#the fic in which piotr is accurately written

[theranskahovs]

Road Trip *Piotr x Reader*

@Iocuraace requested: 71, it can be anyone  Warnings: cursing, that trope where the characters hate each other 103% then end up fucking Word Count: waay too many 4k A/N: 71. “You’re my fake wife/spouse, deal with it.” I decided to do this w/ Piotr, and also include the requests for 60. “Please tell me this is a joke!” and 62.  “We only have one room left for the night…” Also included some requests from the kinks list because I like being lazy :^) 64. no speaking + 3. almost getting caught + 61. multiple orgasm; i’d like to call this fic: we’d fight each other to the death if we could but the universe has other plans

Day One

“Piotr, (Y/N), come here!” Sergei calls you both from across the garage. You make your way over to him, surprised you could hear him over the din of the building. 

You wait as Piotr casually strolls over, biting your cheek as he takes his precious time. He nods to Sergei, ignoring you completely. 

“A deal went bad in Rochester, you need to find a member of the Irish mob and collect some money. If you can’t, make it apparent that he’ll never fuck up his end of an arrangement again. Are we clear?” 

You feel the color drain from your face. This can’t be happening. “Please tell me this is a joke!” You exclaim, pleading with Sergei.

He turns to you seriously. “If you have a problem take it up with the Ranskahovs, they planned it,” he says in a tone that suggests it’s the last thing you should do. “You’re not a child. It’ll be a day, two at most. Deal with it,” he states.

You stare at the ground angrily, thinking about what cosmic power you could’ve angered to be put in this position. Anybody but Piotr. You’d gladly go with Dmitry, Mikhail, Sergei, even the bosses themselves, who you wouldn’t admit you were scared of. Anybody but Piotr.

Ever since you came to the garage, he’d been nothing but horrible to you. He did everything from making rude comments as you struggled to find your place, deliberately sabotaging you, to flat out ignoring you for the last few weeks. You hadn’t done anything to him but be civil. If anyone was a child, it was him.

Sergei continues on about the specifics of the trip, but you’re lost in your thoughts. You catch the end of his speech, and realize it’s not that important, anyway. You glare at Piotr, and he smirks back, probably glad at the free chance to make your life hell for the next few days.

When Sergei finishes, he says, “Good luck,” and goes back to his business, leaving you and Piotr standing alone. You go to grab guns, ammo, and other necessities, glad to have some last minutes to yourself.

When you return, Piotr is leaning against his cab, looking impatient. “We’re not taking this.” You outright tell him.

“Yes, we are. Get in.” He opens the driver’s side and gets in, not looking back at you. 

You open your door roughly and argue, “This won’t get us to Rochester. It’s a piece of shit. I should know, I’ve worked on it.” 

“Don’t come then. You won’t be much help anyway,” he challenges. 

You huff and place your duffel bag in the back seat, settling in for the long ride. Instantly, you can feel the tension in the car and try to inch away from Piotr. As he pulls out of the garage, you turn the radio on, desperate to fill the silence; you wouldn’t be making small talk.

He scoffs as you select a pop station, and you wonder what else he would have preferred. Too bitter for county, not smart enough for classical. Probably rap you conclude to yourself.

Five minutes into the drive and he pulls out a pack of cigarettes, pulling one out with his teeth and leaning over the wheel to light it. He doesn’t offer you one, not that you wanted one anyway, and you didn’t expect him to. You reach to roll down your window but he stops you. “No, too cold.”

“Then don’t smoke in here. It already stinks bad enough,” you reply. It wasn’t a lie, the car already smelled strongly of cigarettes, cheap cologne, and perfume. You grimace as you wonder why the smell of perfume is so strong, you decide you don’t want to know. 

“Too bad,” he mutters, taking a deep puff and exhaling the smoke onto your side of the car. You almost cough as you inhale the smoke. He just chuckles, taking another puff.

You angrily roll down your window. Without thinking, you pull the cig from his lips and toss it out onto the road. “Hey!” He yells.

“We’re going to be alone together for two days, you might as well stop being an asshole now and make it a lot easier on the both of us,” you retort. 

He clenches his jaw, not responding. But he doesn’t light another cigarette, and doesn’t protest about the fresh air streaming into the car. Well, it’s a start.

The next hour passes without incident, both of you silent and trying to get lost in your thoughts. Piotr stops at a small gas station, and hands you $50. “Get food and the rest goes for gas.”

You yank the money out of his hand, feeling like a child being told what to do. Once inside, you pay for some water, chips, and $40 for gas. You take your time in the small store, not wanting to go back to the car. Piotr was almost bearable after you yelled at him, but almost bearable wasn’t enough.  

Reluctantly, you return to the cab as Piotr starts to pump the gas. Once he’s done and gets in, you toss a bag of chips to him. “Bon Appetit.”

Before you know it, you’re back on the road, and merging onto the freeway. It’s packed, since it’s about rush hour, and you’re instantly stuck in traffic. 

After 45 minutes, you’ve only moved a few miles. Piotr’s carefully watching one of the gauges, tapping the wheel anxiously when he only moves up a few feet.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, worried you’re out of gas but realize you should have at least half a tank from the fill-up.

He shrugs. “Is nothing.” You look at him, knowing he’s lying. “The engine’s overheating.”

“So turn it off, we’ll be stuck here for a while, anyway.” As you say that, white smoke starts rising from the hood, blocking your view of the road. 

“Shit,” Piotr mumbles, quickly turning off the car. Traffic moves up a bit, and the car behind you lays on their horn. 

“Go!” You tell him, jumpy about the situation.

“Where?! I can’t exactly pull over!” He was right, you were in the second lane of a 4 lane freeway, and with the bumper-to-bumper traffic no one would appreciate him changing lanes.

“Figure it out, you’re the driver!” You scoff, angry that he was persistent about taking his cab, even when you both knew it wouldn’t have made it. 

Piotr turns the car on, and maneuvers toward the outer right part of the road, earning a lot of middle fingers and angry honks, to which he responds back with both of his. 

Once Piotr pulls into the gravel, you both hop out to inspect the damage. As he pops the hood, smoke spills out. 

You clench your fists, wondering could one person be so stupid. “I told you!” you yell at him. “I told you we wouldn’t make it to Rochester and you just ignored me! Because apparently I’ll never be as smart as you, Piotr. Apparently I have no clue what I’m doing. Guess what, now we’ll never make it to Rochester and the guy will be gone. I’ll have to go tell Sergei we failed. That’s what you want isn’t it? To make me look like a stupid little girl that can’t do anything right?”

He doesn’t look at you, just watched the traffic slowly go by. Quietly, he responds, “No.”

“Well then what the fuck is it? Huh?”

“This isn’t my fault!” He yells, striding over to you, making you aware of how small you are compared to him. 

“Yes it is!” You respond, looking up at him accusingly. Without thinking, you hit him in the chest with you fist, the only thing you can do at such a close distance. 

You do it again when he doesn’t react, and again and again. After six months of putting up with him and his shit, you’re glad to get it out, even if it isn’t hurting him.

“Hey! Stop!” He shouts, grabbing your wrists. You stomp on his foot for emphasis, and he grabs your waist and spins you away from him. You try to elbow him but he twists his ribs away from you. 

He pulls you closer into him, holding you tight as you breath heavily. You feel the anger slowly drain out of you, replaced by a tired feeling. Why did you have to get stuck with him? 

After half a minute he asks, “Are you done now?” 

“Yes.” He doesn’t move, so you restate, “Yes, I am. Now let me go.”

He releases you and you yank your wrists away from him, not giving him an apology. He starts walking away from you, and you call out to him, “Where are you going?” 

When you catch up with him he says, “Someone will come get it later, we’ll have to walk. We don’t have time to wait for them.”

You sigh, starting the long walk. A half hour later you take the first exit you see, drawn towards the billboards with promises of hotels. You can see the lit-up signs for fast food places in the near-distance, contrasted by the beginning of dusk.

Another half hour later and you huff angrily to yourself. You’re thirsty and tired from the day, and you didn’t pick the best shoes to wear.

“What’s wrong now?” 

“Nothing,” you snap. You add, knowing it’s stupid, “My feet hurt.”

Piotr chuckles condescendingly. “Does the princess want to be carried?”

“Pfft, no. You’d drop me, you’re pretty weak. Or you’d do it on purpose.”

Piotr just shrugs, picking up his pace. Soon enough you come to a McDonald’s, and you stop to get dinner. Inside you’re surrounded by couples, friends, and families with kids running around. It’s ironic to you how normal it seems.

Once you’re done, you search for a hotel. The only thing that seems to be around is a grungy motel, with half the sign burnt out. When you enter, you’re met by the scent of dust and grime, and a balding, creepy man. 

“Two rooms,” Piotr states, tossing a $100 on the counter. The man quickly pockets it, and hands him a key. 

“We only have one room left for the night,” he states. He eyes you, smiling with a grin that’s missing a tooth or two. “You can stay with me, honey.” 

You scowl, feeling his stare rake up and down your body. Piotr places his arm around you, glaring at the man. “Oh, actually one will do. She’s my wife, and all.”

The man looks at him disbelievingly, but goes back to reading his paper. As you step into the elevator, he winks at you, and you feel the intent behind his stare.

Once the elevator doors close, you shrug Piotr off. “Really?”

“You’re my fake wife, deal with it. If I didn’t say that he wouldn’t have left you alone.”

“Yeah thanks for saving me. I might be in a gutter, chopped in pieces without you,” you say with a roll of your eyes. “That’s happened before. It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“You don’t have to,” he states, as he opens the door. You’re left wondering what he means, but it’s pushed out of your mind as you see the state of the room.

It looks like no one has cleaned it in years, and there’s stains on the carpet, furniture, ceiling... everywhere you look is disgusting. You stand there in shock as Piotr places his phone on the bedside table, “Not good enough for the princess?”

You realize that there’s only one bed, and a chair. You’re not taking the chair. “Bed’s mine,” you claim. 

Piotr raises his eyebrows. “I believe it’s my room, no?” He dangles his set of keys for you to see. “I guess you could always go spend the night with the nice man downstairs.”

You scoff, ignoring him and laying down on the bed. It’s pretty early, but you want nothing more than to sleep. Piotr goes into the bathroom, and you hear the shower start. Just as you start to fall asleep, he comes out, and turns on the light. 

You see him walking around the room, half-naked, searching for his phone. He’s only got his underwear on, and his hair is messy and damp. He sees you watching him and smirks. “Like what you see, princess?”

You turn around so you’re not facing him anymore. “Stop calling me that.” You feel the bed sag as he lays down, and his body heat is tangible in the small space. He lays down facing away from you and doesn’t bother you again.

Day Two

When you wake up, it’s not due to the sunlight streaming from the cheap blinds (which is very bright) but rather the feeling of your hair tickling your face. You brush your hair off your face, and feel a tightness around your body. 

As you blink the sleep from your eyes, you realize Piotr’s body is pressed against yours and his hand is resting on your waist. It feels comfortable and nice, until you remember it’s Piotr. 

All traces of relaxation are gone when he snores, right in your ear, and your hair is blown back into your face. You try to scoot away from him, but in his sleep his hand tightens on your hip, holding you in place. 

“Piotr,” you mumble, trying to get away from him. “Piotr.” You bump back into him slightly, hoping he’s a light sleeper. He doesn’t move. As you try to twist around in his grip, you feel the distinct feeling of his dick pressing into your ass. 

“Oh my god,” you mumble. All gentleness gone, you pick his hand off your waist and let it drop onto the bed.

Piotr wakes up then, blinking and confused. “What?” he asks groggily, his voice deeper than usual. He must realize how close to you he is, but also his predicament, because he doesn’t move away. 

“Morning,” you say, getting up to take a shower. You thought about making it even more awkward for him, but decided against it. 

The shower’s just as gross as the motel room, and you don’t feel any cleaner when you get out. You dress as quickly as you can, not wanting to waste another minute in the dirty motel.

When you get out, Piotr’s all ready. “Someone dropped off another cab.”

“Good. I hope it works this time,” you say, shooting a pointed look at him. He rolls his eyes, leading you out front and to the cab.

Thankfully, you make it to the address Sergei gave you without any more problems. It took a couple more hours, and you’re half-surprised the guy didn’t catch on that you were coming.

Piotr stops in front of a small apartment complex, looking like it’s seen better days. Loitering around the front is a group of suspicious looking men, and you know instantly you’re at the right place. 

Cautiously, you get out and make your way over to the guys. “Where’s Reid?” Piotr asks. He’s met with glares and curious eyes. One man juts a thumb behind him, indicating to go into the complex and upstairs.

Piotr nods, letting you go in front of him. He follows you up the stairs, placing his hand lightly on the small of your back as you go. Once you’ve gone up the first flight of stairs, you can tell which room Reid is in. There’s another small group of Irish guys outside, and they stare at the both of you as you go in. 

Reid is sitting at a table, and Piotr approaches him first. “You know what we came for.”

“You’ll get your money,” he states casually, as if Piotr asked about the weather.

“We’ll get it now, and we’ll be on our way. It’s simple,” you say, showing him the gun tucked into the waistband of your jeans.

“Since when did the Ranskahovs send women to do their dirty work?”

You roll your eyes, striding over to where he’s sitting and kicking him under the chin. In an instant, he’s out of his chair and flying at you, hitting you roughly in the jaw. You stumble back, clutching at your jaw.

“Control your bitch, man,” Reid spits at Piotr, muttering something under his breath that’s directed at you, but thankfully you don’t speak Gaelic. 

Reid tosses a small bag of cash at Piotr’s feet, “It’s not worth the trouble.”

Piotr spits a derogative at him in Russian, and slams the door as you leave. The men watch you as you get back in the cab, and it’s almost eerie, even though you would have done the same to them if they came to the garage. 

On the drive back, Piotr’s more quiet than usual, considering it went relatively well. At the worst you’d thought you would have had to take on part of the mob. 

Half an hour out he turns onto a side street with no exit and pulls over. “Let me see your jaw.” 

You turn to him, showing him the right side of your face. You’d avoided looking at it in the mirror, fearing the worst. It was throbbing and painful, but you didn’t think it was broken. 

Piotr reaches out to touch it and you hiss, jerking away from him in pain. He hums in apology and presses into the tender skin. “Is not broken,” he confirms. 

His hand lingers on your face and look look up at him in confusion. He meets your eyes and surges forward, kissing you passionately. His fingers tighten on your jaw and you whimper slightly, before he moves it to the back of your head.

You almost push him away, but it feels so good, except it’s Piotr. You’re confused and angry but you don’t want him to stop and you wonder why you’ve never done this before and then his hand gravitates to your breasts and now you really wonder why you’ve never done this before.

He pulls your shirt off, not bothering to be gentle. He has a harder time with you bralette, but you manage to wiggle it off. He pulls his shirt off next and pulls you back into him. Your breasts press into his chest as he holds you tightly, his tongue slipping into your mouth.

He moves his seat back and pats his lap, grabbing your hips as you straddle him. His mouth attaches to your neck, sucking a hot and messy trail down to your nipple. You grind down onto him, feeling restricted by all the layers between you two.

With a bit of fumbling and awkward movements, you manage to pull your jeans off, tossing them onto the floorboard. Piotr pulls your panties to the side, spits on his fingers, and instantly pushes three inside of you. 

It’s tight and almost painful, but it feels so filling. He pushes his fingers deep into you, roughly pressing against your g-spot. He fingers you harshly, fast and quick enough to have you panting out moans. 

His thumb rubs rapid circles on your clit, while his other hand grabs the back of your neck and drags you down to meet his lips. You moan into his mouth as your hips roll to the rhythm of his fingers. 

He continues his movements for only a few more minutes, and you’re already close to coming. As you come, you bite Piotr’s lip. In retaliation, he keeps fingering you. You’re sensitive and his movements on your clit don’t stop. You try to move away but his hand on your waist keeps you in place.

Soon the uncomfortable pressure on your clit turns into pleasure, and you’re gripping Piotr’s shoulder tightly as you feel your stomach start to get tingly. With a whimper you’re cumming again, this time more intense than the last. 

Still, he keeps up the delicious torture, and you just pant as he continues. Your body is tired, but if he stops now you’ll never forgive him. Even faster than the last time, you cum for the third time in 15 minutes.

Your legs shake and you can hardly control the high-pitched moan you let out. Spent, you lean back against the steering wheel and look at Piotr through your lashes. He’s smirking, beyond proud of what he did to you. 

Without meaning to, you lean on the horn and you both jump in surprise. At the end of the alley, a walker turns his head to the car. After a minute he keeps walking, and you look at Piotr and laugh.

He smiles at you, truly, for the first time you recall. As if he’s broken from a trance, he lifts his hips off the seat, unbuckling his belt and tugging his jeans and boxers down. 

He takes his dick into his hand, stroking himself quickly a few times, before teasing your entrance with it. By now you’re dripping wet, and he slides in easily. You almost don’t trust yourself to sit up and drop back down onto him, so he holds your hips in place and thrusts up into you.

You grip onto Piotr’s biceps as he roughly fucks you, your finger tracing the smattering of tattoos on his arm. Without warning, he grabs your chin in his hand and presses his lips to yours. Your jaw is aching in pain, but you don’t mind. You can barely feel it. 

Your hands tangle in his hair, pulling the short strands roughly. Within a few minutes, Piotr’s thrust become sloppy, and with a bite to your neck, he cums inside you. You both stay there for a few seconds, trying to catch your breaths, before you shakily clamber off him and search for your clothes. 

Silently, you both redress, and Piotr backs out of the alley. The mood between you two feels changed, yet somehow also the same as it was. You’re too tired to analyze it. Instead you lean your head against the cold window of the cab and watch the unfamiliar streets pass by.

Day Three

You wake up as Piotr drives into the garage, hitting the speed bump at the entrance too fast. “Wake up, princess,” Piotr says, elbowing you fully awake.

You and Piotr make your way over to Sergei, who’s surprisingly still at the garage. Before Piotr turned the cab off you saw the time read well past 3 am. Piotr hands him the bag of money, walking off to talk to a group of guys. 

“How did it go?” Sergei asks.

“Better than I expected,” you truly admit with a small smile.