When LA Knight shows up at your garage, what starts as playful banter turns into something more intense. As tensions rise, you’re forced to confront the chemistry that’s building between you.
LA Knight x female reader
Warnings: Suggestive language and some nice age gap, because why not? (Reader in her late 20s)
Word count: Roughly 3,400
Been thinking about this since he manhandled Jacob Fatu backstage, yeah!
The afternoon sun was dipping low when you heard the unmistakable rumble of a truck pulling into your driveway. Wiping your greasy hands on your overalls, you glanced out of the garage to see LA Knight stepping out, sunglasses on, confidence radiating from every inch of him. You rolled your eyes, knowing full well why he was here. He’d offered to “help” with your vintage car restoration project—or, as he called it, “save you from a bad decision, kid.”
“Hey, kid,” he greeted, sauntering over like he owned the place. His voice was that signature mix of gravel and swagger that made your stomach flip, though you’d never admit it. “Still trying to turn this rust bucket into a car, huh?”
You crossed your arms. “For the hundredth time, LA, I’m not a kid. And this ‘rust bucket’ is a ’67 Mustang. It’s a classic.”
“Sure, sure,” he smirked, tossing his sunglasses onto your workbench. “A classic disaster. But lucky for you, you got me. Now, where’s the problem?”
You sighed, pointing toward the engine. “I can handle it myself, you know.”
“And miss the chance to teach you something?” He shot you a wink that made your cheeks heat. “Nah. I’m here to help.” Cocky little shit.
Despite your protests, you handed him the wrench, and he got to work, sleeves rolled up to reveal strong, veined forearms. You tried not to stare, but it was impossible not to notice how effortlessly he handled the tools, like he’d been born with a wrench in his hand. His cologne mixed with the scent of motor oil, and it was intoxicating in the worst fucking way.
“So,” he said after a moment, glancing at you, “what made you think you could tackle this alone? Most people would’ve just called a mechanic.”
“Maybe I like a challenge,” you shot back, leaning against the workbench. “Not everyone takes the easy way out.”
He grinned, shaking his head. “You remind me of me when I was younger. Stubborn. Full of ideas. No clue how the world actually works.”
There it was again—that condescending tone, that infuriating nickname. Kid. Like you weren’t a grown woman standing right here, doing just as much work as he was.
You clenched your jaw, trying to keep your cool. “You know, LA, if you keep calling me ‘kid,’ I might just start calling you ‘old man.’”
He paused, turning to look at you with a cocky smirk. “Old man? Please. This old man could run circles around you.”
“Oh, could you?” you shot back, stepping closer without meaning to. The tension in the air was thick enough to cut with a knife. His smirk faltered for half a second as his gaze dropped to your lips before flicking back up to meet your eyes.
“Yeah,” he said, his voice lower now. “Could teach you a thing or two about a lotta things.”
Your breath caught, but you refused to back down. “Maybe, but you’d have to stop treating me like a kid first.”
He straightened up, the playful glint in his eyes fading into something more serious. “That bother you, huh?”
“Yeah,” you said, mimicking him and taking another step forward. “It does. Because I’m not a kid. I’m a grown woman, and I’m perfectly capable of handling myself. So, either take me seriously or—”
He cut you off by closing the distance between you in two strides, his hands bracketing the workbench on either side of you, trapping you in place. “Or what?” he asked, his voice a low growl. His face was so close now, you could see the faint stubble on his jaw, the intensity in his blue eyes.
“Or you can leave,” you said, though your voice lacked the conviction you wanted. Your heart was pounding so loud, you were sure he could hear it.
But he didn’t move. Instead, his gaze softened, just a little, and he let out a low chuckle. “You really don’t like it when I call you ‘kid,’ huh?”
His eyes searched yours for a long moment, and then he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he said, “Alright, sweetheart. Not a kid. Got it.”
When he pulled back, his smirk was back in full force, but there was something different in his expression now—something hungry. The air between you was electric, charged with unspoken words and undeniable attraction.
You swallowed hard, trying to steady yourself. “Good. Glad we’re clear.”
“Crystal,” he said, grabbing the wrench again and turning back to the engine like nothing had happened. But the way his shoulders tensed, the way his eyes flicked back to you when he thought you weren’t looking—it was clear the tension between you wasn’t going anywhere.
And maybe, just maybe, you didn’t want it to.
You tried to focus on the workbench in front of you, but your thoughts were a tangled mess. LA had gone back to working on the engine like nothing had happened, but the air between you was electric, almost suffocating. Every movement of his arms, every shift of his shoulders, only reminded you of how close he’d been. How close he still was.
“You’re awfully quiet now, sweetheart,” he said after a moment, his tone light but teasing, his back still to you. “Cat got your tongue, or are you finally starstruck by my skills?”
You scoffed, though your voice was weaker than you intended. “Please, I’m just letting you concentrate. Wouldn’t want to distract you.”
He chuckled, low and rough. “Oh, you’re a distraction, alright.” He set the wrench down, wiping his hands on a rag as he turned back toward you. “But I can multitask.”
There it was again—that cocky smirk, that spark in his eyes that set your pulse racing. You were tired of pretending it didn’t affect you, tired of pretending you didn’t want him. The tension had been building for weeks, ever since he’d first offered to “help” with your car. And after what he’d said earlier, after the way he’d cornered you—well, you weren’t going to let him walk away from it so easily.
“Actually.. You’re the distraction, not me,” you shot back, stepping toward him. His eyebrows raised slightly, but he didn’t move, watching you like a predator sizing up its prey.
“Oh yeah?” he challenged, his voice dropping an octave. “How do you figure?”
“Because you walk in here, act like you know everything. With your ginormous arms. Painted-on shirt. Making me so damn…” You trailed off, suddenly losing steam as his gaze locked onto yours. He wasn’t smirking anymore. His expression was intense, his jaw tight, like he was barely holding himself back.
“Making you what?” he asked, his voice soft but dangerous. He stepped closer, his boots scraping against the concrete floor. “Go on, sweetheart. Say it.”
You couldn’t. The words caught in your throat, your heart hammering against your ribcage. You could feel the heat radiating off of him, his scent wrapping around you like a vice. Every nerve in your body was screaming for you to do something, to close the last inch of space between you.
“I…” Your voice was barely above a whisper, your courage faltering under the weight of his stare.
But then his hands were on your waist, pulling you flush against him. The sudden contact stole the breath from your lungs, and for a moment, all you could do was stare up at him, your hands pressed against his chest.
“Say it,” he murmured, his lips hovering just above yours. His breath was warm against your skin, and the intensity in his eyes made your knees weak. “Or I’m gonna take a wild guess.”
You didn’t give him the chance. Before you could second-guess yourself, you surged up on your toes and kissed him, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. He froze for half a second, like he hadn’t expected you to actually go through with it, but then he was kissing you back, his hands gripping your hips like he couldn’t bear to let you go.
It wasn’t a soft, tentative kiss. It was raw, fiery, and filled with weeks of pent-up tension. He kissed you like he was trying to prove a point, like he wanted to consume you, and you met him with just as much intensity. His teeth grazed your bottom lip, and you gasped, giving him the opening he needed to deepen the kiss.
When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathing hard, your foreheads pressed together. His hands slid up to cup your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks as he stared down at you.
“Well,” he said, his voice rough, “guess I was right about that distraction thing.”
You laughed, the sound shaky but genuine. “Shut up.”
He grinned, leaning in to kiss you again. This time, it was slower, softer, but no less intense. When he pulled back, his smirk was back in full force.
“For the record,” he said, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly tone that sent shivers down your spine, “I never thought you were a kid. I just liked getting under your skin.”
You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “Mission accomplished.”
“Damn right it is.” He tilted your chin up with his fingers, his gaze serious now. “But if we’re gonna keep this up, sweetheart, you better be ready. I don’t do anything halfway.”
“Good,” you said, matching his intensity. “Neither do I.”
The Mustang could wait. For now, the only thing that mattered was him.
His eyes darkened at your words, the teasing edge melting away entirely. The playful banter you were so used to was gone, replaced by something hotter, heavier. His hands, still strong and sure on your waist, tightened their grip as if he was afraid you’d slip away. But you weren’t going anywhere. Not now.
“You’ve got a smart mouth, you know that?” he murmured, his voice low and rough, sending shivers racing down your spine.
“Yeah,” you shot back breathlessly, “and you seem to like it.”
He let out a low growl of a laugh, shaking his head slightly, but the heat in his eyes never wavered. Before you could process what was happening, his hands slid lower, gripping your hips firmly as he spun you around and pressed you back against the Mustang. The cool metal of the car’s hood bit through your clothes, a sharp contrast to the heat of his body pinning you in place.
His hands braced on either side of you, boxing you in as he leaned down, his lips hovering just inches from yours. “You think I like it, huh?” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. “You’ve got no idea what you’re doing to me, sweetheart.”
Your chest rose and fell rapidly as your hands instinctively reached out, curling into his shirt to steady yourself. The tension between you was almost unbearable, the air crackling with unspoken need. “Then stop talking and show me,” you whispered, your voice shaky but defiant.
Something in him snapped. He closed the distance in an instant, capturing your lips in a kiss so fierce it made your head spin. His hands left the car, one tangling in your hair, the other trailing down to grip your thigh, pulling you even closer. Your back arched against the Mustang as his body pressed into yours, the weight of him overwhelming in the best way.
The kiss was wild, desperate, like he’d been holding back for far too long and couldn’t stop now that he’d started. His teeth grazed your bottom lip, making you gasp, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours with a skill that made your knees weak. If it weren’t for the car at your back and his hands anchoring you, you were sure you’d have melted into a puddle on the garage floor.
“Damn it,” he growled against your lips, his voice rough with frustration. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his chest heaving, his eyes blazing. “You drive me crazy, you know that?”
You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up, though it was breathless and shaky. “I think it’s mutual.”
“Yeah?” he asked, his lips curving into a wicked grin. He dipped his head, brushing his lips along the curve of your jaw, down to your neck. His stubble scraped against your skin, and the sensation sent a delicious shiver down your spine. “How crazy, sweetheart? Tell me.”
You bit your lip, your fingers threading into his hair as he nipped at your collarbone. “Crazy enough to let you keep doing that,” you whispered, your voice trembling with want.
His laugh was low and dangerous, vibrating against your skin. “Oh, I’m just getting started.”
His lips claimed yours again, harder this time, as his hands roamed—one slipping under the hem of your shirt to rest on the bare skin of your waist, the other sliding up to cup the side of your face. When had he even undone your overalls?
The way he touched you was firm, confident, like he knew exactly what you wanted before you did.
The Mustang creaked slightly under your combined weight, but neither of you cared. All that mattered was the fire raging between you, the way his body molded perfectly against yours, the way his name fell from your lips like a prayer.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, you were both breathing hard, your bodies tangled together. He let out a low chuckle, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he looked down at you. “Guess that settles it.”
“Settles what?” you asked, your voice still shaky.
“That you’re not a kid,” he murmured, his smirk softening into something warmer, more dangerous. “You’re all woman. And you’re mine.”
Your breath caught at his words, but before you could respond, he kissed you again, silencing any doubts you might have had. There was no going back now. The Mustang, the garage, the world outside—it all faded away. All that mattered was him.
His lips moved over yours with a hunger that made your entire body tremble. He kissed you like he’d been holding back for far too long, his need pouring into every movement, every touch. His hands roamed your body now with more confidence, one sliding up your back and the other gripping your thigh, pulling you closer against him. The heat between you was nearly unbearable, every second building into something you could no longer contain.
You let out a soft gasp when his lips trailed from your mouth to your neck, his stubble scraping against your sensitive skin in a way that left you shivering. He didn’t hold back—his teeth grazed the curve of your neck, and then he soothed the spot with his tongue, making a low sound of satisfaction when you whimpered in response.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he murmured against your skin, his voice rough and dripping with desire. “You like it when I take control, don’t you, sweetheart?”
You couldn’t find your voice, so you nodded, your fingers clutching his shirt desperately. His laugh was dark and full of heat as he pulled back just enough to look at you. His blue eyes were blazing with intensity, his chest rising and falling as if he were fighting to keep himself in check.
“Say it,” he demanded, his hand sliding up under your shirt to rest on the bare skin of your waist. His thumb traced slow, deliberate circles there, and the sensation sent a wave of heat through your body. “I want to hear you say it.”
Your breath hitched as you met his gaze, your lips parting. “I… I like it,” you admitted, your voice soft and trembling but full of truth.
His smirk deepened, his grip on you tightening. “Damn right you do,” he growled, and before you could process his words, he was kissing you again, harder this time, his hands gripping you like he couldn’t bear to let go.
Your back pressed harder against the Mustang as he crowded you in, his body pinning yours against the cool metal. One of his hands moved lower, sliding along your thigh and hitching your leg up around his waist. The motion brought you impossibly closer, and you could feel every inch of him now, every ounce of his restrained strength. It made your head spin and your core ache.
Your hands moved without thinking, sliding under his shirt and over the hard planes of his chest. His skin was hot under your fingers, and the low sound he made when you touched him sent a rush of heat straight through you. You wanted more—needed more—and he seemed to know it.
“Careful, sweetheart,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and dangerous. “You keep touching me like that, and I’m gonna ruin my pants like a damn teenager.”
Your fingers curled into his skin as you pulled him closer, your body arching against his.
With a low growl, he lifted you off the ground, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he pressed you harder against the Mustang. His lips found yours again, and this time, there was no holding back. His kisses were deep and consuming, his hands roaming over your body as if he couldn’t get enough of you.
“Damn it,” he muttered against your lips, his voice rough and raw. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”
You let out a breathless laugh, your hands tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer. “You’re not getting off that easy,” you shot back, your voice shaking with both nerves and desire.
His laugh was low and wicked, his lips trailing down your neck again, his teeth nipping at your skin in a way that had you gasping. “You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he warned, his voice a growl against your skin.
“Then show me,” you challenged, your fingers tugging at his hair. “I can handle it.”
He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his gaze burning with a mix of desire and something deeper, something more dangerous. “You better be sure, sweetheart,” he said, his voice low and threatening, but the way his hands gripped you, the way his lips curved into that cocky smirk, told you he wanted this just as much as you did.
“I’ve never been more sure,” you whispered, your voice steady now.
His smirk widened, and without another word, he claimed your lips again, his hands and body leaving no doubt about just how much he wanted you. The Mustang groaned slightly under the pressure, but neither of you cared. All that mattered was the fire consuming you both, burning hotter and brighter with every touch, every kiss.
Your clothes went flying on the concrete floor of your garage. In another universe, where you weren’t both wanting each other so hungrily, you might’d moved the party inside—but not in this one. You were high on adrenaline, lust, endorphins, and probably motor oil, and you wanted each other here and now.
“Take me,” you moaned, voice shaken, and out of breath, “please.”
You felt him grinning against your mouth, as he obliged. And right then and there, as the sun was getting low over the horizon, you and LA Knight took things further than they had ever been, as he took you passionately and hungrily on the hood of your vintage Mustang. For what would—luckily—only be your first lap of the night.
