#lee bodecker

Then three knocks came. Sharp and heavy.

You moved your feet to the door and your stomach sank even before you opened it.

Officer James Barnes stood on your porch, leaning on the frame like he owned it. The uniform clung tight across his chest, his badge glinting in the light, and the shadow of his cap cut across eyes that were already looking you over.

“Well, ain’t this cozy,” he drawled, his gaze flicking past you into your kitchen. “Smells good.”

You tightened your grip on the door, pulse skipping. “Can I help you, Officer?”

He tilted his head, smirking. “Funny thing. Got a call about some noise comin’ from this place. Neighbors say you’ve been a little… disruptive.” His voice was lazy, thick with amusement.

You frowned. “I was just cooking dinner.”

“Mm.” He stepped closer, close enough that you had to step back or let him brush against you. “Guess I better check things out myself. Can’t ignore a complaint.”

He didn’t wait for permission. Just pushed past you, boots heavy against your floorboards, filling your little kitchen with the smell of smoke and whiskey.

“Nice place,” he said, slow, deliberate, as his eyes slid over the counter, the stove… and then back to you. “Shame if a girl like you ended up on the wrong side of the law.”

Your arms folded across your chest, though it didn’t do much to steady the nerves crawling up your spine. “What is that supposed to mean? I haven’t done anything.”

Bucky’s tongue pressed against his cheek as he gave a slow nod, like he was humoring you. His eyes didn’t leave yours, though, sharp under the brim of his cap.

“Sure,” he said finally, voice low and easy. “That’s what they all say.”

He drifted closer to the counter, his fingers brushing along the edge like he was inspecting it, like it was evidence. He picked up your glass of wine, swirled it once, then set it back down with a soft clink.

“You know how it works in a place like this, don’t you, sweetheart?” His smile was too wide, too knowing. “Doesn’t really matter if you’ve done somethin’. All it takes is me writing it down.”

Your throat tightened. “You can’t just—”

“Can’t? Darlin’, I’m the law here.” His lips curved slow and cruel, an expression that wasn’t a smile so much as a warning. 

You froze. The word died in your throat, leaving only the sound of your pulse hammering in your ears.

For a moment, nothing happened. Just the weight of his eyes on you, heavy, deliberate. You couldn’t even tell if he was waiting for an answer or simply enjoying the way your nerves were unraveling.

And then the truth hit you.

It didn’t matter what you had or hadn’t done. In this town, his word was enough. Every shopkeeper tipped their hat when he walked by. Every neighbor lowered their voice when his cruiser rolled down the street. People looked away because it was easier. Because he owned this place, street by street, door by door.

Your little house wasn’t any different.

The smirk stayed on his face, as if he could hear the thoughts tumbling through your head. As if he already knew you were realizing just how small you were here—and how large his shadow really was.

He shifted his weight forward, one boot scraping against the tile as he took a slow, deliberate step closer.

Instinctively, you moved back, the counter biting into your spine as you tried to create even the smallest sliver of space. But there wasn’t much kitchen left to retreat into—he knew it, you knew it.

“That’s the problem with girls like you,” he murmured, his voice dropping lower, smoother, as if he were letting you in on some private joke. “You think you’ve got choices.”

Your palms pressed against the counter, fingers curling tight around the edge. His nearness smelled of leather and stale smoke, the metallic tang of his badge catching the light just inches from you.

“You keep tellin’ yourself you’re safe ‘cause you haven’t done nothin’ wrong.” He leaned just enough that the brim of his cap shadowed your face, forcing your eyes up to his. “But safe? Safe don’t exist here. Not unless I say so.”

The words slid through you, cold and certain, and for a heartbeat you hated yourself for noticing the way he didn’t even raise his voice. He didn’t have to. Every syllable felt like it was backed by the whole town—the quiet streets, the neighbors who wouldn’t meet your eyes, the sheriff’s cruiser parked like a sentinel.

And now, him.

He smirked again, slower this time, like he could feel your chest tighten against the press of his presence. “That’s right,” he whispered. “You’re startin’ to understand.”

Your heels bumped the cupboards, the last bit of retreat gone. He kept moving until his chest nearly brushed yours, until the air itself seemed to thicken with his closeness.

You turned your face away, desperate to focus on anything but the weight of his gaze but his hand came up fast, calloused fingers gripping your chin. The pressure wasn’t bruising, not yet, but it was unyielding as he forced your head back toward him.

“Mm-mm,” he drawled, his thumb pressing against the line of your jaw. “Eyes on me, sweetheart.”

Your breath caught, sharp and shallow, as his cruel smile deepened.

“See, I been watchin’ you a while now,” he said, slow and deliberate, every word dripping with the satisfaction of finally speaking it aloud. “Out on your porch with your laundry. Walkin’ through town with that little sway in your step. Those pretty dresses you like to wear—don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

His eyes dragged down over you, lingering, devouring.

“You tempt a man without even tryin’,” he murmured, leaning closer, his breath warm against your cheek. “And you think that don’t come with consequences?”

Your throat worked as you tried to breathe, his grip on your chin making it impossible to look anywhere but into those sharp blue eyes.

“Well?” he coaxed, voice dipping lower, darker. “You gonna tell me you didn’t want my attention? Hm? After all the times you paraded yourself ‘round town in those little slutty dresses?”

The words burned, humiliating, but the worst part was the flicker of truth they struck inside you.

Well, yeah. Maybe you did have a little crush on him. Maybe you did straighten your posture when you saw his cruiser on Main Street. Maybe you did linger on your porch just a little longer, hoping he’d glance your way. He was handsome. Powerful. And when his eyes landed on you, it made your stomach flip in ways you couldn’t explain.

But this? His hand on your chin, his body caging you in, his voice dripping ownership…  

You hadn’t asked for this.

Your lips parted, the confession tumbling out small, shaky. “I… I wanted you to notice me, but—”

He huffed, satisfaction flashing across his face like he’d just won something. He leaned in closer, his breath ghosting your lips.

“Knew it,” he murmured. “Knew you were temptin’ me on purpose. Little tease.”

His chest pressed flush to yours now, the counter digging into your back as if the kitchen itself were conspiring to trap you. You tried to shift sideways, but his body followed, closing every escape before you could even think of it.

And then you felt it—him—hard, thick, pressing against your hip through the stiff fabric of his uniform. Your breath caught, shame flooding hot in your veins.

He knew you felt it. That smug smirk deepened, his grip on your chin firming as he angled your face just so.

“Pretty girl,” he drawled, the words a mockery of tenderness. “You went and got me all worked up, didn’t you? Walkin’ ‘round, makin’ me think about what’s under that fabric.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, but his thumb brushed your jaw, forcing them open again.

“Don’t look away now,” he murmured, voice a low rasp. “Not after you begged for my eyes on you all this time. You wanted me to notice… and I did.”

His hips shifted, grinding just enough for you to feel the thick press of him again.

“You feel that?” he murmured, his lips brushing close to your ear. “You feel what you did to me?”

Your pulse thudded in your neck. You closed your eyes again for a quick moment, hoping this was just a cruel dream. Just a nightmare you’d wake up from soon.

It wasn’t.

He chuckled low, dark, the sound vibrating through his chest against yours. “Couldn’t take it anymore. You lookin’ so damn sweet, makin’ me hard every time I laid eyes on you.” His hand slid from your chin to your throat, his thumb resting just under your jaw.

“That’s why I’m here, pretty girl. Had to come all this way ‘cause I can’t take you teasin’ me any longer. You pushed me too far.”

His hand left your throat only to trail down, rough palm skimming the fabric of your dress before tugging it upward, inch by inch. The hem rose over your thighs, the cool air of the kitchen brushing bare skin where it shouldn’t.

You jerked, pressing back into the counter as if you could melt into it, but his body caged you in tight, unmovable. His other hand clamped down on your thigh, the weight of it hot and heavy, spreading you just enough that the threat was clear.

“Look at you,” he rasped, eyes drinking in every flicker of panic on your face. “Tryin’ to act innocent, but we both know better.” His fingers dug in, a bruising reminder of who held control.

“You’re gonna admit it,” he whispered, leaning close enough for his breath to drag hot across your cheek. “Gonna say you wanted me. That you’ve been beggin’ for this.”

The pressure of his hand on your thigh burned, creeping higher.

“Go on, pretty girl. Take the blame.” His smirk twisted cruel. “Tell me this is all your fault.”

“Please…” Your voice cracked, small and desperate. “Please, don’t—”

His grip on your thigh tightened, and suddenly his voice snapped sharp, cutting through the air like a whip.

“Say it!”

You flinched at the sound, tears springing hot to your eyes. They spilled before you could stop them, rolling down your cheeks as your chest heaved against his.

“Don’t make me drag it out of you,” he snarled, his face so close you could see the cold glint in his eyes beneath the brim of his cap. “I don’t want beggin’. I don’t want excuses, you hear me?”

You nodded frantically, tears blurring your vision, desperate for anything that would make him stop, make him ease up.

His expression softened into something sickeningly sweet, lips curling as though your fear pleased him. “Good girl,” he murmured, his hand leaving your thigh just long enough to stroke over your hair, slow and patronizing.

The touch made your stomach twist, but you stayed frozen, too scared to move.

“Now,” he coaxed, voice low, almost tender, “tell me you wanted it. Tell me you’ve been wantin’ me to come here and take what’s mine.”

Your lips trembled, the words clogging in your throat. You didn’t want to say it—God, you didn’t—but his hand was still tangled in your hair, tugging just enough to remind you he could make it hurt. His body loomed over yours, every inch of him pressing in until you could hardly breathe.

“I…” the sound broke apart, but you forced it out, trembling. “I wanted it.”

The smirk returned, triumphant.

“There she is,” he whispered, thumb brushing your damp cheek as if wiping away tears he’d put there. 

His hand slid lower again, dragging the hem of your dress higher until his fingers found the thin barrier of your panties. You jolted at the first press of his touch, a sharp flinch that made him chuckle against your ear.

“Shh…” His voice dripped with false comfort. His palm flattened, keeping you pinned in place. “Stay still for me. Be a good girl.”

You squirmed, legs trembling as his body caged you, leaving you nowhere to go. His fingers stroked slowly over the damp fabric, mocking in their unhurried insistence, and your breath caught in your throat.

“There we go,” he drawled, lips curling as his touch pressed firmer, deliberate. “So wet already…”

The words shattered something in you. The tears came harder, hot streaks down your face as you shook your head. “No—please, stop, I don’t want this, please—”

But he didn’t budge. If anything, his weight pressed you harder against the counter, the edge digging into your back.

“Shh,” he muttered, not even looking at your face now, his attention fixed on the way his fingers toyed with you.

They hooked under the elastic and shoved your panties aside, the cold air brushing where it shouldn’t.

You gasped, body jerking, but his hand was already there—touching your slick folds, sliding through your wetness like your pleas meant nothing.

“Goddamn—” he rasped, his breath hot against your ear. “Listen to you beg… while your pretty pussy says somethin’ else entirely.”

His fingers moved in slow, deliberate strokes, sliding over your cunt with a sickening patience, never rushing, never relenting and each pass made your stomach twist tighter.

“There now…” his voice dipped softer, cooing like he was soothing a frightened animal. “That ain’t so bad, is it? Just me takin’ care of you.”

You sobbed, shaking your head, but he only hushed you while his other hand kept spreading you open.

“Don’t cry, pretty girl,” he whispered, lips curling against your temple. “Nothin’ to be scared of. I’ll be gentle if you just stay still for me.”

Your body tensed, but his palm pressed firmer on your stomach, keeping you right where he wanted you, forcing you to take every languid touch as though it was inevitable.

His hand shifted higher, finding the swollen nub of your clit, and the touch made your whole body jolt. A sharp gasp tore from your throat, your knees nearly giving under you.

Instinct betrayed you—you clutched at him, hands fisting into the stiff fabric of his uniform just to keep yourself upright.

Bucky chuckled low, smug and steady, his fingers circling that sensitive spot with obscene care. “Easy now…” he murmured, his breath brushing your ear. “That’s it. I’ve got you.”

He acted like he was doing you some kind of favor, like this was protection instead of violation.

But inside, all you wanted was for him to stop. The shame was unbearable, heat flooding through you where his touch worked you over, your mind screaming against the pull of your own body. You clung tighter, not out of want, but out of desperation—because there was nowhere else to go.

And he knew it.

“See?” he cooed, voice soft, mocking. “Feels good when you stop fightin’ me.”

Your breath hitched, your whole body trembling as his fingers circled you with agonizing slowness. “Please… please, stop. I’ll do anything.”

For a moment he stilled, the heat of his hand heavy between your thighs. Then he gave a soft, mocking tsk, shaking his head like you were a child who still didn’t understand the rules.

“I know you will,” he murmured, his mouth curving into a slow, satisfied smirk. His thumb brushed one last time over your clit, gentle as a caress, but his words cut sharper than any cruelty. “That’s the way it’s gonna be, pretty girl. You’ll do anything I ask.”

And then—without warning—his hand shifted, two thick fingers driving inside you in one harsh thrust.

You cried out, the sudden stretch burning, your back arching as pain shot through you.

“Just like that,” he rasped, grinding his palm hard against your clit, his fingers buried deep. “You’ll take what I give you.”

You whimpered, clutching at his uniform in panic, but he only pressed closer.

“Not so innocent now, are you, pretty girl?”

You wanted to die. Wanted to melt into the floor, disappear into nothing where no one could see you, where no one could touch you again. Every nerve screamed, every instinct begged you to run, to fight, to do anything—but your body was frozen under his weight. You couldn’t move, couldn’t stop him, couldn’t even stop the sick heat pooling between your legs that betrayed the terror in your chest.

You wanted him dead. Wanted him gone. You hated him for making you feel like this, for making your body respond when all you wanted was to scream, to curl into yourself and vanish. And yet… even as the tears streamed down your cheeks, even as your sobs caught in your throat, even as your chest heaved with humiliation and fear, your body betrayed you.

It was like being trapped inside a stranger’s skin. Every shiver that wracked your limbs, every involuntary quiver at his touch, every gasp you couldn’t choke back made you hate yourself more. You weren’t safe. You weren’t strong. You weren’t even yourself anymore. 

You were just so fucking scared.

His fingers pumped hard, curling inside you until your legs buckled. Every thrust sent a sharp ache twisting into a heat you hated, a sick pulse you couldn’t stop.

“Yeah,” he growled against your ear, his palm grinding down on your pussy with every movement. “Feel that? Your pussy’s takin’ me so good.”

You shook your head, sobs tearing out of your chest, but your hips twitched despite yourself, a helpless stutter forward into his hand.

“Look at you,” he mocked, voice thick with satisfaction. “Cryin’, beggin’ me to stop—and squeezin’ my fingers like you don’t ever wanna let go.”

“Please, Officer—” you gasped, but the word came out strangled, broken, your body betraying every plea.

“Shh, babygirl,” he cooed, thrusting his fingers deeper, faster. “Can’t lie to me. I can feel the truth right here.” His thumb pressed cruelly over your clit, circling hard until your knees nearly gave. 

His pace slowed, then stopped, his fingers slipping wet and shining from your body. You sagged against the counter, chest heaving with your cries, relief flickering for only a second before you saw where his hand was going.

He held his fingers up between you, slick with your arousal, his eyes burning into yours.

“Open,” he ordered, voice low, commanding.

Your stomach dropped. You shook your head hard, turning your face away. “N-no, please—”

His hand caught your jaw in an iron grip, fingers digging into your cheeks as he forced your head back toward him. “Don’t make me say it twice,” he growled, shoving his soaked fingers against your lips.

You clenched your mouth shut, tears spilling faster as you twisted away, but he pressed harder, his grip unyielding.

“C’mon, pretty girl,” he mocked, voice thick with cruelty. “You’re not too shy now, are you? Taste what you’ve been beggin’ me for.”

When you still resisted, his thumb pinched your nose, cutting off your breath until instinct made your lips part with a choked gasp—and he shoved his fingers inside, coating your tongue in your own slick.

“Atta girl,” he praised, watching your face contort in shame as his fingers moved against your tongue. Then he chuckled low, cruel. “That’s it. Suck ‘em clean for me.”

When you didn’t, he simply pushed deeper, the pads of his fingers pressing down on your tongue until you gagged. His hand held your jaw tight, keeping you still while he fucked your mouth with his wet fingers.

“Look at you,” he rasped, rocking his hand in and out, slick smearing all over your lips. “Cryin’ so pretty for me while you taste yourself. You feel dirty? Hm?” His satisfaction grew as you whimpered around his hand. “Good. You should.”

Each thrust made your throat tighten, humiliation flooding you until your eyes squeezed shut, hot tears slipping past your lashes. You clawed weakly at his wrist, but he only shoved harder, filling your mouth until you had no choice but to swallow around the thickness of his fingers.

“That’s it,” he whispered, almost tender as he worked your mouth open wider. “Get used to it. This mouth’s mine now.”

You moaned around his fingers, drooling all over yourself as he pumped them roughly.

“So good, so obedient,” he rasped, fucking his fingers into your mouth one last time before yanking them free, spit and slick shining across your lips. You coughed, choking on the air you finally pulled in, but he didn’t give you a chance to recover.

His hand fisted in your hair, spinning you around with brutal ease. The edge of the counter dug into your hips before you could even catch yourself, his weight pressing into your back.

“Bend over,” he growled, shoving you down flat against the cold surface. One palm pinned the small of your back, holding you there like you were nothing but a ragdoll.

Your hands scrambled against the counter, trying to push up, but his grip only pressed harder, forcing your cheek down against the wood.

The sharp clink of metal filled the kitchen as he yanked his belt loose, the sound making your stomach drop. You tried to push yourself up again, but his hand shoved harder at the small of your back, pinning you flat.

“Stay down,” he muttered, voice rough with hunger.

Fabric rustled as he lifted your dress, dragging it up over your hips until the cool air of the kitchen hit your bare skin. You whimpered, face pressed to the counter, as he let out a low, approving hum.

“Fuck,” he rasped, his palm smoothing over the curve of your ass before giving it a firm squeeze. “You look so perfect laid out for me like this.”

Your panties tugged tight for a moment, then slid down your thighs with a cruel, deliberate slowness. His fingers brushed the back of your leg as he peeled them away, leaving you exposed.

A zipper followed, the scrape loud in your ears, and then he was behind you—close, hot, heavy—lining himself up with no hesitation.

“Mm,” he murmured, pressing the blunt head of his cock against your slick folds. “Right where you belong.”

The tip of his cock nudged against your entrance, sliding just enough through the wetness he’d already pulled from you with his fingers.

“Shit,” he rasped, pressing closer, grinding the thick length against you. “You’re so fuckin’ tight, baby…”

A sob tore through your throat, your nails scraping helplessly at the counter. “Please, please, stop. I won’t tell anyone. I promise, just stop—”

But he only chuckled, the sound cruel and disbelieving. His hand spread wide over your lower back, keeping you pinned, while his hips rolled just enough to push at your entrance again.

“Who would you tell, huh?” he sneered, leaning over you, his breath was hot against your ear. “Whole town’s mine. Nothin’ to tell. Nothin’ to stop.”

His hips snapped forward without warning, his cock forcing into you in one brutal thrust. The sudden stretch ripped a scream from your throat, your whole body jerking against the counter as white-hot pain tore through you.

“Fuck,” he groaned, voice rough with satisfaction as he bottomed out inside you. His grip on your waist tightened, bruising, holding you still. “Feels so good.”

You sobbed, the sting overwhelming, your walls clenching desperately around him. “Please, it hurts—”

But he didn’t stop. He pulled back only to slam into you again, setting a hard, punishing pace from the start. The counter rattled beneath you with every thrust, the air punched out of your lungs as he used your body without restraint.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” he growled against your ear, his cock driving deep over and over. “Cry for me. Beg all you want—still gonna fuck you just how I want.”

Your nails clawed at the wood, the sharp edge digging into your stomach as his hips smacked relentlessly against your ass, his grunts mixing with the sound of your breathless sobs.

He fucked into you hard, over and over, until your crying was nothing but broken gasps. And then—just when your body thought it couldn’t take any more—he slowed.

His thrusts dragged deep and deliberate now, his shaft stretching you to the hilt with every roll of his hips. Each one made your walls clamp helplessly around him, clenching so tight it drew a guttural groan from his chest.

“Goddamn,” he rasped, grinding in slow, heavy circles that made your stomach twist. His hand slid up your spine, tangling in your hair to wrench your head back. “Feel how full you are? Hm? That’s me, baby. Every inch of me inside this pretty little cunt.”

You whimpered, shaking your head frantically and squirming but he only pulled your hair tighter, forcing your body back against his dick.

“Say it,” he ordered, voice low and sharp. “Tell me how it feels. Tell me how full I’ve got you.”

Tears streaked down your cheeks as the words caught in your throat, shame choking you. His hips snapped once, rough and deep, making you cry out.

“Say it,” he snarled, his lips brushing your ear. “Or I’ll make you scream it.” He growled, voice vibrating against your ear. “Tell me how it feels to be split open on my cock.”

Your walls fluttered around him helplessly. Your throat tightened, the shame unbearable—but the pain of his grip, the sheer force of his body, broke you down.

„I—” your voice cracked, the words stuck in your throat. He yanked your hair harder, hips snapping deep until you cried out.

“Fuck, I—” you finally let out, tears streaming down your face. “I feel— i feel s’full, I can’t—”

“Good girl,” he rasped, pounding harder now, his cock splitting you open again and again until your legs shook. His hand tangled tighter in your hair, dragging your head back against his chest so his lips brushed your ear. „Now say you’re mine.” 

“N-no—” you gasped, clawing at the counter for something, anything to hold on to.

His hips snapped deep, his hand clamping hard around your throat this time, squeezing just enough to cut your breath. “You better or I’ll make it hurt.”

The pressure and the pain tangled together until the fight drained right out of you. Tears spilled hot down your cheeks as your voice broke.

“I’m yours!” you cried, choking on the words. “Please—please, I’m yours!”

He groaned low in your ear, the sound triumphant, his cock driving harder into you as if to claim you deeper.

“That’s right,” he whispered, “Mine. Always fuckin’ mine.”

His hand slid down between your thighs, finding your clit with cruel precision. You flinched at the touch, a strangled cry breaking free.

“Shhh, sweetheart,” he shushed you, circling hard as his cock drove deep. “Gonna make you come for me, pretty girl. Gonna make you fall apart on my cock.”

“No—” you pleaded, shaking your head, but your body betrayed you, clenching tighter around him with every drag of his fingers. The pressure coiled sharp and unbearable.

“Cry all you want. This pussy knows who it belongs to,” he rasped, thumb pressing relentless against your swollen clit.

Your sobs tangled with broken moans and whimpers as the tension snapped, your body shuddering violently. Heat flooded you, pulsing around him, the climax ripped from you against your will.

“Fuck—yes, just like that,” he growled, grinding deep inside you as your orgasm shook through your trembling body. „You’re fucking mine, baby. Cuming on my cock so prettily like a sweet girl you are.”

You collapsed against the counter, body limp, trembling from the orgasm still wracking through you. But he didn’t stop. His thrusts turned harsher, desperate now, his cock driving into your overstimulated walls with punishing force.

“Fuck—” he panted, his grip bruising your hips as he buried himself deeper, chasing his release. “So tight around me. Gonna fill you up, baby. Make sure you never forget how well I fucked you.”

“No, please—don’t—” your cries barely left your lips before his hips snapped forward one last time, his cock pulsing hot and thick inside you.

A guttural groan ripped from his chest as he spilled deep, holding you pinned down, forcing you to take every drop. His weight pressed heavy into your back, his breath ragged against your ear.

“Mm,” he sighed, satisfied, grinding slowly to push it all in deeper. “That’s it. All mine now.”

You sobbed weakly, face wet against the counter, his words echoing in your head as his seed seeped into you, sealing the humiliation.

Then he smirked against your skin, his hand stroking almost tenderly down your spine. “Good girl. Sheriff’s girl.”

⋆⁺₊✧ BWA MASTERLIST

Lee Bodecker belonged in that filth the way a hog belongs in wallow: shirt half-unbuttoned and sweat-soaked, clinging to the coarse black hair on his chest; belly hanging heavy over the straining leather of his belt, uniform pants riding low; armpits dark with rings of sweat; badge crooked on his chest like it had given up trying to look respectable.

He was deep into the bottle tonight, more than halfway gone, the cheap stuff that burned clean at first and then just burned. His thoughts moved slow and thick, like molasses poured over broken glass. The night shift had dragged on empty: no calls, no drunks to haul in, no fights to break up, just him, the fan rattling uselessly in the corner and the low, mournful howl of a hound somewhere far off in the dark.

He lifted the bottle again, took a long, sloppy pull. The whiskey slid down easy now, no sting left, just heat blooming in his gut and spreading outward until his fingertips tingled. He set the bottle down too hard; it clinked against the scarred wood, amber liquid sloshing up the sides. His head lolled a little, eyes half-lidded and bloodshot, staring at nothing.

Then the door creaked.

You pushed it open with your hip, careful, like you were afraid of making too much noise. Both hands cradled a grease-spotted paper sack that still steamed faintly, radiating the clean, holy warmth of fresh dough and sugar.

You really were the sweetest thing this godforsaken town had ever managed to produce: big, soft doe eyes, cheeks flushed pink from the night air and the heat of the bakery oven, hair pinned back neatly with a tiny daisy clip your mama had bought you last Easter.

Your apron was crisp white cotton, tied in a perfect bow at the small of your back and your skirt, modest enough for church but short enough to flutter high on the walk over, showed the delicate lace tops of your stockings with every hesitant step across the threshold.

You smelled like vanilla extract, warm yeast and the faintest trace of the lavender soap you used every morning. A walking Sunday morning dropped right into the middle of his Saturday night sewer.

Lee blinked slow, once, twice, like the whiskey was painting you at the edges, making you shimmer. He rubbed a greasy hand over his face, trying to clear the haze but it only smeared the sweat and grime. His gaze dragged over you anyway: lazy, hungry, unfocused at the corners. From the bow in your apron to the flush on your cheeks, down to the way your skirt moved against your thighs, then back up to those wide, trusting eyes.

You swallowed, clutching the sack a little tighter to your chest like it could shield you from whatever look he was giving you.

“Sheriff Bodecker,” you said, voice small and trembling, barely louder than the lamp’s buzz, “I- I couldn’t sleep knowin’ you were sittin’ here all alone on the night shift again. Mama says the devil finds work for idle hands and I just… I thought maybe you’d like somethin’ warm. So I brought you some donuts. They’re still hot from the fryer. Glazed, the way you like ‘em.”

Lee stared at you another long beat. The words took time to sink through the whiskey fog. Then a slow, crooked grin split his face, sloppy, uneven, showing too much teeth.

“Hot, huh?” His voice came out thick and slurred, gravel dragged through moonshine, every syllable running into the next. “Well goddamn… look at you, angel. Comin’ all the way down here in the dark just to feed a sorry ol’ pig like me.”

He took another pull from the bottle, longer this time, throat bobbing visibly, Adam’s apple working under the skin. When he lowered it, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, leaving a shiny streak across his knuckles.

“C’mere,” he rasped, patting his thick thigh with a heavy, meaty slap that echoed in the small room. “Come closer, sweetheart. Let me see what kinda sugar a pure little thing like you’s offerin’ a dirty old man on a night when he’s half-drowned already.”

You stood frozen for half a heartbeat, the paper sack crinkling softly against your chest like a shield you weren’t sure you wanted to lower. The room felt smaller now, hotter, thicker with him watching you like that, bloodshot eyes half-lidded but burning. Your knees pressed so tight together you could feel the tremor running up your thighs but something deeper, something curious and fluttering low in your belly, made your feet inch forward anyway.

One slow step. Then another. The soles of your sensible Mary Janes whispered across the grime-streaked floor until you were close enough that the heat rolling off his body mixed with the vanilla steam from the donuts and the sour whiskey haze clinging to him. Your gaze, wide, innocent, unable to help itself dropped to the thick, insistent bulge straining the front of his uniform slacks. The fabric looked ready to split; a dark, damp spot had already spread at the tip like ink on blotting paper.

A tiny, involuntary gasp slipped past your lips before you could catch it.

“Oh… goodness,” you breathed, voice so small it barely carried over the lamp’s buzz. “You… you look so uncomfortable, Sheriff. Like it’s hurtin’ real bad.”

Lee’s laugh came out low and filthy, more a rumble in his chest than anything clean. He spread his thighs wider with deliberate slowness, heavy boots scraping the dirty floor in a slow, grating drag that sent a shiver racing up your spine. The motion made his belly shift, his open shirt gaping further to show more sweat-damp chest hair.

“Uncomfortable don’t even come close, baby girl,” he slurred, words thick and running together like spilled syrup. “Been sittin’ here hard as iron since that sweet little pussy-scent floated through the door. Like heaven walked right into hell and didn’t even knock.”

His meaty palm slapped down on his own thigh again, denim smacking loud in the quiet room. “C’mere. Bring them hot little treats over here where they belong. Let’s see if that sugar fits right where I been dreamin’ about it.”

Your cheeks burned so hot you thought they might catch fire. You could feel the flush spreading down your neck, across your collarbones, even under the crisp white apron.

But your body moved before your mind could argue, slow hesitant steps closing the last foot of distance until you stood trembling between his spread knees. Close enough now that you could see the individual dark hairs curling over his knuckles, the way his chest rose and fell a little faster, the faint tremor in the hand still wrapped around the neck of the Jack Daniel’s bottle.

Lee watched you squirm for a long moment, savoring every nervous flutter of your lashes. Then a slow, crooked, filthy grin spread across his face. He took one last sloppy pull from the bottle, throat working visibly, before setting it aside with a careless clatter.

“Angel… you know what’d feel real good right now?” He patted his thigh again, slower this time, the slap of his palm echoing in the small room. “Them hot little donuts you brought. Warm, sticky, sweet as sin. I’m thinkin’… slide one right down over this achin’ cock of mine. Let that glaze melt all over me while you watch. Dress me up pretty, like I’m some kinda filthy present just for you.”

Your eyes went huge, shock, confusion, and a tiny spark of dark curiosity flickering behind the innocence.

“You… you mean… put a donut… on it?” you whispered, voice barely audible over the fan’s hum. “Like… like a ring? But… but that’s so… so naughty, Sheriff. I don’t know if that’s… proper.”

He chuckled low and ragged, the sound vibrating through his chest like gravel. “Proper? Baby girl, we passed proper the second you walked through that door smellin’ like vanilla and church. This ain’t about proper. This is about feelin’ somethin’ nasty-sweet. Come on… just try it. For your poor, lonely sheriff. One little donut. See how it looks. See how it feels.”

You swallowed hard, fingers tightening on the sack until the paper crinkled loudly. Your eyes were locked on the bulge now, wide, fascinated, a tiny tremble in your lower lip.

“I… I don’t know…” you breathed but your body leaned forward just a fraction, betraying you. “It’s… it’s so big already. And it looks so… mad. Won’t it… hurt the donut? Or… or you?”

Lee groaned at your words, half laugh, half curse. “Hurt? Darlin’, the only thing hurtin’ right now is how bad I need that warm sugar wrapped around me. Ain’t gonna hurt nothin’. Just gonna make it feel like heaven and hell at the same time.”

Without another word, without even breaking eye contact, his big hands moved to his belt. The buckle clinked open with a sharp metallic snap. The zipper rasped down in one slow pull.

He hauled his cock out shamelessly, no hesitation, letting it spring free and slap heavily against the soft swell of his belly: thick as your wrist, veined and ridged, flushed an angry purplish red. The fat, bulbous head was partially hooded by a thick, wrinkled foreskin that had retracted just enough to expose the glistening, sensitive tip, already slick and shiny with a day’s worth of trapped sweat, pre-cum that had gathered underneath, giving off a heavy, masculine musk.

The sudden raw sight made you freeze mid-reach, your hand halfway into the sack, fingers brushing the warm edge of the first donut. Your breath caught audibly; your eyes went impossibly wider, pupils blown as you stared at the heavy, uncut length now bobbing openly between you.

“Oh… oh my goodness…” you whispered, voice cracking into a tiny squeak. The donut slipped slightly in your shaking grip, glaze sticking to your fingertips.

Lee wrapped a loose fist around the base and slowly stroked, working the thick foreskin back and forth over the leaking head.

“Look at that,” he rasped, voice thick with lust. “See how it’s covered up? That’s the foreskin, baby girl. Pull it down for me first. Nice and slow. Show me you can be a good little helper.”

Your fingers trembled as you reached out hesitantly, barely brushing the warm, heavy shaft.

“Like… like this?” you whispered, voice tiny and shy.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he rasped, voice dropping lower, coaxing. “Slow. Real slow. Wrap those pretty little fingers around the skin… yeah, just like that. Now ease it back gently. Don’t yank it- nice and easy… there we go. Good girl.”

You obeyed with shaky hands, gently tugging the thick foreskin down until the fat, glossy head slipped free, flushed dark and glistening with pre-cum. A thick bead dripped from the slit and ran down the underside.

Lee groaned deep in his chest, hips twitching. “Fuck… look how pretty and wet it is now. Perfect for your warm sugar.”

He gave you a filthy, encouraging smile. “Now… line that hot donut up with the head, angel. Slow. Let it melt on me. Watch what it does.”

Your fingers trembled so badly the paper rustled like dry leaves as you finally obeyed, pulling out the first glazed donut. It was still steaming faintly, sugar glistening wet under the flickering lamp, already melting a little at the edges from the heat of your palm.

You held it up between you like something fragile and forbidden, eyes darting between the donut and the thick, twitching cock now fully exposed and shamelessly waiting.

“Like this?” you whispered, voice small and trembling. “Just… slide it down?”

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he rasped, voice dropping lower, coaxing. “Slow. Real slow. Line it up with the head… yeah, just like that. Don’t be scared. Let it melt on me. Watch what it does.”

You hesitated, eyes flicking from the donut to his face, then down to the leaking tip, then, biting your lip hard enough to leave a mark, you eased the warm ring down over the swollen head.

The glaze immediately began to melt from his body heat, running in slow, sticky rivers along the shaft, coating every raised vein, dripping in fat drops over his heavy, drawn-up balls.

Lee groaned like he’d been gut-shot, deep, ragged, head falling back against the creaking chair with a loud creak. His hips jerked up involuntarily as the warm, sugary heat enveloped him.

“Fuuuuck- that’s it, baby,” he slurred, voice thick and wrecked. “Goddamn, feel that hot glaze meltin’ all over my cock… slidin’ right down under my foreskin. Look what you did, angel. You made my dirty old dick look so fuckin’ pretty and sweet.”

Your breath hitched. You stared, transfixed, at the obscene sight: the donut slowly collapsing, sugar melting and sliding down his length in glistening trails. Something fluttered low in your belly, shame, curiosity, a spark of dark fascination.

“It’s… it’s meltin’ all over you,” you whispered, voice soft with wonder. “Like… like it’s huggin’ you. Does it… does it feel nice, Sheriff?”

“Nice?” He laughed, ragged, dirty. “Sweetheart, you got my old dick throbbin’ like it’s gonna burst. Never felt nothin’ this nasty-sweet in my life. Now…” He guided your trembling hand back to the sack. “Grab another one. Stack it. Make me a real pretty tower. Show me how good you can be.”

Your breath caught.

Stack… more?

On that?

Your face felt like it was on fire, hotter than when the oven timer went off too late and everything came out singed at the edges. You’d already eased one warm glazed donut down his thick, leaking length like some shameful bakery display. Now he wanted a whole tower?

“I- I don’t know if they’ll stay…” you whispered, voice tiny, eyes darting up to his for any sign you were doing it wrong.

Lee’s grin stretched slow, whiskey-rough. “They won’t, angel. That’s half the fun. Go on. Be good for me.”

Kneeling between his spread boots, skirt fanned out on the gritty floor, you swallowed. Heart pounding loud enough to drown out the distant bar jukebox. You reached into the sack, pulled out another still-warm ring, glaze already tacky and shiny and hesitated. Leaned in close. The head of him glistened, one donut already perched unevenly at the base, starting to soften and slide from his heat.

You bit your lip hard, then carefully slid the second one down. It caught on the ridge, glaze smearing in a thick, amber streak before squishing into place with a soft, wet schlup.

The whole stack wobbled immediately. You added a third, gentler this time, pushing until the dough yielded and molded around him but the glaze was melting fast now, dripping in slow, sticky threads down the veined shaft, pooling warm against his balls.

Four donuts clung in a lopsided, glistening mess. Already the bottom ones were getting soggy, dough turning dense and tacky from body heat; glaze ran in rivulets, making everything slick and obscene. You stared, wide-eyed, lips parted. It looked ridiculous. Wrong. Hot. Your thighs squeezed together under the skirt.

Lee’s chest rose and fell heavy. “Prettiest damn sight. Now… taste it, baby. Eat a little. Make it good for me.”

Your tongue flicked out, then froze. You looked up, cheeks blazing. “Like… bite it?”

“Just a nibble, angel. Show me you wanna please your Sheriff.”

Heart in your throat, you leaned forward. First, just a tentative brush of lips against the top donut. The glaze was warm, almost liquid now, coating your mouth in sticky sweetness. You gave a small, experimental bite, teeth sinking into the soft, pillowy edge.

Dough crumbled immediately, warm and slightly chewy, glaze pulling in sticky strings between your lips and the pastry as you pulled back. A chunk broke off, tumbling down his shaft, smearing more mess.

Lee hissed through his teeth. “Fuck- yeah, like that.”

Encouraged, just a little, you went back. Nibbled another small bite from the top ring, letting crumbs flake onto your tongue, mixing with the salty bead of pre-cum that had leaked up through the hole.

The flavor hit messy and overwhelming: hot sugar, soft fried dough, sharp musk, him. You chewed slowly, shyly, eyes fluttering shut for a second, then licked the broken edge clean, tongue dragging over crumbling pastry and slick skin beneath.

More glaze dripped. The stack shifted dangerously. You reached up with tentative fingers, steadied the wobbling tower, then bit again, this time lower, teeth grazing the side of the second donut. A bigger piece came away; you swallowed it down with a soft, surprised hum, lips brushing his shaft as you did.

“Goddamn, baby girl…” Lee’s voice cracked. His hips twitched, making the whole precarious pile quiver.

You pulled back just enough to look up, face flushed, lips shiny with glaze and spit, a few crumbs clinging to your chin. “Is… is this good?” you whispered, voice trembling with real uncertainty. “I just wanna make it feel nice for you. It’s so… messy. But warm. And sweet. And you taste… mixed in.”

Lee’s hands flexed, knuckles white, veins standing out on his thick forearms. His voice came out wrecked, slurred, dripping with raw need.

“You’re killin’ me, angel. Keep goin’. Eat ‘em off me slow. Be my good girl. Clean every last crumb off this filthy cock with that sweet little mouth.”

You nodded, shy, eager in a way you didn’t comprehend, then leaned forward on your knees.

Lee’s thighs shook. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ- look at you, angel. Eatin’ my cock like it’s the sweetest thing you ever baked. You even know what you’re doin’ to me?”

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, face a wreck of crumbs, glaze, spit, cheeks flushed crimson, eyes glassy and dazed. A stray bit of dough clung to your lower lip like obscene lipstick.

“I… I’m just tryin’ to clean it up,” you whispered, voice trembling, small and lost. “It’s… it’s all over you. And… and it tastes like… like you. I didn’t know it would taste like that.”

He stared down at you, breath ragged, pupils blown black. Then, voice dropping to a gravelly whisper:

“You pure, baby girl? Still got that little cherry waitin’ for somebody to pop it?”

The question hit you like cold water. Your eyes widened further; your whole body went still. Heat flooded your face so fast it hurt. You looked down. suddenly mortified, quiet, shoulders hunching like you wanted to disappear into the floor.

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Just gave the tiniest, shakiest nod, barely perceptible, cheeks burning, lashes wet.

Lee groaned like he’d been punched in the gut. “Fuck. That’s what I thought. Still pure as fresh snow… and here you are on your knees, face covered in my mess, eatin’ donuts off my cock like a good little girl.”

The words made something twist low in your belly, shame, want, confusion all at once. You whimpered, soft, needy, thighs pressing together under your skirt.

He guided your head forward again. “Don’t stop now, angel. Finish cleanin’ me up. Take the rest.”

You obeyed, diving back in. The remaining donuts gave way under your teeth: crumbling apart, dough and glaze smearing everywhere, across your cheeks, your chin, your apron, dripping down your neck in sticky trails. You moaned softly around mouthfuls, half pastry, half him, tongue swirling to chase every ridge, every vein, swallowing greedily like it was the best thing you’d ever tasted.

When the last crumbling ring finally collapsed, nothing was left but his thick, glistening cock, coated in spit, glaze remnants, crumbs clinging to the shaft like filthy decoration.

You didn’t stop.

Still dazed, still trembling, you opened your mouth wider and took the head inside. The thick tip pushed past your lips, stretching them; warm pastry remnants smeared across your tongue as you sank down inch by inch. Your throat fluttered, soft little gags muffled by the mess but you didn’t pull away. You kept going, eyes watering, until your nose brushed the coarse, sweaty hair at his base.

A soft, contented hum vibrated around him, like you were savoring something holy and filthy at once.

That sound broke Lee completely.

“Holy- fuck- angel-” His hands fisted in your hair, not rough, just desperate, holding you steady while his thick thighs shook. “That’s it- fuckin’ take every inch down that sweet virgin throat. Look at you… swallowin’ my dirty cock like a good little church girl. So fuckin’ tight- milkin’ me so good, baby.”

Wet, filthy sounds filled the room: your soft, needy moans around his girth, the obscene squelch of spit and melting sugar, his ragged, whiskey-rough breathing. Glaze, drool and crumbs dripped in slow, sticky strings from the corners of your mouth, landing on his open fly, his boots, the floor between your knees.

You bobbed slow at first, learning him, savoring every ridge, every vein, tongue pressing hard against the fat underside, dragging up and down, coaxing more pre-cum to leak onto your taste buds. You swallowed around him greedily, throat working like you were starving for every drop.

Then faster, cheeks hollowing, taking him to the root over and over. The last remnants of the donuts had long since smeared into a warm, sticky ruin along his shaft and balls; every thrust of your head pushed more of the mess across your face, dripping in thick ropes onto his lap.

Lee’s control shattered.

“Fuck angel” His hands fisted tighter in your hair, not rough, just desperate, holding you steady while his thick thighs shook. “That’s it- fuckin’ take every inch down that pretty throat. Such a good little cocksucker… didn’t know heaven had a throat this tight and greedy.”

His hips jerked up in shallow, helpless thrusts, fucking your mouth while his hands anchored you.

“Gonna cum- gonna fill that sweet virgin mouth full- swallow every thick drop like the filthy little angel you are- fuck- here it comes, baby-”

He came with a broken, guttural grunt, thick, hot ropes flooding your mouth in heavy pulses. You swallowed eagerly, innocently, like it was communion wine on Sunday morning, lips sealed tight so not a drop escaped. Pulse after pulse coated your tongue, slid down your throat; you hummed in soft delight, milking him with gentle swallows until the last weak spurt painted the back of your mouth.

Only then did you pull back, letting the final rope catch on your tongue before it dripped down your chin in a pearly string, streaking your ruined apron. Crumbs clung to your lashes; glaze and spit smeared your cheeks like obscene war paint.

You sat back on your heels, face flushed and sticky, apron a disaster of white, sugar, spit, cum and dough, eyes still huge and shining with dazed wonder. You licked your swollen lips slow, chasing the taste, then gave him the softest, shyest smile.

“Goodness, Sheriff,” you whispered, voice trembling with real shyness creeping back in now that the haze of hunger had ebbed. “You made an awful big mess. I didn’t know a man could… give so much. It’s all warm and thick and… everywhere.”

Lee stared down at you, wrecked, sweat rolling down his thick neck, chest heaving, cock still twitching half-hard against his belly, smeared with the obscene remnants of glaze, spit, cum and crumbs.

He hauled you up by the apron strings, rougher now but still careful crushing your sugary, cum-smeared mouth to his in a deep, sloppy, whiskey-soaked kiss. He tasted himself on you, salt, sugar, sin and groaned into your mouth like a starving man finally fed.

When he pulled back, he was breathing hard, eyes glassy but focused, pupils blown wide.

“You really are an angel,” he rasped, voice wrecked and slurred. “A sweet, perfect, filthy little angel who just sucked the goddamn devil right outta me.”

His big hands were already hiking your skirt, bunching the fabric at your waist in a crumpled wad, exposing the simple white cotton panties you’d put on that morning, the plain, modest ones your mama always bought you, with just a tiny pink bow at the front. They were completely drenched now, the innocent white fabric turned dark and clinging wetly to your swollen folds, soaked through like it had been waiting all night to betray how needy you really were.

Lee dropped to one knee in front of you, big rough hands gripping your hips to hold you still. His face hovered inches from your dripping center. Slowly he hooked two thick fingers into the waistband and peeled the soaked panties down your thighs, sliding them all the way off. He held the drenched cotton in one hand, stretching the wet gusset wide between his fingers right in front of your flushed face so you could see the dark, shiny stain of your own slick glistening in the flickering lamplight, sticky strings of it stretching between the fabric.

Your eyes went huge, clueless, horrified, cheeks flaming scarlet. A tiny, mortified whimper escaped you; you tried to look away but his grip on your hips kept you frozen.

“Look at this, angel,” he growled low, voice thick with dark lust. “Look how fuckin’ wet you got for me. This little scrap of cotton’s soaked clean through with your cunt juice. Smell it, smells like sweet vanilla and desperate pussy, don’t it?”

He brought the drenched patch closer, close enough that you could feel the warm, musky heat radiating off it.

Then he leaned in and dragged his tongue flat across the soaked gusset, slow, filthy, sucking hard enough to pull the fabric into his mouth. He groaned deep in his throat, eyes rolling back for a second as he tasted you, sharp, tangy, sweet, lapping at the wet cotton like it was the last drop of something precious.

You jolted, a high, shocked whimper tearing out of you. Your thighs shook violently; you couldn’t speak, only tiny, trembling gasps escaped.

He pulled back with a wet pop, lips shiny with your slick, eyes locked on yours.

“Tastes even better than it smells,” he taunted, licking his lips slow and deliberate. “Sweet little virgin cunt drippin’ like a whore in heat. You been leakin’ all over these pretty panties the whole time you were on your knees eatin’ my load, huh? Bet you didn’t even know how bad you wanted it till now.”

Your face burned so hot you thought you might cry. You stared at the ceiling, biting your lip hard, thighs trembling, unable to form words, only a soft, mortified “Sheriff…” slipped out.

He balled up the warm, dripping cotton in his fist and rose back up between your legs.

“Open that pretty mouth, angel,” he growled low.

You barely had time to obey before he pushed the drenched panties between your lips, stuffing the wet fabric deep into your mouth. The taste of your own slick flooded your tongue. Your eyes widened in shock, a muffled whimper vibrating around the cotton gag.

“Atta girl,” he rasped, dark satisfaction in his voice. “Keep those innocent little panties right where they belong. Now spread those pretty legs wider on my desk, baby girl,”

You blushed scarlet, deeper than you’d ever blushed in your life. Your thighs trembled violently as you nodded, the words coming out soft, wet, and completely muffled against the soaked gag.

“Yesh… Sheriff…”

The garbled, innocent little plea made Lee groan low in his throat, his cock twitching hard against your thigh.

“Fuck, that’s adorable,” he rasped. “Even with your dirty panties in your mouth you’re still sayin’ yes like a good girl.”

Lee didn’t give you time to breathe. He stepped between your spread thighs, forcing them wider with the bulk of his hips. His cock, still half-hard from your mouth, glistening with the ruined remnants of glaze, spit, cum and dough crumbs bobbed heavy and obscene between you. The thick, wrinkled foreskin was still partially covering the fat head, shiny and slick.

He fisted the shaft lazily, slowly working the foreskin back and forth a few times, pulling it down to fully expose the swollen, leaking tip before sliding it back up again. Sticky strands of glaze, spit and cum stretched between the skin and the head as he smeared the filthy mess along your bare, dripping folds, coating your clit and slit with it.

“Gonna get this pretty virgin cunt nice and messy too,” he growled, voice low and filthy. “Feel how slick that foreskin is, angel? That’s all for you.”

The sight ripped a low, guttural growl from deep in his chest. His nostrils flared wide; he could smell you even stronger now, sweet vanilla undercut by the sharp, musky reek of your dripping cunt slicing through the stale whiskey, cigarette ash and sex haze of the office.

“Look at that sloppy little mess,” he rasped, voice thick with liquor and leftover cum. His thumb dragged over your swollen clit, pressing down hard enough to make you jolt. You whimpered, high, needy, thighs quivering uncontrollably. “Angel’s cunt already cryin’ rivers for it. Soakin’ like a desperate little whore who’s been dreamin’ about this fat cock all damn day. Bet Mommy don’t know her sweet baby girl’s leakin’ like a faucet in the sheriff’s back room, does she?”

Your face burned hotter than the fryer at closing time. Shame and want twisted together in your belly until you couldn’t tell which was winning. But your thighs parted wider anyway on instinct, surrender, hips tilting shamelessly toward his hand like your body had already sold you out.

You tried to answer but the soaked cotton panties stuffed in your mouth turned your words into soft, wet, muffled sounds.

“I- I cou’n hewp it, Sheriff…” you mumbled around the gag, voice cracking and barely intelligible, drool already starting to leak from the corners of your lips. “You… you make me fee’ so funny down dere… hot an’ achy an’… empty… like I need somethin’ bad… somethin’ I don’ even un’erstan’…”

Lee chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating through his chest into yours. He hooked his big hands under your thighs and lifted you fully onto the edge of the desk like you weighed nothing. Papers scattered in a chaotic flutter; the half-empty Jack Daniel’s bottle tipped sideways, rolling slowly across the wood but not quite falling.

Instead of leaving you there, he kept his grip on your thighs and adjusted you, pulling your ass right to the very edge of the scarred desktop so your hips tilted up and your legs fell open wider on either side of him. He pushed your knees back toward your chest slightly, spreading you obscenely open, completely exposed under the flickering lamplight.

Your ass hung just off the edge now, cunt presented like an offering, slick dripping down onto the wood below.

“There we go,” he rasped, voice thick with satisfaction as he looked down at your helpless, spread position. “Nice and ready for me. Just how I want my angel.”

“Ish… ish gonna be too bigg,” you tried to say, but the soaked cotton panties stuffed deep in your mouth turned the words into a wet, garbled mumble. “Sheriff… ish it gonna hurt?”

Lee froze for a second, then a slow, filthy grin split his face. He braced both hands on the desk beside your hips, leaning down until his whiskey-sour breath fanned over your soaked cunt. Without warning, he bent lower and pressed a slow, sloppy, open-mouthed kiss right on your throbbing clit, lips sealing around the swollen bud for one long, sucking second, tongue flicking once before pulling back with a wet, obscene pop.

You jolted, back arching off the desk, a high, shocked whimper tearing out of you. Your thighs snapped together instinctively, trapping his head for a heartbeat before he shoved them apart again with rough hands.

“Might sting a little, baby girl,” he taunted, voice thick with dark amusement. He licked his lips, tasting you, eyes locked on yours. “But look at this greedy little clit, puffin’ up and shinin’ like it’s beggin’ for more. You’re so fuckin’ wet it’s drippin’ down your ass crack already. You really gonna pretend you don’t want this fat cock to split you open? Gonna pretend that tiny virgin hole ain’t clenchin’ and suckin’ just thinkin’ about bein’ stretched around me?”

Your face flamed crimson; you couldn’t look at him. You stared at the ceiling instead, biting your lip so hard it hurt, thighs trembling violently.

“I… I don’ know…” you mumbled around the soaked panties, voice soft, wet, and completely muffled. “Ish scary… but… but I wan’ it too. I think…”

Lee groaned, deep, animal. “That’s my good girl. Scared little angel who’s still drippin’ like a whore.”

He braced one hand on the desk beside your hip, the other guiding his thick length, rubbing the fat, glaze-smeared head up and down your slit, coating himself in your slick until every glide made wet, obscene noises that echoed in the small room.

“Too big’s the whole fuckin’ point, baby girl,” he grunted, voice slurred and thick. His eyes were locked on where you were stretched just around the tip, watching himself disappear a fraction more with every shallow rock of his hips. “Gonna stretch this tight little virgin cunt wide open. Make it remember the shape of me every time you sit down tomorrow. Every time Mommy asks why you’re walkin’ funny.”

He pressed forward again, slow, agonizingly slow, watching your face the entire time. Your walls fluttered wildly around the intrusion, trying to take more, slick heat sucking at him greedily even as your brows pinched and your lips parted on a shaky gasp.

The stretch burned, sweet, deep, overwhelming. You felt every ridge, every pulse of him as he sank deeper, inch by thick, veined inch.

When he met resistance, your body instinctively clenching, he stilled, breath ragged, forehead pressed to yours for a moment. Sweat dripped from his brow onto your collarbone.

“Come on, baby,” he rasped, voice dropping to a rough, pleading growl. “Let me in. Let your sheriff in that sweet little hole. You been drippin’ for it all night- don’t fight it now. Open up for me… that’s it… just like that…”

His thumb found your clit again, circling slow, firm circles that made your hips jerk and your walls flutter open around him. The combination of pain and pleasure made your breath hitch; another inch slid inside with a wet squelch.

You let out a broken little sob, half pain, half bliss. “Oh- oh goo’ness- Sheriff- ish so fuww- stings- burns-”

He pushed the rest of the way in with one long, steady thrust, bottoming out until his balls pressed flush and heavy against your ass, the last of the glaze and spit smearing between you.

You cried out, nails digging into his shoulders, legs shaking uncontrollably. The sound came out muffled and wet around the soaked panties stuffed in your mouth.

“I can fee’ you… eb’rywhere,” you whimpered, voice garbled and lispy. “In my bewwy. Wike you’re rearrangin’ me inside…”

He held still for a long moment, letting you adjust, letting you feel the sheer size of him splitting you open, owning every inch. His thumbs stroked slow circles on the trembling insides of your thighs, almost gentle despite the filth of his words.

“That’s it,” he murmured, voice slurred but steady now, focused. “Take a breath, angel. Let that pretty pussy get used to bein’ owned. You’re mine now- every tight little inch of you.”

The desk was rattling now, violent, rhythmic shudders that sent pencils rolling off the edge and the flickering lamp teetering dangerously on its base. Every brutal snap of Lee’s hips drove the scarred wood deeper into the wall behind it, the whole room seeming to pulse in time with the wet, obscene slap of skin on skin. The air had turned thick and humid, thick enough to taste on every ragged breath.

Your legs had wrapped around his thick waist as best they could, ankles crossing at the small of his back, heels digging into the damp fabric of his uniform shirt. The stockings had laddered further from the rough friction, thin runs snaking up your thighs like delicate scars. You clung to him, nails scraping down his meaty arms, leaving red trails through the coarse hair, trying to anchor yourself against the overwhelming tide of sensation.

“Sheriff- pwease- ” Your voice cracked, high and desperate, the words coming out as wet, garbled mumbles around the soaked cotton panties stuffed in your mouth. “I fee’ somethin’- somethin’ comin’- ish too much- I can’t-”

Lee’s laugh was low, filthy, slurred at the edges but sharp with triumph. He shifted his angle, tilting his hips just right, so the fat head of his cock ground relentlessly against that swollen, secret spot inside you that made white-hot stars explode behind your eyelids. His belly pressed flush to yours with every deep plunge, the soft give of him trapping your clit between your bodies, rubbing it raw with every thrust.

“Yeah?” he growled, voice gravel dragged through smoke. “Gonna come on this fat sheriff cock, angel? Gonna soak me like the greedy little thing you are?” He leaned down, whiskey breath hot against your ear, lips brushing the shell. “Go on then- come for me. Squeeze this dirty dick like you never wanna let it go. Show me how bad you needed a man to wreck you.”

It hit you like a freight train barreling through the quiet night.

Your back arched off the desk, sharp, violent, head falling back so hard your skull thumped against the wood. A high, keening cry tore from your throat, raw, reverent, almost prayer-like as your pussy clamped down in frantic, fluttering pulses. Slick gushed around him in hot, slippery waves, soaking his shaft, dripping in thick rivulets down his balls and onto the scattered papers below. The mess spread, mixing with the spilled whiskey and crumbling glaze into a filthy puddle that would stain the desk for weeks.

Lee cursed through gritted teeth, thrusts turning erratic, sloppy, losing rhythm as your walls milked him with greedy contractions. “Fuck- fuck- that’s it- milk me- Jesus fuckin’ Christ-”

He buried himself to the hilt one final time, deep enough you swore you felt him in your throat, with a guttural, broken groan that rattled his whole frame. His cock pulsed violently inside you; thick, hot spurts flooded your depths in heavy ropes, so much, so fast it immediately overflowed. Warm cum leaked out around his thick base, mixing with your own release and the last sticky remnants of sugar, running in slow, pearly trails down the cleft of your ass and pooling beneath you on the desk.

He stayed seated deep, buried to the root, panting harshly against the crook of your neck. His forehead pressed to yours, sweat dripping from his brow onto your flushed cheeks. You trembled beneath him, aftershocks rippling through your core in weak, fluttering waves; your walls still weakly clenched around him like they were trying to keep him inside forever.

For a long moment there was only the sound of ragged breathing, the dying buzz of the lamp, the distant tick of the wall clock creeping toward eleven.

Then he began to pull out.

The drag of his softening cock through your oversensitive walls made you whimper, sharp, oversensitive pleasure-pain. When the fat head finally slipped free, a thick rope of cum followed immediately, gushing from your puffy, ruined entrance in a slow, obscene cascade. It dripped onto the desk in heavy drops, mingling with everything else you’d already made.

Lee watched with dark, possessive satisfaction, eyes hooded, lips parted. His thumb, still sticky with glaze and your combined mess, scooped up a generous glob of the leaking cum and pushed it back inside you. Your walls fluttered weakly around the intrusion; a soft, broken sound escaped your throat.

“Keep that where it belongs,” he murmured, voice wrecked but steady, almost tender beneath the gravel. “Don’t want none of my mess wastin’, angel. Gonna make sure you feel me drippin’ out of you the whole walk home.”

You whimpered again, too blissed-out, too overwhelmed to form words. Your thighs shook uncontrollably; your body felt liquid, boneless, pinned to the desk like an offering. The apron hung crooked and ruined, streaked with sugar, spit, tears, cum, your blouse half-unbuttoned from his rough hands, breasts heaving with every shallow breath.

Lee’s big palm smoothed down your trembling thigh, almost soothing before he reached up and hooked two thick fingers into the corner of your mouth. He slowly pulled the drenched, saliva-soaked panties from between your lips, the wet cotton dragging out with a filthy, obscene sound. Strings of your drool connected the fabric to your swollen lips for a second before they snapped.

You gasped softly, finally able to breathe properly again, lips parted and shiny.

He leaned in and crushed his mouth to yours in a deep, sloppy, whiskey-soaked kiss. He tasted like bourbon and sin; you tasted like him and the faint, musky sweetness of your own slick from the gag.

When he pulled back, his eyes searched yours, something raw flickering behind the drunken haze.

“You okay, baby girl?” he rasped quietly, thumb brushing a tear track from your cheek. “Did I hurt you too bad?”

You shook your head slowly, eyes glassy, lips trembling into the softest smile. “No, Sheriff,” you whispered. “It… it felt like dyin’ and bein’ born all at once. Like I was waitin’ my whole life for you to do that to me.”

He exhaled a shaky breath, almost a laugh and rested his forehead against yours again.

“Good,” he muttered. “’Cause I ain’t done with you yet. Not by a long shot.”

But even as he said it, his gaze flicked to the old wall clock on the far side of the room, its face yellowed with age and nicotine, ticked past 10:45 with a slow, accusing rhythm that suddenly cut through the haze of heavy breathing and sticky skin. The sound seemed louder now, sharper, like it had been waiting for the right moment to remind them both that the world outside this filthy little office still existed.

His eyes narrowed, the drunken fog lifting just enough for reality to creep back in. Then his gaze dropped to you: sprawled boneless across the cluttered desk, skirt rucked up around your hips in a wrinkled halo, apron streaked with sugar, spit, tears and the unmistakable pearly evidence of what you’d done together. Your face was flushed crimson, lips swollen and shiny, hair mussed and clinging damply to your temples. You looked ruined, beautifully, thoroughly ruined and something possessive twisted hard in his chest at the sight.

You blinked slowly, lashes fluttering as the afterglow ebbed and the world came back into focus. Your eyes widened when they landed on the clock.

“Oh no- Sheriff-” Your voice was small again, cracked and trembling, the shy sweetness rushing back in like cold water. “What time is it?”

Lee wiped a thick thumb across your cheek, smearing a lingering streak of glaze rather than cleaning it, before answering. His voice was still rough, gravelly from groaning your name, but quieter now.

“Pushin’ eleven,” he rasped. “Why, angel?”

“My Mama said I could only be out till eleven,” you whispered, suddenly shrinking in on yourself despite the way your thighs still trembled around his hips. “She’ll be awful mad if I’m late. She’ll wait up- lights on in the kitchen, Bible open on the table- and she’ll ask where I was, why I smell like… like this.” Your gaze dropped to your ruined apron, then lower, to the sticky sheen coating your inner thighs. “And- and I can’t tell her I was here… like this. She’d die of shame. Or worse- she’d lock me in my room and never let me out again.”

Lee barked a rough laugh, low, almost fond but there was something tender buried in the sound, something that hadn’t been there before you walked through his door. He eased back just enough to help you sit up, big hands steadying your waist as the room spun a little for you.

He reached down and picked up the ruined, soaked white cotton panties from the floor. A filthy little smirk tugged at his lips.

“Here we go, angel,” he murmured, voice gravelly. “One leg now…”

He gently lifted your left foot, guiding it through the leg hole. You held onto his broad shoulders for balance, cheeks burning as he slowly worked the other leg through.

“…now the other. That’s it. Good girl.”

He slid the damp panties up your thighs with surprising care, the wet cotton clinging obscenely to your slick, cum-filled pussy. He even adjusted them carefully over your swollen folds, patting the front almost possessively before tugging your skirt down as best he could. The fabric smoothed over your hips but the dark, wet spot between your thighs was impossible to hide and fresh sticky trails still ran down your legs.

“Better get movin’ then, sweetheart,” he said, voice gravelly but softer at the edges. “Can’t have Mommy comin’ lookin’ for her little baker girl with a flashlight and a prayer book. She finds you like this, she’ll have the whole congregation prayin’ over your soul by sunrise.”

You slid off the desk on wobbly legs, knees knocking together, thighs slick and trembling. A fresh trickle of his cum slid warm and slow down your inner thigh the moment your feet hit the floor; you pressed them shut with a tiny, mortified gasp, cheeks flaming anew.

Lee watched the motion with dark, hungry eyes, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. It was stained, crumpled, smelling faintly of motor oil and old smoke but it was the best he had. He stepped close again, close enough you could feel the heat rolling off him and dabbed gently at your chin, wiping away the worst of the glaze and spit. Then lower, across the streaks on your apron, the smudges on your blouse. His touch was careful, almost reverent, like he was trying to erase the evidence even though he knew it was pointless.

When he finished, he leaned in, lips brushing the shell of your ear, breath hot and whiskey-sour.

“Next time,” he murmured low, possessive, “bring more donuts. A whole dozen. And don’t wear panties. I wanna feel that sweet pussy drippin’ the whole walk over here- knowin’ you’re already wet for me before you even knock.”

Your cheeks burned scarlet, but you didn’t pull away. Instead you nodded, small, shy, eager, biting your lower lip hard enough to leave a mark.

“Yes, Sheriff,” you breathed.

He walked you to the door, big hand splayed possessively on the small of your back, thumb stroking slow circles through the thin fabric of your blouse. The night air hit you like a slap when he pushed the door open, cool, clean, smelling of pine and distant rain. It cut through the thick reek of sex and sugar clinging to your skin, making you shiver.

You paused on the top step, turning back to look at him. The porch light cast harsh shadows across his face, highlighting the sweat on his brow, the crooked badge, the crooked smirk but his eyes were steady on yours. Soft. Hungry. Something dangerously close to tender.

“Thank you, Sheriff…” you whispered, cheeks still flushed. “For… for lettin’ me stay with you. For makin’ me feel so full… and so dirty… and like I mattered tonight.”

Lee’s smirk softened, just a fraction, into something almost real.

“Anytime, baby girl,” he rasped, voice low and rough. “Door’s always open for my favorite delivery. Matter of fact… you can come even earlier next time. The other deputies usually clear out by eight. After that it’s just me here… all alone.”

His thumb brushed your bottom lip, still swollen from earlier.

“So come as early as you want, angel. The sooner you get here, the more time I got to ruin you proper.”

You gave him one last look, then turned and hurried off into the dark. Your skirt fluttered with every quick step; the cool air kissed the sticky trails on your thighs, making you clench involuntarily around the lingering ache of him inside you. His taste still coated your tongue. His cum still leaked slow and warm between your legs with every stride.

Behind you, Lee leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his broad chest, watching until your silhouette disappeared around the bend in the road.

He didn’t move for a long time.

The clock inside ticked toward midnight.

And somewhere deep in his whiskey-soaked heart, he already knew: this wasn’t the end.

It was just the beginning of something he’d never be able to quit.

— yours truly, ѕℓυtdιεr.

masterlist

“You lost, little lady?” One of them comes up to you first, plastering on a salacious grin that has you crinkling your nose. 

“No, just looking for the sheriff. Is he in right now?”

“Well, I’m sure I can help you with whatever it is you need.”

Your lips curl into a sour grimace. “Whatever it is you’re offering, I’m not interested.” Laughter scatters throughout the station as the officer’s smile wipes from his face. “Now, the sheriff?”

“Straight through the back.”

“Thank you.”

At first, they think it’s a fluke. Some new-to-town city girl who got herself into a bit of trouble and wants the highest-ranking officer to help. 

Because why is someone like you — fresh-faced, devastatingly gorgeous, inappropriately young — looking for a sleazy geezer like the sheriff?

But then it happens again and again and again. 

You keep coming back. You keep asking for Lee. 

Each time you come in with a cute little bag, each time you leave without it. 

Each evening, everyone watches as Lee leaves with that blue plaid lunch bag in tow. 

Once, after you leave, Lee steps out into the bullpen to heat his lunch. His colleagues take that as the prime opportunity to pounce. 

“Lee, come on, be honest now. Where’d you pick that gal up? She your niece or something?” Tommy asks first. “She single?”

The sheriff gives him a disgusted look. “Watch your tongue, Deputy, else I’ll shoot it right outta your mouth. That’s my wife you’re talking about.”

Once again, laughter ripples through the room. Except their boss isn’t laughing. Lee cocks an eyebrow at Tommy. 

“That a problem?”

“N-no, but that gal? Your wife? Really?”

“What about it?”

Tommy opens his mouth but the fear of losing his job has him clamping his mouth shut again. Luckily, Stu has never had a problem with uncensoring his raw thoughts when it comes to his good friend. “What he means is — what’s a pretty young thing like that doin’ with a man like you, Sheriff?”

Lee only scowls. “I have many redeeming qualities.”

“Hopefully that means your di—”

“Finish that sentence and I’m putting you on overnight patrol for the rest of the month. Maybe on the wrong side of town.” 

Sure enough, the next time you come around, Stu has to confirm for himself. 

And there it is — the big fat rock on your finger. 

You don’t make it to your husband’s room before you’re intercepted and surrounded by the entire station; granted, it’s a small department but you’re still circled by these hyenas nonetheless. 

“Honey, you have to tell us, what do you see in an old grump like the sheriff?” Stu starts with a grin. 

You can’t help the dreamy smile that stretches across your face. “Grump? The sheriff? Please. He’s a big ol’ softie. You should’ve seen what he prepared for Valentine’s Day — flooded our living room with flowers, cooked me dinner, even danced with me in the kitchen to Sinatra.”

All of them are convinced they’ve entered the Twilight Zone. Sheriff Lee Bodecker? Flowers? Cooking? Dancing? 

“You’re pullin’ my leg,” Stu insists, “that man’s diet consists of beer and burgers. Store-bought only.”

Your lips twitch. “I do like me a man who can eat.”

Stu wiggles his eyebrows. “You tellin’ me that our boss is a mu—”

“That’s enough,” Lee’s voice snaps like a whip to disperse most of them back to their desks. Unfortunately, his best friend has no fear and continues to tease him relentlessly throughtout the rest of the day. 

When he comes home in the evening, sinking into his beloved armchair with a cool beer in hand, you settle right down on his lap. His wide frame trapped between your supple thighs. 

“The guys weren’t giving you a hard time, were they?” He murmurs, hand sliding down your back to your ass — practically exposed as your little nightgown rides up — as you curl into him like a kitten, nuzzling your face into his thick neck.

You hum, the vibrations going straight through his skin and down to his cock. “No, it was all in good fun, Sheriff.”

Lee’s pants stiffen underneath you. You smile. He’s always been so easy to rile up. 

“Sheriff, huh?” He grunts, “Why don’t you be a good wife and warm this sheriff’s cock, sweetheart?”

You don’t miss a beat, hands peeling down his zipper to free his thick cock. One thing Stu got right — his dick is definitely a big perk to being Lee’s wife. You’re dripping at the sight of it, mouth salivating like a trained dog as you flip the hem of your skirt up, as you sink yourself down facing him.

His cock stretches out your poor aching cunt, still sore from when he fucked you good the night before. It’s a burn that has you whining in delight.  

“That’s a good wife,” Lee softly says, kissing down the column of your neck. His cool fingers, now free of the beer bottle, reach up to grope you through the flimsy silk of your gown, pinching at your pert nipples. His touch seeps icy cold onto your skin, eliciting a shiver up your spine. 

“Mmm, Sheriff, please,” you wriggle on his lap, pushing his cock deeper into your pulsing pussy.

“Let me watch my show, sweetie. I’m gonna need you to be a good, quiet cocksleeve for me. Can you do that?”

A whimper builds in your chest but you nod quietly, hiding your face in his neck again as he picks up his beer and continues watching his show. 

It’s disgustingly arousing to see your husband, much too old for you, a belly that protrudes in a puzzle piece that usually fits so snugly into the arch of your back, offer little to no attention to you. You’re used to the hungry eyes that follow you everywhere. But Lee — while he loves you — doesn’t spoil you that way.

Instead, he barely pays you any mind as he takes another swig of his beer. 

It only makes you needier for him. You wiggle impatiently, swiveling your hips to drive him deeper inside you. Petulant whines fall from your lips. “Lee, please.” 

“What is it, darlin’?”

“Need you,” you pout, grinding your hips down again. 

Lee remains unfazed but his cock twitches inside of you, betraying his wanton need. No matter how much he pretends, there’s a reason why Lee locked you down with a ring so early, so quickly. 

“Such an impatient little minx. If only the guys knew how much of a needy slut you were, they wouldn’t be asking why you’d want to be with a man like me.”

“I only need you, Lee. Only need you and this fat cock to satisfy me.”

Lee lifts his hips in stuttered thrusts. You slump over him, relishing in the way he keeps muttering what a good wife you are, a good little cockwarmer for him. How your young pussy was made for this old cock. 

His fingers bruise evidence of his love on your hips, his mouth imprinting his territorial marks along your collarbones. His cock reshaping your cunt to fit him and only him. 

Through it all, he doesn’t stop whispering what a sweet wife you are. How perfect you are for him. 

And when is all is said and done, when Lee has creamed inside of you and is keeping you plugged up with his cock, he brushes your hair to the side, pressing a kiss onto your shoulder.

“I love you, sweetie.”

“I love you more, Lee.”

+ sam: ilysm bbl you have no idea <33 intended for it to just be cute and we ended up here (as always)

lee is arresting (taglist): @houseofhyde @its-in-the-woods @phoenix-in-writing @tofuonfaiya @avengersfan25 @miraclediviner @hailmary-yramliah @catclaw1 @blowingbarnes @stanmarvelous @esunarint @heldbybarnes @nikkitabarnes @captain-shannon-becker @sergeantsebastian @natskisses @parker-barnes-af @sarah1barnes @angelryex @evelynstanmarvel @lokisgirlie @mathcat345 @winnichu173 @zhaixiaowen @c3liaaaaa @buckysdecaflove @larissabarnes @macbaetwo @blobfishlol @erina00 @idkbeautiful @globetrotter28 @rach2602 @star-yawnznn @fruitypebsworld @awkwardgiraffe726

He looked good tonight. Hair a little damp from a shower, sleeves rolled to the elbows, badge glinting faintly in the last of the light. You weren’t really sure when the crush had started, maybe it was the first time he drove you home after work, or the way he called you 'darlin’ girl' without sounding like he was teasing. Maybe it was just the way he made you feel... safe.

But now, sitting in that passenger seat with sweat clinging under your dress, the summer heat making everything feel just a little too sticky, your thoughts drifted lower. You turned slightly in your seat, thighs sliding over the vinyl, skirt riding up the back of your legs. Your shirt stuck a little to your back, the sheen of humidity making everything feel more exposed.

You looked at him, really looked. Not like a coworker or a helpful ride, but like a man. A real man. Not like those boys you’d kissed clumsily in the backseat of a sedan at the lookout after your last summer home from secretary school. Not like the nervous boys who never quite knew what to do with their hands.

No. Lee was different. Steady. Capable. Tired in a way that made you ache for him.

His bottom lip jutted just slightly, pouty when he focused on the road, and your eyes drifted lower. Down to where his legs sat wide, the fabric of his uniform pants drawn tight over thick thighs. Your gaze lingered there as you lifted your milkshake and slowly sucked the sweet, melting vanilla through the straw.

Something about Lee made your belly tighten when you were lying in bed alone at night. Something about the way he filled up a room, quiet, but always there. Solid. Strong.

Your thighs pressed together.

"Sheriff..."

He glanced at you, one brow raised, eyes flicking briefly over to gauge your tone.

"Told you, sweet girl. After hours, it’s just Lee to you."

But you weren’t really listening. The words barely registered as your heart beat hard against your ribs. The question had already bloomed in your chest, persistent, hot, too big to hold down any longer. You fidgeted, thighs shifting beneath your skirt, the slick heat between them distracting.

"Can I see it?"

The silence in the cab stretched long and strange. Lee didn’t look at you right away, but you saw the change. His knuckles tightened on the steering wheel. His breath hitched in his throat. You were sure he’d noticed where your gaze had lingered, his thighs, the bulge in his pants, the shape of him when he adjusted his belt. His jaw flexed and relaxed again. He blinked, slow and deliberate.

"Can you what now?"

You swallowed hard, nervous and excited all at once. "Your... you know. Your dick."

He made a choked sound in the back of his throat, somewhere between a groan and a laugh. Then he leaned back and let out a disbelieving huff, running hands down his face as if to shake the words out of his ears.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered. "You tryin’ to give me a goddamn heart attack, girl? You don’t just spring somethin’ like that on a man behind the wheel."

You looked down quickly, embarrassed heat crawling up your neck. "I didn’t mean it like that. I wasn’t tryin’ to ..I’m just... I’m curious. I’ve never seen one. Not really. Not up close."

Your voice was softer then. Quieter. More honest. 

"You’re not like the boys I know."

The best you’d seen were grainy diagrams in a textbook, or clinical health class pamphlets. Nothing raw. Nothing warm. Nothing that made your thighs press together like this.

Lee was silent, but you could feel the energy shift inside the car. Like the heat had gotten thicker.

You looked down, hands fiddling in your lap.

"You don’t have to if you don’t want to. It’s okay," you said, voice so soft it barely reached the space between you.

But you could already feel the weight of his attention settling over your skin like a promise. It wrapped around your shoulders, heavy and molten, like heat lightning on the edge of a storm. Your breath caught in your throat. The hum of the car, the static warble of the radio, the soft slurp of melting ice in your cup, it all faded into the background as you felt him shift beside you.

That’s when he pulled the car over.

The gravel crunched under the tires as the cruiser rolled to a slow, deliberate stop on the side of the road. The headlights lit up a patch of tall grass and a leaning mailbox that had long since lost its name. The engine stayed running, a low growl beneath you both, and the radio murmured faint country ballads beneath it all, nothing clear, just the ache of slide guitars and broken hearts. Crickets filled the silence beyond the glass, their song pulsing with the slow rhythm of your racing heart.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just sat there for a long moment, one hand still on the wheel, the other resting loose on his thigh. His jaw shifted, like he was biting down on something he couldn’t let loose. Then, slowly, Lee turned toward you.

His eyes were darker now; shadowed, molten, unreadable. His mouth had lost its usual curve. What replaced it was something serious. Something aching. His gaze swept your face, pausing at your lips before flicking back to your eyes. You could feel the weight of it, feel the heat where it landed.

"You sure, sweetheart?"

The way he said it wasn’t teasing. It wasn’t even flirtation anymore. It was something else, that rough-edged concern curled around a hunger so tightly reined in it made your breath stutter. Like he needed you to mean it. Like he was giving you a chance to run.

You nodded. Voice a whisper. "I trust you."

The words settled between you like a loaded gun on the seat. Heavy. Final. And somehow, impossibly soft. A switch flipped, heat shifting from a low simmer to something crackling and wild beneath the surface. It wasn't just anticipation now; it was inevitability, humming in the air between you like the thick pull of gravity.

The atmosphere changed- thickened-like a thunderstorm rolling in without warning. You could see it in the way his jaw went slack, the way his chest rose a little harder on the inhale, like he’d been punched through the ribs by something sweet and terrible. His eyes flicked from your mouth to your lap, then back again, something raw and unspoken lighting behind them.

That changed something in his face. Like something snapped loose in his chest. Like the man inside him had been holding a breath for far too long and now, finally, he could exhale. And when he did, it came out in a slow, measured sigh

"...aw -hell," he muttered, voice low and already ruined with the weight of what was coming. His eyes dropped for just a second, then came back to yours with something raw behind them. "You got no idea what you’re doin’ to me, sittin’ over there with those big eyes, askin’ to see my cock like it’s somethin’ sweet. Like you don’t even know what you’re askin’."

He sucked in a breath, dragged a hand through his hair, then let out a quiet, almost broken, "Alright. But once I show you, darlin’, there ain’t no takin’ it back."

Sitting back, Lee reached for his belt and unbuckled it with the kind of steady care that made your breath catch. The metal click of it undoing echoed in the charged silence. He glanced up, locking eyes with you for a beat, making sure-really making sure-you weren’t about to bolt. That you still wanted this. Wanted him.

When you didn’t say a word, only watched with wide eyes and parted lips, he nodded once to himself. Zipped down. Pushed the fabric aside. His movements were slow, deliberate, every inch of him calm even as the tension in the air crackled like a live wire.

When he pushed his boxers down and pulled himself free, you couldn’t breathe.

You stared, entranced, eyes wide, pulse pounding somewhere behind your ribs.

He was already hard. Thick. With nothing real to compare it to, all your brain could latch onto was how wide he was. Heavy-looking. Your eyes traced the veins along the shaft, the flushed skin stretched tight over the thickness. The head was an angry, almost flushed pink, swollen and glistening slightly with precum that caught the faint blue glow of the dash like dew on a leaf.

Your breath hitched. There was something raw about it, unapologetic. He was showing you some vulnerable part of himself and yet holding nothing back. You shifted slightly in your seat, thighs clenching, your stomach fluttering with nerves and heat.

You couldn’t believe how much you felt just from seeing him. Your mouth went dry and your core ached, your body responding in ways you weren’t prepared for. It wasn’t just arousal. It was fascination. You wanted to understand it, to explore it, to know him. The way the head twitched when he shifted, how thick the base looked in his fist, how flushed the skin had become from nothing but anticipation. Every small detail etched itself into your memory.

He looked... overwhelming. Masculine in a way that made your whole body hum.

You licked your lips without realizing it, eyes wide and transfixed, and whispered, "oh..." you breathed, barely realizing the word had left your mouth.

Lee let out a low, warm chuckle. "That a good reaction or a scared one, sweetheart?"

You shook your head quickly, cheeks burning. "No-good. It’s... it’s just... a lot."

His lips quirked, smug and soft all at once. "Yeah, baby. S’posed to be."

Your knees pressed together involuntarily, the ache between your legs pulsing now, unmistakable. You'd seen diagrams, maybe blurry porn in passing, but this? This was real. The weight of it. The size. The intimacy of him showing you like this. It made you dizzy.

He watched every shift of your expression, every twitch of your thighs, every subtle gasp. "C’mon, sugar. You can look all you want. I ain’t shy. Ain’t been in a long time."

Lee watched you watching him, his eyes dark and hungry. One hand wrapped around the base and stroked, slow, languid, shameless, from root to tip. He didn’t rush, didn’t hide it. He wanted you to look. Wanted you to see exactly what he was offering.

He exhaled through his nose, voice low and rough, almost reverent. "You got me makin’ such a mess just from lookin’ at it," he said. "Your thighs’re squeezin’ together so tight, baby. You like watchin’? That what you needed?"

The heat climbed higher in your chest. It felt like it might burst out of you, all tight and twisting and unfamiliar in the best way. Your thighs squeezed together so hard it made your hips shift, desperate for any kind of relief. You nodded before you even realized you had. Your lips parted, breath shallow, and your whole body leaned forward without you telling it to.

You couldn’t look away. Couldn’t stop tracking the way his thumb smoothed over the head, gathering the little drop that had been beading there-slick and glistening-before stroking it back down the thick, flushed length. It looked too big for your hand, for your body, and yet you wanted it. Wanted to know what it would feel like. What he would sound like.

Lee’s voice was lower than before, almost coaxing. "Go on," he said. "You can touch it. Be gentle. I’ll show you."

Your fingers lifted, hesitant, trembling slightly as they hovered before making contact. Then finally, you touched him. Brushed the side of his shaft with the backs of your knuckles. He twitched immediately under your touch, a soft grunt catching in his throat, and you gasped aloud at how hot he felt. How impossibly hard.

He was velvet over steel, thick and pulsing in your palm. You didn’t realize your other hand had joined in until your fingers curled around him slowly, reverently. You ran your thumb along the underside, testing the texture, watching the way the muscles in his stomach twitched.

Lee hissed through his teeth, his hips jerking up just a little. His hand went to your thigh like he needed to ground himself, thumb dragging along your skin in slow, unconscious circles.

You grew bolder, letting your fingers explore. One hand slid to the base, your palm cupping him as you wrapped your other around the top. You moved carefully stroking him with a fascination you didn’t bother to hide. His breath grew heavier, chest rising and falling under his shirt, the fabric pulling just slightly with every inhale.

"That’s it," he muttered, voice dark and rasping. "You’re doin’ so good, baby... so fuckin’ good."

You looked up at him, flushed, lips parted. "It’s... soft, but so hard," you whispered, eyes wide with wonder.

He groaned, low and wrecked. "Fuck, darlin’. Keep talkin’ like that and I ain’t gonna last."

Your hands kept moving, slick now from the precum leaking from the tip. You circled your thumb around it and felt him twitch.

"Shit. That’s good. That’s real good. Just like that, sweetheart. You got such a sweet little grip. Don’t even know what you’re doin’ to me."

Lee tugged gently on your wrist, guiding you closer with a slow pull that made your breath catch. His free hand skimmed your thigh, anchoring you as you leaned in, the console digging lightly into your hip. You barely realized your milkshake had tilted, nearly forgotten in the cupholder.

His mouth brushed yours before you could overthink it, soft at first, testing. Then deeper. Needier. The kiss was warm and slow, his lips plush and commanding, one hand sliding around the back of your neck to keep you close. Your thighs squeezed together as you kissed him back, the heat between your legs now insistent, pulsing.

You shifted, your body responding to the gravity of his. Your knees pressed into the seat, your balance shifting as your core ached with the kind of hunger you’d never truly understood until now.

Still, for a breathless second, you hesitated. You'd never done anything like this. Not even close. The good girl in you whimpered, guilt and nerves flaring hot. But the way Lee touched you, steady, grounding, wanting, burned right through the shame. Beneath it all, there was a thrill humming through your veins: wild, dangerous, and yours.

Your body moved on instinct. You climbed over the console, skirt riding up your thighs as you straddled his lap.

"Jesus-" he swore, grabbing your hips as you settled over him, bare skin against his jeans. The contact was instant, hot and slick. Lee froze beneath you for a beat, breath punched out of his chest.

He’d felt it. The soft heat of your pussy, bare and wet, pressed directly against him, his cock nestled right between your folds. No barrier. No fabric. Just skin against skin.

"No panties? Fuck, baby," he groaned, voice strained. His grip on your hips tightened as you rocked slightly, your slick dragging over the thick length of him, your clit brushing along the head with every movement. He let out a breath that was almost a growl, head tipping back against the headrest. "You’re so goddamn wet already..."

You didn’t look at him-couldn’t. You were too flushed, too far gone, voice small against his throat. "I-I took ’em off after lunch. They were damp. The heat in the office... it made ’em cling. Made me itchy."

Lee swore under his breath, a low rumble vibrating in his chest. "Christ, sugar... walkin’ around all day with that sweet little pussy bare under that skirt... and I didn’t even know."

His cock twitched beneath you, pressed snug between your folds, made slick with every pass. His hands flexed at your hips, grounding himself. You could feel him, every throb, every twitch, sliding along you in the most intimate, maddening way.

You started to move slowly, rocking your hips with careful, tentative rolls. The thick ridge of him glided against your aching clit with each pass, and the drag of it; firm and hot and impossibly good, made your breath fall apart in long, needy moans and soft, stuttering sighs. "Oh God," you whispered, lips parted, eyes fluttering shut as you rolled your hips again.

Your fingers dug into his shoulders for balance, needing the anchor of him beneath your hands. He was solid, warm, the only thing holding you together as your body moved on instinct. Each shift left a wetter smear across his cock, your slick spilling freely now, mixing with the precum beading from his tip. Your thighs clenched tighter around him, chasing the friction-desperate to feel that thick pressure slide against you again and again.

"Lee... it feels s’good," you gasped, voice trembling.

His hands were steady but firm on your hips, guiding you into those slow, maddening circles. "Yeah, baby. That’s it. Just like that," he groaned, breath hitching every time your clit caught the swollen ridge of his cock. "You’re makin’ such a fuckin’ mess on me. Look at you-so goddamn needy."

You whimpered, rolling your hips again, and the angle made you jerk, clit catching just right. A sharp, breathy cry escaped you. "Please... please don’t stop."

Lee’s chest rose under you, his voice strained now. "I ain’t stoppin’, baby. You keep movin’ just like that-you’re so close, I can feel it. Fuck, you feel so good..."

Your mess mixed with his precum, sticky and slick between you, making every pass lewd and wet and perfect. You couldn’t stop, couldn’t think, not with that thick length riding right against the spot you needed. Not with his hands guiding you, not with his voice in your ear, murmuring low and dirty praise that sent sparks racing down your spine.

Lee’s breath grew heavier, his jaw tight, chest rising beneath you as he watched you rut against him. "Look at you," he rasped.  "That’s it, sweet girl. Get yourself off on it. Show me how bad you want it.."

You hid your face against his neck, whining softly, hips stuttering as you tried to rise, tried to angle yourself for more. For him.

Your tight walls clenched around nothing, aching to be filled, to be stretched around his thick cock. Your whole body screamed for it, heat rolling through you in waves, your need impossible to hide.

"Need you... please, Lee," you whimpered, voice breaking as you rocked harder, desperate. "Please, just-let me-"

You whimpered, hips still rolling, chasing friction, trying to lift yourself higher, trying to angle your hips so he might just slide in. Your tight walls clenched around nothing, fluttering, desperate, your slick making everything hot and slippery. Your body screamed for it, for the stretch of him, for the fullness.

But his hands only held you tighter, steadying your hips.

His jaw clenched against your temple. "Not yet, darlin’. I know, I know you want it-but not like this. Not your first time in a fuckin’ patrol car. I ain’t gonna do that to you."

Still, he didn’t push you away. Just held you through it. Let you grind and gasp and chase it. But that thick length never pushed into you.

He groaned, forehead resting against yours. “Wanna make you come just like this. Get your pretty little pussy used to the feel of me.”

You gasped as he rocked you just right, slowly against his cock.

"Next time, I’ll lay you down proper. Gonna kiss you while I slide in nice and slow."

A moan slipped from your lips. Your chest pressed fully to his now, sweat-slick skin dragging against his button-down with every stuttering breath you took. His broad chest rose and fell against yours, his breathing ragged and heavy, his nose nudging along your cheek as he grounded you there, holding you steady through every roll of your hips.

"You think this feels good, darlin’? Wait ‘til I’m inside you."

God, the heat was unbearable. It curled low and tight in your belly, spreading molten and hot through your limbs, making your thighs tremble. Your toes curled in your shoes as the tension built, a slow, blistering coil

You shuddered. He was right there, right there, and still it wasn’t enough. 

"Please-Lee-"

He growled softly. "You’re gonna take all of me when it’s time, aren’t you? Gonna let me stretch you open so sweet..." 

Every pass of your soaked folds over his cock was pure, tormenting bliss. You ached-ached-to have him inside you. You imagined it, imagined the stretch, the burn, the fullness, and your walls fluttered at the thought, clenching down on nothing with desperate precision.

The pleasure surged higher, thick and hot and blinding. Your hips jerked once, then again, body trembling with the effort to hold on just a second longer. But it was useless. You were already gone.

Your breath hitched and broke.

A soft, choked cry spilled from your lips as your body tensed around the heat building inside you. The muscles in your thighs seized, your stomach clenched tight, and your whole body bowed forward with a sob of sensation. White-hot pressure snapped loose in your core, flooding you with wave after wave of shuddering release. You came hard, grinding down against the thick length of him, coating him in slick as your climax rolled through you, impossible to hide.

Lee caught you, held you steady. One arm braced tight around your waist, the other cradling the back of your neck as he murmured against your cheek, “That’s my girl… that’s it… ride it out for me…”

Your breath came in gasps-stuttered and wet-your forehead pressed to his temple, the heat of him grounding you as the aftershocks rippled through your limbs. Every twitch of your hips drew another spark of overstimulated pleasure, until you could do nothing but cling to him, moaning softly, helpless and undone in his lap.

Lee held you through it, his hands gentle now, stroking your back, fingertips trailing up your damp spine. His breath was rough in your ear, hot against your skin as he pressed soft, dizzying kisses along your temple, down to your cheek.

You felt his cock still hard beneath you, still nestled against your soaked folds, pulsing. The mess of your climax was slick between you, and he was leaking against your skin, every breath he took catching low in his chest.

He didn’t pull away. Just let you rest there, trembling, while his arms kept you close. You felt his restraint in every tightened muscle, the tension still rolling off him.

“Lee,” you whispered, dizzy, dazed.

He kissed your jaw again, then your temple. His voice came rough, still thick with want. “Next time, baby. I’ll take you right. Lay you out, get my mouth on you first. Gonna make it count.”

You nodded against him, thighs still trembling.

“But right now,” he murmured, stroking his hand down your spine once more, “I gotta get you home. Your daddy’s probably waitin’, and me and... well, we got some talkin’ to do if I’m gonna start seein’ you proper.”

You blinked up at him, wide-eyed, chest still heaving.

He just smiled slow, crooked, eyes soft and serious all at once. "Don’t worry, darlin’. I’ll handle it. Won’t be sneakin’ around with you. You deserve better than that."

You didn’t know what to say. Just nodded slowly, cheeks warm, thighs still slick, heart still stumbling somewhere behind your ribs. You reached up to fix your hair in the mirror, already knowing your skirt was too wrinkled, your skin too flushed. But Lee didn’t look away. Didn’t make you feel small. Just watched you like you were his.

He reached across you, turning the key in the ignition. The engine hummed to life. His hand lingered on the gear shift, knuckles brushing your knee.

“C’mon now, sugar,” he drawled, shifting into drive. “Let’s get you home before I change my mind and make you mine right here.”

May 2026

tiny moves by @nonotwithoutu | +18 | one of the guys on bucky's team has been going on about his wife's pregnancy, and after a particularly long mission apart from you, he's been having some thoughts. it turns out he's not the only one.

in the red dark by @sergeantxrogers | His eyes trapped yours in their vice-like grip as he stared up at you, fingers brushing against the hem of your jeans, and you swallowed heavily. You felt the rush of alcohol in your head fizzle out into smoke and embers as you sobered up quicker than you ever have in your life.

by @aquaticmercy

Waffles and Ice Cream | fluff | Neither you and Bucky were ready for your son’s first day of school. 

Emergency Contact | After dating for six months, Bucky is now your emergency contact. Yelena, your best friend, finds out the hard way.

by @blowingbarnes

Teacher's Pet | +18 | series | Professor Barnes is the absolute worst type of professor. He doesn’t know how to teach, he wants you to already know all the answers. And you… poor you, living for academic validation.

Passenger Princess | +18 | Lee Bodecker x reader | First date with Lee after so so much tension and he’s not nearly as stealthy as he wishes he was. You don’t mind it though.

fluff moment by @smorgaswhored | fluff | fluffy sugar daddy bucky moment.

by @buckybarnes82

Tech gone wrong. | fluff | A mission going wrong leads to you getting minorly injured. You and Bucky both stay in a safe house together, and when the thought of looming feelings comes to the forefront, do you both finally admit how you feel?

Valentine’s | fluff | Valentine’s Day was always one of those “holidays” you didn’t care much for, until you met Bucky.

by @buckyscaptain

SKINNY JEANS | you never got the whole fighting in skinny jeans thing, so as team movie night turns into just the two of you, you decide to bring it up.

I'M YOUR SWEETHEART? | having your appendix removed has you waking up wondering what's real and what's not, your boyfriend included.

by @witchywithwhiskey

something brutal and beautiful | +18 | when your car breaks down on the way to your parents' cabin, Bucky Barnes comes to your rescue. you end up staying in the unfamiliar alpha's cabin longer than you expected, with his far-too-enticing scent driving your omega wild. then, the atmosphere in the cabin shifts suddenly and the tension that's been building finally snaps.

safe and sound | comf | you're alone at your parents' summer cottage with your dad's best friend bucky barnes when a thunderstorm strikes in the middle of the night and the childhood fear that has followed you into adulthood rears its head—so all you can do is ask bucky if you can sleep with him.

safe and sound part 2 | +18 | you've fallen asleep in the arms of your dad's best friend bucky barnes, but when the thunderstorm that found you in his bed wakes you, things between you and bucky turn from comforting cuddling into something more.

on the clock | +18 | feeling unfulfilled by your job, you sign up to become a member of the Pleasure Portal network, which allows you to have sex with monsters around the world for money. then, when you connect with an anonymous monster on a boring summer day at the office, it leads to an afternoon delight—and something more.

knocked up by the mafia enforcers on halloween night | +18 | stucky x reader | tired of your boring, lonely life as a mafia princess, you go out on halloween looking for a little fun, and end up running into two of your father's most feared enforcers. you expect them to ruin your night, but maybe they're exactly who you need to make your life more meaningful.

careful what you beg for | +18 | one night, you go to sleep naked, which turns out to be an unintended invitation for an incubus—one he can't resist.

by @vunblr

Brown Sugar and Gunmetal | +18 | comf | Who would have thought that an inconspicuous vent in a bakery alley would be what brought them together: the omega who never felt right with any alpha, and the asset who wasn't supposed to want at all.

A Star Without a Sky | +18 | A wounded Sheriff Barnes seeks shelter in a young widow’s home, and finds himself wrapped in a warmth he no longer believes he deserves, and longing for something he thought long buried.

the grooms best by @apricotsflavors | Your brothers wedding is coming up, as much as you are exited, you dread the whole rehearsals scheme of it. To make matters worse your brother has named Bucky Barnes as his best man; meaning you’ll have to face him after all these years. The same Bucky Barnes you had a one night stand years back, that stupid teenage summer romance, before he ghosted you to go to college.

it's been a long, long time by @buckytakethewheel | series | Sergeant Bucky Barnes from the 107th gets injured a lot. And when he does, there's only one pair of hands he allows near him.

Redamancy by @renxzs | Maybe it was a bit naive to think moving in with your best friend and long-time crush, Bucky Barnes, was going to be some smooth road that led to an admittance of mutual feelings for one another and a happily-ever-after ending, wrapped up nicely in a bow. Naive indeed; especially when you have to consider the fact that Bucky is the biggest womanizer you know.

JAMES? by @you-have-a-metal-arm | : When you call Bucky “James”—a name no one else dares to use—he reveals to a stunned Steve and Sam.

pull out? yeah right? by @slutdier | mickey henry x fem!reader | +18 | On a risky midnight balcony in Athens, you let Mickey Henry fuck you against the railing despite your nervous protests, only for him to promise he’ll pull out and then deliberately fill you with two hot loads while groaning “sorry, felt too good.”

eleven o'clock sin | lee bodecker x fem!reader | +18 | A late-night donut delivery turns into something far sweeter and filthier, than Sheriff Bodecker ever expected from the town’s purest little angel.

Stitches by @woncheolisms | You’re just a clueless new medical student. You’re not equipped to deal with charming, witty, handsome doctors. Especially not ones with pretty blue eyes that make you weak in the knees.

spilled wine by @sunmoonandeddie | You’re nothing more than a servant who happens to warm the bed of the king.  At least, that’s what you thought you were.

by @buckysdecaflove

Ficception. | +18 | Writing fanfictions sounds fun until your muse is aware of what you're writing about him.

Bucky's sweetheart. | +18 | After Bucky gets injured on a mission, your secret gets exposed.

Happy Mistake by @sunlightdances | Being assigned roommates with modern!Bucky. He's a giant and looks like he's a bully, but he's actually so shy and soft.

dust to dust by @autumnsghosts | When you come back from the blip in the graveyard having just been at your grandmother’s funeral, the cemetery seems like the safest place to be. Cleaning old gravestones had certainly never been a dream of yours, but now you find yourself there most days, scraping dirt and moss and algae from stones of people long dead and most likely long forgotten. It also doesn't hurt that a certain blue-eyed super soldier visits the cemetery weekly, placing flowers over two plots.

Too Hot, An Arm Cold by @t-lostinworlds | Cuddles from Bucky Barnes was probably one of the greatest things ever. But it was difficult to prove that point true in the middle of a heatwave while the apartment air conditioner was broken. Good thing he has a cold metal arm.

by @fckmebarnes

two bad bitches at the same damn time | +18 | stucky x reader

put on a show | +18

alabaster walls by @unificsation | +18 | avengers x reader | teamwork makes the dream home work. call america’s best to remodel your home: lay down pipes, screw your drawers, paint your walls—anything you need.

spoiled milk by @perdidosbucky-yyo | +18 | Every Tuesday morning the housewives of Waiting Willow Lane eagerly wait for the handsome milkman. Pearls around their neck, red lips and a tight apron to accentuate their waist, at 5AM ready to bat their eyelashes at Bucky, not you though, but what happens when you smell another woman's perfume on your husband's shirt?

you all along by @juniebjonesin | +18 | being best friends since childhood with rebecca barnes meant a life full of adventure with only one hard rule: don’t ever flirt with her brother. but that rule doesnt make room for an anonymous pen pal or a love that happens anyway.

Borrowed Fairy Tales by @ilovolderman | You take a last-minute princess job at Morgan Stark’s birthday party expecting easy money and screaming children. You do not expect a grumpy Beast ruining your life with soft looks.

by @venigrantrogers

making a bracelet for roommate | +18

doctor! doctor! anything-please! | +18 | Bucky hated seeing you like this, tired, anxious, always on the edge of breaking. He'd do anything to help you feel good.

delirium by @flowersforbucky | +18 | stranded in the middle of the alaskan wilderness with no means of communication after being exposed to a foreign drug, you're reluctant to accept help from the one person who has a shot at saving you.

by @dearwalker

Supersoldiers in Paris | +18 | Bucky x Reader x John | Retrieving vials from an abandoned Red Room facility gets you infected with sex pollen. You may have to make a stop in Paris with John and Bucky before you can get back home.

Would you still love me if I was a worm? | +18 | A stupid little question turns into a makeout session. Your teammates hate to see it, except for one.

by @societyfolklore

Double Take | On your first major production, all you want to do is prove you belong. One simple task;  deliver Bucky Barnes’ harness, check his notes, and get him to the rigging bay… should be easy enough….right?

Dexterity | When Bucky Barnes develops a Rubix Cube/ speedcubing obsession, you discover that watching his focused hands at work is far more distracting than it has any right to be.

by @metal-armed-muse

A TORTURE CALLED LOVE | +18 | You and Bucky have history. History of hating each other. One messy fuck in a bathroom later, you’re both scrambling to pretend it didn’t change anything. What better way to save one’s heart than by breaking the other first?

neighbour | +18 | congressman Barnes is your neighbour.

first aid | +18 | What starts as first aid gets dirty fast.

Uniform Inspection. by @w1nter-fairy | +18 | Bucky had been trying to adapt himself to modern world getting a new job at the Fire Department. He only meant to stop by before his shift, but things escalated quickly after you saw him in his uniform.

needed me by @godmadeaterribleerror | +18 | you can't stand bucky barnes. despite all your attempts to get rid of him, he's always somewhere in your orbit. you say you hate it. hate him. but you're also a very good liar.

His Name Was Never Just Bucky by @marvelstoriesepic | +18 | Falling for a mysterious man has been exhilarating, until you discover his biggest secret and realize you’ve been loving the most dangerous man in the city. But can you run from a monster in his own home when his eyes and ears are everywhere?

This is Her Favorite Song by @steelpaperboats | steve kamp x reader | +18 | It comes as a surprise to absolutely no one, yourself included, that Steve gets off on being a doctor. You know this; you have seen it time and time again through his well-established 'profession.' And given you aim to please, you pose the question, "Can I be your patient?"

In The Dead Of Night by @mickimoo1409 | stucky x reader | +18 | After spending so much time researching Steve and Bucky, they begin to visit you in your dreams, but are they really dreams at all?

wouldn't it be nice to live together? by @rh1nestcned

doesn’t trust by @sunskisser

by @imnotjustreadingg-volume-two

I just wanna feel you | +18 | I’d like something like reader and bucky wedding day where they’re both anxious and nervous and they called each other because they wanna went but then things gets heated and spicy during the phone call

Current boyfriend | You apply your cream and primer and then right when you take the concealer, the door of your studio opens. Your boyfriend Bucky Barnes enters.

dating by @shadyfestivalperfection

mission shipwatch by @ellebarnesx | The New Avengers start a full-on investigation when you and Bucky look a little too comfortable in your ''fake'' relationship.

Courage by @buckysknifecollection | After a busy month of avenging, you and Bucky finally make it to Tony’s Halloween festivities and there’s a Haunted House you just cannot miss, no matter how much of a scaredy cat you are.

gasoline by @iamthatonefangirl | +18 | despite everything in your past, despite the circumstances under which you got together and the circumstances that have dictated the majority of your relationship until now, being with James is fun.

Payment in Blood by @buckybarneslittledoll | +18 | In which your brother owes the bratva money and the pakhan decides to take you as a payment.

DRUNK NEIGHBOR by @idontexistrightnow | +18 | Bucky has had certain needs but he didn't think getting drunk would highten the need to act upon on those needs.

Love Stands Guard by @navybrat817 | During a fun and relaxing afternoon, Bucky overhears someone making fun of your body. He doesn’t take too kindly to that.

rush week by @flushedmilk | bucky barnes is the last person a cheerleader should fall for. unfortunately for you, he seems to disagree.

perfect by @smorgaswhored | +18 | imagine bucky’s got a girlfriend

pud that down! by @danysdaughter | +18 | you suggest taking a break from your deeply attached boyfriend. he reacts poorly and things somehow get worse from there.

Laundry Day by @starling-in-the-sky | On Tuesday nights, you and Bucky do laundry together.

AO3

Omega Retreat by Shamrock_Queen | +18 | As an unmarked and lonely omega you find a flyer for a service called The Omega Retreat. You are paired with a compatible alpha to spend your heat or just a week at a luxurious cabin at a forest resort. Amenities and Utilities included. Enjoy the beautiful scenery, fresh air, as well as the company of an alpha of your choosing. What could possibly go wrong?

<part14 ... part16>

⤷ notes: PLEASE READ ALL TAGS + WARNINGS! I know I've been toeing the line lately but I think this one truly does dip into dddne. you're responsible for your own media consumption etc.! this isn't too much more wild than the stuff I've already been posting recently so feel free to give it a shot if you'd like, but remember to be safe, be kind, and be smart about your engagement with this work and any work you encounter online.

that said, the tags are pretty straightforward. I want to stress again that READER IS OVER 18!!!!!! let me know if I missed any and I'll be sure to add them! this is also my first time writing lee, so I hope it comes off at least somewhat true to character! it was supposed to be an hc list and I got halfway through and was like... this is getting WAY too long sjdgsjgf maybe I'll just write it out.

not proofread. enjoy! x

fun fact ! the title is a slang term combining 'volunteer' with 'told' meaning 'something that's referred to as being on a volunteer basis but is assumed to have consequences if not agreed to' which honestly just felt perfect for this sjfgjkdfgdj.

You know you shouldn’t have gone to the party. 

It was stupid, and impulsive, and only because, after four long, horrendous years of staring at him from across classrooms and crowded hallways, the guy you have feelings for had finally invited you out. Maybe it’s the fact that you wanted to do just one reckless thing before you leave this town for good. Maybe it’s the infectious energy buzzing through the neighborhood streets tonight after graduation, the simmer of possibility. 

Maybe, just for the night, you didn’t have to be the good girl who played teacher’s pet and let people copy her homework and was tucked in bed by ten o’clock on a school night. Tonight, you could’ve been anything. 

So you’d bid your mom goodnight, slipped into a dress you’d saved up to buy from the department store in town, done your hair and fixed your makeup a little darker than usual, then slipped out your window before you could talk yourself out of the million reasons not to. 

It figures, honestly, that things ended this way. 

You, shoved haphazardly into a coat closet in the abandoned old house on 10th, one shoe lost in your haste and a lone bottle of beer rolling on the hardwood at your feet that’d betrayed your hiding spot. 

And now the Sheriff’s staring down at you with a frown and furrowed brow from beneath the rim of his hat, looking every bit like he’s about to read you your rights and haul you off to the station. 

You throw up on his shoes before he can.

You’ve never felt more humbled than you do sitting in the front of the cruiser while Lee Bodecker saunters into the local diner to get you both milkshakes to go. 

You’re cold, but you’re too scared to touch anything to fiddle with the AC. The dress you felt pretty in earlier feels like overkill now, the material too tight and too itchy against your skin as you try to tug it further down your legs. You don’t even need to look in the rearview mirror to know that you’ve cried off all your makeup, dabbed at in a rush with a wad of tissues he’d handed you from the glove compartment to little avail.

You appreciate the gesture nonetheless, and the fact that he’d given you water and gum to rinse the taste out of your mouth. The milkshakes had been the result of the fact that you couldn’t stop crying even after he told you you weren’t in trouble, the exasperated pinch of his brow as he sighed only making you more upset with yourself. 

It takes you several minutes alone in the car to catch your breath and dry up the rest of your tears, to try for a wobbly smile when Lee returns with two to-go cups and pushes one in your direction. 

“You gonna tell me what you were doing there if you weren’t planning on causing trouble?” 

The question comes belatedly and a little awkwardly a few minutes into you both sipping on your shakes, the silence sitting heavy in the middle seat in between intermittent crackles of his radio. The thick drink is noisy when you suck it up your straw, and heat rises to your face when you swallow with a calculated shrug. 

“I was just bored.” 

You very carefully eye the lid of your shake, chancing a look over at him when the quiet lingers pointedly for too long. One of Lee’s brows is raised, eyes narrowed. 

“Y’think I can’t tell when pretty things like you are lyin’ to me?” 

You’ve never been called that before, but you try not to let the casual compliment go to your head. It’s probably just something he says—you’ve heard about his reputation. 

“I wanted to impress someone,” you admit marginally more softly. Typically people tell you you’re wise beyond your years, but right now you’re feeling every bit as naive as most people your age are. 

Lee’s other brow raises. “By trespassing and gettin’ drunk?” 

“No,” you correct with a gentle huff, picking at the hem of your dress. “I just—I wanted to seem cool. You know how it is in high school. Or—I guess you do, anyway.” 

“I’m not that old,” he rolls his eyes. 

It’s a relief when he turns back to his drink, the weight of his attention heavier than you thought it’d be. At school you had so much to fall back on, so many accomplishments and accolades and awards that, in the low light of the Sheriff’s cruiser, double your age and more mature than any of the other guys you’ve hung out with, seem to mean nothing at all. 

He sips his shake noisily. “So. Who was it.” 

“What?” 

His eyes skate to yours again. “You were tryin’ to impress someone. Who was it.” 

“Oh. Just—this guy,” you say dismissively. When you catch a flash of his teeth behind his straw, your stomach drops. “Are you laughing at me?” 

“Not—not at you, honey. Sorry. S’just, life’s too short to do that shit, y’know? You got a promising future. You shouldn’t change yourself just for some punk kid.” 

“He’s not a punk,” you argue halfheartedly. 

He scoffs. “Well. He obviously ain’t a gentleman.” 

The slight smile you’d been building up to fades again, your appetite disappearing with it. 

“I wouldn’t really know either way,” you tell him. “My dad left when I was young.” 

The cruiser plunges into awkward silence again, and you feel that people-pleasing part of you ready to well up and change the subject, make everything easy and digestible again. But the other part of you, the one that’d convinced you to sneak out in the first place, still feels like a fresh bruise, eager to be prodded at despite the pain.

“Sometimes I wonder if he’d be proud of me,” you whisper. 

Lee says nothing, his face twisted up into a cross between concern and discomfort. Apparently, your feelings are too much even for a grown man to handle. 

You force a laugh, the smile on your face exceptionally fake as your eyes begin to water. 

“Sorry. I don’t know why I brought that up. It’s just—he didn’t come to my graduation, and then everything with the party, I wanted—” your lip wobbles, voice cracking. “I just wanted to feel wanted, I guess.” 

“Hey, hey,” he sighs, setting his cup on the dashboard by his hat to reach across the back of the seats and touch your shoulder. “Thought we agreed no more tears, huh? I’m gonna run outta tissues.” 

You sniffle, wiping at your cheeks. “Yeah. Sorry.” 

“C’mere,” he says after another moment, his stare heavy on the side of your face. 

He puts your shake up beside his and tosses an arm out, nodding his head to make you scoot across the seat. And you, not even able to remember the last time someone held you aside from quick one-armed congratulations, fall into him like a magnet. 

Your bare thighs unstick from the leather of his seat as you move, pressing the side of your body up against his. The weight of his arm settling around your shoulders feels good enough to make your eyes water, his warmth, even with the badges and belts and the scent of working all day long, is like a drug. 

You think you would trade whatever might’ve happened at that party a million times over just to feel this. 

He exhales above you, rubbing at your shoulder with his fingers as you wrap your arms around his middle. “Don’t you go tellin’ anyone I’ve gone soft now.” 

With a wet laugh, you nod, your soft cheek rough against the material of his shirt. “I won’t. Thanks, Sheriff.” 

You linger for a moment just to see if you’ll be allowed, soaking up the tenderness of it before you go home lonely again. You’ve been chasing this for a while, you think; always the first to try to impress your male teachers, a staunch rule follower around authority figures, posters of celebrity crushes on your walls that all have smile lines by their eyes and a little gray in their hair. 

None of those hug you, though. 

You feel it when Lee’s chest rises with an inhale, the tip of his nose pressed to the top of your head. His arm pulls you in a little more, breath hot on your forehead when he talks. 

“You’re a sweet thing, aren’t you,” he mutters to himself, fingers shifting on your shoulder. 

He rubs his thumb back and forth there for a minute, your own embarrassment overshadowed by your greed. You’ve never seen the local sheriff dole out praise a day in his life, but maybe, just this once, he’d see how good you’ve been for all these years, how hard you’ve tried, and he’d give it to you. 

But Lee doesn’t seem to want to keep talking about your feelings. His fingers dip off your shoulder and down your side, and with your arm outstretched over his abdomen, there’s nothing to stop his fingertips from grazing that sensitive, ticklish strip of skin covering your ribs. The fabric of your dress does little to dull it, and you shift when it sends sparks through you—the kind that are more hesitation than interest. 

“Um. I should—move back to my seat.” 

His grip tightens around your waist. “Thirsty?” 

You shake your head, but Lee’s already reaching for your shake sitting on the dash in front of you. He brings it in close, breath on your cheek as he lifts the straw toward your lips. 

Your instincts kick in and you take the straw onto your tongue, thinking maybe if you just get it over with he’ll let you go quicker. 

But you take a hesitant sip of your shake and nearly choke on it when Lee’s hand on your waist moves again, kneading at the fleshy skin underneath your dress. It drops to your hip, squeezes, slides back up again until his fingers are almost cupping the underside of one of your breasts. You hadn’t been able to wear a bra with this sort of top. Your arm snaps down on top of his digits, intended to stop him but trapping him there instead. 

“Good, hm?” he asks gruffly. 

You swallow the thick vanilla, nodding and pasting on a placid smile. “Yes. Thank you for getting it for me. I think I’m full now, though.” 

“Aw, come on. Just a little more. Be rude to waste it, right?” 

Again, without waiting for your answer, Lee sits your shake on the leather seat between his thighs and pops the lid off the top. His radio crackles from the dash and you hold your breath, hoping he’ll have a call to answer. But it’s just another officer with updates on something Lee obviously doesn’t care much about, unfettered as he sets the straw and lid up on the dash beside it. 

When you try to wriggle away in his distraction, his hold on you tightens enough to steal your breath a little. Your palms are sweating, eyes darting toward the door that’s been locked since the moment you got in. 

His fingers dip toward the half-full cup of vanilla milkshake. 

“Lee. What—what are you doing?” 

“Shh. You wanna be a good girl. Don’t you, honey?” he says, rubbing your side. “I’m just showin’ you how. That’s all.” 

You swallow, ears ringing. “I think I want to go home now, please.” 

Lee’s fingers pause abruptly where they’d been inching toward the shake. He eases in a sharp inhale, one brow raised and head tilted as he leans back. You breathe a sigh of relief at the freedom, already starting to shift back to the other side of the bench seat. 

“Not sure if I can do that,” he says casually, eyes on his lap. “Technically, y’know, you were the only one at the scene of the crime. Now, I should be takin’ you down to the station and gettin’ your fingerprints, callin’ your parents…” 

You pause at the mention of your parents. Your mom is one thing, but your dad not showing up to your graduation only to get a phone call that you’ve been arrested? 

You can taste the disappointment. 

“No,” you grab onto his arm before he can reach for his notepad. “Don’t do that. Please. I’ll—” you force your lip to stop trembling, taking a shaky breath. “I’ll stay.” 

“Lookie there,” he croons, immediately softening again as he turns to you with a smile. He pats the spot beside him again. “Smart girl.” 

Tentatively, your sweat-sticky thighs inch back across the bench. You’re much more rigid this time, shoulders by your ears, back straight, thighs pressed firmly together as you settle where you’d been only moment before. 

His attention returns to the open to-go cup in his lap, tracing a finger around the edge of the paper rim. His arm slips around your shoulder again, dragging you in. 

“We’re gonna play a game.” 

“Okay,” you whisper, trying not to flinch now at his closeness. 

He taps the shake. “It was real nice of me to buy you this to cheer y’up, right?” 

“Mhm.” 

“Usually I don’t allow food in here,” he says conspiratorially. “Well. Anyone else’s food in here. Don’t trust ‘em. This leather’s old, hard to clean, y’know?” 

“Sure,” you manage. 

“So. We’re not gonna waste any of this. Gotta make sure I get my money’s worth,” he pauses to glance down your body, “but we’re also not gonna make a mess. Any of this gets on my seats and I’ll have to take you back to the station. Got it?” 

You bite back a whimper, blinking rapidly to keep yourself from crying. Your body’s stuck in fight or flight, screaming to run one moment and aching for sweet, unfamiliar validation the next. Your eyes stray hopelessly toward where he pops the button on the cuffs of his shirt, rolling them up to his elbows. 

You nod. “I understand.” 

He smiles. 

“Good girl.” 

His fingers finally delve past the rim of the shake without hesitation this time, two of them plunging into the white, foamy liquid to the first knuckle. Everything about it looks and feels wrong—so it makes no sense why your mouth is watering, nipples taut where they drag against the material of your dress with each full, nervous breath. 

He slides his thick digits out and turns them in the dim, distant light coming from the diner, letting the excess drip obscenely back into the cup. His ultimatum makes you focus on it more than you want to, desperate not to let any spill anywhere that could get you in trouble. 

Teasingly slow, Lee lifts them from the cup and toward your mouth, swiping them messily over the seam of your lips. It’s sickeningly sweet, more so than it’d been before, now layered with the musky undertaste of Lee’s fingers as they part your lips and slide in as easily as they’d conquered the drink too. 

You gasp, choking a little as he shoves them onto your tongue. There’s no time for hesitancy as he moves them in and out without rhythm or sophistication, the chaos of it causing you to have to chase his hand and take more into your mouth to avoid it spilling down your chin and onto your lap. 

“Yeah, that’s it,” he urges, slowing a little when you start using your tongue, catching the risky drips. “See? You’re a natural.” 

Humiliated and so warm you feel like you have a fever, the suction of your lips gives way with a lewd pop when Lee’s fingers, now clean, slip out again. He reaches for the shake again and you whimper, shifting in your seat, only for him to shush you still for a second time. 

Your eyes squeeze shut when his fingers find their way back inside. He’s even more bold this time, forcing your head back against the seat while he shoves his digits in, tracing your gums, underneath your tongue, reaching back to your molars until not a single inch isn’t left sticky-sweet and claimed. 

On the third try, he’s deliberately messy. Careless with the flick of his wrist into the cup, not quick enough when he lifts it to your mouth. If you want to avoid your punishment you have to reach out and grab his wrist to bring it to your lips on your own, means you have to be the one to stick out your tongue and clean them off. 

Shame makes the edges of the memory blur, even as it’s actively happening around you. You move from one moment to the next in snapshots, and some of the missed details will cost you. 

“Uh-oh,” Lee tuts, twisting his wrist in front of you so that the light catches on two thick, pearly white beads of the shake quickly descending toward his elbow. “Looks like you missed a spot.” 

You dive for them, hands gripping his bicep and wrist, catching them with your tongue just moments before they would’ve dripped down onto the seat between your legs. The desperation of the movement makes you burn, muffling a whimper against his skin as you chase the sticky line back up to his wrist. 

When you reach his palm, he takes your face in his hand and squeezes. He uses the grip to press you back against the seat, leaning in like he might kiss you. 

Against all odds, no matter how much your body is saying no, your traitorous mind envisions what it’d be like to kiss him. 

You gasp when something cold and thick lands on your chest, having been so distracted thinking Lee might’ve kissed you to notice him tipping some of the milkshake over your cleavage. 

“Lee—!” you breathe, having to shove your chest forward, back arched just to keep it all from immediately spilling off of you. 

“Remember our deal,” he taunts, mischievous eyes flicking up to yours. 

“I—I can’t,” you whine, trying and failing to dip your own chin enough to clean it without your hands or napkins. A cold droplet of it delves past the neckline of your dress, sliding in between your breasts and making you shiver. 

Lee’s dark eyes trace it as it goes. “Better figure somethin’ out fast.” 

“Will you—?” you make yourself ask, knowing already that you’re playing into his hands but too desperate to try to come up with a loophole before you lose. 

“Will I what?” he asks. “Gotta show me, honey.” 

Pushing your pride far, far away, you lift your hand carefully to the back of his neck without moving your chest, slipping your fingers over the warm skin to pull him forward and down. 

It feels depraved—making someone put their face in between your breasts. But Lee only grins, the face of a man who knows he’s won, and pushes the barely full milkshake cup into your hand instead of his. 

“Hold this for me, sweetheart,” he says. 

And then he dives in, your cleavage water as if he’s dying of thirst. You can feel the barely-there prickle of a day’s old shave on his jaw as his tongue spreads flat and warm against your sternum, collecting a broad swath of the shake and sweat from your skin. 

Your head falls back against the seat, his hand splayed big and wide over your arched spine to pull you further into him as he laps up the mess, sucking and biting obscenely from one side to the other. Most of the spill was skillfully right above the cut of your dress, the hem wet but thick enough to stop some of it from going beneath. 

Lee doesn’t care about this either. 

You drop your jaw back down, mouth wrenched open as he yanks the neckline below your cleavage completely, your bare breasts exposed to the cool air of his cruiser, nipples hard and poking into his cheek. 

He doesn’t even bother making an excuse for breaking his own ever shifting rules as he groans, mouth sliding over to suck one into his mouth. His cheeks hollow, the indention of his teeth against your soft skin, regrettably, making a shaky moan fall from your lips. Your fingers twitch where they’re still buried in the back of his hair, and the other one falters where you’re gripping the milkshake. 

Lee hisses when the cup tips a little too far, pulling off of you enough that you can both see the dark, dampening spot where you’d just accidentally spilled the rest of the shake on the inner thigh of his pants. 

Your eyes widen, panic seizing any of the brief flickers of pleasure you’d had, and you barely catch Lee’s filthy smirk as you dive toward his lap to catch it before it hits the seat. 

His legs have been spread indulgently wide all night, but he closes them a little purely to watch you struggle to reach far enough to catch it all. Your forehead presses against one thigh, your chin against the other, your tongue and lips stretched, pursed, trying every way you can to suck up the mess until it’s more damp with your spit than with the incriminating milkshake. 

You push up with the hand braced on the leather on the other side of his knee, but it buckles when Lee pushes you down by the back of your neck. You lose balance, closing the distance face first with your open mouth shoved against the hard bulge of his cock through his pants. 

The noise you make is high and muffled, mouth forced open against his shape, nose tucked under his belt, his scent and heat overwhelming any of your other senses. Your tears soak in inches above your spit as you squeeze your eyes shut, the material of his pants rough against your tongue as he groans and bucks up against your face. 

With his grip on your neck, he drags you further down his thigh, pinning you there while he curses and undoes his belt with his free hand. You blink blearily at it from inches away, moving in snapshots again as he unclips his utility belt, yanks the buckle free on the one on his pants underneath it, discards them both in the floorboard. He pops open the button and fly next, groaning loud enough to make you flinch when he gets a hand around himself. 

And then he’s bare in front of you; the first dick you’ve ever seen up close in real life. He’s shorter and thicker than some of the ones you’ve come across online, but proportional, probably, for the rest of him. The head pokes over his moving fist, spilling a dot of something that could be mistaken for the milkshake as it slides over his skin to meet his knuckles. 

And then, a snapshot later, it’s in your mouth. 

You struggle around him at first, your lips and throat spasming to adjust to the intrusion. He thrusts up against your face in short, shallow jabs, using a slick thumb to poke at your lip until you use it to cover up your teeth. 

“Open fucking wide,” he warns with a grunt. “Be a good girl. That’s it, that’s it. Fuck.” 

Between him holding your head down and his hips riding your mouth, you drift, your mind going someplace quieter to deal with the barrage of new feelings and sensations. There’s spit on your chin and cheek, snot in your nose from your tears, your makeup smudged and dress shoved down to your stomach. Even the leather underneath your knees feels distant. 

You come back to yourself when his hand descends down your back. 

He shushes you when you whimper, gentling his thrusts as he yanks the bottom of your dress up over your ass and hips. His fingers slip into the back of your underwear without preamble or permission, groaning when he finds you, humiliatingly and undeniably, wet. 

He adjusts a little, leaning and fucking into your mouth sideways while he keeps one hand on the back of your head and uses the other to rub roughly at your clit. 

“Tight mouth, wet pussy—those boys wouldn’t have any idea what to do with you,” he mutters, dragging wet fingers away from your cunt to grip your ass. He squeezes possessively, then traces back to your opening. “You didn’t let any of ‘em touch you here, did you, honey?” 

He pulls you by the hair off of his cock, just long enough for you to gasp out a, “No.” 

“That’s good,” he coos, pushing you back down. “That’s real good, sweetheart. Aren’t you glad I found you instead?” 

Whatever noise you make is lost in response as his dick fills your mouth again. It’d been so much at first, the scent, the stretch, the flavor—but now you can sort of pick out a rhythm to his movements. You breathe through your nose and try to anticipate his thrusts, relaxing your throat as much as you can so it won’t bruise the way it feels like it’s surely going to. 

You tense again when his fingers stop tracing and press in, testing the resistance of your cunt. He dips in and out, playing with you as he slowly begins to ease one thick digit where only yours have ever been before—and that was only ever the times you’d been feeling particularly adventurous. 

“Shh, shh. You just keep chokin’ on that cock. Be good. Let me in, c’mon.” 

Desperate to feel anything other than the burn of a stretch between your thighs, you try to focus more on your mouth like he’d suggested. Tears slip out of the corners of your eyes as you hesitantly try out a few of the things you’ve read in books or seen in porn, hoping maybe if you make him feel good enough he’ll leave you alone. 

But you sink lower onto him, swirl your tongue, try your best to swallow around the tip without gagging when it meets the back of your throat, and still his fingers persist. 

He moans appreciatively when one is buried inside of you, your legs shaking, cunt spasming around the intrusion. It moves in and out of you the same way it had your mouth earlier, searching, slow, indulgent; as if you were a possession he could take his time exploring and not a person feeling every movement. 

You try to pull off when a second finger tucks up against you and starts to push in alongside it, but Lee only shushes you and keeps you down with a hand on the back of your head. He shifts his hips and thrusts up into your throat while you rest on his thigh, and you suck helplessly on him, spit leaking from the corners of your mouth as you try to soothe yourself. 

His fingers are thick and it takes some effort to work them inside of you, Lee huffing impatiently as he extends a thumb to rub your clit until you relax enough to let him in. It feels weird, bigger than anything you’ve had there before, and it’s still not as thick as his cock. 

You tremble at the thought of him trying to fuck you, and Lee takes it as encouragement. 

“Were you gonna fuck him?” he asks, thrusting them inside of you. 

You make a questioning noise between his legs. Him? 

“You get a cock in your mouth and your brain cells go with it?” he spits. “I said—would you’ve let him spread these bare fuckin’ legs,” his fingers plunge in deep, making you gasp and choke on his cock, “lift up this slutty little dress you picked out just for him,” he grunts, swirling them around until you moan, “and fuck you in front of all his friends?” 

You gulp in air when he lifts you off of his cock again, spit smeared on your chin while you heave. “No! I just wanted—we were just gonna play spin the bottle…” 

You trail off when he swirls his fingers again, confused by the sharp wave of pleasure that happens every few seconds when he hits a certain spot. Your eyes blink hazy and slow, fluttering against your cheeks the more he does it. 

He keeps talking. “You wanted a little kiss, is that it?” 

“Y-yeah,” you nod. 

“Hm.” His fingers leave your hair, sliding down your cheek to grip your jaw and bring your face right up close to his. “Did you really want that? Or did you want someone to bend you over and show you what it means to be useful?” 

The words are so unexpected, so unconsciously tuned to what you’ve been craving your entire life that you sob when they register, muffled when he yanks you forward and kisses you. 

You can feel it the moment you break. Your body sags into his, your mouth opening up for his tongue, your thoughts taking a turn into something gnarled and dark that you’d thought you were far past now. Things like doesn’t it feel good to surrender? and isn’t this what you’ve always wanted? and would it really be so bad to let him fuck you if it meant he could fix you? 

If he could make you enough to get someone to stay? 

“What did I say about no cryin’, huh? Maybe I should give you somethin’ to cry for,” he murmurs against your lips, kissing you again and again while you nod. “Yeah? You like that?”  

His fingers slip out of you and you whimper, Lee chuckling as the band of your underwear snaps back into place. He pats your hip, nudging you toward him. 

“Gonna play another game with you. Think you’re gonna like this one.” 

A prickle of fear seeps back in, but you can’t cling to it as much as you should when he grabs your face again, pulling you onto his lap and smearing his mouth against yours. The new position lights up your nerves in a new way all over again, unused to feeling thick thighs between yours, broad shoulders beneath your palms, a big, warm body your very own center of gravity. 

He scoots over to the middle seat, where he can lean back and your spine doesn’t graze the steering wheel, hands spanning your hips to drag you forward against him in a lazy grind. You moan when his bare dick rubs against your clit through your soaked underwear, shivering on his lap and inadvertently rubbing your still naked breasts up against his shirt. 

“Here’s how the game goes,” he rasps, using one hand to adjust your hips while the other dives for his cock. He nudges up against you until your midsections are perfectly aligned, the length of his dick nestled intimately between the folds of your cunt. You gasp and rock forward, the thin cotton of your underwear drenched so much that it’s like there’s nothing between you at all. “Yeah, fuck. Just like that. You’re gettin’ it already.” 

The praise is vague and low hanging, but it hits you hard all the same. You moan, head falling to his shoulder as you start to shift your hips back and forth. 

The friction is nice but it’s light compared to the intensity of the rest of the night so far, and you find yourself growing more desperate with each rock of your cunt against him. You grind mindlessly, messily, circling and shifting and trying to find what feels the best while Lee tongues into your mouth in lazy, smoke and sweetness flavored drags. 

“Hey,” he pants, trapping your chin between his fingers. “You goin’ to college?” 

You make an exasperated noise, torn between this pleasant unawareness and the too-lucid tone of his voice. “Yeah, I’m—I’ve always wanted to go.” 

“Mm,” he hums distractedly, bouncing you a little on his lap. “I don’t think so.” 

“What does that mean?” you ask, slurred just a little at the edges. 

“It means that this pussy’s too good to give up,” he says, grabbing onto your hips and thrusting up against your clit until you moan. “Tight n’hot, gonna be all mine one of these days—you’re gonna save it for me, right? Not gonna let anybody else have it until I come and take it?” 

You whimper. “B-but I wanted—” 

“You want to make me happy, I know,” he interrupts, kissing you deeply. “That’s so sweet, honey. That is what you were gonna say, right? ‘Cause I can always put a pair of cuffs on these wrists if I have to. Whole town’d want you gone after they hear about all the things you’ve gotten up to tonight…” 

He grabs your wrists and holds them behind your back as if to prove his point, and you soak his collar with tears, too overwhelmed to focus on the conversation and what’s happening in between your legs. You’re pretty sure, distantly, that that’d been the goal. 

Your grinding has devolved into sharp back-and-forths of your hips, greedy movements aimed at chasing the high you get each time the thick, bulbous head of his cock bumps against your nerves. It’s gotten your underwear all twisted up, wet and rough between you, the friction sometimes too much and sometimes not enough. 

“Maybe I’ll just knock you up,” Lee says thoughtfully. 

You mean to struggle, but the way you tense and try to get off of him only drives you further into his embrace. 

“Don’t even need to be inside you to come inside you,” he goes on. “Shit. Bet you’d be even fuckin’ sweeter carryin’ my kid. Make these tits of yours a little bigger, right? Stretch out these hips? Little insurance policy—make sure you stay mine.” 

His big hands touch everything he’s talking about, groping freely at your chest and your waist around the bunched up material of the dress at your middle. 

The noise you make is ambiguous and needy, and even you aren’t quite sure if it’s an affirmative or a denial. 

“Tell you what,” he whispers, hot against your ear while you rock against him, “if you stick around, be my pretty little secret for the next few years—shh, shh, sweetheart—then, when you’re older, I’ll put a ring on your finger and do it proper, hm? Gotta wait ‘til it’s not so taboo, y’know. Don’t want people to talk.” 

His fingers slip in between you, playing with the hem of your underwear. You nod frantically at him, hoping he’ll untangle them and fix it so you can get him right up close to you again, but Lee only seems to register it as confirmation of his own fantasy. 

“Be so sweet t’you when y’got my last name, a couple of my kids on your hips. Wouldn’t that be nice? Everybody knowin’ how useful I made you?” His fingers slip down past the band, rubbing your clit roughly. “Wouldn’t ever leave you, honey. You’d be stuck with me forever.” 

Your body clenches hard as you cry out, but the sensation is still too much too soon, not enough to tip you over the edge. Your teeth sink into his neck to muffle your pleas, limbs shivering while he holds your wrists in one hand behind your back. 

It calls out to something inside of you, no matter how much you wish that it didn’t—the alluring promise of forever, even if it’s something you’re trapped into. 

His mouth drags from your ear, down your jaw to your chest. 

“Won’t ever need to run out for milk when I can get it right here, huh?” 

He takes one of your nipples into his mouth again, and when he pulls his hand away from your underwear, it jostles them just enough that his cock slides inside the fabric, tucked right up and thrusting along the sticky, hot grip of your folds. 

You both moan, your wrists falling from his grip as his hands move to your hips, yours circling around his shoulders. Need burns hot inside your stomach, between your thighs, everywhere you’re touching as your rhythm doubles. 

He feels scorching against you, the real, throbbing length of him so close to your cunt that’s still fluttering from the stretch of his fingers. Something half thrill, half fear swirls inside of you, the sharper edge of it driving you that much closer to the most unexpected, most intense orgasm of your life. 

Even though he’d been keeping relatively still earlier, now Lee seems like he can’t help from thrusting up against you with each roll or bounce of your hips. He keeps groaning, rambling against your ear, holding you so close to his chest that he can look down your back and watch your ass while you move on him. 

You don’t try to stop him when he reaches down to yank the fabric of your underwear as far out of the way as possible on purpose this time, both of you transfixed by the lewd sounds and sight of his cock disappearing between your legs. 

If you tilt your head just right, you can imagine what it’d be like if he were really fucking you, his cock dipping just a little further, a little up until—

“Lee, fuck!” 

You grip his shoulders as your hips come to an abrupt stop, your mouth wrenched open around the unfamiliar press of the head of his cock slipping inside of you. 

With his head tossed back and jaw clenched hard, Lee takes a breath and then looks at you, sliding a hand down your face. He leans up to kiss you, your own mouth slack against his. You have to remind yourself to breathe, whimpering with every accidental twitch that draws him deeper. 

“S’okay, sweetheart, it’s okay—s’just the tip. Doesn’t count.” 

You blink wet eyes, lip extended into a wobbly frown. “Really?” 

“Really,” he nods. His hand slips around the back of your neck. “Would I lie to you?” 

His other fingers tighten on your hip, guiding you in a slow back and forth again. You gasp when his dick falls out of you again, both of you hissing at the contrast. 

Slowly your confidence builds again, grinding carefully at first and then more recklessly when you get curious, eager to feel that little bit of forbiddenness again. It’s still a lot but in a different way this time, the combination of his hot length against your clit and the head of his cock poking at your opening a tantalizing aphrodisiac. Each time he accidentally slips inside because of how wet you are you clench hard, the rhythmic pulse of your muscles pushing you closer. 

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he rumbles, watching you. “Just imagine what it’ll be like when I—fuck!” 

Both of you freeze, but it’s too late. 

He’d bucked up just as you ground forward, and the combination made the head of his cock slip inside—and in and in and in until he was shoved up to the hilt, not an inch of space left between your hips. 

Your virginity, gone between one breath and the next. 

“Oh, honey,” he sighs, grin filthy and reverent as he grabs you around the neck. “Now I’m never fucking letting you go.” 

“Lee,” you whimper, shock coursing through you as you helplessly twitch and pulse around him. 

His tongue catches the salt on your cheek, sucks like he’s trying to leave a mark. “Shh, you can take it.” 

“S’too much,” you sob. 

“You’ll get used to it,” he says. It’s gentle with a hint of something darker when he grounds out, “Only shape this pussy’s ever gonna know is mine.” 

It’s punctuated by an upwards thrust that makes you cry out, but it’s the only one you get before he pulls you up and off of him. 

You cling, suddenly lost, and he has to guide your shaky grip toward the leather seat as he crawls over you from behind. 

“Hands and knees. Go on.” 

There’s rustling and rattling as Lee shoves his pants down further, the press of heat against the backs of your thighs again as he pushes your head down onto the seat and yanks your hips up and back against his lap. 

He’s muttering something to himself but you’re somewhere else, too far gone to hear it. It’s the press of his cock back at your entrance that draws a broken noise from your throat, the slick slide of him taking your cunt again that makes you scream. 

Lee groans, encouraging your noises as he fucks you proper, hands on your hips and pace quick. You can feel the bottom of his shirt brushing against the top of your ass over his thick gut, the coarse hair at the base of his cock where it brushes your cunt every time he shoves in deep. His cologne swirls in the air as the windows begin to fog above your head, with whisps of cigarette smoke, your own perfume, and the forgotten milkshakes. 

One of his hands lands beside your mouth when he leans over you, larger body folded over so he can fit in the confines of the cruiser. Your own hand, lying limp beside you on the seat, twitches to life to wrap loosely around his wrist. Lee chuckles again, and this time, whether he’d meant it warmly or ruthlessly, your body heats with something sweet nonetheless. 

The radio crackles again from his discarded utility belt in the floorboard, and both of you seem primed to ignore it as Lee’s hips keep up their pace undeterred. But it goes static for a moment and then crackles again, and a second later, a grainy voice comes through the line. 

“Chief?” 

Lee’s thrusts slow and then stop behind you, pressing in deep and stilling as he curses. He bends over you completely, his chest against your back as he fumbles for the radio beneath you. 

You just like the fact that, if you block everything else out, this still sort of counts as a hug. You turn your cheek just enough to drag a kiss to his fingers. 

“What’s up,” Lee holds down the button and grits into the speaker, voice loud right over your shoulder. 

“Got a situation out here by the creek,” the officer crackles. “Looks like a buncha kids from that party you busted on 10th. Think they moved the celebration here when they scattered.” 

Lee takes a measured breath. 

“I want every one of ‘em brought into the station. Especially—” he takes his finger off the button, turns to you. “What was his name?” 

You frown. “Huh?” 

He thrusts into you once, pointed and harsh, and then starts fucking you steady again. You scramble to grab onto his arms. 

“Tell me that punk’s name,” he says, “so I can make sure he never fucking gets the chance to come anywhere near my pussy.” 

“He doesn’t want me,” you remind him, moaning with each rock of his hips. 

“Bodecker? You there?” 

A hand settles on your throat. Squeezes. 

“Tell me. Now.” 

You gasp, rushing out the name of your crush. He repeats it into the speaker, denies going to help them, but he’s still clutching the radio in his fist when it lands beside your head again for leverage to keep fucking you while he waits for confirmation from his officers. 

You cry out when he hits a particularly good angle, and his hand slips around you to cover your mouth. In the corner of your eye, his thumb hovers near the speaker button. 

“Gotta—fuck—gotta keep quiet, sweetheart. Don’t want the whole city knowin’ you let me pop your cherry in my front seat,” he murmurs, low and crude. “Can’t let ‘em hear how wet this tight, virgin pussy gets for my cock.” 

“Please,” you whimper. “Please, Lee, I need—” 

“You still over by the diner?” the radio crackles beside your head. Lee’s hand tightens over your mouth. “You think we need to send anyone out that way?” 

“No,” Lee snaps quickly. “Everything is—really good here.” 

You only narrowly manage to not make a noise at the praise, muffling it into his palm as you push yourself back against his thrusts. 

“If you’re sure. We’ll get these kids back to the station, keep ‘em in holding for the night. Call in if you see anything else we should be keepin’ an eye on.” 

Lee grunts. “Will do.” 

“Over n’out, Chief.” 

The radio clatters to the floorboard a second later, Lee curving over you again, tight enough that his hot, panting breath stains your cheek. 

“Where were we,” he rasps. “Pretty sure you were beggin’.” 

“Yes,” you nod eagerly, trying to pull on his wrist. “Touch me, Lee, please.” 

“Think you’ve been a good girl?” he asks. “Think you’ve earned it?” 

A sob catches in your throat, practically vibrating in the tension that’s been building since the moment you left your house. 

“Tell me how. I’ll—I’ll be good, Lee, I promise.” 

“You will, won’t you?” he purrs. “Be a good girl for your Sheriff?” 

“Yes, yes, yes,” you chant with his thrusts, eyes rolling backward. The pain has finally burned into white hot pleasure, each shove of his hips like an embrace. 

“Gonna let me keep you?” he grunts. 

“Yes!” 

“Gonna let me make y’my pretty little housewife? Put a ring on your finger?” he asks. “Keep you tied down and knocked up the rest of your life so I can always come home to this face and this pussy greetin’ me?” 

You nod frantically, head knocking back into his shoulder. “Please.” 

“Fuck. Good girl. Only taken cock once and you’re already such a perfect little whore for me.” 

The words jumble in your brain, the dichotomy of praise and filth combining to make you even more dizzy, wanting. Lee’s hand slips down the seat, grazes your breast, your ribs, ends up between your thighs, fingers rubbing fast over your clit. 

“Doesn’t matter if your daddy left,” he all but growls against your cheek, pushing into you in a daze of hungry, claiming thrusts. “All he did was make it nice n’easy for men like me to come in and make you a woman, huh?” 

Your back bows, mouth falling open as you back and shake underneath him, crying out your release. Everything else becomes background noise, the sweat on your bodies, the foggy windows, how you got here in the first place, nothing in the world existing but Lee’s cock and the promise of something sweet and sinister; something you never thought you’d get to have at all. 

You’re still coming down from it when Lee pulls out and rolls you over, laid out and loose limbed on your back, skin sticking to the leather. He’s one big blur above you as he strips his cock with his fist, and he should look imposing with his button up and his badges and the nametag pinned to his pocket that you’ve heard campfire stories about for years. A man that uses power like a toy, playing with it how he pleases, getting whatever he wants, even if he doesn’t deserve it. 

But he wants you. He’d seen you at your worst tonight, vulnerable and trying too hard and needy, and instead of all those guys that looked at you like you were too much, Lee had bullied himself inside and promised to stay. 

You could cry with relief. 

“Oh, fuck,” Lee curses above you, eyes pinched shut and brow furrowed as he starts to come. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, shit, sweetheart—” 

With your last dredges of awareness and energy, you lift your head off the seat and wrap your lips around his cock where he’s kneeling over your chest. He jerks and groans, his hand falling to the back of your head to hold it for you while he fucks your mouth through his release. 

It lands harshly on your tongue, strong and salty and washing away the sweetness of the milkshake when it makes its way down your throat. When you swallow next, all you taste is him. 

You can feel hands on your face as your eyes close, lips smearing against your mouth, your jaw, one slipping between your legs to lazily prod at your freshly fucked cunt. You suck automatically when fingers press down on your tongue. 

“Fuckin’ hell,” Lee mutters tiredly, distant. “You’re perfect.” 

You grin as wide as you can manage around the digits in your mouth, swearing to yourself then and there that you’ll spend the rest of your life saying thank you.

[...]

Lee’s hand is big and warm on your lower back, the swell of your stomach large enough now that it rests there more often than not to balance you when you walk. 

The graveyard is nearly empty despite the grim festivities, your father’s picture printed on a styrofoam display board a little further down the lawn. Part of you wishes you could’ve seen him again before he passed. Another part of you insists that no reaction would ever have been the right one; that even if he had been pleased with the way your life has turned out, you aren’t sure you want to waste time trying to earn praise from those who never appreciated you in the first place anymore. 

It was your mother who’d gotten the call first when it happened, and then she’d called you. You remember those days clearly—it was the ones you spent in a summer rental with Lee on a rare week off, both of you free to be as openly affectionate with each other as you wanted to be away from the small town where everyone knew everyone. 

You’re pretty sure it was the week he’d gotten you pregnant. 

It was also the week you finally told him the extent to which your father’s ignorance, greed, anger, and eventual absence had affected your life. 

By the end of the next one, your father was dead. You’ve learned not to ask questions. 

Most people are gone now, of the few who’d even attended. You’d helped your mother to her car nearly an hour ago, lingering behind with Lee after you’d hugged her goodbye and promised to see her soon. You’re even closer with her these days, especially since asking her to be the one to walk you down the aisle. 

“Ready to go home?” Lee murmurs from behind you, chin on your shoulder and palm grazing the side of your stomach. Your wedding band glints in the sun, your mind flashing back to how many people had called you by his last name today—not your father’s. Not anymore. 

You nod. “I think I am now.” 

You walk back to the cruiser, Lee’s jacket over your shoulders and his hand in yours. You need to get a minivan or something soon, probably, when he eventually retires from the force, but he’s partial to it—both the power that comes with the job, and the private smile that tugs at his lips each time you’re both in the front seat. 

Lowering yourself into it, you let Lee help you with the belt and close the door, your ankles aching from being on your feet all day. He’s been quiet all day but he’s loud in the ways you need, the ways you’ve come to love these last few years, his knuckles grazing your cheek as he reaches across the bench to hold the back of your neck. 

“M’proud of you,” he says. 

Your body melts, soaking up the sweetness despite the fact that you hear it often now. Chest warm and a smile tugging at your lips in spite of the events of the day, you reach for his free hand as he starts up the cruiser and begins to pull out, gravel crunching underneath the tires. 

“Lee,” you hum. 

“Yeah, honey?” 

You glance out at the open road in front of you that heads back to town; only your future now, your past disappearing in the rearview. 

“Can we get milkshakes?”