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Phillip Graves x Reader: "You're Being... Detained."

Summary: On the way to the grocery store to grab ingredients for dinner, you get pulled over by your fiancé, Phillip Graves. He decides to detain you for speeding, and... other reasons.

Warnings: smut, fluff, public humiliation, snippy reader and cocky Graves, public oral sex, orgasm denial, reader gets restrained (and detained), cunnulingus, Graves eats it from behind, fingering, car sex, unprotected sex

Notes: Posting this now that my house is no longer on fire lmao. It was a bit rushed and done over several days because I'm a perfectionist so if you see any errors or typos, please dm me!!! Without further ado, enjoy your meal (over 7,000 words of it) As always, reblogs are greatly appreciated!!

Also I don't see nearly enough appreciation for Graves out here :(

Thirty-one… thirty-two… thirty-three…

You pinched your brow as you sat behind the steering wheel in your car. The seconds ticked by as you waited for the light to turn green. It was ridiculously long – too long for a minor intersection like this one.

You dragged your hand down your face, the diamond ring on your finger tugging at your bottom lip. I should’ve just ordered the groceries for delivery… you sighed. You had left your house nearly thirty minutes ago on what should have been a ten-minute trip to the store. You needed just a few simple ingredients for dinner tonight – Ribeye, mashed potatoes, and corn on the cob, which was what you had decided on when your fiancé hadn’t answered your text about ordering take-out.

Now, you had hit every light, and your Honda Accord seemed to attract every pedestrian into crossing the street right as you approached them. And the light you were currently sitting at had been red for far too long now. You were convinced that fate was holding you back from getting your damn groceries – but you refused to give up. You didn’t get dolled up, using your makeup to give you your signature, perfectly-natural look, wearing your (and your fiancé’s) favorite yellow-with-daisies sundress, to have your plans interrupted by a few red lights. You were determined to show off the lavish rewards that come with being in a relationship with a task-force commander – beyond the commander himself.

Finally, after what felt like a whole fifteen minutes, the red left-turn light flickered green.

You turned onto the main road; the grocery store’s sign was visible now, not more than a mile and a half away. You saw the next light ahead of you, still green, with the crosswalk timer ticking down from four seconds. You pressed on the gas harder, blowing through the intersection right before it managed to change to yellow. You smiled to yourself, cruising seven miles above the speed limit. I dare fate to try and stop me now!

Suddenly, you saw the flashing of police lights in your mirror.

Well, shit.

You gave one last, frustrated look at the grocery store’s sign, before sighing and drifting into the right lane. You laid eyes on a dingy, yet populated gas station and began to make your way towards it. The truck followed you closely behind. You didn’t believe in a higher power, but you scoffed at the thought of all of this being a mere coincidence…

As you took a closer look at the vehicle behind you, you noticed that it didn’t have the telltale blue and red lights of a police car – they were yellow and white. Additionally, it was a larger truck, with a camo paint job.

Panic settled in your stomach. Why on earth would a military truck be pulling you over?

You turned off of the main road, the truck following closely behind you. You pulled into the gas station parking lot, pulling your car across several spaces away from the pumps, and parked. Should I call Phil? You bent down towards the glove box to grab your registration, but then hesitated. Should I wait for them to tell me to grab it? Will they even need it?

Then, a horrifying idea struck you: What if this is about Phillip? Is he ok? Did something happen? That’s the only reason you could conjure up for a military vehicle pulling you over. This doesn’t make any sense… he’s not a mission, he just came back from one!

You anxiously waited, watching your rear-view mirror for the driver to exit the truck. And when they did – you breathed a sigh of relief.

It was none other than Phillip Graves himself – your fiancé.

After the initial scare was over, you rolled your eyes. He slammed the door to his truck shut and sauntered over to your car, one of his hands tucked into his tactical vest, the other resting on the pistol he had at his side. He was donning his usual pair of dark sunglasses – which he didn’t need, considering it was a rather cloudy day – and wore his blue button-up, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Despite your annoyance towards him, you couldn’t deny that he looked good.

He gently slapped a hand on the back of your car, causing you to scoff. He approached your window and tapped two fingers against the glass, casually glancing back at his truck for a moment.

You rolled down your window, glaring at your fiancé the entire time. “Can I help you, officer?” you said mockingly.

“That’d be commander to you, ma’am.” He replied with that charming, heart-stopping smile of his. “You’re looking exceptionally good, might I add.”

“Why the hell are you pulling me over, Phil?” You asked with a bite to your tone, despite the blush settling on your cheeks. Maybe he’s being sweet… you thought. Maybe he saw me driving and just wants to chat, or he just really needed a kiss –

“License and registration.”

You huffed. “License and re- are you joking?!”

“You heard me.” He said dryly. He removed his sunglasses and tucked them into his shirt. “The sooner the better.”

Your lip twitched in annoyance. Fine. I’ll play his game. You grabbed your wallet, before digging into the glove box for your registration. “Phillip, what is this – did you get demoted to the sheriff’s department?”

As you turned back to hand the documents to Phillip, he leaned down and quickly kissed your lips. You sat there for a moment, stunned, with your hand still hanging out of the window. You couldn’t keep a smile from forming on your face. Thank goodness you were pointed away from the gas station, or else people might not know what to think.

His eyes flicked back and forth between you and the documents you gave him, smirking as he noticed your blush. After doing that for some (not enough) time, he handed the documents back to you and cleared his throat. He then slowly walked to the front of your car, leaning down on his knees to check your license plate.

You sighed, pinching your brow and laughing quietly. “Good grief, Phil…”

He then slowly walked around to the passenger side, inspecting your vehicle for something. What, exactly – hell if you knew. He moved to the back of your car, doing the same as before, standing in front of your back plate. You watched what little of him you could see in your mirror – his hips, with his legs slightly spread. His pants were rather tight around his crotch; now you understood what was going on. You clenched your thighs at the thought of him pulling you over, just because he was hard for you.

Suddenly, he leaned down, meeting your eyes in the mirror. You looked away quickly, your blush burning in your cheeks. You heard him chuckle as he walked back to your window. He seemed satisfied with whatever he was looking for.

“May I ask where you’re headed to, ma’am?” He asked with his signature smoulder, tucking his hands back into his vest.

God, he’s lucky he’s so attractive…

“The store.” You replied, pursing your lips at him.

“Yuh-huh…” he clicked his tongue, his gaze scrutinizing. “What would you need from the store at this hour?”

You scoffed again. “At three pm? Groceries for dinner tonight.”

He paused thoughtfully. “And… whatcha makin’?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“As your fiancé – yes, I would.”

“And as your fiancé, you can respectfully kiss my a-“

“Might I remind you…” Phillip warned, placing his forearm on the car’s frame above you, “that you’re speaking to a military commander here?” He smirked mischievously.

You glared at him, frustrated. Whatever he was trying to do here was only turning you on – which was possibly and probably just what he wanted. He was flexing the muscles in his forearms, the shadows contouring under his skin. A glimpse of his bicep barely poked through where his sleeves were rolled back. With your eyes, you trailed his arm back up to his shoulders, his neck, and to his face. He was staring at you, again, with that same smirk from earlier.

You huffed. “Steak with potatoes and corn.”

Phillip’s eyes brightened slightly. “On the cob?”

“Of course. Your mother would be rolling in her grave if she knew I was serving it any other way.”

“Damn… that sounds good.” He replied, before his expression turned serious once more. “But I’m afraid we got a problem. Do you know how fast you were going?”

You shook your head. “Nope. Do you?” You asked, your eyebrow raised. “Because I know for a fact you don’t have a radar in there.” you jerked your head in the direction of his military truck.

“You’re right,” he leaned off of your car, “but you were obviously speeding. I saw you nearly hit several pedestrians at the light.”

“Phillip…” you said frustratedly, “If you don’t let me go to the grocery store, you’re not getting dinner, you hear me?”

“No can do, miss.” He replies, pulling your door open. “I’m gonna have to ask you to step out the vehicle, please.”

You sat there, staring at him in disbelief. “What? What are you on about?!”

“As I said, you were speeding.” He said with a cocky grin. “And at this point, I could accuse you of failure to comply, harassing a member of the military – hell, even seducing an official- .”

“Phillip Graves, you are being ridiculous.” You scolded, folding your arms over your chest. “Are you seriously going to arrest me?”

“I’m not arresting you, no… but you’re being…” he searched his mind for the word, sucking his teeth. “… detained.” He finished, looking you in the eyes with a hint of lust. He pulled out a set of handcuffs from his vest.

As much as you were irritated with his behavior, you felt arousal pooling in your abdomen at the sight of the cuffs. You looked around – the few people that were stopped at the gas station were glancing at you and Phillip, curiously ogling at the scene he had caused.

“Phil, you are not about to put me in handcuffs at this random-ass gas station!” You hissed.

“Oh, darlin’ I most definitely am.” He said sternly, leaning in closer to you. “Whether I have to make a scene and pin you to the ground, or you make this nice and easy for me. But you’d want that, wouldn’t you?” he tilted his head and cocked an eyebrow. “You’d love to be manhandled to the ground and slapped in cuffs, struggling and pressing your tight, little ass to my –“

“Phillip Graves.” You warned again.

“C’mon, baby…” he spoke lowly, “why are you acting like you don’t want this? I saw the way you were staring at me, and the way you been rubbing your thighs together…” he chuckled, and you clenched your thighs again, a shameful blush returning to your cheeks. “Tell me you don’t want this just as much as I do, getting handcuffed and thrown in the back of my car.”

You clicked your tongue defiantly. “But why here? You have a whole house we could do this at – I’ll let you chase me around all you want back at home.”

“Because I don’t have the patience to wait, doll…” he leaned in closer, staring down at you – that damn tent he was pitching in his pants – “and I know you think I look – what was it you said, ‘dangerously attractive’ in this uniform, right? You remember sayin’ that?”

You looked away from him, biting your lip shamefully. “I do…”

He firmly held your chin and forced you to face him again. Your hands pressed themselves against your thighs. “You understand now, don’t you?” he asked in a low, sultry voice. “Hmm?”

You looked at him with frustration, your cheeks smushed between his fingers. If I let him do this, I’ll be humiliated. You thought. But the arousal that was seeping into your bones filled you with a recklessness like never before. Who cares? I’ll never see these people again. They don’t know me.

“I need an answer, sweetheart…” he cooed, brushing his thumb over your cheek.

Fuck, he’s so… UGH.

You sighed, resigning your dignity to the backseat of your Accord. “Fine. But you’d better not make a scene out of this, you hear me?”

Phillip smiled triumphantly. He moved away from your door, holding it open. “Alright, missy. Step right out here for me.”

You got out of the car, nervously looking around – several people were hovering around the gas station, sneaking glances at the show you both were putting on for them. You began to rethink your decision as your confidence disappeared. You sheepishly put your hands behind your back and waited to feel the handcuffs being slapped over your wrists.

Phillip suddenly maneuvered your hips with his broad hands, shoving you against your car. You yelped as he moved your arms up, putting your palms against the frame. “Hey!” You protested.

“Relax, gonna do a quick search, just to make sure their ain’t nothin… dangerous on you.” He muttered behind you.

“What sort of dangerous thing would I have?” you asked indignantly.

He leaned into your left ear. “Besides your sweet fucking pussy? I guess we’ll find out.”

You opened your mouth to retaliate a response, but as always, Phillip had left you wordless and flustered. He continued with his search and pressed his palm against your sides, running them down your dress until he reached your waist. He squeezed his hands there, kneading the flesh underneath your skirt for a moment, before hovering his hands above your pockets. “You got anything sharp on you?”

You huffed. “No, I don’t.”

He grunted a response. He dipped his hands into the pockets of your dress – through the fabric, he slid his fingers over the tops of your thighs. He leaned his head near your ear, and you could feel his erection as he pressed into you.

“You’re being such a good girl, by the way…” he whispered. “Did I mention I love this dress on you?”

You smirked, succumbing to the thrill of the situation. “Only every time I wear it. You said you liked it so much because you liked taking it off of me.” You arched your back, causing your ass to drag over his crotch.

He groaned, and you could have sworn you felt his cock twitch under his jeans. “You teasing me?” he growled into your ear, pulling your hips closer to his body.

“Not much else I can do here, is there?” You retorted.

Phillip looked at you, contemplating his next move. He suddenly pulled his hands out of your pockets, dragging them up your body until they rested on your clothed breasts. He gave each one a hard squeeze.

You yelped as pleasure panged through your body. “Phillip!” You whispered, horrified. You looked ahead at all of the people by the gas station, staring at you and Phillip with the same, nosy curiosity. “Oh my god, stop! They’ll see-“

“They can’t see what I’m doing.” He cut you off, continuing to massage your breasts through the fabric, making your embarrassment conflict with your arousal. “Don’t worry, darlin’.”

“But Phil, the windows-“

“Ain’t it a good thing I paid to get them tinted?” he said, leaning into your shoulder to look you in the eyes. “Like I said, I got you, babygirl.”

You suppressed a whimper. Besides his annoyingly-perfect charm and his looks, it was also his wit and smooth words that made your insides do backflips. And, despite being a cocky bastard, acting out his fantasy in a near-public setting and humiliating you… he somehow managed to be a gentleman at the same time. As much as you seemed to dislike the current situation, you couldn’t help but play into his fantasies. And he knew that.

Phillip moved his hands back to your hips, gently tugging on them and walking you backwards. “Keep your hands on the car for me, ok?” he ordered. You slid your hands further down the car door, bending your back until you were staring at the ground.

“What are you doing now?” you asked sternly, although both Phillip and you could hear the nervousness in your voice.

He didn’t answer you – instead, he slowly trailed his rough hands down your left leg, squeezing and kneading the muscles as he went. You blushed, peering through the windows to see if anyone else could see the two of you. Thankfully, it appeared they were all oblivious.

Phillip moved to your right leg, dragging his fingers down, then back up over your skin. You felt your panties getting wetter as each second passed, and you found yourself fantasizing about his fingers being deep inside your walls. Both of his hands settled at the tops of your thighs, before he flipped the end of your skirt upwards to rest on your lower back.

You gasped, looking back in horror. “Phil!”

“Relax, for me doll,” he whispered, kneeling behind you.

“Absolutely not! They’re gonna see-“

“They are not gonna see us.” He said firmly, peering around your ass to look you in your eyes. “I’ve got you, ok?” He moved back in front of your clothed heat, his eyes landing on the obvious wet spot on your panties. “But you need to focus on staying quiet – can you do that for me?”

You bit your lip and turned forwards. Through the dim windows, you could still see people looking towards you. You were distracted by the feeling of Phillip’s warm breath on your heat as he gently pulled your panties to the side. The judgement in your mind began to crumble as the desire to be utterly humiliated by your fiancé overpowered it.

Before you could say anything else, you felt his warm tongue slide over your clit and folds, making you yelp in pleasure. You fought the urge to shoot upright and squirm away – the fear of facing the crowd ahead kept you in place.

Phillip held one hand on your hip, keeping you from rocking back onto his mouth, and his other hand rested on the small of your back. His lips locked around your clit, sucking and licking around the small bud. He groaned as his pants grew tighter – he’d been thinking of taking you like this for the past few days, and it felt like fate had thrown you into his lap when he saw your car cross his path. He now relished in the satisfaction, lapping and sucking at your cunt, trying to coat every part of his tongue in your juices.

“Goddamn, sweetheart…” he mumbled into your folds, making your hips jerk in response. “Aren’t you just a filthy little thing…” he thrusted his tongue into you, dragging them across the inside of your walls, making you moan lewdly. “Getting all worked up ‘n wet at the idea of being caught like this…” he slurped up your slick and groaned as he felt it lingering on his chin. “Fuck, you’re such a naughty slut f’me…”

You panted and whined, gritting your teeth as you fought to keep your voice low. You had the urge to turn around and smack Phillip – if you could, that is – for being so damn cocky. At the same time, you wanted to arch your back more and push your cunt further into his skilled mouth. The way he held you firmly, flicking his tongue over your clit and mumbling praises into your heat, was forcing any remaining common sense out of your mind. It was replaced with a burning desire to be fucked rough and senseless by him.

As he quickly flitted his tongue between your slit, you felt your orgasm approaching, bubbling deep within your veins – it threatened to humiliate you, to make you scream out in pleasure until the crowd of people realized what had been going on the whole time. And Phillip was so good to you, so good at swirling his tongue over your sensitive nub, that you were too cum drunk to care if anyone saw.

“Phillip, please-“ you begged, craning your neck to try and look at him. You were moments away from reaching your orgasm, and you focused on the feeling of his lips on your pussy to make it happen.

Phillip picked up on this when he felt you clenching around his tongue. He licked one more, long, thick stripe across your lips, before pulling away.

You groaned frustratedly. “Are you kidding me?!”

“You really think –“ Phillip began, wiping his face on the back of his hand and leaning over to look at you, “You really think I’m about to let you cum in a gas station parking lot?”

“I don’t care what you let me do, as long as you let me do something for once today!” you muttered angrily, feeling your orgasm slipping away.

Phillip chuckled. “Not here, doll – you deserve something a little more private, alright?” he flipped the end of your skirt back down, watching with pride as tears of your arousal ran down your thighs. He gently patted you on your ass before standing up. He cleared his throat as he helped you upright against the car. “Don’t pay them no mind…”

As you stood up straight, your careless attitude immediately vanished. People were still looking – whether they had seen what was going on or not, you couldn’t tell… but you felt utterly exposed and ashamed. Can they tell? Am I blushing? Is it obvious?

Phillip grabbed your wrists and held them tightly behind your back. “Quit lookin’ so damn guilty, darlin’.” He muttered. He cuffed your wrists together, suddenly bringing you back to the current situation.

“Where are you gonna take me?” you asked, conflicted with nervousness and the need to have him finish what he started.

“Now you really sound like you’re being arrested.” He chuckled. “Don’t worry, somewhere away from all these nosy people. Can’t have them watching my fiancé cum all over my backseat, now can I?”

Your mouth twitched with excitement. “Well hurry up then, they look like they might set up some lawn chairs soon.”

Phillip barked with laughter as he tightened the handcuffs. He pulled you alongside him and opened the back door to his truck, helping you inside – you refused to look back at the gas station, feeling as if you might burst into flames if you did. You sat obediently, with your thighs pressed together, still slightly wet from earlier.

He pulled the seatbelt around your body, leaning across you as he buckled you in. He snuck a kiss against your cheek as he pulled away, resting his hand on the open door. “You comfortable?” he asked.

“I’ll be more comfortable when you shut the damn door.” You snapped. He chuckled and closed your door without another word. You watched him walk back to your car, taking out the keys and grabbing your purse. He came back and tossed them into the passenger seat, turning to look at you.

“Sit tight doll, I’ll be back in a second.”

You furrowed your brow. “Where are you-“

Phillip slammed the door shut before you could finish your question. You watched as he jogged towards the gas station, discretely adjusting his pants before he went inside.

You stared out the window as the humiliation crept back into you cheeks. People were still staring – thank goodness his truck also has tinted windows… You noticed some people whispering to each other, pointing between your car and the truck. You scowled and looked straight ahead, staring at the back of the passenger seat. They couldn’t have seen… right? Were the tinted windows enough? What if the tint didn’t matter? Is it obvious what we were doing?

Soon, you saw Phillip exit the gas station. He walked – too slowly, you thought – back to his truck. He had a water bottle in his hand, holding it up on display for you to see, as he moved to the driver’s side. He opened the door and climbed in, tossing the bottle into the passenger seat with your purse.

“What took you so long?” You asked, your voice snippy.

Phillip turned to look at you, one hand on the steering wheel. “You’re gonna need the water later, sweetheart…” he chuckled. “And I was telling the clerk that I’d get your car towed in about thirty minutes.”

“Towed?!” you exclaimed. “Why? Can’t you just-“

“Drop you off back here?” he finished for you. “I mean… sure, if you want… we could put on a second show for all these folks.” He gestured to the people around the gas station, now continuing to go about their day.

You pouted. “Hell, you got me there…” You leaned back against your seat. “Just – don’t let them ding her up, ok? She’s brand new.”

“Already told them, you little spitfire.” He chuckled and turned forwards, starting his truck and pulling out of the gas station. You sighed in relief as it disappeared from your window, fading out of view.

Phillip turned onto the main road, hastily checking left and right before each lane change. He reached behind the passenger seat and rubbed your knee with his one hand. You could feel the tension in his fingers as they dragged over your knee in slow circles. The truck’s engine revved just a little too hard as Phillip chased every green light.

Eventually, he came to a stop at a red light. You glanced out of your window, immediately locking eyes with the driver in the car next to you. You huffed, turning to your left – only to find two kids in the back seat of a car, watching you with their mouths open in curiosity. They looked towards Phillip in the front seat. He smirked, waving his hand at them, and they waved right back.

You scoffed. “Oh, please – quit pretending like I’m some war criminal you just caught.”

“Well if the boot fits-“ he began.

“It most certainly does not.” You interjected. “And how much longer?”

Phillip chuckled, then sighed. “You always were impatient.”

“I just don’t like being stared at.”

“I know, darlin’, I know. You wanna get fucked by a commander, dontcha?”

“My commander.”

“You know that’s right.” Phillip said proudly.

The light turned green and Phillip floored it, the truck roaring past all of the other cars. You silently worried that he might pull into the parking lot of a mall or a movie theater… or even a different gas station; Phillip would be the kind of person to do that. He found it amusing to keep you on your toes, waiting for you to snap at him, and then he would sweep you off of your feet and make you forget he ever teased you in the first place. Thankfully, he seemed to understand the importance of privacy in this situation, as he turned down a dirt road that led to an empty, abandoned lot.

He parked adjacent to the tree line, shading you both from the low-hanging sun. Without another word, he eagerly hopped out of the driver’s seat, jogging around the truck until he reached your door. He opened it and leaned against the frame with a smirk. “Well don’t you look sweet?” He said teasingly.

You shifted in the seat, arousal still sitting hotly in your womb. “Can I come out now?”

He huffed. “Go on, then. Get out.”

“I’m buckled in.”

“Then buckle yourself out.”

“Phillip-“

He chuckled at his own humor as he finally leaned over the seat to unbuckle you. You turned your head until your lips were right next to his jugular. Feeling bold, you licked the skin there, followed with a gentle kiss. His breath hitched in his throat – he quickly grabbed your hips and yanked you out of the backseat, making you yelp as he roughly flipped you around and pressed you against the truck.

“You’re just a fucking tease today, huh?” he asked in a husky voice. His breath was warm on your ear as you felt him taking off your handcuffs in a hurry. He flipped you back around, grabbing your chin and crashing his lips into yours. You moaned as he slid his tongue across your teeth, feeling that familiar warmth within your core. If it wasn’t for one of his knees pressed between your legs, they would have buckled underneath you.

Phillip pulled away from your lips, just as you heard the click of the handcuffs. You looked down to see that he had cuffed your wrists in front of you. You looked back up at him with a confused expression. “I thought you were-“

“Taking them off?” he finished for you with a mischievous expression. “I never said I was done with them. In fact…” he dragged you to the front passenger seat, opening the door and seating himself down. “I think you want them on, dontcha?”

You barely had any time to respond. He reached forwards and grabbed your waist, pulling you into his lap. You gasped when you felt how hard he was underneath you, and he groaned as your weight pressed down onto his cock. You felt it twitch and throb as he slammed the door shut.

“I’m not gonna lie, sweetheart…” he said, quickly moving your skirt out of the way. “I’ve been letting this drag on far enough, I might not last that long.” He undid his belt and pulled it out, throwing it into the back seat. “And your teasing on top of that – here, scootch up a bit-“ he gently moved your hips forwards, using his free hand to fish his cock from his pants. “- got me all fuckin’ riled up.”

Before you could come up with a snippy response, he reached around your torso and dipped two fingers into your cunt. You gasped, jolting at his touch – he grabbed your hip with his free hand and held you down. You mewled as he dragged them slowly across your slit, collecting your slick and nudging your clit as he pulled his fingers out. He released your hip as you recovered from the sudden pang of pleasure, watching as he flipped down his visor in front of you. Your reflection immediately came into view in the mirror, and you watched with flushed cheeks as Phillip made a show, putting his fingers over his tongue and sucking them clean of your wetness.

You practically melted. A blush immediately blossomed across your face. Watching him lick his fingers made your pussy drip even more, and you whined and attempted to grind your hips down onto him. He reached under your throbbing cunt, hooking his fingers into your panties and pulling it off to the side. You felt your walls twitching in arousal, your entire body screaming to be fucked.

“God, Phil, please-“

Phillip chuckled. “Alright, I hear ya, I hear ya…” You heard the sounds of him shuffling his pants down his thighs, before he grabbed your hips and pulled you closer against his chest. “I won’t leave you waiting any longer, hmm?” He lifted you up by your waist, hovering you over his erect, dripping cock. You looked down at it with desire, anticipating the pleasure of his length stretching your cunt.

“Hey-“ he clicked his tongue to get your attention. “Eyes up for me.” He ordered, and you immediately obeyed, looking at your reflection in the visor mirror. Phillip’s eyes were already dilated, while yours were borderline dumbed out, before you had even gotten started.

“I want you to look at yourself when I fuck this pussy, you understand?” he said. “I want you to watch yourself turn into a needy slut for my cock. Watch as I fuck that attitude right out of you.”

You nodded dumbly, your eyes flicking back and forth between your expression and his. You felt him lower your hips down until his dick slid into your walls, smooth and easy from your arousal. You gasped and watched as your pupils dilated even more – Phillip hissed as he felt your cunt squeeze him. He threw his head back against the headrest, his eyes screwed shut from the intense pleasure.

“Fucking Christ, doll…” he said through gritted teeth. He looked back down at your ass as it pressed over his crotch. “How is it that every time…” he gripped your hips tightly and began fucking you onto his length, “every time I slide in this fucking perfect cunt…” he groaned, his breath hot against the shell of your ear, “feels like you get tighter.”

You whimpered, feeling the wet heat of his cock sliding in and out of you as he guided your hips. The pleasure was hot and heavy, your walls clenching around him with each squelch that you heard. His grunts and groans mingled with your moans, seemingly louder in the compacted space of his truck. You bit your lip and felt your eyes fluttering shut as the euphoria coursed through your veins, settling in your womb as Phillip used you like a fucktoy.

“Ah-ah, tsk-“ he clicked his tongue again, bringing your attention back to the mirror in front of you. “Eyes up here, or else you’re getting punished later.”

You couldn’t decide if it might have been worth it to test that punishment, but you obeyed regardless.

You saw your own face – lips parted, cheeks flushed, and tears in your eyes as you bobbed up and down on Phillip’s dick. His eyes were half-lidded, studying your face with a prideful smirk on his lips. He panted as he focused on the warmth of your pussy, sucking him back inside each time he pulled away to the tip. It was like your cunt was made for him, and for him only.

Eventually, he let go of your hips, and instead he slowly ground up into your ass. The tip of his cock pushed against the soft, spongy spot in your pussy, making you jerk and whine. He rested one hand on your hip, reaching the other back around to the front of your mound. He kneaded the soft flesh there, before reaching his index and middle fingers down and rolling your clit between them. You rutted your hips forwards and cried out in pleasure as he continued to abuse your clit with his digits.

“Hmm? What was that?” he mocked, strangled groans escaping his throat as he felt your walls clamping down around his length. “Where’s that attitude now, huh? That’s right- fuck, you’re so fucking good, goddamn…” his eyes screwed shut and he rubbed your clit faster and your cunt throbbed. “Go ahead and rock it back on me, sweetheart.”

You followed his command, rolling your hips back against his crotch as he ground up into your heat. You let out a lewd, loud moan as you felt his cock rubbing against your slick walls. You could feel your arousal dripping onto his balls and thighs, also evident from the sticky, wet sounds coming from where your bodies connected. He continued rubbing your clit, flicking over it with his rough fingers and dragging them back down, sometimes smacking four fingers over top of it.

The sounds that were coming from the both of you could have come from a porn video. You were so helplessly lost in the pleasure – but still, it wasn’t enough. You knew Phillip could have been doing his absolute worst on your pussy, and you didn’t want him to hold back.

“Baby, Phillip, please…” you babbled, your voice shaking in ecstasy. “I need you- I need it harder, fuck, please…”

He grunted right into your ear – you felt his member twitch from your words. “Yeah? You think you can handle more of this, sugar?” he panted, looking into your eyes through the visor mirror. “You’re such a good girl f’me, you know that?”

He slowed his thrusts for a moment – you whined in frustration, but he quickly shushed you and kissed your temple. “Don’t worry, baby, I know what you need. I’ll give it to you, just hold on tight-“

With that, he quickly hooked his arms under yours and around your shoulders. He gripped the back of his headrest, forcing your arms upwards and making you arch your back. He braced his feet flat on the floor of his truck – you yelped when he sucked the skin on your neck, flooding your body with wave after wave of desire.

And if that wasn’t enough, he began pounding into you from underneath, using the leverage from holding the headrest to his advantage.

You cried out with each thrust – his hips moved hard and fast, slamming into your ass and slapping his groin against your cunt, which would for sure leave bruises. The way his arms wrapped around yours forced you to grab onto his forearms for support as he punched his hips upwards into you. The sound of his skin smacking against yours was almost as loud as your cries. Tears brimmed in your eyes from the intensity and speed he was drilling you with.

“’S- that- fucking- good- baby?” he gritted out with each thrust. His grunts and groans had become animalistic at this point; you could hear how this new angle and speed was driving him closer to the edge, just as much as it was for you. “Fuck- ah- mph- hng- jus’ a- little- more-“

Before you knew it, you could feel your orgasm approaching fast. You whined and shrieked in pleasure from Phillip’s assault into your pussy, begging and pleading incoherently for him to continue. Within a matter of seconds, you felt your climax drag you over the edge – you screamed his name, riding through the shockwaves of ecstasy as your orgasm crashed through you. Your walls clenched and gripped at Phillip’s cock as he continued to bully it into you. You dripped and creamed around his member, and the wet sounds of your cunt only intensified within the small space of the truck.

You felt Phillip’s dick twitching as you came around it. “That’s it, baby, there you go… yes, yes- fuck yes, oh-“ his voice strained in his throat as he felt your cunt squeezing down on him. His head tilted back and his eyes screwed shut as he chased his own orgasm. With a needy growl, he grabbed your hips and repeatedly slammed upwards into you. “Shit- take it, fucking take it all, take it you good little slut- ah, fuck-!” He leaned his forehead against the back of your neck, grunting with each powerful thrust.

You gasped as you felt his warm seed spilling deep into your walls. His cock twitched for a few moments as he groaned through his release. You moaned at the feeling – so satisfying, so rewarding… you clenched down on him, squeezing his cock as the last drops of his cum spurted into you. He exhaled shakily as he thrust a few more times and came down from his high.

He dropped his head back against the seat, panting breathlessly. His hands rested over your thighs, his thumbs rubbing circles on your skin. You breathed shakily and leaned back against him – he held you tight against his sweat-covered chest as his breaths puffed into your ear.

“Christ, baby…” he groaned, running his hands along your sides, settling them around your waist. He sighed in satisfaction and planted kisses to the back of your shoulder. “You’re so fucking perfect… you did so good, sweet thing…”

You felt both your and his heartbeats pounding in unison. The last murmurs of your orgasm faded, now replaced with a warmth and security. Feeling Phillip around you as you returned from cloud nine was like being wrapped in a heavy, thick blanket. Even with his cock, still stuffed inside you, was comforting; he was as close as he could possibly be to your mind, body, and soul.

Still, you felt a nagging question in the back of your mind. Am I too much of an asshole to him? Do I scold him too much? I should just be more cooperative – I shouldn’t gripe so much. He only tries to have fun.

Phillip could see the thoughts bouncing within the walls of your head, evident from the reflection of your distant stare in the visor mirror. “What’s on your mind, sugar?” he asked, his words like honey to your ears.

“Don’t you ever get sick of me?” you asked, still slightly breathless.

Phillip huffed out a laugh. “Why would I get sick of you?”

You hummed. “I feel like I’m so mean to you sometimes – you’re too good to me.”

“Darlin’,” He ran his hands along the sides of your thighs. “Ain’t no such thing as too good for you. I’m not good enough to you. And you aren’t mean – you’re spunky. You’ve got a bite, and I like that.” He kissed your shoulder, letting his lips linger for a while on your skin. “If I ever was sick of you, I wouldn’t pull you over and fuck you on the side of the road.”

You chuckled softly. Phillip reached into the center console, grabbing the keys to the handcuffs. “Plus – here, let me see your hands – “ he gently took off the handcuffs and rubbed your wrists “ – I tease you enough as it is. I don’t blame you for fightin’ back every now and then.”

You turned your head to look at him. He had a euphoric, lazy smile plastered to his face, and crows feet around his eyes from his smile. You placed a hand on the side of his face and kissed him on his lips. He hummed in response, giving your thigh a tight squeeze.

He pulled away from the kiss. “Alright, let’s get you home. And stop thinking I’m getting tired of you – I wouldn’t have given you that diamond if I was.”

-----

The ride home was nearly silent, but it was a comfortable silence. Phillip’s hand rested on top of your thigh, squeezing and kneading it at every stoplight. He hummed along to the radio, tapping the steering wheel along to the rhythm (which he wasn’t the best at). The clouds had grown a bit thicker and the raindrops heavier. As he pulled into your neighborhood, he reached into the backseat for his jacket and handed it to you. “So you don’t get any wetter.”

You tried to swat at him, but he only caught your hand and placed a kiss to your ring finger.

He pulled up to your shared house, put the car in park and removed his sunglasses. He watched with a lazy admiration as you unbuckled your seatbelt. You quickly leaned over the center console and placed a kiss to Phillip’s cheek. He smiled, redirecting your chin with his fingers and kissing you properly on the lips. He exhaled in satisfaction against your face, keeping a hand loosely draped on the steering wheel.

You pulled away first. “You’d better figure out what you want for dinner, because now I don’t have anything to make.” you said with a stern look.

Phillip chuckled, rubbing his hand on your upper back. “Yes ma’am. I’ll pick up something good, I promise.”

“And you promise to come home safe?”

“You know I always do.”

“You’d better. I love you.”

“Love you more, babygirl.”

You smiled at him once more, before shuffling out of the truck. As soon as your feet hit the ground, you felt the aching burn in your thighs. You tried to walk as normally as you could to the front door – Phillip’s cocky voice still reached your ears through the truck window.

“Now see – if I’d dropped you off at your car like that, everyone would’ve known I’d just fucked you.”

Asshole.

#rbs #cod #missy after hours

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sergeant102105 · 2 days

Text

There are men across the street.

The house (and you use the term generously) that slumps there has been vacant for some time now. Ever since you moved in a couple years ago, actually. It’s an eyesore for sure. Graffiti on the walls, boards on the windows, a basketball-sized hole in the roof. The porch is the worst of it. Sagging in the middle and crumbling on the ends, stripped and moss-encrusted wood.

But today there are men there, stomping up and down the groaning steps in big, steel-toed boots.

You watch for a bit from the safety of your kitchen window, sipping coffee and batting your cat off the counter. They don’t look like a normal construction crew - wearing all black and not so much as a hammer on their belts. Three of them that you can see, one about average height, one tall, and one very tall. The tall one tags after the shortest of them often, gets pushed and shoved and snapped at it seems like.

You lose interest when the coffee runs out and your phone chimes, shooing you off to the grocery store. All three have disappeared inside by the time you saunter out, keys jingling and reusable bags in hand.

Margot says they’re renovating - likely some rich man’s retirement project. The same thing happened just down the street six months before you moved in, and now Joe has solar panels.

She postulates over the situation across the street while taking delicate bites of the cheesecake she brought over. (A test recipe for her niece’s baby shower in a few weeks. You don’t tell her that it’s too sweet and just sip your tea between bites.) She hypothesizes that one of them is this hypothetical rich man’s son, bringing some handy friends around for extra hands to work.

It sounds about as plausible as Agatha’s mutterings that they’re drug lords, so you nod along and watch your calico sneak up on your tuxedo behind her.

The garden is your own little retirement project. (You’re not actually retired, no matter what your sister snipes. But some smart money moves and a successful writing career is virtually the same with no kids and no spouse.) It’s going about as well as the renovations across the street - which is say, better and quicker than expected.

You planted clover in the yard, and are working on wildflowers in the boxes. The clover is already blooming, little flower tufts springing up for bumblebees to perch on. The wildflowers are mixed success so far, but nothing is dead yet.

You mostly just tootle around to be outside - allotted sunshine lest you become the shut in Bertram accused you of your first couple months.

The cats watch you pick at weeds from the window. Or two of them do. The other one is glaring from the fridge, angry that you tossed her back inside when she tried to slip past your ankles. (With any luck, you’ll have another sibling for them soon, but the handsome orange thing that keeps coming by at dawn and dusk is too stupid to be caught.) All three of them shift to look at something over your shoulder.

“Excuse.”

You don’t startle, thankfully. The voice may be unfamiliar, but neighbors stop by consistently enough that you’re not surprised to have your solitude interrupted.

What you are surprised by is the tall (very, very tall) man standing at the edge of your front yard. One of the renovators.

“Hi,” you say, straightening.

He points a gloved finger at you - no, not at you. Past you. At your cats.

“May I see them?” He asks in a thick German accent.

You blink, surprised and confused.

He’s a big man. Not just unusually tall, but broad as well. Muscle tugs at the fabric of his shirt, cargo pants clinging to his thighs. He also hasn’t bothered to take off the heavy duty dust mask, black sunglasses, or jacket hood obscuring his features. Looks like he’s about to rob you, honestly.

But Agatha’s uncharitable muttering about delinquent men rings like a warning toll. You’re at risk of sinking into the judgmental sea of upper-middle class suburbia, and that’s not water you want to tread.

“Sure!” You reply, ignoring his lack of introduction. “One sec.”

The cats see you dart from view and hurry to meet you at the door, meowing and yowling. You crack it open only wide enough to snatch up your precious firstborn, his leggies sticking out in abject bafflement at being airborne. You make guilty eye contact with your other two fiends before swiftly wedging the door shut again.

Then adjust your son, his little paws resting on your shoulder as you turn. Your visitor is standing right where you left him, perks up when he sees the cat bundled in your arms.

“This is Guy.”

You step closer, ignoring that shred of nervousness that being close to any man (especially one so physically intimidating) brings. To his credit, he only shuffles just enough to offer his hand for inspection.

“Guy?” he asks.

“I wasn’t going to adopt him at first, so I just called him Little Guy for so long that he thought that was his name. And then I did adopt him and now he won’t answer to anything else.”

You come by the rambling honestly - an obligate introvert until you moved to this neighborhood. There are few things you ever want to talk about with strangers, but your cats are one of them.

“He is a little guy,” the man muses.

Guy has no reservations about rubbing his fat face on the stranger’s glove, a purr kicking up in his chest. You relax as the man keeps his touch gentle and slow, that little bit of paranoid tension trickling into the soil beneath your feet.

“The other two aren’t as well behaved, I don’t trust them without harnesses on,” you add, nodding at the window.

The man glances up at them. Doesn’t seem to realize that his demise (and yours) is imminent from their glares.

“What are their names?”

You flush. “Rasputin and Shithead. I tell everyone else her name is Susan though.”

A sharp bark of laughter splits the air like a falling ax, cracks right down the middle. It makes you jump a bit - Guy is expectedly unbothered - but still you find yourself gratified. Laughing is good, it means you’re doing things right.

“Sorry,” he says, “but my friend would like that name.”

You gesture at the house across the street. “One of them?”

“Yes, the short one.”

You only just manage not to snort in amusement, but it doesn’t stop him from noticing. The mask moves, you think he might be grinning underneath.

“Does he know you call him that?”

“Not if you don’t tell him.”

You doubt you’ll have the opportunity even if you wanted to.

Someone’s at the door.

You’re only half-dressed, waist deep in laundry you have no excuse for putting off so long. Aren’t expecting company either - it’s Sunday morning, everyone should be at their various churches or visiting relatives. Can’t remember the last time someone knocked before noon on a Sunday.

Still, it was a big solid knock. The kind that makes you think it’s not the usual neighbor come by to impose on your space.

You glance down at the hem of your sweatshirt, determine it’s far enough down your thighs to be acceptable, and pad to the door.

You open it to another of the renovators. The “short” one - though you readjust that measurement quickly. He’s still taller than you, it’s just that most anyone seems diminutive compared to his friend.

“Morning,” you chime.

“We need your driveway.” His voice is low and rough, blunt. A sledgehammer to concrete. Also German-accented, you note.

“Oh,” you reply, “what for?”

He grunts. “Work.”

And you, a longtime observer of politely shaking people down for information by this point, smile without teeth.

“Oh, a work truck? It won’t make a mess will it?”

“No.”

You hum, glance at your stupid little sedan parked in the middle of the driveway.

“Okay, I’ll move — Shithead!”

You scramble to grab at the black and white blur of evil, sweeping her up in your arms as she meows in complaint. One of her back feet catches in the hem of your sweatshirt and starts to pull it up as she kicks. You curl an arm under her butt for support, but mostly she just takes the opportunity to chomp down on the meat of your thumb.

You glance at the man. “Shithead is very interested in the renovations.”

He stares. “So that is actually its name. I thought you were being rude and Konig didn’t realize.”

Ah, so that’s his name. You never did get that introduction.

“No, yeah, this is Shithead, I’m sure you can see why.”

The corner of his mouth twitches as she unlatches from your thumb, only to bite down on your wrist.

“So! The truck - when will it be here?”

“Noon.”

“Great! See you around!” You shut the door in his face without getting a name.

You threaten, not for the first time, to turn her into a pair of mittens. She responds by attacking your foot until Rasputin tackles her. Guy cries at the door, probably missing a man he met for all of two minutes.

The work truck stays through the night. Your cats spend all afternoon watching the men cross the street and back. Every once in a while, Guy puts his little feet up on the glass - Konig must be passing by.

You glance out the kitchen window only once and make hard eye contact with the third of their trio. He’s somehow even more covered up than Konig, and yet you get the distinct impression that your gaze is not welcome.

You blink and abandon the dishes for later.

The next morning, they’re already at it when you shuffle outside for the mail. Konig raises a slow hand in greeting, but visibly brightens when you smile sleepily and wave back.

You pass the work truck - the back panel is already open for them to unload wood beams and heavy-looking buckets. Construction stuff, as expected - and not messy, as promised.

You spot a red and white flag decal on the rear window. Austria, isn’t it?

“Did you just wake up?” a flat voice asks.

You squint a little through the morning sun at the man from the day before. The rude one.

You yawn. “Mhmm.”

He frowns at you, disapproval plain. Agatha will like him, you muse, shoving a hand in your mailbox. They both seem to have strong opinions about your sleep schedule.

“It is late.”

“It’s only 8.” You tug out a sheaf of envelopes and begin idly flipping through them.

“The sun is up.”

“So what?”

He clicks his tongue disdainfully. You absently click back. Then jump as a big body lands right in front of you. The third man, two wooden beams balanced on his shoulder. He makes brief eye contact with you again, then strides across the street.

“Shoo,” the rude one says. “Men at work, yes?”

You grumble. “See if I bring you cookies.”

Konig glances up from the truck bed, eyes shining. “Cookies?”

Well shit.

Rasputin keeps you company while you cook. He’s the only one allowed on the counter for any length of time. Shithead steals anything and everything, or bats at your hands while you work. Guy has the equal parts endearing and infuriating habit of touching everything with his paws.

Rasputin is the only one who will sit quietly to observe, leaning in for the occasional kiss. Today, he’s watching you bake cookies and assemble sandwiches. A dual-purpose welcome and peace offering to the three men across the street.

Is it too much? Maybe. But you’ve got nothing better to do and kindness won’t break your bank, so. Cookies and sandwiches.

You change clothes while the cookies cool on the pan - a sundress for the warm, late-spring weather. They’ve seen you in your pajamas far too much already.

At the door, you hesitate. This house doesn’t feel inhabited yet, but it also doesn’t feel right to just open the door. It’s quiet inside, so no power tools to drown you out. Making a face, you settle for a firm knock. It takes a minute or two - you think you might hear distant shouting. Then the door swings in fast and hard, nearly startling you.

It’s the third of their trio, the one you’ve yet to speak to. He’s covered head to toe, fabric around his head and face, leaving only sharp blue eyes to glare out.

“Hi,” you begin, hands thankfully too full to fidget. “I brought food.”

His eyes flick to the foil-covered platter in your hands. Then he swings the door wide and pivots on his heel.

“The cat comes too.”

Cat?

You glance down. Sure enough, Rasputin is standing by your legs, his remaining half a tail swishing. You sputter at him - didn’t even realize he snuck out - but all you get is his characteristic raspy “mah” noise. Right then.

He politely trots by your side as you enter, not even shy about your curiosity. The place is gutted, stripped walls and scuffed floors. It smells like dust and plaster and shaved wood. All the lights have been ripped out of the ceiling, exposing wires like nerve-endings.

There are two empty rooms to either side upon entry, a den and a dining room probably. The den even seems to be split into two, with one half sunk lower, accessible by a couple steps.

You follow your unexpected host through the “dining room,” which seems to be more of a satellite staging zone at the moment. There are piles of tools, stacks of materials, a little island of canvas bags. As you pass through, you notice a staircase, and even from the ground floor, you can see that it crosses over to the den on the other side.

The kitchen is stationed towards the back of the house. You try not to wince at the state of the counters. Pockmarked, blistered, scratched, burned, cracked laminate.

The floor has already been pried up to reveal smooth concrete. You scan it quickly for anything that could hurt Rasputin’s feet before entering.

Your neighbor gestures for you to set the platter down on an empty patch of counter, so you do, peeling back the foil.

“Cookies and sandwiches,” you explain just to have something to say.

“Why?” he asks.

You shrug. “To be nice.”

He stares. You blink back.

“I mean, you don’t have to eat them,” you add. “It would just be a waste.”

Rasputin chooses that moment to leap onto the counter, taking a moment to steady himself once he’s landed. With only one eye and a crooked leg, he’s not the most acrobatic or graceful of your babies, but he makes do.

To your shock, though, once he’s gained his bearings, he makes like he’s going to eat one of the sandwiches.

“Ras,” you gasp, surprised. “Absolutely not!”

The little shit doesn’t even resist when you nudge him away, just settles on his haunches, staring at your neighbor. And, to your confusion, your neighbor grunts.

“Konig! Krueger!” he barks.

That must be the rude one’s name. Krueger. You file that tidbit away.

“What’s your name?” You ask. “No one’s told me.”

He eyes you - dare you say suspiciously - letting the silence stretch.

“Nikto,” he rasps finally.

You finish introducing yourself just as the other two enter. Konig’s down to just the dust mask today, while Krueger seems to have donned one for himself.

“You,” Krueger says.

You arch your eyebrows back. “Me.”

“What brings you here?” Konig interjects, much friendlier.

“Well, you really seemed to want cookies yesterday, so I thought I’d bring some with lunch as a welcome to the neighborhood.”

He practically shoves Krueger to get to the kitchen. You politely get out of the way so he can indulge in your offering without getting trampled.

“Danke schön,” he says, scooping up a sandwich.

“No problem,” you answer, smiling.

Krueger deigns to sidle closer, inspecting the platter with a keen eye. Still, you think you see a bit of appreciation in them before he snatches up one of the sandwiches. For some (concerning) reason, you’re gratified by that. (You’ll just blame it on your habit of feeding ferals and strays.)

“I also wanted to give you three a little warning…” Three pairs of eyes pin you in place. You try not to grimace. “Everyone on this block is nosy as hell. They will literally peak in your yard and check your mail.”

“The mail?” Konig asks, appalled.

“Yeah, I started using a PO Box,” you sigh. You’ve only got so much sanity before you start taking sniper shots with a water gun.

“We will handle it,” Krueger says.

“I’m sure,” you demure. “Anyway, that was all. You can drop the platter off later - or I can come get it. It’s not like you’re far.”

You start looking for Rasputin, only to find him perched on Nikto’s broad shoulder. The man doesn’t even seem bothered by the claws digging through his shirt, scratching a finger at the calico’s cheek.

“Huh,” you say, surprised.

Nikto glances at you, pauses. “What?”

You snort at the bluntness, but grin. “Usually I’m the only one allowed to pet him.”

That’s three for three. Well, two and a half. Shithead could have been trying or escape or go for the ankles for all you know. But Krueger seemed to like her, so that counts for something.

“C’mon my little tank, let’s go,” you coo, approaching.

Rasputin nuzzles his face against Nikto’s once, gives him a parting mraw, then leaps into your waiting arms.

“Bye, guys!” You call, waving over your shoulder as you head for the door.

Konig is the only one to respond with a polite, “see you!” But you don’t take it to heart.

#rbs #cod #love my three slavic men who all share 1 braincell #ok maybe nikto has 1 1/2 #i need them all

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