how you'd like your eggs in the morning."

car mechanic!vi who wastes no time in asking if you'd like to go out the next day, because as much as she really loves the thought of pinning you to the hood of your car right then and there, a part of her wants to do this properly. and, she muses, there's no better foreplay than sharing a banana split sundae with a pretty girl.

she sends you on your way with the receipt tucked into your miniature handbag ("what's that even hold anyway?" "uhm... my card wallet, the keys, and lip gloss!" "...ah. of course. all the most essential things.") and a promise to pick you up the following day, since your ride's temporarily out of commission ("don't worry, sweets, i'll take real good care of this baby right here." you immediately wonder if it's normal to feel jealous of a car).

and pick you up she does, at 6pm on the dot, in black pants so tight they might've been painted on, and a cropped leather jacket, though you hear her revving her motorbike a full 30 seconds before her text dings on your phone --

look outside, sweetness.

car mechanic!vi who is so polite to your rather bewildered parents, smiles wide and charming, easily slips into conversation with your dad about the vintage cars in his collection, calls your mom "m'aam" and compliments her pearl earrings, promises not to keep you out too late. so that by the time she tells you to swing onto the bike behind her, you're convinced that your parents might like her more than they like you.

"hold on tight, princess." is all she says before she rips off down the street of your cul de sac and you're yelping, burying your face in her back, the leather of her jacket butter-soft and warm against your skin.

car mechanic!vi who's just a bit too smug and more than a little smitten when she has to help you off her bike in the parking lot of the cute little retro-themed diner downtown, you shaking out your hair from the helmet she'd handed you, your cheeks painted sunset as she guides you into the restaurant with a palm at the small of your back.

who enjoys talking to you way too much, who wants to bottle up the sound of your laughter in one of those old fashioned coca-cola bottles, all sweet and bubbly, and save it for the summer afternoons when the air's thick enough to slick the skin, pop it open and pour it down her throat, swallow around the sound of you, giggling into the curly fries, debating with her about the perfect ketchup-to-mustard ratio for the most optimum fry-eating experience.

car mechanic!vi who tells you that the sundaes here are the best in town, and nearly melts at how bright your eyes get, how excited you look as you nod and flag down the waitress to order one.

"just one?" the waitress asks.

"trust me, one is more than enough," vi answers smoothly, shooting you a wink that might've induced heart failure in a weaker soul (and you truly do not think you're one of god's strongest soldiers bc you definitely had to take a mental breather after that).

but it turns out that she was quite right, because the banana split is huge. dauntingly-sized. and vi perhaps has too good of a time watching you gape over it (she's not at all thinking about how your cute lil mouth, so round now, would look stretched over her strap, not at all nope, nope, nope) before motioning for you to dig in.

car mechanic!vi who thinks, for the first time, that she might've bitten off more than she can chew (metaphorically, of course) when you cut off way too big of a bite, and white whipped cream smears across your lips as you struggle to get the whole thing in your mouth, your cheeks puffed out, lashes fluttering.

"careful there, sweets -- don't want you to hurt yourself," she says, in a decent stab at her usual suave tone, but her voice comes out just a bit hoarse as she reaches out to try and wipe some of the whipped cream from your lips at the exact moment your tongue flicks out to do the same --

her stomach clenches as your tongue accidently laves along the pad of her thumb and the dollop of cream drops onto the table between you.

"whoops," you say, your shoulders shrugging up as you finally swallow the bite of banana and cream, reaching for a napkin to wipe your mouth before dabbing at the tabletop.

when you glance up at vi, she's still staring, her expression strangely blank as you meet her eyes. but the second your gaze catches on hers, you see the way her pupils dilate, darkness eating into pre-dawn blue.

car mechanic!vi who tries her level best not to fidget too hard as the pair of you diligently make your way through as much of the sundae as possible, before you toss down your fork with a sigh, shaking your head.

"wow, i'm so full!"

"mm... could be fuller, i'm sure," vi murmurs into your ear, grinning when you shiver at the low sway of her voice, the gentle dance of her fingers on your waist.

"v-vi!" you squeak, even as she ushers you from the diner with a bright grin at the waitress, promising to come by again soon, and to send their love to her dad and younger sister.

and fuck, she really did think she wanted to take this slow, but holy shit, she can't wipe the image of you swallowing around the mouthful of cream from her mind, the feeling of your warm tongue as it'd flicked across the pad of her thumb.

"c'mon, sweet girl," she says, grazing her lips along the soft spot behind your ear and your knees almost buckle then and there, but her strong arm is looped around your waist as she helps you back onto her bike and cups your cheeks, "god, you have no idea what you do to me, huh?"

your breath hitches; what you do to her? what about what she does to you?

car mechanic!vi who can't help the way she presses in to kiss you, hesitating for a breath to ask can i? against your lips before you're nodding, just as eager as she is, and tugging her in to kiss her. you taste as sweet as she'd imagined (and lord, has she been imagining, even though it's been less than 24 hours), the lingering taste of whipped cream and chocolate syrup on your tongue as she licks hungrily into your mouth, moaning as you whimper, your thighs squeezing around her hips, your ass nearly slipping off the seat of her bike.

she hitches you back up without breaking the kiss, heat rolling up into her neck and shoulders as she feels your fingers twisting in her hair.

"f-fuck --" she pulls back breathless, her head spinning, her eyes caught on the press of your kiss-bruised lips, the way you purse them as you glance up at her, already looking so debauched she's tempted to pull you into the shadow of the diner and take you against the wall.

but, she falls half a step back and breathes, grinning crookedly as you pout at her.

"a-are you gonna take me back to your place, or not?".

car mechanic!vi who lets out a startled laugh and cocks her head, thinking that really there is a god, and that this -- just you, sitting on the black leather of her bike, your hair a bit mussed up, your cheeks flushed with color, asking her to take you to hers -- is all the proof she needs.

"you really are a spoiled little princess, aren't you?" she asks, swinging her leg over the bike seat and adjusting her grip. your arms loop around her middle and she tries not to groan at the feeling of your body pressing up against hers.

"well, daddy always told me that i shouldn't settle for anything less than the best," you say, and your voice would've been lofty, had it not been for the way you lean up to ghost your lips by the shell of vi's ear, chasing shivers down the length of her entire spine.

her stomach roils with heat. she turns to shoot you a smirk over her shoulder.

"well then. guess i'll just have to ruin you for every other girl who might come your way, huh?"

car mechanic!vi who definitely breaks the sound barrier tearing through the few streets separating the downtown strip and the auto shop, who's barely done parking the bike before she's pulling you bodily off the seat, hitching your legs around her waist and carrying you into the shop, slamming a hand on the switch to close the garage door.

she's already kissing you by the time she sets you on the hood of your car, the height of it perfect for her to pull back and pin you down by your wrists. she thinks that you have no business looking so perfect against the bright cherry of the paint, and grins as she looks you over, pressing a knee up between your legs just to hear your breath hitch and admire the way your cute little plaid skirt rides up.

car mechanic!vi who drops to her knees, pillows her cheek on your thigh and groans as she flips up the hem of your skirt to press her the flat of her tongue to the damp patch already soaking through your pink lace panties. who's mesmerized by the sight of you arching your back on the hood of your car, your fingers scrabbling at the smooth metal, reaching down till you can grip at her hair, your lips parting over your little whimpers and moans -- she thinks, faintly, that she wants to fuck you till your voice goes hoarse.

"vi -- what if -- is anyone -- ah --"

she can't help smiling at the way you can't quite get a full thought out, leaning back as she hooks her fingers around your panties and tugs them down your thighs till they're dangling off one of your delicate ankles.

"no one's here, sweetness -- so you can be as loud as you want," she says, reaching down to slick her fingers between your pussy, admiring the shine on her skin.

"b-but what if -- mmngh -- someone c-comes -- b-back --"

and it's cute, really, how worried you are about all of it, even as she teases a finger around your sodden hole, her thumb flicking up against your clit, making your body jerk up. she smiles, easing a finger in with a soft groan of her own, relishing the way you squeeze around her.

"mm, well -- let's see..." she says, her voice low and steady even as she tugs back her finger and pushes it in again, slow as anything, "my dad's out drinking at my uncle's bar across town, and my baby sister's at benzo's place with ekko --" she allows herself a crooked grin as you keen around her just as she presses a second finger into you, "they said they were studying but..." she shrugs, her eyes hooded as she watches you squirm beneath her, "i'm pretty sure they're hooking up so --" she runs a tight circle around your clit with her thumb, puffing out a breath as your thighs clamp shut around her wrist and she has to pry them back open with her other hand, pinning your knee to the hood of your car, keeping your other leg still with one of her's.

"the only person you gotta worry about coming... is yourself, princess."

car mechanic!vi who fucks you through two orgasms, eats you out for a third, before finally letting up and carrying you up to her bedroom above the auto shop, asking if you want to text your parents that you're staying the night.

you do, and vi only teases you a little bit about being such a good girl, but she lets you burrow in against her chest, lets you kiss her neck and tug her phone from her hands before planting one on her lips and trailing your way down her chest, tugging at her tanktop till she laughs and pulls it from her body.

car mechanic!vi who nearly loses her mind when you look up at her from between her legs, all wide eyes and parted lips, pressing your perfectly manicured nails into the corded muscles of her thighs and asking her in the sweetest voice to

"show me what you like -- please? i -- i wanna make you feel good too."

car mechanic!vi who fucks your face till both of you are breathless, her hips bucking up against your perfect mouth, her mind fizzling out at the edges at the way you're moaning into her cunt, the way you're grinding your hips down over nothing as she talks you through how to eat her out just the way she likes. who jerks you up and hauls you into her lap to kiss you sloppy, her fingers digging into the meat of your hips as she grinds you down over her still-throbbing clit, who fucking can't get over the sight of you riding her even as both of you tip into the realm of overstimulation, whining and keening and you collapsing onto her in the muted, twilight dark of her room.

"h-holy shit..."

vi laughs, "yeah. you can say that again."

you look up, a soft, pliant smile, "holy shit, violet..."

and the sound of her name on your lips convinces her, more than anything, that (contrary to all her big talk earlier), you're definitely the one who's ruined her for any other girl who might come her way.

car mechanic!vi who wakes up to your lips on hers, who groans into the taste of you, kissing you, rolling over to pin you beneath her even as the early morning sun spills lemon-bright and spring-water-sweet through her half-closed blinds.

"morning, princess," she mumbles against your lips.

"morning..." you giggle, gasping as she drops a tender kiss to your shoulder.

"sleep well?" she asks, trailing down the smooth skin of your chest till she can lave her tongue around your puffy nipple.

"mm --" you suck in a breath, "y-yeah -- had -- had good d-dreams -- a-ah!" you arch up into her, your body soft and warm as a daydream, and she just can't get enough.

"yeah? tell me... what'dyou dream of, hm?" vi asks, letting the world hum through her throat, rumbling over your skin like thunder across a distant horizon.

you twist your fingers into her hair, gently tracing the tattoo on her cheek before smiling down at her with a smile that looks like the shadow of the rest of her living days --

"i... i dreamt of you."

car mechanic!vi who comes downstairs to find vander in the kitchen, powder nowhere to be seen. but vander takes one look at her and grins, chuckling, rolling his eyes.

"alright then -- what's her name?"

she hesitates for a second before telling him.

"pretty name," vander muses, even as he tugs open the fridge to pull out a few eggs and a half-empty carton of milk. he pushes the milk towards vi with a pointed look.

"vander -- i -- i think she might be the one."

to which vander only laughs, cracking an egg with one hand into the oiled up pan. almost immediately, the egg whites begin to sizzle.

"this the girl with the cherry corvette?" he asks. wordlessly, vi nods. vander chuckles.

"good for you kiddo -- i always told you, haven't i?"

"that i'll know when it's the one? yeah... i -- i think i get it now." vi runs a hand through her bedridden hair, staring at the carton of milk and the ludicrously proportioned cartoon cow, advertising full fat contents within.

"well, as long as you're sure," vander says, cracking another egg, and another.

vi lets out a weak laugh, nodding as she opens the fridge to pull out some orange juice and a few boxes of blueberries.

"yeah. i'm sure."

vander nods, brows furrowing slightly as he flips the eggs with an expert twitch of the wrist.

"good. and -- how's she like her eggs done in the morning?" he asks, reaching over for a plate. vi stares at the over-easy eggs sliding from the old nonstick.

she lets out a tired little laugh, "probably like... poached, or something."

vander whistles, "got yourself a little diva, huh? well -- can't blame ya -- your uncle silco --"

"okay, thanks dad --" vi cuts him off with a deep groan, nudging him out of the way to place a small pot in the sink to fill with water.

vander chuckles, "you gonna introduce me when she comes down later?"

vi takes her time placing the pot on the stove and starting the heat.

"sure, yeah. i'll introduce her."

vander reaches over to ruffle vi's hair, cackling when she tries to duck out from beneath his massive hands.

"'m happy for you, violet."

vi stills, a helpless smile spreading across her lips like sun-warmed butter.

"yeah... me too." she says, "me too."

[swordsandholly]

Thinking about a mechanic!AU where the 141 boys run a garage and need a new receptionist. They hire you because you’re just so cute (great tits) and have a decent resume but it becomes a slight problem when they realize you’re a bit… dense.

Total ditz to be precise.

But they can’t really get mad when you get the keys for clients mixed up and look at them with those big eyes all teary and a little pout pushing out your lower lip.

Price is the most patient, perfectly content to walk you through how to file paperwork and fill out forms. Instructing you in a low voice while his breath brushes the shell of your ear. It’s really their fault for having such a terrible system, you know? Don’t worry about it too much, dove. He’ll settle his big hands on your shoulders and gently trace up and down your arms. See? You’re getting it. Just needed some more practice, hm?

Johnny is more than happy to show you around the garage, rattling off everything he knows about all those nitty gritty details that go right over your pretty little head. He’ll pop open the hood of some sports car and point to the engine to show it off. No, bonnie, you’ve got tae get in close. Closer.

Until you’re bent entirely over in one of those too-short skirts you wear everyday. It takes all his willpower not to yank you into the supply closet.

Gaz is just so sweet to you. Always bringing you little treats and candies to suck on. To help you concentrate, of course. Always greeting you with a soft ‘baby girl’ at the beginning of your shift. Whenever you’re standing around be it at the printer or counter - wherever really - he’ll slip a hand on your waist. It always trails a little lower, his pinky just edging on the hem of your too tight jeans.

Ghost gets frustrated with you to the point of causing tears to well up in the corners of your eyes. He’s feels guilty, sure, but bloody hell just print the damn receipt. He avoids you for the most part. Until one evening when it’s pouring down. You forgot your rain coat of course, silly girl. He offers you a ride which you take happily.

After that he can’t get rid of you. You bring him coffees (how you remember his order word for word but not where you last left your own cup is beyond him) and giggle at his jokes. When a client gets too snappy or too loud he’s the first to step in - standing behind you glaring at them with his huge arms crossed over his chest until they back down.

[limerlove]

mechanic!abby who has no idea how much of a big deal you are. she doesn’t know you play to sold out arenas, the chants of your name that inflate your ego to new heights, or the thousands of girls who would die just for one single chance with you. yeah, it’s been a while. a jam-packed touring schedule doesn’t allow for much time for your own pleasure. on your first day back in the city your car breaks down in the middle of nowhere, anderson auto is the closest shop.

this isn’t something you anticipated, ass bent over the hood, a pair of maroon-laced panties ripped on the hood of your 69’ camaro. the woman behind you packed a mean thrust, you try to brace yourself on something but there’s not a thing to hold on to.

dignity long thrown out the window as you let a complete stranger dismantle you where anyone could walk in and sell a photo for their yearly salary. the dildo sinks further into your walls, stretching you into perfection, you take her in personified ecstasy.

“didn’t know a cunt could be this pretty or this loud, princess.” normally, you would have cursed someone out for calling you something so obituary. it nearly sounds condescending.

when she’s fucking you like this? she’s earned the right.

“do you usually like to talk so much?” you bite back at her, unable to keep her attitude at bay.

usually that would be enough to make the other person shut up, but abby truly has no idea who the fuck you are. it’s more than bruising to who you are, it’s a grueling death sentence.

with a sharp hand, she slaps the supple of your ass into submission as her brutal pace effectively silences you. “do you always whine this much?”

a maniacal snark threatens to fly off the handle but she’s quick to put a stop to it. with a slight of hand, abby maneuvers her touch to your clit, calloused fingers rough underneath the bundle of nerves. body in tandem with your touch, convulsing.

“what was that? you were gonna say something?”

“oh, would you fucking—” as if she knew before you did, one final thrust, and your brain short-circuits. for a moment, you’re thinking you might have been seeing god herself.

“that’s it, princess. shut that pretty little mouth of yours and cum.”

[ebodebo]

Ghost Garage

—mechanic!simon riley fucking you in his car garage because you couldn’t afford to pay for his services:(( MDNI ofc

“You’re lookin’ at six thousand for a new engine,” Simon says thoughtfully, scribbling a collection of messy additions in his notebook. “And if you’re lookin’ to do just one set of brake pads and rotors,” he says, scribbling some more, “lookin’ at six hundred even for those.”

Your eyes widen at his words because how the fuck were you ever going to be able to afford this? You swallow hard, pondering your following words. “Do you do discounts or something?” You’re sure you sound like an idiot, but you’re desperate.

The corner of his lip quirks at your question as his eyes stay glued to the notebook paper, still scribbling. “No. Still no discounts ere’,” he says, capping his pen, finally looking at you.

You fidget with your hands, eyes on his. “I—um…there’s no way I can…” you begin, turning your gaze away from him, feeling bashful, “…afford that.” Even though you had come to Simon’s garage before, this was just the first time you outwardly told him you couldn’t afford his services.

He leans back in his chair, the base squeaking a little. “Do ya’know how dangerous it is to drive with worn-out brake pads?” he states, placing the pen in his mouth, awaiting your response.

“Yes. I’m aware, but—” you begin, only for him to interrupt.

“But nothin’,” he calmly says, shifty in the chair, eyes shamelessly dragging down your body. You pretend not to notice even though it invokes an immeasurable amount of wetness to gather in your panties.

He can tell you’re nervous—your body language says it all. Clammy hands you wipe off on your jeans every so often, you’re avoiding direct eye contact with him, and the fact he can hear your heartbeat from where he sits.

He shouldn’t even have unholy thoughts of you come across his mind. But, shocker, he did. Every night from the time you first went to the shop all of those four months ago, he would fist himself in the shower thinking about you.

You, who always had that doe-eyed, glossed-over expression. You, who always had to bring Simon a sweet treat when you came, whether it be candy or some fresh-baked cookies you prepared. Oh, and you, who would hug him after he did your car inspections. Ya, he thought about that one a lot.

He considers your predicament. He has a solution, but it’s risky—perhaps too risky?

Eh, Fuck it. What’s he got to lose?

“Tell ya what,” he starts, standing up from his chair and grabbing the notebook paper with the numbers. “I’ll throw this ere’ piece of paper in the trash—hell, I’ll burn it,” he cocks a brow, “If you do somethin’ for me.” He hovers the small, intimidating piece of paper over a small trash can.

“Anything,” you say, desperation coating your voice. He hums, ducking his head to stare at the trashcan.

“I wouldn’t say that,” he says, followed by a gravelly laugh. You gulp, waiting for him to explain.

“I want somethin’ from ya,” he finally looks up at you, wiping his mask-less jaw with his hand. “Somethin’ that isn’t…money.”

You slightly confound your head. “Like I said…anything,” you amend.

He sticks his tongue in his cheek, drops the tainted paper into the trash, and then takes slow, deliberate steps towards you.

You inhale as he stands before you, unsure of his intentions. Exhaling sharply only when he brings his thumb up, dragging it delicately across your jaw, tilting it up so you are looking at him.

“I think we could figure out a way for you to get that work paid in full,” he rumbles, brushing his thumb against your bottom lip. “And a way I could feel that pretty pussy around me.”

Your eyes widen at his words, dumbfounded by his sheer bluntness and vulgarity. Though you admit, you feel a knot start to form in your lower stomach and more wetness pool between your thighs.

“Unless you don’t want to?” His tone his monotone, no signs of resentment as he drops his hand from your face.

“No—I do,” you affirm, even grabbing his hand and then dropping it from embarrassment. “I just didn’t think…you, uh, liked me like that,” you mutter, shifting on your feet and shifting your gaze to the concrete floor you both stand on.

“Oh, trust me. I like you like that,” he laughs lowly, stepping closer to you, bringing his hand back to the same spot to brush his finger against your pouty lip. “Can I?” He questions his gaze on your lips. You nod, standing on your tiptoes, gripping his neck, and bringing his lips to yours. You could taste remnants of cigarette smoke and the icy tang of Nicorette mint gum.

The kiss quickly became full of fervent urgency. Sloppy lips sucking your own, hands aimlessly gripping any piece of flesh it could, and teeth frantically clashing with your own.

“You do this with all your clientele?” you tease as Simon grips the bottom of your shirt and quickly pulls it off your head.

“Nah,” he coolly says, hands palming your breasts over your bra. “Just the ones I jerk off to.” You gasp at not only his hands on such a sensitive part of you but also his confession.

“You jerk off to me?” you tentatively ask, bringing your hands to grip the hem of his shirt, slipping it off his head. His lips instantly connect with your neck.

“What about it?” he murmurs against your skin, dragging his tongue from the side of your neck to your lips.

“I just…I finger myself thinking about you,” you admit in between his feverish kisses, which are apparently taking away your sense of shame. He pulls back only a little.

“You’re tellin’ me…” he reaches down to bring your hand up, grazing your fingers with his own. “You plunge these in your pussy, thinkin’ about me?” he stares at your fingers, unable to comprehend what he’s hearing. He darts his eyes to yours. “I get you off?”

“Of course you do,” you attest, dragging your hand so it rests on his cock that is tucked away in his greased stained jeans. He groans at your touch.

“Now let me see what I’ve been imagining.”

He wastes no time stripping you bare, throwing your bra and panties off to the side, before he unlatches his belt, roughly yanking his jeans and boxers down just below his thighs.

He grips the back of your thighs before hauling you over to a wood table that currently holds some pens and a toolbox. His lips connect with your collarbone, then to the fat of your breast, as you lazily stroke his cock.

“Little smaller than I imagined,” you cheekily say before Simon lightly nips at your nipple with his teeth, making you moan. He laughs against your skin, sending vibrations throughout your entire body.

“And yet it still makes you fuckin’ wet,” he cockily says as his hand slips to graze your glistening cunt. You don’t even talk; you have no breath left to speak. So, you let out a pathetic noise instead—somewhere between a moan and whine.

“Let me play with ya for a minute,” he murmurs into your ribs, pointer finger brushing against your labia. You squirm at his touch.

“Simon. I just…I need you in me,” you beg, pulling him by the hair so his ear is by your mouth, rocking your hips against his finger in you.

“I’m gonna come as soon as I’m in you, Sweetheart,” he says honestly, pointer plunging into your cunt, gently touching your clit.

“I don’t care…just…just,” you rasp, unable to speak with his hand plunging into you.

“Fine, fine,” he says. He gives his cock a tug before he pokes your entrance with the head, gripping your hips before he pushes inside you a little. He grits his teeth at the sensation, and you whine at the slight pain.

“Open up for me. Come on,” he hisses, throwing his head back as he sinks deeper into you. “There she goes,” he praises, gripping one of your legs and positioning it so it lies straight up against his body. You both groan at the deeper contact.

“Shit,” you curse as Simon starts up a good pace. His cock managed to graze you in all of the right spots—reaching places you didn’t even know was possible.

You knew you both wouldn’t last long at this pace—you’re honestly not so sure he would have lasted at any pace. He was painfully hard when you hadn’t even whipped your tits out.

Though you thought the jokes were on him, as soon as he brought his thumb to stimulate your clit, you were skewing curses, tightening around his cock.

“Fuck. That’s it…that’s—” he panted out as he felt you clamp around him, hearing you yell, ‘Coming,” before he followed with his orgasm.

Once both of your orgasms have subsided, he helps you off the table to grab your clothing. You gently tug on your lip before you speak.

“Also…about the payment?” You shyly question as he pulls his jeans up.

“Consider it handled,” he says with a smirk as he zips up his jeans.

a/n: bye once again i abused the italicized button

reblogs & comments are encouraged!

[forsworned]

Simon has an OnlyFans. It wasn't something he necessarily kept a secret, but it wasn't something he shouted out on the rooftops for all to hear. Just the primal need for being seen while he fisted at his cock in various poses, most of which were requested by you. You who were an avid fan of his.

You really didn't remember how you found him. Maybe you were just absentmindedly scouring the internet for anything to turn you on while you were in the middle of a solo sesh, but either way, you stumbled upon his page. You wasted no time subscribing to the skull-masked man who humbly accepted your request to use a cock ring with a little ghost charm hanging at the end of it.

And his moans—don't even get me started. They're deep, guttural, sexy, and caveman-like and you're creaming at just the mere sound of it.

Truthfully, Simon doesn't even need the money. His price range only goes as high as $5, and for his VIPs, you get exclusive access to all his behind-the-scenes features, one of which includes all the times he mistakenly shoots his cum at his chin.

But it comes off as a shocker to you when its' one of those nights where no matter how many times you make yourself cum, it's not enough. You crave him. Crave to see the way those half-lidded onyx eyes stare down at the camera as he gets off between missions for a quickie.

It's enticing. He's fully clad in his uniform, but his hard, girthy horse cock is out for display. Green veins pulsate against his porcelain skin at his touch and you're squirming at the vibrating wand you place on your clit.

Ping!

Your in-app message notification pop up and you notice the small badge on the messages icon. Thinking it was merely something promotional, you ignore it, but a second ping disrupts your solo love-making session that has you squinting down at your phone.

Curiously, you tapped on the little envelope, tilting your head at the message before tapping on it again.

TacticalHeat: Hey, lovie. How are you doing? I see you've been enjoying my content for some time now. Would you be interested in a private call?xx

Your heart thrums against your chest as your jaw drops to the floor. There was no fuckin' way this was real. It had to be some chatbot or some sort of impersonator, but sure enough you click on the icon and it leads you straight back to the page you were just rubbin one out to.

"Fuck!" You breathe out, throwing your head back as your orgasm spills out of you. You hadn't even noticed the wand still buzzing against your sopping wet pussy, but it leaves you heaving and ready for the next round.

Your fingers hover over your keyboard and you search your mind to say something. It's not like you had a picture on your profile, nor your name, or even a real description on your bio. It was merely a clipart of Snoopy with headphones on bumping to music, a practical choice.

You: I'm good! I can do maybe tomorrow night?"

For some Godforsaken reason, you didn't want to seem to eager, but for what? You literally were messaging on fucking OnlyFans.

Ping!

Your heart drops to your ass at swiftness and the contents of the message.

TacticalHeat: How about now instead?

Part two is here!! 😜

masterlist

[jambalaya-enthusiast]

MOUTHWASHING SMAU!—[1]

synopsis: you accidentally send them sexy pictures of you.

warnings: somewhat suggestive.

[yanderedrabbles]

Thinking about getting into an accident - nothing too bad, just a little fender bender. But you've had a long day, and you give the guy a lot more attitude than you should.

Snapping that this wouldn't have happened if he didn't brake check you. Asking if he can even afford insurance or if you're supposed to pay for this shit out of pocket. Snarling that your daddy is going to sue the living daylights out of him.

Thinking about the yandere mechanic just off his shift who's too fucking tired to deal with your bullshit. Prissy fucking thing, ain'tcha? Thinking you're so much better than him. Sneering at his truck and his clothes like honest work is the filthiest thing you've ever seen.

Yandere mechanic who's been on the end of his rope for a while now. Pay is shit, boss is shit, can't hold onto a girl for the life of him. All he wants is to go home and have a cold beer. But no. Some little bitch is yelling at him.

Yandere mechanic who's spent his entire life on the the wrong side of the tracks. Kind of guy who's had more than a few run ins with the cops. Who's probably served a year or two in corrections, and who's barely holding onto his parole.

Yandere mechanic who finds himself reaching for the tire iron peeking out of his toolbox without even realising it. God, girls like you are the fucking worst. Prancing around in your short skirts and high heels and turning your nose up at anything that bothers you. Daddy's money bitch that needs to be taught a lesson. Needs to brought down a few pegs. Needs to be fucking humbled.

Yandere mechanic who swings the tire iron right at your temple, and never mind that his mama told him to never hit a woman.

You fold like a fucking marionette, passed out as his feet in less than five seconds. Still breathing, not convulsing. Good. Didn't hit you too hard.

Yandere mechanic who shoves his tools off the backseat and tosses you into his truck. Not so fucking mouthy now, are you? Who rips a pack of zip ties open with his teeth and ties you up with the same casual efficiency he uses to change a tire.

Your skirt rides up a little when he hauls you onto his backseat, and he runs his palm down your thigh before he slams the door. God, you've got such nice skin. Bet you taste like sugar and vanilla.

Yandere mechanic who takes you home and then comes back to dump your Audi way out in the sticks. Anything coulda happened to you. And if he's smart about it, no one will ever catch on that he was involved in your sudden and tragic disappearance.

I'm especially thinking about what it must be like to wake up after he knocks you out.

Your head pounding, your eyes aching. Confused. Disoriented. Not sure where you are or why you can't move your hands.

Thinking about noticing him for the first time, sitting in an armchair a little ways from the bed, legs spread and a beer dripping condensation at his feet. The room dark, the only light coming from the moon and his cigarette.

A real blue collar bastard, still in his wife beater and work pants, stained black with grease.

Just watching you.

The tip of his cigarette glowing with each pull and giving you a second or two to see his face - the mean smirk, the too jaded eyes.

"Not so fucking mouthy now, are you?"

You scream.

No use. It's muffled by the gag. Some random scrap of cloth that tastes of motor oil and digs into your cheeks. You try and sit up, but he's got you trussed up good and proper.

He watches you try and get loose, watches you thrash and scream and cry. Until your hair is all over your face and clinging to the tears on your cheeks.

Thinking about the way he grinds out his cigarette. Thinking about that last bit of light going out and the way it's like a kick to the face.

Thinking of the way he finally stands, and you realise just how big he is compared to you. Not pretty boy gym rat muscles either. But the hard shit you build hauling machinery and parts all day.

Thinking of the way he walks towards you, boots so damn heavy on the floorboards. Already reaching for his belt buckle.

"Gonna take real good care of sweetheart. Just gotta fuck all that attitude out first."

[gilverrwrites]

Your neighbour; Jason, he's built like a brick shithouse and has a resting scowl that could put Death on edge. That is until you get him talking. Then he smiles, and even with all that grit and grime he's a sight for sore eyes.

He's a mechanic, he fixes up your old clunker every few weeks for dirt cheap, if not for free. When you push him on it, feeling bad for letting him put in all those extra unpaid hours for you he says it's just cause Gothamites gotta stick together, especially people from your mutual neck of the woods. Besides, if you didn't bring him guilt muffins every time you brought your banger in, then he'd never eat breakfast.

But really it's cause he'd have to be a totally new breed of ass if he charged you for having your car sabotaged. Every time you leave him alone he throws an extra bolts in your engine or tweaks your wires. Never anything that could cause real damage, or put you in danger. He's not trying to kill you, he just thinks you're the single most beautiful thing he's ever laid eyes on and has no idea how to say that to you without the very real possibility of throwing up.

It’s the same reason you just so happen to always do laundry on the same night every week, and why he so often appears to bump into you during your weekly grocery shop. You should really change up your routine.

Thinking about his actions later; they definitely seems worse than they do in the moment. He just likes to spend time with you and hasn't figured out the right way to go about it yet. It’s not like he can just knock on your door out of the blue. That would be weird, right?

So, every few weeks you bring your car to the shop, and Jason tries not to ogle you the whole time he's pretending to check on your suspension, or whatever else. Often, you bring it by after work, and he tells you he won't have time to look at it before closing so that he can drive you back to your apartment complex in near silence but for you complimenting his CD collection and him asking how the rest of your day was. Then he walks you to your door and with pink cheeks and darting eyes he asks if you have any plans for the weekend. Whatever your answer he always replies the same; “Cool. So… Well, goodnight.”

And then he rushes to his own apartment where he’ll eventually fall asleep remembering the enthralling sound of your laughter at one of his jokes earlier, your jeans and the way they hugged your thighs just right, your eyes glinting under the florescent light of his shop sign. How your skin would feel under his hard, oil-stained fingers. Whether he’d have the nerve to finally ask you out when he drops your keys off for the 100th time tomorrow.

[follow up kinda]