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sugar-petals · 5 years

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Fuckup Trucker (m)

pairing: rm x reader words: 5.1k — one shot genre: winter au | smut, angst, action, fluff summary: Truck driver Namjoon crashes at your lodge by accident. Things heat up. warnings: surprise... this features dom!reader, sub!rm, cunnilingus, swearing, vaginal sex (protected), humiliation, multiple orgasms a/n: Reupload, tumblr deleted the old one. Enjoy trucker!Joon 😄

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The icy road won’t let your shoes find any grip. One step, two steps, three grueling steps. It feels like moving backward. Each movement is ungrateful, much like the temperature at dusk that creeps into your limbs, further slowing down the walk. You remember Jin’s words at the gas station: Walk like a penguin and you won’t slip. It seems like the most ridiculous thing to do, but it works. There’s nobody else here to laugh at it anyway.

The subtle cracking under your boots becomes the only sound in the valley after the clattering noise from the last train to Juneau fades. The echo in these valleys can become rather strong if only one is just loud enough. But the silence is even louder, making every step eerier than ever. A brown dot in the distance comes into sight when the wind carries away some snow.

After the penguin waddles got you closer to the spot, a snowy roof appears from the blur of white.

You pat the small chest pocket of your coat twice. Yes, the key is still there. It takes some time until your efforts to free the lock from snow come to fruition. Then, you fumble at the chest pocket for what feels like two minutes because your gloves are too chunky to grab the key. It drops from your grasp right away.

You have to collect it from a heap of virgin snow that keeps moving under the heavy wind. It’s too much for the gloves to handle. Eventually, they become wet at the fingertips.

You should have listened to wise Jin. He said that lamb fur was not 'the most persistent material in these conditions'. Nevertheless, you pick up the key with confidence. You can't change the fact that you're wearing them right now. And the gloves don’t really matter when you’ll be warm in a minute.

The lodge is supposed to have a nice fireplace, a humongous oven, even a sofa. The prospect makes you feel cozy already, placing the key at the lock to push in with a hopeful mind. Once, twice. It doesn’t work. You flip the key by 180 degrees and try again. Thrice this time. It doesn’t even go half in, nor does it turn one bit. Banging at the won’t help to free the lock. It’s iced up from the inside out.

Fuck.

Instead of encountering a rear entrance around the corner, you only find a large stack of chopped wood. Jin likely prepared it two weeks ago, knowing you would stay here for two days before continuing your trip to Alaska. It’s an orderly stack, no wood out of place. It’s almost like... stairs. Stairs! It might have been unintentional, but the window right above the stack appears to be slightly tilted. Jin, you genius.

You climb up fast to reach the spot, some pieces of wood tumbling aside. The tilt of the window allows you to reach inside with one glove off, turning the handle. Click. The window opens with a creak while more wood falls down underneath you, so you are forced to slip in as quickly as possible. The landing is soft: Carpet.

You close the window with the help of a nearby broomstick and hurry to get the fireplace and oven going. It’s tedious work, but some pieces of wood are already in there — again, freshly chopped.

The tilted window left the lodge freezing cold even with a bit of snow inside. At least, the sofa is as comfortable as Jin had promised, inviting you with quite a couple of pillows and blankets. The heat distributes from the floor upwards while the sun sets. Your hands feel much better now that the damned wet gloves are off, dangling near the fireplace to dry.

There are some candles to light up at what is supposed to be the dinner table, a large oak trunk sliced in half and led out horizontally around four smaller trunks that serve as seats. The lighting is decent, but not sufficient given how late it is. You leave your coat and heavy shoes on while sitting on the sofa, watching flames tongue at the wood blocks.

Maybe the fire will get a little brighter when you wait. You didn't travel all the way from Juneau not to have a luminous evening now. Your relatives have made fun of you doing such a trip already, you'll prove them wrong and say when you arrive: Canada's great, no matter how icy it is.

It's not a good idea to doze off like that but you need rest, but also warmth. So you make sure to slightly tilt the window at the other side of the lodge to let in fresh air. If there's something you don't plan on doing during this vacation, it's dying because of carbon monoxide poisoning. You pass out fast between blankets and pillows, hoping that the lock would be easier to handle tomorrow.

A large rumble interrupts your sleep just when the fire starts to diminish. The entire valley echoes a thunderous boom, akin to an earthquake. It's terrifying. The sound gets you up at the blink of an eye.

You need to get out of here. If the roof collapses, you don't stand a chance.

The lock defrosted, but the door is still hard to open because of the snow pile outside. You push until the slit is broad enough to exit, almost tripping since the snow has been getting firmer with the falling evening degrees. Now you see where the rumble was coming from.

A giant blue truck has stopped just a few feet away.

There’s a cursing, lanky guy in a huge fur coat walking around it with a lantern. And in the distance, you see the respective truck trailer in the vicinity of the valley slope. But something's not right. In the scarce gleam of the lantern, you realize why.

It’s turned upside down.

The man adjusts his cap in surprise when you approach and yell through the wind.

“You lost your trailer?!”

“Where the hell did you come from?”

He's got a deep voice that's almost too hard to hear. The lantern shifts to your direction completely now. You step closer.

“The lodge, shall I contact—”

You can see his face now. Stern eyes. Strong jaw and brows. Tan, with bits of dark hair sticky against his forehead.

It's a grimace of sheer fury.

“I have one less problem when you’re not here. Go, just go away!”

He gestures, pointing at you, then to the house. “I’ll do this myself. You’ve seen nothing here. Go!”

Now he spins around on his heel. You can't even reply, he's so fast.

Back at the truck, he rummages in the driver’s cab, back turned to you.

“Headquarters! Headquarters, where are you? 5-0-6, 5-0-6 calling!”

He keeps repeating it, but there’s nobody answering on the radio set. The guy seeks to go on walking around the scene inspecting the trailer, and more insults follow. Only a few sentences and you know practically everyone he ever hated.

Only a rumble from the mountains comes as a response.

Much more severe than what you heard earlier when the crash happened. Against the cutting wind, you scream that you don’t care about his company messing up the trailer safety check, or the headquarters, or that everyone in the world is an asshole, and that he should come in. But he keeps roaming about. You go after him, drag him by the arm.

"Don't you understand? You shouldn't be here!"

He rips his arm away. His coat is hard to grasp.

“Come on...!”

He’s heavy and churning.

“Let me be, you can’t hel—”

He pushes you away. The rumble from the mountain turns louder, making him flinch and look upwards. You slap him across the face. Hard. It doesn't hurt, you can't feel your fingers in the cold anyway. But he can.

“Follow me fuckwit, now!”

He stumbles, ends up covered in snow. You fail to drag him up again in a last effort. He's too tall and massive.

The avalanche has almost reached the bottom of the valley when you shove, no, kick him past the doorstep and turn the key. Whatever caused him to get back up, it must have been a miracle.

Minute after minute passes with him and you jammed together at the ground, enduring the shaking, the roar outside. The lodge is still for seconds, but when you get up, another quake brings you down. He’s wincing next to you, coiled up inside the coat. When the roar subsides, none of you dares to rise for minutes on end. Once you dare to, he still remains cowering.

“Come on up, that was that,” you point to the sofa for him to sit. He bucks on the ground, then heaves himself up with the help of both arms. When he sits down on the couch, it feels like he collapses under the seeming weight of a metric ton.

“You were right. I’m a dumbass.”

He shifts in the pillows, rubbing his temples. “That was the worst case scenario.”

“Twice for me,” you grumble, “It’s my second day in Canada and I have more common sense than a trucker? What’s your name, anyways?”

“Namjoon. I’m actually a rookie driver.”

“You meant accident driver! You almost got both of us dead and frozen! Aren’t you supposed to have enough training beforehand to do this?”

“The shock. I, I messed up everything. I’m sorry. My job is history.”

“That’s the only thing you’re worried about?”

“Yes, I mean, no! I’m glad you did that.”

“Won’t do it again. Now you stay here and don’t move an inch.”

“Listen, I’m really grateful, I—”

“Just wait here. You look like a fucking wax figure. Unlucky devil. I'm Y/N.”

He nods, tries to wipe his face more than once with the back of his hand. You browse the back of the room to search for what you wanted to look for earlier, but were too tired.

Well. Now you aren't anymore.

The kitchen has quite a few supplies, in fact. Pots, tinned food, even bread. Some pieces of pastry with either almonds or raisins. Bless Jin.

“We can’t do anything now,” you shrug, “might as well have a can of soup.”

Namjoon only mumbles. He doesn't look any less jazzed. If the lodge had a bathtub, you would have him submerged there with whiskey in the water to get some life into him. Who knows how he managed to make his trailer break loose like that.

The pot heats quickly on the oven, it’s only a matter of two minutes. Soon, a scent of chicken, peas, and spicy pepper spreads in the room. After tossing two more blocks of wood into the fireplace, you find cutlery and crockery in a slightly lopsided cupboard and take two each. Once the two serves are ready, you pass him one, and he snaps out of his paralysis. Sort of. You feel a bit more lenient.

“Here. Sorry I blamed you. Neither was your fault.”

“It’s not that I didn’t provoke fate, don’t say that.”

He stirs the soup, hasty, then begins to spoon it.

“Don’t burn yourself just now.”

“I’ll be careful,” Namjoon slurps, “just feeling very done for, don’t really care.”

Once he’s finished, he waits for your last sip shifting around more, then rushes to clean up the kitchen. He persists putting everything back to its original place and make up for your efforts. You can't stop him. Needing to keep himself occupied, it seems to you. He returns to the couch even more exhausted, not knowing how to compose himself. No eye contact.

“Your clothes,” you seize him up a second time, “get these off, you’re soaked from head to toe. I’ll get you bundled up. The fire’s warm enough now.”

“Right. Right. Good idea, actually.”

His nose and cheeks are twice as rosy than before now, but drenched in cold sweat. The cap comes off, so does the coat. The heavy boots — unlaced.

He’s wearing one thick knit of a sweater and bulky jeans with pockets all over. All wetted by snow, too. You turn away to get a blanket while he strips down to his boxers entirely. Before he’s wrapped up, you find yourself gazing at his body more than once. You won't say anything but he caught the glance.

"What?"

"Do you really wanna know?"

"By, uh, all means?"

“Good-looking for a fuckup.”

"Me?"

"No, I'm talking about Santa Claus. Of course!"

“Oh, thanks I—”

“Nevermind the blanket if you dare.” You nudge his shoulder. His cheeks get even rosier. "Hey. Just kidding," you giggle, and have him wrapped up as promised.

Still, the feeling between your legs won’t betray you.

“Do you... like me?” he fiddles at his thighs ever so awkwardly. It’s hard to believe he was cussing like a sailor outside just minutes ago.

“Can't leave you guessing, babe. As I said." You tug at his hips now. "That blanket can go back to where it came from. Or above us, it's always warmer together. Fancy it?”

He hesitates to answer. But when you smile at him, his dimples form, too.

“I do, Y/N. Above, I mean.”

You get on the couch yourself and lead him downwards, horizontal, by his arm just ever so lightly. The pillows then welcome you, too, huddled tightly by his side. You can feel his heartbeat in staccato. He nods when you ask him whether he’d enjoy a bit more than just cuddles.

“Rather be doing that than messing around outside. We have plenty of time to kill. Your trailer isn't going anywhere.”

“Plenty, what do you wanna do?”

He tempts with one gaze that you think was supposed to be challenging, predatory. But when you pinch his side, it fades faster than it came.

“Plenty of time to make you and me feel like we’re halfway warm again. I’m snowed in on vacation. You shredded your entire cargo. We almost died. Sounds stressful enough for me.”

“Gotta let loose I guess.”

“Why not make a fuckup a real fuck, then?”

"Y/N..."

"Want me to give it to you good?"

Now you poke his dimples, and think they look fascinating.

“Have virtually nothing against it. Just a bit, um...”

"Yes, Joon?"

"Nervous. Sorry about that."

"No problem, don't mind it. Kinda like that, actually."

You trail your hand down his chest, but hardly is it in a hurry. Each inch is worth it. Namjoon is so well-built. He’s just ridiculous, isn’t he.

Outside, the mountains start to grumble again. He flinches.

“Hush, don’t listen.” You bite at his ear, which is surprisingly small for his height. “We’re gonna make this better. Not worse.”

“I’m still afraid,” Namjoon says and buries his head in the nape of your neck. He feels less tense when you plant a little kiss at the crown of his head.

You get a certain thought at that.

“It's okay. We’re gonna play a hot game if you like."

"Hot game?"

"It's a bit risky."

"What's that about? I'm not going outside again."

You shake your head.

"No need. Wanna know the rules?"

"If it's that hot. I mean, sure?"

"I’ll count to hundred. If you can make me cum twice, you get a reward.”

“O-okay.”

"Only hands or mouth allowed. Just my clit and you. Nothing else."

"But why... twice? Only hundred, Christ!"

“If it’s only once, I’ll tease you to bits. But you can’t finish. Twice is a better accomplishment.”

“Fair enough.”

“And,” you nibble at his ear, “If you can’t make me cum at all, you get punished and have to try again. Join the game or leave the game, Fuckup?”

Namjoon goes entirely red when you lower the hem of your pants.

A risky game.

Why not? A little heat like that is fine for a trucker. It’s a little cruel, too. Oddly enough, he likes that quite a lot.

Body faster than any thought, his tongue sneaks out to cover his lips in saliva, but he quickly realizes they won’t stay dry anyways. Not with the prospect of 100 seconds. His head nods a sultry yes.

Namjoon’s lip begins to waver, ever so slowly, but accelerate at the way you intonate the numbers.

“Fifteen, sucker!”

His ears are warm indeed now. You love his lips, they’re like little pillows. And shiny as you briefly see when he emerges as 20. He catches a breath. Too long, because you approach 25. He's trying hard to provide the stimulation.

“Halfway through for the first one! 28!”

Now his hands sneak up. Finally. He gave up his delusion, or say, found what you wanted. Those long, sturdy fingers. The veins, like serpentines around his knuckles. Finger cups, soft but still potent to deliver a strong pressing against your clit. Perhaps too strong. Too inexperienced. He misses the spot a few times. He’s sweating more. The number is 45. In desperation, he switches to tongue again.

Satisfy.

Why can’t I satisfy her. Stupid trucker, do it right. Do at least one thing right today. Are you a man or not?

A painful tug at his hair gets him back to reality when 60 approaches. He’s grateful for the hint, but his tongue won’t function anymore. His lips are coated wet, plump, thumping, and your scent becomes intoxicating to his mind. 71, and he still pokes around aimlessly. 72. 73. He brings up one hand to aid his tongue, parts your folds ready to thrust and lock two fingers inside. But then, Namjoon remembers: No penetration allowed. 78, 79.

Approaching 82, he rubs his palm flat against your pubic bone downwards. It does the trick, the familiar tingle wanders down your abdomen. You’re so wet. But that makes his hand slide off, and he needs more pressure to bring it in place, which makes it even more slippery.

“91, baby boy.”

And you don't count very fast. He’s groaning. The strength in his arm starts to fade. You can tell by how he slows down at 94, but still won’t give up using his tongue. He shoves and shoves, shoves it forward and sidewards, and still: the right spot escapes his prodding. The tension of your thighs around his head is none the stronger. How he wishes it was.

He wants to feel you climax and moan and wind, and scream, by now he’s frantically sucking and grinding his face between your legs, one orgasm! One orgasm, that’s it! He’ll do it! And finally, satisfy—

“Hundred. Game over!”

Nothing.

Satisfy absolutely nothing. Your legs part slightly to release him.

He pulls off eyes downcast. How ludicrous that must have looked like, he can’t even bring forth an apology. Even if his lips have moved more in the last minutes than the last two months on the training road combined.

“Just punish me, Y/N.”

Do I even deserve that? I'm a real fuckwit loser.

“I have sympathies now seeing you worked so much.”

“No punishment?”

“Oh, my baby fool.” You tickle his chin and pick up a bit of the warm drops from there. “More sympathies means stronger punishment, didn’t you know?”

“Then, do it as hard as you can. I’ll take it.”

“No, I won’t.”

“Y/N, I don’t understand.”

“You’ve done the due already without me doing anything. Humiliated yourself enough, didn’t you? Look me in the eye!”

“Sorry...”

“When someone asks for punishment, it truly isn’t one. Punishment has to hurt more than that. It won’t make you feel good. You just took my job.”

That alone almost got you off. But you’ll teach him a lesson today. That means: Self-control.

Namjoon scrambles in the pillows and manages to pull up his glance.

“Kind of. Yes. Maybe I did.”

“Come here, I’ll show you how to do it right.”

Namjoon doesn’t look any less shameful at that. But he comes close to where you beckon him into his embrace. He leans his head against your chest visibly hesitating, but follows at the guidance of your palm at the back of his neck. Namjoon’s heartbeat is still going wild, you can feel it now.

“Won’t humiliate you further after this,” you smooch his sweaty cheek. “You’ll find out how I really come with just a lil’ pointer.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve been forcing yourself into being tough and sloppy for 100 seconds straight, didn’t you?”

Namjoon becomes taciturn at that. Still, he nods.

“What I want to see,” and you tap his chest saying that, “is how you are... naturally. Who said you can’t use your hands and mouth elsewhere? My body’s not just one pleasure point and that’s it. You think I'll ever be contented like that in a million years and beyond? I'm a woman. I want more. I want it all, baby, don't you know!”

“O-Oh. I should have—”

“Wanna give it a go again? I think you know what to do. No shoulds and woulds now. Remember the rules.”

“Yes, Y/N.”

So good. The fingers of his left hand are intertwined with your hair, brushing softly just above the scalp when he decides to move them around a bit to explore. It brings back a distant memory.

Going to the barber’s shop in the small town you grew up in. Nothing about their service was cheap, so your parents couldn’t let you go often. Every visit was like entering heaven anew each time you stepped in on a Thursday afternoon. The chubby coiffeur was always friendly, and you loved the sound of his green scissors, the razors, the jasmine shampoo kneaded into your locks. The salon would always be filled with happy people looking at their transformations from all angles, a scent of bleach or hairspray, and Tango music blasting from the stereo in the other room where an apprentice would mix colors and move his hips to the beat thinking nobody would hear and see. There were no worries at that time. The world was okay. You'd even spend a bit of your pocket money for a massage. His hands bring you back to the days, with all the goosebumps and tingles in the same spots. He knows how to move them just right. Namjoon.

Who keeps on whispering in your ear, and trailing his other hand across your belly. All the sensitive places covered and cherished. Slowly pulling off the rest of your clothing. 22. 23.

“I love your body,” he says. “It’s smart like you. And beautiful.”

Namjoon’s lips trace your jawline, upwards, downwards, then return to your ear.

“Can I kiss you, madam?”

“Go ahead, darlin’.”

You barely reach 40 and his lips are indulging your tongue. One hand caressing your back, the other roaming your breasts. It feels like your spine is infused with a fresh, bubbling feeling that lingers the more his lips do their work. They feed back the nectar that they picked up between your thighs so expertly. It's astonishing. You wonder how he didn’t do this earlier. And he seems to catch up on the same thought, too.

He must have figured you like his veins because you get a good view of them. Going in circles on your breasts. While his mouth makes slow, repeated contact with your clit, seemingly ignorant that you’re approaching 65. At 70, his tongue fucks past the damp folds leading upwards to the tender place where his tip stops and plants almost little electrical impulses.

Your clit is so swollen, wherever he brings his tongue up it will contact and give a feeling that you convulse with so much excitement. While his hands continue their magical work at your waist, your hips, your ass. Even your calves and feet. 78, 79. Freaking Namjoon’s hands. Hands, hands, hands, fucking hands. Your skin has never felt more exalted.

“You’re perfect, Miss,” he mumbles into you, intertwines his fingers with yours. "Thank you for picking me up outside."

81, 82. Shit. Your body is on fire.

Namjoon keeps on bringing his tongue forward and alternates with kisses. And then, he directs his thumb between your legs. Gently massaging. Small, dainty pokes. It’s like pushing a button to tip you off the glaring edge. He whispers.

“And I like you, too.”

99.

You’re cumming. So good. So hard. So fucking hard. You’re sorry for his ears, but your legs cramp together so fervently around his head, his exhale is louder than yours. All signs are on fuck it. Your hips jerk and all cum dribbles out. Ruining his face, his hair. The sharp brows, the gorgeous dimpled smile. If another avalanche would come to be your frosty grave now, it wouldn't matter.

You’ve stopped counting by the time you slip on his dick with a condom barely on. Did he get that from the gas station? You’ll never know. Judging by the way he twitches, you know how long this trailer hasn’t seen a parking lot for all that heavy, bulging freight. He’s so nervous. He's so sexy. With that deep voice. That perfect dark hair. It’s getting ecstatic.

If you wanna bounce on him, you’ll do it properly, gradual and sloppy, even if your mind says go and screw his soul out... wherever that trucker soul is, his balls? They need to be crushed, they need to be ruined, you want it all.

The condom eventually bows to your pace and stays where it should, much like Namjoon who looks like he froze completely being so tense. Only your name comes from his lips, over and over. They are trembling, but not because he's cold. Not with that temperature in the room. The friction is just too much, no matter how much he concentrates to keep his hands on you where they tingle. No, he fumbles at your thighs, then returns back to stimulating your sensitive place, and the faint thought returns to you.

The second orgasm.

It already approaches. If it could melt the snow outside with all its heat, it would. Those fingers really do the rest.

He was right that your body is smart.

Being smart means knowing what’s good for you. And, what is that?

Gushing all over his cock and groaning like it’s the last time. Game won. Well, kind of. If you can come on his dick like that and engulf him whole, own him whole, squeeze him whole, the rules are best discarded. The release is so heavenly. You feel so real and satisfied. He did so well. Very well for a fuckup, in fact. All to be smudged and blighted by the spill of your jizz, and it's so pretty on his shaft. You wouldn’t have thought that this emotion would be so powerful after all.

It’s his words that keep on repeating themselves, and they drive you wild. He likes you, too. The scent of pepper and smoke in the room becomes so much more clear in your sensation, ultimately, before blurring into the familiar picture. A winter’s white desert before your eyes. If only it would last forever. Who would have known how capable he is, that charmer, to make you come.

The condom is chucked in a random corner.

You feel funny just lying there sticky talking about how you must have looked like kicking and yelling at each other earlier. But well, there is nobody else to laugh at you here. Maybe just the moon and the stars outside. Cackling how two idiots could get stuck in a lodge like this. At least, they are silent. Maybe that is eerie, but then again, Namjoon is next to you. His presence is comforting. He doesn’t snore and burp like you thought he would, or pull out a giant cigar to huff himself to sleep humming country songs. But it would have suited the atmosphere inside.

You are hungry again, but too lazy to get up. So late, so exhausted, and you're stuck here for longer anyways. No urgency. Time to sleep says the rest of your body save the stomach, and the stars go on giggling by themselves. They know it. Humans are all complete morons.

Namjoon wakes up with the messiest, sexiest hair you’ve ever seen. And, is that a beard coming out? You must be mistaken.

He says he must have tossed and turned, oh lord is he grumpy, but you don’t recall him being such a restless sleeper when you briefly got up at dawn. The toilet in the lodge was indeed prepared like you suspected, because Seokjin won’t fear getting his hands dirty. At this point, you feel like paying him for all the work he’s done. And the foresight. You're almost sure he gave Namjoon condoms for free. It's not hard to imagine how he realized what a hot piece of fuck was arriving at the gas station in his damn coat. And that sailor mouth, which you now think deserves better than calling it just that.

You get your breakfast together, set up the table, Namjoon does most of the work even if his mood isn’t the best and his clothes aren't completely dry. Who knows how long the food will last while you are stuck here, so he creates smaller rations. A bit of bread today. A bit later. It’s like a small lump on your plates.

You talk about how many miles he needed to drive to get to Alberta where a promotion waits. Well, would wait. And how you'll likely be way too behind on schedule now to continue the vacation. You can scrap it all if you can't reach the next station. The bread is only a small consolation, but you know that past counting to hundred and having fun to get a bit warmer you are in serious trouble. Two unlucky devils in one spot, and you can drink to that. Dreams are but shadows.

But before you can dig in, a brazen knock interrupts the conversation.

The door.

Which you thought would have been blocked entirely by night. But it's not. It's half open. A voice reverberates outside, again, accompanied by several other knocks.

“506? You in there? It’s 507! Got your signal last night! Manager Hyuna sent us!”

“It's you! Hobi!”

Namjoon hurries to the door. Opening it, a bunch of rugged-looking truckers welcome you with their shovels. Namjoon can’t help himself, he starts jumping around. The trucker with the cap standing at the door greets you with a nonchalant handshake. He's devastatingly sexy.

“Hi! Jung Hoseok, went to the academy with Joon. And these handsome chaps here: Yoongi, Tae, JK. We'll get you two wherever ya need to be. We got someone to clear the area, too.”

Well.

Canada's great.

No matter how icy it is.

347 notes · View notes

ladye11e · 6 years

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Deception pt 16

The conflict between the Assassins and the Templars is getting out of hand. Lies, deceit and subterfuge, now you must pick a side..

Tagging @geekgoddess813 @sweet-flash @i-wontgivein @ermergerd517 @imakemyownblog 💕

If anyone else would like tagging, shoot me a dm 😁

Link to the full fic so far is Here.

You were up in your room pacing to and fro, stopping every third or fourth lap to stare at your phone on the bed. It had been two days since the mission, and you had still yet to call the voicemail number to let Gist know where the money had been taken to so they could retrieve it for Haytham. But the thought of having your voice recorded still unnerved you greatly despite his assurances, especially after what Connor had said. Knowing that you couldn't do anything here whether you chose to or not, you grabbed up your phone and jacket, running down the stairs and barging by Jacobs legs which were propped up on the counter while Henry was boring him to tears about some dried flowers.

"Hey! Where you off to in such a rush? Can I come with you?!"

You glanced behind you just long enough to see that he was looking up at you with pleading eyes, making you chuckle when Henry snapped the book he was holding shut as you opened the door.

"Out. And nope. Don't wait up!"

Walking through the streets vaguely while you still pondered on what to do about your 'other' assignment, you mumbled an apology when you bumped into a couple and nearly sent them flying while you were busy staring at the pavement. Learning your lesson and looking up instead of at the floor, you finally took note of your surroundings, quite surprised that you had inadvertently made your way to Tower Bridge. It was packed with tourists, and you needed time alone to think, so looking about to make sure there was no kind of authoritative people about, you began climbing one of the towers; scaling it with trained deftness until you reached near the top. You threw yourself to the side and leapt onto the walkway that connected the two towers and sat down with your legs dangling after checking there wasn't anyone else here, staring out into the distance.

The corner of your mouth curved as from all the way up here you could see the tips of red sails at the marina, but you soon frowned when your stomach suddenly started fluttering. You still weren't happy with the man after what he did to you, but there was a part of you that always felt completely the opposite; especially since that kiss had stirred everything back up again, regardless of how much you tried to ignore it.

Since when did everything become so complicated??

Irrespective of how you felt about him, it had nothing to do with whether you should let the Templars have the money or not, the only thing that could decide that is trying to determine what the Assassins would do with it. Your friends you trusted completely, but the masters and mentors? You knew they would do anything to get the upper hand.

You sighed and rubbed your face when a strong gust of wind hit you, making you shiver as you were way underdressed for being two hundred feet in the air. Swinging your bag around and pulling out your phone, you brought up the voicemail number and hit call before you changed your mind. You sat tapping your leg as only silence hit your ear, it seeming like forever had passed until you eventually heard a beep.

"It's at the corners of Cable Street and Mill yard, opposite the museum. And... I'd like a lift."

Hanging up as soon as you blurted that out, you gawked at the screen wondering what the hell possessed you to ask to go with them. Deciding that maybe it wasn't such a bad decision, after all, being on the yacht was way more preferable that being on a cramped plane, and it would also give you the chance to let Shay have his sword back. Shoving your phone back into your bag, you stood up and peered down below, looking for a suitable landing place to jump down from where you were. Spotting a small trailer filled with stuffed toys to be sold to the tourists for an obscenely high price, you stood up and spread your arms out, leaning forwards and letting yourself fall.

You always loved doing a leap of faith. For those few seconds spiralling through the air, it felt like every one of your worries were dragged away; leaving you with an absolute peace which is why you were giggling to yourself when you landed, not even caring that the vendor was screaming at you for squashing his merchandise as you jumped out. Given that you had nothing else to do today you thought you might as well wander about for a bit, maybe even some shopping now that you had a few pounds to your name thanks to Jacob.

After spending a couple of hours taking in the sights as you hadn't been here for quite a while and, laughing at the tourist's who were taking an outrageous amount of selfies, you eventually found yourself at Trinity Square Gardens. Apparently, your nose had led the way as your stomach started growling when you got closer to the burger vendor, which wasn't surprising considering dusk was beginning to loom. Buying yourself something to eat and drink and perching yourself under a tree away from the fair few people who were still about that were soaking in the last few rays of sunshine, you began devouring your food in record speed when you suddenly became ravenous after your first bite.

Feeling a lot better now that you had finished, you grabbed your napkin to wipe your hands with, cocking your head quizzically when you spied a dot of black ink on the corner of it. Usually, they were just plain white, so your intrigue got the better of you and you gingerly began to unfold it, looking around quickly to make sure that no-one was watching you when you saw that something was written on the inside. Satisfied that you were alone, you lay it out on your lap and smirked to yourself as you read the neatly printed handwriting.

We have what we wanted, sail at 3 pm tomorrow. See you then :)

Well no backing out now. You thought as you set to tearing the tissue up into the tiniest pieces you could manage before dropping them into the remnants of your drink. Glancing up to see that the food stall had now gone, you began to wonder just how many connections Gist actually had around here. Now all that was left to do was try to come up with a good excuse for Connor as to why you wouldn't be travelling with him again...

You were more than surprised when you asked Connor for some time off to relax now that the mission was complete, as you had expected him to either be annoyed or give you a lecture about how much more work there was still to be done. You had even planned out a good excuse, but you didn't need to use it as the second you'd opened your mouth and mentioned the word vacation, he was pretty much ushering you out the door before you changed your mind.

"It has not been nearly six year's since I've had time off!" You yelled, so Desmond could hear you on the other end of the phone as Connor had insisted on calling him to redistribute your work for the next two weeks.

"Desmond says you are correct, it is closer to seven."

Rolling your eyes when you could tell they were mocking you and calling you a workaholic during their conversation, you stomped up the stairs in a pretended huff, actually feeling quite thrilled at the prospect of getting some R&R. You had always ignored the mens comments of 'you work too much' and 'even Superwoman took a break once in a while', but when Evie had mentioned that you looked burnt out the other day, that's when you had considered stepping back for a bit. You guessed it would take about a week again to get back to Boston, but without any impending mission or dire circumstance worrying you this time you were damned sure that you were going to take advantage and enjoy being on the Morrigan with its many luxuries. As for the second week? You'd worry about that when you got back home.

"So, what are you going to do with your time off?"

Glancing up from packing your bag, to see Henry leaning against the door frame with a soft smile before walking over and handing you a pile of clothes that had been laundered for you, you shrugged your shoulders and pretended to think about it while you stuffed the garments in your bag.

"Not decided much really. Was thinking maybe taking a boat ride? I'll wing the rest."

You silently praised yourself for your quick thinking, so on the off chance someone did happen to spot you at the docks, they wouldn't be trying to figure out as to why you were there. Still, you would try to avoid being in that situation as much as possible. You stopped what you were doing for a second as Henry just stood there thoughtfully for a moment, before his face lit up when he had an idea.

"Did you know that Edward has just arrived? If it is sailing you want to do why not go with him? He could also take you back home."

Oh. Crap.

Grateful that you had gotten this information now and not later, you carried on with your bag and acted as indifferent as possible while you hoped that he hadn't moored anywhere near The Morrigan.

"Eddie? No ta, I'd like to spend my time off ungroped thank you! What's he doing here?"

"Hmm? Oh, just tying up a few loose ends and most likely to drink London dry with Jacob. Nothing for you to be concerned about I assure you." He chuckled.

Scoffing in agreement and squashing everything down in your holdall, you carefully wedged Shays sword on the top of it all and zipped it up, then checked your watch and saw that you needed to get going.

"Guess I'll be off then. Say bye to the others for me, and if you need me to dig you out of it again, you know where I am."

You grinned and winked at him as he rolled his eyes and shooed you away out the door, then groaned as you heaved your bag over your shoulder and started the short walk to the marina.

Pulling your hood further down to cover your face a bit more as you got closer to the dock; thankful that it had started drizzling so you wouldn't look out of place, you gasped and cursed under your breath when you spotted the Jackdaw on the opposite side of the pier, entirely in view of the Morrigan. You willed your feet into moving faster when you could see no-one obvious about, that was until you heard a couple of familiar laughs coming from almost directly ahead of you. Ducking behind a small stack of crates at the edge of the walkway just in time as Edward, Jacob and Connor rounded the corner; you pressed yourself up against the wood as much as humanly possible when their voices started getting closer.

Inching yourself slightly to the side by balancing on your tiptoes and shuffling across, you managed to peek just around the edge of the crates to see where they had stopped when you couldn't hear footsteps anymore. Your heart was beating so loud you were sure it was going to give you away when you saw they were about fifteen feet away from you; exactly in front of the ramp to board the Morrigan to be precise, Edward gazing at it thoughtfully. You looked up when you saw movement above, tugging your hood down when you spotted Christopher walking down the deck. His eyes widened when he saw you crouched down and huddled in a tiny ball, his gaze flickering away from you quickly when the three men stood further down caught his attention.

"Ahoy there friends! Is there something I can help you with?" He yelled, almost sprinting down the deck to attempt to provide a distraction for you.

Leaning to the side again so you could keep an eye and an ear out for an opportune moment to hide somewhere better until they were gone, it finally sunk in that there actually wasn't anywhere for you to go, not without being spotted anyway. Hoping that Gist had come up with some cunning plan, you held on to your bag as tight as you could and carried on listening to the conversation, mentally beating yourself up for making such a grave error in judgement.

"Just admiring your ship mate, don't see many with red sails."

"Ah yes, her previous owner was rather enthusiastic about them, they've grown on me now. I don't care for this weather we're having much, it seems like we're going to Get Wet!"

You looked around when Gist had said that last bit marginally louder, assuming that he was trying to communicate with you while still trying to be as discreet as possible. You swallowed hard when your eyes eventually roamed and stopped just to the left of you, a gap between the edge of the pier and the ship just big enough for you to slide down and into the water filling your vision. He can't be serious??! Resigning to the fact that you had no choice but to do what you thought he was suggesting, you pulled back and pressed yourself back up against the crate again, waiting for another instruction as what to do next.

"Mind if we come aboard and have a look? I'm actually in the market for something like this, and she is a beauty!"

Frowning as you knew Eddie well enough to tell he wasn't serious about what he had just said, you started to become even more panicked; if such a thing were even possible, as it sounded like he was probing at another reason to get on board the ship.

"Dreadfully sorry, maybe another time. I'm already late disembarking, in fact, I must Go Now!"

Taking that as your queue, you held your bag firmly to your chest and took a deep breath as you leant forwards, rolling yourself off the side and straight into the icy cold water quickly. You knew it was pointless opening your eyes to try and see underwater as you'd already observed it extremely murky, so you reached out with one hand until you felt the hull under your fingertips and kicked your legs gently, using it as a guide to make your way to the back of the ship. Slowly letting out a bit of breath at a time to prolong your ability to keep submerged, you tried to distract yourself from where you were by wondering which was worse. Drowning, or getting caught. Grasping the ladder at the stern to keep yourself immersed for as long as you could when you decided on the latter, you pressed your nose against your arm to stop yourself breathing in the water when you felt like your chest was being crushed tighter with every passing second that you were underwater.

At the moment you began to go dizzy; just before you felt like you were going to pass out and one last bubble of air escaped your lips, a hand gripped your arm firmly and dragged you up with incredible strength, pulling you onto the deck where you began choking and heaving in a desperate attempt to fill your lungs with breath again. Looking up in your oxygen deprived haze to see who had dragged you out of the water, a slight of a smile tugged at your lips when you saw a very distraught Shay kneeling down next to you, before you collapsed to the floor and slipped into unconsciousness.

#assassin's creed #assassinscreed #fanfic #modern au #reader insert #shay cormac #christopher gist #jacob frye #sfw #bonus points for anyone who knows what museum the safe house is next to? 😂😂

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lyssala · 7 years

Text

Day 1: Arguing

Pairing: Cindy/Prompto, Final Fantasy XV

Rating: T

Warning: Language

Words: 2961

Setting: Post Series, Hammerhead

Notes: I’m super excited this week was a thing! What a great way to support pairings that don’t get a lot of attention ^^ I can’t do every day but I wanted to do some at least. These are all post series fics because I find a lot of enjoyment in exploring how their lives would be and how they’d change over the years. These are in no chronological order, tomorrow’s fic takes place before this one does haha but I’m excited to participate and to see what others bring to the week!

AO3

Rain

Prompto didn’t really mind taking longer hunts. Sometimes it was nice to feel like he could get away from the world for a little bit, well, when he wasn’t fighting for his life in a variety of ways. There were a lot of unpleasant beasts that lived up in the mountains and quite a few embarrassing instances he’d probably never repeat to anyone. Ever.

Sometimes Iris or one or more of the other hunters would come with him depending on where he was going. Sometimes when they were around Ignis or Gladio or both would come with him to catch up, for old times’ sake. Yeah, traveling out here wasn’t too terribly bad. Prompto liked it well enough, but the areas surrounding Hammerhead were his home for over ten years; he was kinda partial to them now.

Until the sky opened up and started to downpour nonstop on him.

It was blue skies, a warm breeze, nice sunshine beaming down and then all of a sudden he could barely see in front of him it was raining so hard. Yeah, thanks for that one, Mother Nature. Normally he’d pack up whatever he had to and make a run for wherever he left the car but of course, of course once he got everything in the car and finally got out of the rain, the car wouldn’t start. Oh, and his phone died so there was no way to call Hammerhead to have someone come and get him.

One middle finger after another. He distinctly remembered beating his head against the steering wheel a few times before heaving a sigh so dramatic it was probably childish. Prompto didn’t really have much choice but wait in the car till the rain stopped which could be anywhere from five minutes to five hours. He opened the car door and stepped back out into the rain; he might’ve slammed the car door a little too hard.

So he found himself making the way back to Hammerhead in the pouring rain. It was okay for a few minutes, but after a while he wondered if his clothes would ever be truly dry again. Also wet jeans that stuck to his legs worse than usual was pretty terrible; as were wet socks in boots. His hair was soaked down against his head, bangs constantly dripping in his face, water down the back of his neck. He supposed the only good thing was it wasn’t too cold out but it didn’t change the fact that even his underwear was wet (which, yes, was also terribly uncomfortable).

He tried to rub his gloved hands over his arms to warm up his skin that was starting to get a chill but nothing seemed to help; especially not those assholes who saw him walking in the rain and just kept driving along the road. Though at least then he got to give some middle fingers of his own.

By the time the sun started to go down he at least recognized the area he was walking in. The rain did lighten up but right now he’d need to sit under a sun lamp for hours to dry out. All he wanted to do was go to the trailer, get under actual warm water, and go to bed. That was it. He was cold, his legs were chaffed thanks to walking in wet jeans, he was tired of being wet, he was tired of walking.

Prompto nearly groaned in relief when he finally saw the lights of Hammerhead coming up on the road. The rain had dulled to a light drizzle, and he had no idea how far he actually walked from the car but the sight of home made him jog across the street and into the familiar service station. It was usually dry and dusty, but right now it looked like a mud pit, which was probably why no one was hanging around. He made a beeline for the trailer. There were a few lights on in handful of the buildings, a few other trailers, including the lights in Cindy’s garage but he’d see them tomorrow. Well, if he woke up for tomorrow.

He had his hand on the door when he heard a crash from the garage. Prompto looked over but he couldn’t see anything from where he was. If it was Cindy, he was sure she was fine; nothing could get that girl down. There were no other sounds, just the light rain hitting the various tin roofs. She was fine, she could take care of herself.

“Shit,” he grunted, dropping his hand from the handle and walking over to the garage. Really, she’d probably just tell him to leave, that she was busy but he couldn’t just go inside and not make sure she was okay first.

The garage was actually a sight for sore eyes. He couldn’t quite remember how long he had been away this time, maybe a week? He spent a lot of his free time in here; reading or tinkering with weapons, taking pictures when Cindy wasn’t looking. Sure, he had other friends who hung around Hammerhead, but what could he say? After all these years he was still a sucker for the blonde mechanic.

Even though he was still soaking wet and cold, it was a comfort to smell the oil, see the familiar tools, benches, and of course the girl who was hunched over the front of a car. Okay, maybe he felt a little bit warmer now.

Cindy looked the same as she always did these days. Her curly hair she started to grow out a few years ago was pulled back in a hasty ponytail, white tank top covered in grease and oil, frayed shorts partly covered by her tool belt. She wasn’t wearing any protective covering on her legs which was a little unusual but what was even more so was the string of curses that fell from her lips when a tool fell out of her ungloved hands.

Prompto’s forehead furrowed as he walked into the garage. Cindy was typically pretty laid back about everything, nothing really ever annoyed her but she was sure looking annoyed as she reached down to grab the wrench off the cement. Her attire might’ve been unusual for a mechanic at first glance but she also always took care to wear leather to cover her legs and hands to prevent burns or injury.

He must’ve made enough noise (probably his wet clothes sloshing together, gross) walking in because she looked up and his stomach promptly sank; her eyes which were normally focused and bright where downcast, like she was upset, sad, something not good.

“What’s wrong, Cind?” he tried to take a few steps forward but she turned to face him fully, with one hand on her hip and the other pointing the wrench at him.

Oh.

Prompto tried not to cringe when he realized it was him was mad at, though for what reason he wasn’t quite sure; he hadn’t even been here for a few days. He still put his hands up in defense, she was the one with the wrench not him.

“Where’ve you been?” she said. Her voice was a little hoarse though her accent was coming out a little thicker than usual as it did when she was upset.

Really, it wasn’t even the first time he had seen her like this; it’s not like he didn’t do his fair share of stupid things over the years. It was just this time he couldn’t figure out what he did, or what he did before he left. He knew he told her where he was going cause Prompto knew she liked to know, so it couldn’t have been that.

“Cindy, I know I told you I was going on a hunt that would take a little longer than usual. I’d never just leave without letting you know.”

She watched him for a moment before jabbing the wrench in his direction. “Five days,” she said, tucking the wrench in her belt before moving over to one of the work benches by the wall. “You said you’d be back in five days. Do ya even know how long it’s been?”

He was admittedly a little confused now. Yeah, he remembered saying five days now that she said something but between the weather and actually finding what he was looking for he assumed it was a little over that but that wasn’t unusual. “Oh, um, I dunno, six?”

Cindy unbuckled her tool belt and dumped it on the work bench before she faced him again. “Eight. It’s been eight days.”

“Okay.” He still wasn’t quite getting the point. “I mean, I’m sorry it took longer but the mark was harder to find and then I got caught in the goddamn rain.” He gestured to himself as he was dripping on her garage floor. “And then…” Shit, he’d have to tell her about the car. Now she really was gonna kill him. He reached up to run a hand through his wet hair. “Okay, try not to murder me with a wrench just yet, but the car broke down and I had to walk all the way out here.”

“I called ya.” Cindy crossed her arms against her chest, leaning back against the work bench. “I called ya yesterday, today, nothin’.”

He wasn’t sure if he should fall into false safety at the fact that she didn’t mention the car that broke down at his hands (again). “Ah, yeah, sorry. My phone died and then my charger died. I had no way to call anyone. I can get one of the others to come with me to tow it tomorrow.”

He expected to get a stern talking to about taking care of her cars, maybe a little cold shoulder till he brought her coffee and breakfast in the morning to make her forget about it. It wasn’t the first time and it was very likely it wouldn’t be the last; he didn’t have the best luck with cars. What Prompto didn’t expect is for her eyes to start to look glossy, like she was about to cry.

He panicked. Nearly tripping over a tool box she left on the ground, he hurried over to where she was standing. “Hey, hey, I’m sorry, it’s okay, I promise.” He reached his hands out to her shoulders, though the leather on his fingerless gloves was probably still wet. “I didn’t drive it down a cliff, it just wouldn’t start. I probably left the lights on or something stupid.”

“I don’t care about the car, ya idiot.” Cindy reached the palm of her hand up one of her eyes. “I thought somethin’ happened to you.”

Prompto blinked at her, his fingers still pressed against her shoulders. It’s not like he didn’t think she cared about him. He had gotten his fair share of lectures when he ran off to probably do something dumb, the knowing looks whenever he came back injured leaving her to take care of him. He wouldn’t have stayed here for so long if he thought she didn’t give a damn about him at all. He stayed because he cared about her, and because for whatever reason she seemed to like him around. That didn’t mean he had ever seen her get emotional over him before though.

“Oh, you know me, Cind,” he said, patting her shoulders before letting his hands fall to his sides only reminding him he was still soaking wet and probably looked ridiculous. “I always bounce back, no need to worry.”

She laughed which was nice but then she reached up to hit him in the chest, which kinda hurt.

“Ow, hey, what was that for?”

Cindy didn’t quite look as upset anymore, but she still didn’t look as carefree as she usually did. Clearly there was something still bothering her. “You’re an idiot.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure we’ve established that a long time ago.”

She snorted and for a moment he thought that was it. She wasn’t the type to delve too much into how she was feeling, so he figured she’d brush by him and tell him to get changed so he’d stop dragging water everywhere or didn’t get a cold or something. His heart nearly stopped when her hands reached up to his face, when she leaned in to kiss him.

He could feel callouses on her fingers against his skin but her lips were soft, gentle. Was he breathing? Did he remember how to breathe? The better question was probably was he dreaming? Goosebumps rose on his skin, he was cold but she was so warm. He wanted nothing more than to reach out to her, to puller her closer, but he couldn’t even remember how to think let alone move.

Cindy started to move away from him, and it nearly made him groan at the loss of contact. It was quickly replaced with a sharp jolt of panic. Did he even remember to kiss her back?

Between his heart pounding in his ears and the string of curses in his head from his slow response he was surprised he actually could move. He reached over to grab her waist and leaned into kiss her with such a force he accidentally pushed her back into the work bench.

He winced and moved to apologize but he found that he couldn’t. Cindy was already moving her hands into his hair, pulling herself close as she kissed him.

She was kissing him. The girl he had been in love with God knew how many years now was kissing him. The wet clothes, the long hunt, the miserable morning didn’t matter at all anymore.

Her fingers against his head sent chills through his body. He ran his fingers down her hips until he reached the bare skin of her thighs. Cindy must’ve got the hint since she jumped into his grasp letting him put her up on the bench behind them. Prompto flattened his hands against her thighs, her fingers playing with the hair on the back of his neck as he kissed her.

He didn’t know if he was dreaming again. It wouldn’t have been the first time really, but she was so real, so soft, so warm, and she was kissing him, she was actually kissing him.

Prompto leaned his forehead against hers, tilting his head down to be able to catch his breath and hell, catch up with his mind too. He didn’t even know what to say. Did he do it now? Tell her how he always felt? Or what if it didn’t mean the same thing to her? He found his heart couldn’t even sink at the thought; it was too far up in his throat.

“Hey.” She dropped her hands, one hitting him in the chest and the other under his chin, leading his face to look up to her green eyes, ones that looks so much brighter than before. “Don’t do that to me again. I dunno what I’d do without you.”

His breath caught in his throat as he watched her. There were a million things he wanted to say to her but only one came out (probably the best for his pride instead of just word vomiting at her). “Okay.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck, leaning in to rest her head against his shoulder. At first he was a little unsure what to do (the theme for this afternoon apparently); he wasn’t used to her being so affectionate towards him but he went with what felt right. He put his arms around her lower back and leaned his head against hers.

She sighed. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” A smile pulled at his lips.

She was quiet for a moment but then she started to shake a little. For a panicked second he thought she was crying but before he could even ask if she was okay, Cindy sat up to look at him. Her face was a little red, and eyes a little watery but there was a huge grin on her lips.

“You’re soakin’ wet!” she exclaimed, clasping a hand over her mouth to try and hide her laughter, which while A for effort, didn’t stop it at all.

He snorted. “For gods sake, Cind, I’ve been trying to tell you that this whole time.”

She looked down at her own clothes, splotchy with wet patches from where she had pressed up against him. Cindy looked back up at him, still laughing like she had never seen him get caught in the rain before. “Why didn’t you get changed? You’re gonna get a cold.”

“I heard a noise in here, and I came to make sure you were okay, dummy.” Prompto reached up to tug at her ponytail which only made her laugh again.

He figured that was it, he missed his chance to tell her as per usual. She gave him this smile though, a different one; it was…nice, even though he was starting to feel the cold chills from his clothes once more, it made warmth spread in his chest. Cindy reached her hands up to his face again, leaning in to kiss him and he melted.

He realized as he kissed her back, pulling her back into him knowing full well he’d just get her clothes even more wet, that it wasn’t his missed chance. It was only the beginning of many chances.

#ffxvrarepairsweek #cindy aurum #prompto argentum #my fics:ffxv #prompto x cindy

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sugar-petals · 6 years

Text

Fuckup Trucker [M]

⟾ summary: Canada’s number one imperious truck driver Kim “The Accident” Namjoon crashes at your winter lodge. Literally. After rescuing him from the scene and stripping down at the fireplace, turns out he’s not tough as nails at all. ⟾ pairing: sub!Namjoon x Dom!Reader ⟾ words: 5.1k ⟾ genre: Angst / Smut / Fluff — The holy trinity, Vacation AU ⟾ warnings: Riddled with innuendo, heavy swearing, slapping, someone’s getting roasted AND dominated, riding, femdom, hands kink, cunnilingus, vaginal sex, fingering, dimples (!), RM gets called baby a lot, graphic description, ASMR, Namjoon whispering, humiliation kink, multiple orgasms, angsty start, fights, natural disasters, Kim Namjoon is The Fuckup™ ⟾ a/n: This was drafted for several months. But now I’ll let out the beast 🔥I always fantasize about hot stories in the winter snow, this is one of them. Loving submissive Joon to the moon and back, so I hope you enjoy the ride as always 😄 (Image cr.)

Sub!BTS Masterlist / Read it on AO3

After the penguin waddles got you closer to the spot, a snowy roof appears from the blur of white.

You have to collect it from a heap of virgin snow that keeps moving under the heavy wind. It’s too much for the gloves to handle. Eventually, they become wet at the fingertips.

Fuck.

You close the window with the help of a nearby broomstick and hurry to get the fireplace and oven going. It’s tedious work, but some pieces of wood are already in there — again, freshly chopped.

You need to get out of here. If the roof collapses, you don't stand a chance.

A giant blue truck has stopped just a few feet away.

It’s turned upside down.

The man adjusts his cap in surprise when you approach and yell through the wind.

“You lost your trailer?!”

“Where the hell did you come from?”

He's got a deep voice that's almost too hard to hear. The lantern shifts to your direction completely now. You step closer.

“The lodge, shall I contact—”

You can see his face now. Stern eyes. Strong jaw and brows. Tan, with bits of dark hair sticky against his forehead.

It's a grimace of sheer fury.

“I have one less problem when you’re not here. Go, just go away!”

He gestures, pointing at you, then to the house. “I’ll do this myself. You’ve seen nothing here. Go!”

Now he spins around on his heel. You can't even reply, he's so fast.

Back at the truck, he rummages in the driver’s cab, back turned to you.

“Headquarters! Headquarters, where are you? 5-0-6, 5-0-6 calling!”

Only a rumble from the mountains comes as a response.

"Don't you understand? You shouldn't be here!"

He rips his arm away. His coat is hard to grasp.

“Come on...!”

He’s heavy and churning.

“Let me be, you can’t hel—”

“Follow me fuckwit, now!”

He stumbles, ends up covered in snow. You fail to drag him up again in a last effort. He's too tall and massive.

The avalanche has almost reached the bottom of the valley when you shove, no, kick him past the doorstep and turn the key. Whatever caused him to get back up, it must have been a miracle.

“You were right. I’m a dumbass.”

He shifts in the pillows, rubbing his temples. “That was the worst case scenario.”

“Twice for me,” you grumble, “It’s my second day in Canada and I have more common sense than a trucker? What’s your name, anyways?”

“Namjoon. I’m actually a rookie driver.”

“You meant accident driver! You almost got both of us dead and frozen! Aren’t you supposed to have enough training beforehand to do this?”

“The shock. I, I messed up everything. I’m sorry. My job is history.”

“That’s the only thing you’re worried about?”

“Yes, I mean, no! I’m glad you did that.”

“Won’t do it again. Now you stay here and don’t move an inch.”

“Listen, I’m really grateful, I—”

“Just wait here. You look like a fucking wax figure. Unlucky devil. I'm Y/N.”

He nods, tries to wipe his face more than once with the back of his hand. You browse the back of the room to search for what you wanted to look for earlier, but were too tired.

Well. Now you aren't anymore.

The kitchen has quite a few supplies, in fact. Pots, tinned food, even bread. Some pieces of pastry with either almonds or raisins. Bless Jin.

“We can’t do anything now,” you shrug, “might as well have a can of soup.”

“Here. Sorry I blamed you. Neither was your fault.”

“It’s not that I didn’t provoke fate, don’t say that.”

He stirs the soup, hasty, then begins to spoon it.

“Don’t burn yourself just now.”

“I’ll be careful,” Namjoon slurps, “just feeling very done for, don’t really care.”

“Your clothes,” you seize him up a second time, “get these off, you’re soaked from head to toe. I’ll get you bundled up. The fire’s warm enough now.”

“Right. Right. Good idea, actually.”

His nose and cheeks are twice as rosy than before now, but drenched in cold sweat. The cap comes off, so does the coat. The heavy boots — unlaced.

"What?"

"Do you really wanna know?"

"By, uh, all means?"

“Good-looking for a fuckup.”

"Me?"

"No, I'm talking about Santa Claus. Of course!"

“Oh, thanks I—”

“Nevermind the blanket if you dare.” You nudge his shoulder. His cheeks get even rosier. "Hey. Just kidding," you giggle, and have him wrapped up as promised.

Still, the feeling between your legs won’t betray you.

“Do you... like me?” he fiddles at his thighs ever so awkwardly. It’s hard to believe he was cussing like a sailor outside just minutes ago.

“Can't leave you guessing, babe. As I said." You tug at his hips now. "That blanket can go back to where it came from. Or above us, it's always warmer together. Fancy it?”

He hesitates to answer. But when you smile at him, his dimples form, too.

“I do, Y/N. Above, I mean.”

“Rather be doing that than messing around outside. We have plenty of time to kill. Your trailer isn't going anywhere.”

“Plenty, what do you wanna do?”

He tempts with one gaze that you think was supposed to be challenging, predatory. But when you pinch his side, it fades faster than it came.

“Plenty of time to make you and me feel like we’re halfway warm again. I’m snowed in on vacation. You shredded your entire cargo. We almost died. Sounds stressful enough for me.”

“Gotta let loose I guess.”

“Why not make a fuckup a real fuck, then?”

"Y/N..."

"Want me to give it to you good?"

Now you poke his dimples, and think they look fascinating.

“Have virtually nothing against it. Just a bit, um...”

"Yes, Joon?"

"Nervous. Sorry about that."

"No problem, don't mind it. Kinda like that, actually."

You trail your hand down his chest, but hardly is it in a hurry. Each inch is worth it. Namjoon is so well-built. He’s just ridiculous, isn’t he.

Outside, the mountains start to grumble again. He flinches.

“Hush, don’t listen.” You bite at his ear, which is surprisingly small for his height. “We’re gonna make this better. Not worse.”

“I’m still afraid,” Namjoon says and buries his head in the nape of your neck. He feels less tense when you plant a little kiss at the crown of his head.

You get a certain thought at that.

“It's okay. We’re gonna play a hot game if you like."

"Hot game?"

"It's a bit risky."

"What's that about? I'm not going outside again."

You shake your head.

"No need. Wanna know the rules?"

"If it's that hot. I mean, sure?"

"I’ll count to hundred. If you can make me cum twice, you get a reward.”

“O-okay.”

"Only hands or mouth allowed. Just my clit and you. Nothing else."

"But why... twice? Only hundred, Christ!"

“If it’s only once, I’ll tease you to bits. But you can’t finish. Twice is a better accomplishment.”

“Fair enough.”

“And,” you nibble at his ear, “If you can’t make me cum at all, you get punished and have to try again. Join the game or leave the game, Fuckup?”

Namjoon goes entirely red when you lower the hem of your pants.

A risky game.

Why not? A little heat like that is fine for a trucker. It’s a little cruel, too. Oddly enough, he likes that quite a lot.

Namjoon’s lip begins to waver, ever so slowly, but accelerate at the way you intonate the numbers.

“Fifteen, sucker!”

“Halfway through for the first one! 28!”

Satisfy.

Why can’t I satisfy her. Stupid trucker, do it right. Do at least one thing right today. Are you a man or not?

“91, baby boy.”

“Hundred. Game over!”

Nothing.

Satisfy absolutely nothing. Your legs part slightly to release him.

“Just punish me, Y/N.”

Do I even deserve that? I'm a real fuckwit loser.

“I have sympathies now seeing you worked so much.”

“No punishment?”

“Oh, my baby fool.” You tickle his chin and pick up a bit of the warm drops from there. “More sympathies means stronger punishment, didn’t you know?”

“Then, do it as hard as you can. I’ll take it.”

“No, I won’t.”

“Y/N, I don’t understand.”

“You’ve done the due already without me doing anything. Humiliated yourself enough, didn’t you? Look me in the eye!”

“Sorry...”

“When someone asks for punishment, it truly isn’t one. Punishment has to hurt more than that. It won’t make you feel good. You just took my job.”

That alone almost got you off. But you’ll teach him a lesson today. That means: Self-control.

Namjoon scrambles in the pillows and manages to pull up his glance.

“Kind of. Yes. Maybe I did.”

“Come here, I’ll show you how to do it right.”

“Won’t humiliate you further after this,” you smooch his sweaty cheek. “You’ll find out how I really come with just a lil’ pointer.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve been forcing yourself into being tough and sloppy for 100 seconds straight, didn’t you?”

Namjoon becomes taciturn at that. Still, he nods.

“O-Oh. I should have—”

“Wanna give it a go again? I think you know what to do. No shoulds and woulds now. Remember the rules.”

“Yes, Y/N.”

So good. The fingers of his left hand are intertwined with your hair, brushing softly just above the scalp when he decides to move them around a bit to explore. It brings back a distant memory.

Who keeps on whispering in your ear, and trailing his other hand across your belly. All the sensitive places covered and cherished. Slowly pulling off the rest of your clothing. 22. 23.

“I love your body,” he says. “It’s smart like you. And beautiful.”

Namjoon’s lips trace your jawline, upwards, downwards, then return to your ear.

“Can I kiss you, madam?”

“Go ahead, darlin’.”

“You’re perfect, Miss,” he mumbles into you, intertwines his fingers with yours. "Thank you for picking me up outside."

81, 82. Shit. Your body is on fire.

“And I like you, too.”

99.

The second orgasm.

It already approaches. If it could melt the snow outside with all its heat, it would. Those fingers really do the rest.

He was right that your body is smart.

Being smart means knowing what’s good for you. And, what is that?

The condom is chucked in a random corner.

Namjoon wakes up with the messiest, sexiest hair you’ve ever seen. And, is that a beard coming out? You must be mistaken.

But before you can dig in, a brazen knock interrupts the conversation.

The door.

Which you thought would have been blocked entirely by night. But it's not. It's half open. A voice reverberates outside, again, accompanied by several other knocks.

“506? You in there? It’s 507! Got your signal last night! Manager Hyuna sent us!”

“It's you! Hobi!”

“Hi! Jung Hoseok, went to the academy with Joon. And these handsome chaps here: Yoongi, Tae, JK. We'll get you two wherever ya need to be. We got someone to clear the area, too.”

Well.

Canada's great.

No matter how icy it is.

Thank you for reading! | Do not repost or translate.

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