Welcome to The Looneybin

You haven't been to Los Angeles in... forever. Yet the California sun is still as hot as you remember.

"Well, this place still looks like a dump." Ben muttered as he walked next to you, boots crunching on gravel. "Just... shinier." His head tilted up to take a look at Mr. Marathon's luxurious home—too white and too big for a washed-up B-lister like him. Being in the Seven for a few years really did him a favor, it seemed.

You snorted. "You say that about every city."

"Because every fuckin' city is a dump." He grumbled, before lowering his voice. "Last time we came here was in—what, '81?" He bumped his shoulder into yours intentionally, and Homelander—who was walking a step behind and looking like a sulking kid following behind his father (which, fair enough)—had to suppress a sigh.

"Almost, '82." You corrected, climbing up the stairs to the front door.

You’d known Ben for decades now. Seen the kid with daddy issues playing macho man after his first shot of V1 until he became America's number one tool for war propaganda—and everything in between.

"We were supposed to come back in '84 for the Olympics but... y'know. Had to go alone." You casually brought up his betrayal and alleged death—just a couple months before your actual last trip to LA.

"Very touching." Homelander said flatly before Ben could reply to you, reaching over your shoulder to ring the doorbell with impatience.

The door opened shortly after, Mr. Marathon's jaw going slack as he took in the three famous faces standing at his door. "Oh my—holy shit." He opened the door wider, ushering you in. "Come in, come in."

The interior was just as white and detestable as the exterior, and you couldn't help but make a face when you saw the guy's self-portait hanging in the entrance.

"Homelander, it is really, uh... really—good to see you!" He stammered, vibrating with both excitement and anxiety. "W—what brings you by?"

"Relax, we're just here to talk."

"Yeah! Great, awesome—" His gaze drifted to Ben, one hand vaguely gesturing towards him. "Soldier Boy—wow, big fan, sir. I actually, uh, popped my cherry in your Underoos."

Ben was about to dismiss this awful conversation when Mr. Marathon spoke up again with renewed excitement, his gaze turning to you.

"And—you!" He exclaimed with a breathy chuckle of amazement. "God, i definitely rubbed one out to your Playboy bunny shoots more times than i can count—the pages were stuck together, i had to find another copy."

Silence.

Long, horrible, awkward silence.

Homelander looked like he was considering just lasering the place to pieces.

"...Shoots?" Ben was the first to break it, eyes narrowing at Mr. Marathon and tilting his head like he'd heard wrong. "What shoots?" His eyes then snapped towards you with not-so-subtle interest. "Playboy?"

"Ben—"

"Since when the hell were you doing Playboy?" He finally asked with a confused shrug, struggling to believe he could've missed something as juicy as this.

"Since you were busy snorting half of Nicaragua and never came back." You shrugged back, but the way he looked at you made it clear he wasn't about to let you brush this off. "It was the eighties! You did your fair share of stupid shit, too!"

He gave you a once over, completely ignoring your point. "...Full nude?" He asked shamelessly, raising a brow at you.

"Of course not!"

"They still out there?" He ignored your whining as well, already turning back towards Mr. Marathon.

"Seriously?" You deadpanned.

"Well—i might still have a... clean copy."

───

Mr. Marathon was still bleeding out on the marble floor, head crushed to pieces when Ben bent down with a grunt, plucking something glossy from under the rubble.

"No fuckin' way. He does have a copy." He muttered, thumb rubbing the dust off the magazine cover.

There you are.

Curled up on a loveseat in a black satin teddy and ridiculous bunny ears, one heel dangling off your foot while you smiled at the camera like there wasn't a single thought behind those eyes. Big hair, dramatic makeup, and a fluffy white tail to top it all off.

America's Sweetheart Finally Lets Loose!

"Oh god, burn it." You gritted your teeth in disgust, glaring at the magazine like it could bite.

"Fuck no, this is gold."

Homelander made a sound somewhere between disgust and exhaustion. "Can we focus?"

"You're insufferable." You grumbled, ignoring Homelander's complaining.

"And you were apparently more flexible than i remember." He clicked his tongue approvingly. "Jesus."

He stopped on a certain page that made him grin like a kid on Christmas Day. "Oh, now this—" He let out a low whistle. "Damn."

You lunged for it instantly. "Give me that!"

He jerked the magazine out of reach effortlessly, laughing as you smacked uselessly at his arm. "No no no, hold on—" His eyes flicked over a full-page spread. "You said no full nude."

"It's not full nude!"

"There is one ribbon covering your tits."

"That doesn't count."

"Kinda does, though."

Homelander stared straight ahead with the thousand-yard look of a man questioning every life decision that had led him here, his facial tics starting to act up.

Ben kept grinning as he finally lowered the magazine enough to look at you properly, and there it was—that smug, annoyingly entertained look that always riled you up.

"Can't believe every asshole in America got to see this before me."

Homelander finally snapped. "Are you two done flirting over a dead body?"

───

"You bought this?"

"Yeah."

You stood in your room back at Vought Tower, Ben at your side with his chest puffed out and an infuriatingly proud grin on his pretty face.

He'd been pounding on your door five minutes ago, insisting that this was an emergency—before dropping a package on your mattress and demanding you open it.

You regretted it the moment you ripped the carboard open and caught a glimpse of black, shiny fabric.

"How did you even—"

"Spent three fuckin' hours figuring out that... that jungle website." Ben shrugged with an edge of frustration.

"Wha—Amazon?" You let out a huff of a laugh, the very entertaining image of him grumbling and cursing at a screen for three hours straight popping in your mind.

"Yeah, whatever. Site kept askin' me about cookies or some shit."

"You learned online shopping for this?" You huffed in disbelief, carefully digging through the plastic bag to pull out the costume, staring down at it with conflict—and maybe a bit of pink on your cheeks.

Fighting the internet just to see you in a skimpy bunny suit was actually pretty romantic, by Ben's standards.

"Won't you put it on, sweetheart?" He leaned towards you, hand reaching to grope the meat of your ass and head ducking down until his hot breath hit the shell of your ear. "Figure if every Tom, Dick, and Harry got the photoshoot, i oughta at least get the sequel."

You folded, eventually.

And you realized you'd rarely seen Ben this invested.

Took you in his arms the moment you walked out, changed in this bunny suit—that you insisted was stupid and raunchy—hands all over your curves and squeezing flesh like he had to make sure this was real. They slid down to your waist again, pinching the soft skin through the satin fabric appreciatively.

"Stop making that face. Smile a little, bun." He teased, amused by how commited you were to looking annoyed despite how red your ears were turning. He could feel your body burning under his palms, flushed and squirming.

"This is not funny."

"Yeah? I think it's hilarious." He retorted, flicking the white fluffy tail on your lower back and tugging at the ears on your head just to rile you up some more. You were about to protest like you always did when he interrupted you, lips crashing hungrily against yours while he pulled you closer until there wasn't an inch left between your bodies.

You squirmed without much conviction when he steered you towards his bed, the empty package falling to the floor as he pushed it off carelessly and sat down on the edge, pulling you onto his lap.

"You're such a pretty bunny, i might just fuck you like one." He purred, gripping your thighs to keep you still. "Wouldn't you like that?"

The grumpy but slightly shaky whine you let out told him everything he needed to know. You're still embarrassed, but so damn into it—and it's exactly what he wants.

One finger hooked into the collar of your bowtie, pulling you in for another rough kiss just to draw more of those adorable grumbles out of you. He was as mean as you remembered, always trying to dominate with his tongue and biting on your lower lip whenever he didn't get his way.

His other hand slid to your hipbone, urging you to grind against him and guiding your movements while his own hips thrust up, the hard line of his erection rubbing deliciously against your clothed slit. He reached for your chest to caress one breast possessively, grunting at the way you arched your back and pressed further into his palm whenever he pinched your nipple through the fabric.

"Gettin' all excited just from a little rubbin'." He murmured against your lips teasingly as he felt you grind harder on your own, chasing more of that sweet friction as your heart pounded through your ribcage and against his hand. "C'mere, bun."

He never stopped kissing you as he maneuvered you onto the mattress, switching your positions until he hovered above you, forearms braced on each side of your head to avoid crushing you under his weight—not that you'd mind. He only pulled back to take you in, from your flushed cheeks to the way the satin strained against your curves. So vulnerable—and fucking delicious.

"Look at you," He muttered, his voice dropping into a rough, gravelly rumble. "All red and pouty. Actin' like you didn't want this the second you saw the damn box."

He trailed kisses down your neck, leaving harsh bites and hickeys on the way to your collarbone until he nuzzled his nose into your cleavage—leaving one last open-mouthed kiss on your sternum.

"Roll over." He ordered with a nudge to your thigh with his knee.

"Really?"

"What, you ever seen bunnies go at it in missionary, smartass? Ass up." He didn't wait for you to move, manhandling you onto your stomach and lifting your hips up, bunny ears tilting forward as his fingers tangled in your hair to keep your face down. He hooked his thumb into the crotch of the teddy to pull it to the side followed by a sharp tearing sound that made you jump, mesh snapping to form a jagged hole in your fishnets as he ripped it apart.

"Fuck," He hissed at the sight of your dripping pussy, pink and puffy under that bush of yours he loved so much. "You kept bitchin' all night, but look at that. Little bunny's soaked, just waiting for the big bad wolf to tear her apart." He let out a condescending chuckle, thumb swiping through your folds as he spread your cheeks apart. He relished the way you shuddered and let your head fall forward into the sheets, whimpering softly.

"Pathetic." He snorted, two fingers abruptly breaching past your ring of muscle—earning himself a surprised little yelp. "All tight and snug." He commented, digits already curling and scissoring inside of you while his free hand tugged his pants off, his hard cock springing free from its confines.

"Hnn, Ben—" You couldn't help but whimper as he scratched that spongy spot along your walls, voice muffled against the comforter.

"Yeah, yeah. Stop complainin', you're gonna get it." He scoffed, fingers sliding out of your pussy with a wet squelch. He watched you clench around nothing at the sudden feeling of emptiness, wordlessly begging to be filled. "You gonna be good?" He asked, one hand sliding up your spine to tangle with the hair at your nape, fisting his cock with the other to press the blunt head of it against your slick folds.

"Yes," You nodded frantically, hips twitching with need. "Please, Ben—"

"Please what?" God, you could still hear that infuriating smirk in his voice.

"Please, ngh—fuck my pussy..."

"Atta girl."

He buried himself in one harsh thrust, savoring that desperate cry you let out—something between a moan and a sob that made his dick twitch inside you.

"You like that? You like being stuffed full, bunny?" He drawled mockingly, pelvis pressing against your ass in a deep grind that made you whimper some more. He leaned down until his chest pressed against your back, body blanketing your smaller form.

"Yeah... you love takin' my big fuckin' cock. Always have." He pulled out just enough to make you whine, before slamming back inside you over and over again, the sound of skin slapping against skin mixed with your pathetic, muffled cries filling the room.

"Good girl. Good bun..." He grunted appreciatively against the side of your neck, hand sliding from your nape to grip your jaw and lift your head just enough to catch a glimpse of that flushed face and those glazed over, teary eyes.

"T—too much—" You choked out, each thrust making your body jolt forward.

"Aww, really?" He cut you off by squeezing your cheeks with his fingers a few times, thumb and index finger digging into the squishy flesh—like you were nothing but a cute pet. "Can't handle it, sweetheart?" His movements stopped abruptly, leaving you whining and squirming at the sudden loss of friction.

"You either take it all, or get nothin' at all. And judgin' by the way your legs are kickin' for more right now, i reckon you prefer the first option." He chuckled cruelly, his free hand kneading your hip. "So, are you gonna take it or not?"

You nodded desperately, chin pressing into his palm. "No no, use your words." He nuzzled further into your neck, his beard scratching against your shoulder.

"Mmn—i'll be good... i—i'll take your cock, please—" You barely had the time to beg that he was already hammering into you again, thrusts shallow but hard, balls slapping against your sensitive mound.

"Yeah you will," He grunted while you choked on your own moans and saliva, his grip on your hip tightening bruisingly. "Like the good little bunny you are."

He didn't slow down when he felt your walls tighten and your moans turning into shaky wails, pounding into you until you finally came, gushing around him with a throaty, almost inhumane sob.

"Good fuckin' girl, cummin' so hard on this fat cock—" He felt that familiar heat pool in his gut, thrusts turning sloppy and slightly uncoordinated. "I'm almost there, sweetheart—you can take it."

He came with a roar, hips flush against yours as he spilled himself as deep in you as possible, holding himself there until he was empty. "Fuck—nghh, fuck..."

Your knees gave out the moment he pulled out, goosebumps rising on your skin when you felt your pussy drool with his hot, thick release. The mattress dipped next to you as he let himself collapse, one arm sliding between your waist and the sheets to pull you closer.

"C'mere." He panted, reaching to take those ridiculous ears off your head. A miracle that they stayed on the whole time. "Let's get you out of this, hm?"

He fumbled with the buttons on the cuffs, pulled the zipper down your back and tugged the torn fishnets down your legs—until you laid bare and dazed.

“c’mon, doll; y’been actin’ funny all day,” she starts, as she always does. making it sound so nonchalant; just another day! “gotta let me check what’s makin’ my girl all squirmy all of a sudden, yeah?”

as time goes on, it becomes routine. just a simple ask, or even soldier girl checking without asking, and you obliging because you’re just such a good girl for your mom. you simply open your legs, feel your face grow warm at how easy it is for you to get wet from this, and allow her to check you. all without a single thought– from you.

her rough hand holds your jaw as your hazy eyes meet her hardened ones. “hm, not feelin’ too good, are you? y’want mommy to fix it for you?” to which you nod, slightly eagerly, opening up your legs even more for mommy to fix your little problem that you’re not trusted enough to take care of yourself. 

if anything, you’re brainless. just some trained, obliging pup, being inspected whenever you’re told. and you’re definitely no stranger to being dragged into the bathrooms at vought, having her hand cup your barely clothed cunt as she makes her judgement. or, even first thing in the morning– not even having a chance to come around, only to find her fingers prying at your swollen, aching cunt. “got so wet f’me overnight, kid. see how desperate she was f’me? should’ve woken me up to take care of her.”

and this is who you are now. not able to remember a time before– a before where you didn’t have your drooling hole checked because you can’t control yourself (or speak up about how badly you need her, really). your brain being re-wired, so that all you know is that you have to obey; be your mommy’s good girl. 

your whine comes out muffled, almost gagging on him as you try to agree with a timid head nod. he’s right, so fucking right, with your cunt clenching around nothing. meanwhile, your mouth is full and aching, and your feel yourself grow wetter in anticipation of him ruining you. and when he shoves himself further into your mouth, no warning of course, your first instinct to gag is replaced with your throat fluttering excitedly around him. 

the underside? of his cock weighs heavy on your tongue, all jagged veins and swelling, and you suck just enough to make him gram, sucking air through his teeth in a tight hiss. he grips your hat, fingers scraping at your scalp, pushing you further and further down his cock. your nose is buried in the hair at the base, the musky scent that make you drip even harder on the dirty bathroom tile. spit gathers at the corners of your mouth, dripping down your chin and his cock, falling in time with your tears onto your tits.  

“y’see how easy it is to behave?” he rolls his hips slightly, but fics your throat like he’s got something to prove. something to beat out of you. “you ain’t done ‘til i say you’re done.”

you hum, eliciting soft vibrations around his girth, the only way you can demonstrate how much you love this– the stretch as your mouth struggles to stay accustomed to his size, the control he has on you, using you like a ventriloquist’s doll. you claw at his sweat, fingers occasionally slipping from sweat. your bare cunt grinds on the floor, cold emanating from it like a burn to the skin, and you shiver. it’s embarrassing, shameful, how you behave, and yet, you don’t stop.

it’s worse when his boot presses down, hard, between your legs, your thighs, the midsole catching against your clit. you whimper around his cock, almost dropping him entirely from your mouth, but the strong hands in your hair keep you up. “uh-uh-uh,” he mutters, and through blurring vision, you can make out a grin that’s formed from twisted amusement. “you’re gonna fuck yourself this way– like the desperate bitch you are.”

and so, you do. there’s nothing else, that’s why, except to make a fool of yourself on some shitty bathroom floor, humping against material that smells of leather, gunpowder and blood. he’s too busy fucking into your throat to care about your discomfort. but you’re still getting off in this way– you can feel the undeniable, tell-tale signs of your orgasm coming, ready to aid you in your journey to a sexual rock bottom.

“aw, gonna cum, just from this?” he taunts, everything seeming so cruel and sweet about it. like he loves you, but really, he loves seeing you like this. “fuckin’ ridiculous, y’know that?”

you nod mindlessly, agreeing with whatever comes out his mouth because, hey, you’re not actually listening– yes yes i will do whatever you want whatever you say– unable to focus on anything but that white-hot build of your orgasm. and when it does hit, it’s nothing short of brutal. it’s like being drenched in cold water, that nauseating shiver that consumes you whole as your cunt convulses around nothing. you taste warm cum on your tongue, though, fresh and salty. at least you got something out of this.

he? well, he just smirks, almost politely. wolf in sheep’s fucking clothing. 

feeling bored, you tapped your nails against the door armrest. you looked around at the trees. you sat up to see the lake in the near distance, the sun glistening off the ripples. you poked the fuzzy dice hanging from his rear view mirror. you rummaged through his glove compartment…

… and your brows shot up upon seeing a black pistol buried under documents and condoms.

you glanced over to see if he’d caught you snooping. his brows were still furrowed as he rolled the joint over the steering wheel. utterly enraptured by his weed. you smirked, feeling suddenly mischievous. with great care, you gently retrieved the firearm.

“put it down.” his voice rang beside you.

you tensed, suddenly feeling like a scolded child, then smiled faintly. you didn’t put it down. you treated it delicately, of course, purposely avoiding the trigger as you examined it. the metal was cool and heavy in your hand. “why is it in here?”

“needs to be,” he said simply. then, he took the gun from you, grabbing it by the barrel. he set it muzzle down in the empty cup holder between you before focusing his attention back to the blunt.

you tilted your head, unsatisfied, and stated matter-of-factly, “you’re indestructible.”

“you’re not.”

you raised a brow again, intrigued. “so it’s for me.”

“for assholes.”

“my hero.”

ben looked over at you then, sizing you up, half impressed, half perpetually annoyed.

“have you ever even been this close to a roscoe?”

you looked through your lashes. “… once or twice.”

that got his attention. he lowered the unfinished joint in his lap, looking you over again, his keen green eyes following a steady path down your figure. ben paused for a long moment, as if he was assessing you.

“when?”

“fourth of july.”

“what’d you shoot?” he sounded nearly fascinated. never in a million years would ben have guessed you did something like that. you were always such a sissy.

“the ground,” you confessed timidly.

the sharp sound of his laughter broke the peacefulness of nature surrounding you. his shoulders bounced, he tipped his head back against the headrest, and his eyes crinkled at the corners. he licked his lips and muttered something like jesus christ as he settled down, shaking his head and bringing the joint back up to work on again.

“you’re a card.” he stated. he gave the joint a final lick, pressing the paper down flush with the pads of his thumbs. he inspected it carefully before tucking it in his shirt pocket. he pushed his aviators back down, wearing them properly, hiding his eyes. “get out.”

you blinked, watching him open his door, grab the pistol, and step out of the car all in one motion. after a moment of hesitation, you followed.

he beckoned you over with a finger, his gun in his back pocket. ben’s hand snaked around your waist when you were close enough and he leaned against the hood of his car. he thumbed your hip and raised his hand, moving it to follow the horizon.

your eyes followed. the lake’s shore lapped at the dirt a few respectable paces away, the water slightly murky. surrounding you, conifers and hardwood cast sparse shadows. their leaves occasionally swayed with the soft breeze, and the unmistakable smell of sap comforted you in a strange way.

his voice recaptured your attention. “pick a tree.”

you looked over at him, a surge of disbelief passing through you. he really trusted you enough to do this?

you shook your head. “i don’t wanna shoot a tree.”

ben rolled his eyes. “hippie,” he muttered, reaching into another pocket of his. he pulled out his cherry rolling papers and ripped two out- then crumpled them into little balls. you blinked in surprise at the sacrifice of two perfectly good rolling papers.

“put these in your ears,” he commanded. and so you did. the sounds of the lake’s waves, the chirping of the birds, the swish of tree branches brushing against each other muffled.

without warning, he grabbed your waist in both hands, and yanked you in front of him. with his chest flush against your back, he wrapped an arm around your middle and fished his pistol out of his pocket. he brought it out to show off.

you knew not to reach for it. he turned it in his hands. his chin brushing against the back of your head. “this bitch’s no joke, you hear me, doll?”

you nodded. he grunted in approval, then flipped the gun back, left side up. he flicked the safety off, keeping the nose pointed to the ground.

gently, ben’s hand smoothed across your stomach, to your hip, and up your side. he trailed his palm over your forearm and down to your hand. being this close to him, you could hear each little inhale and exhale of his. you could feel his breath brush against your ear. you fought the urge to shiver, especially when his hand found yours. he lifted it and guided it to hold the grip of the gun, adjusting your fingers to stay clear of the trigger.

his hand wrapped firmly around yours, keeping your fingers temporarily disabled, the gun still pointed to the dirt. he squeezed your hand, and you felt something click beneath your palm. your heart raced.

“that was the grip safety,” he said, his voice calm. you nodded once, relaxing.

his other hand gestured in front of you, to a dead tree stump about sixty feet away, maybe four feet tall. it sat unimposing at the opposite shore of the lake, gray and peeling bark, surrounded by its living kin.

“see that stump?”

you nodded.

“aim for that.”

“… okay.”

his grip around your hand on the gun remained. you felt the grainy surface of the grip on your skin. his other hand moved, guiding your left hand to the gun in the same fashion he did the other. ben hummed in approval as he fixed your hands over the grip.

wordlessly, he guided your arms up, the gun still snug inside your fingers. he straightened your arms outright, then maneuvered your right index finger to rest gently on the trigger guard.

“don’t move your finger yet,” he said, his voice in your ear. you swallowed.

his hands left yours, leaving the breeze to brush over them, the coldness emphasizing the loss. he ran his hands slowly up your wrists, to the sensitive skin of the inside of your elbows, and he stopped to hold your biceps. he kept his feet planted firmly outside yours, his broad chest flush against your back.

you pressed your thighs together, his touch molding, and you avoided exhaling too shakily. though, you were almost certain he could hear your pounding heart. just the thought of his awareness made your cheeks flush.

“now…” he let go of one of your arms, his chin by your ear. he gently tapped the small, triangular-shaped bump on top of the pistol once, the one closest to your eye; then the bump further away, on the very tip of the barrel.

“sights. front and rear. as you can see, front is a post, rear is a notch. you line ‘em up both horizontally and vertically, at the center of that stump… and you’ve got your aim.”

you squeezed one eye shut to line the sights up, doing your best to center them as he instructed on the awaiting stump. he shifted, leaning over to look at your face, assessing briefly. he smiled faintly.

“now, i know that might feel right, sweets, but it’s better to keep both those pretty eyes open.”

his voice was cogent. you quickly reopened your eye, exhaling. you could hear the faintest of chuckles leave him.

he licked his lips and slid his hands up back to yours on the gun. one held both of yours in place securely, and the other reached to grab his gun by the barrel, between the sights. he slid the slide back, exposing the metal barrel underneath, and it made a clicking noise that made your brows furrow. he let it go, covering the barrel once again.

“she’s cocked. don’t you move a muscle till i tell you to.”

he found his place behind you again, his chest against you. he squeezed your shoulders gently before he smoothed his rough hands down your upper back, over the ridge of your bra, down to the dip of your waist. you blinked slowly, your eyes darting momentarily to the ground, then back up. you knew you needed to focus, not let his carnal touch divert your attention.

he ran his thumbs back and forth over your waist. his hands were warm and unmoving, and you couldn’t help but notice he kept your ass pressed firm against his hips, the print of his dick faint but felt. it made your breath hitch, but you remained planted against him. and when you heard a rough, faint groan leave his lips right in your ear? you wanted to ditch this whole shooting lesson.

when he spoke again, his voice was considerably softened. but it still made your heart skip. it pulled you back into what this was supposed to be. “you can put your finger on the trigger now, but do not put pressure on it.”

you swallowed again, nodding, regrouping, and you moved your finger carefully off the guard and onto the cool trigger. it was a strange sense of power. one pull and a killing stone would come out at 800 feet per second.

“atta girl. don’t pull yet. take your time, give yourself at least half a minute to aim. then you fire.”

you held the gun pointed where you wanted, taking slow, shuddering breaths, heeding his words. he trusted your judgment, the good head on your shoulders. you’re not so reckless to fire when you’re not confident. and you’re listening so well to each of his instructions.

you lined up the sights, acquiring yourself a good shot, but damn if his closeness didn’t make you blush. as if sensing your temperament at the moment, ben nuzzled his half hard cock against your ass with a slow exhale, causing you to gasp faintly.

your chest sank, about to lower the gun. but he spoke again, this time whispering gravelly. “now… shoot when you want. it’s gonna recoil, and it’s gonna recoil pretty fuckin hard, so be prepared for that.”

he lowered his hands from your waist to grip your hips. the feeling made you breathe uneven, just one short breath that didn’t escape his notice. he smiled, but for once didn’t point it out. not now. he held you tight, not letting you move even an inch away. having your precious self this close was too good to not take advantage of. just feeling your body heat seep into his sent blood straight down. he breathed heavy through his nose, right in your ear, and he gave your hips a gentle squeeze.

you pulled, and a loud bang- one you didn’t anticipate to be so booming because of the rolling papers- rang out when you applied pressure to the trigger. and not even half a second later, the sound of the bullet hitting the stump met your ears. just as he said, the recoil shoved you back. right into him.

tree branches shook as birds fled from them, and you gasped loud. his arm came around you immediately, and ben snatched the gun from your hands harshly by the barrel, quickly flicking something on it down with a click. you heard his laughter in your ear, your heart pounding.

“ha-ha! fuck, baby, you hear that? you hit that shit dead fuckin’ center. that’s my girl.”

he tucked the gun away, adjusting you forcefully to face him. his grin was unmoving, plastered on his face shamelessly. he gave you a shake as he laughed, and after getting your bearings, you finally sighed in relief. you smiled coyly, your hand bracing against his chest. and when you saw your stunned reflection in his sunglasses lenses, you finally laughed alongside him.

“i hit it?”

“did you hit it? yeah, you fuckin’ hit it,” he rubbed your arm, ruffling your clothes. he pointed to the stump. “see for yourself.”

you looked over, narrowing your eyes to see better. sure enough, near the center of the trunk, a hole from the bullet was marked. you picked the balled up rolling papers out of your ears. you let out a disbelieving laugh, grinning, feeling a twinge of pride for yourself. you just shot a gun and hit your target.

you were pulled out of your thoughts by a large hand smacking your ass, the slap causing you to freeze. his laugh deepened by your ear, his arm around you caging. he adjusted you in front of him, practically manhandling you, your hair catching in the wind.

your face fell at the proximity. your chest pressed flush against his made eye contact difficult. but ben hooked his finger under your chin, his other hand sliding down to grip your ass and pull you even closer. that’s when you registered it. him, the hard bulge of his cock straining against his jeans, pressing into your hip. your eyes widened.

“my little sharpshooter,” he said fondly. he leaned in to kiss you roughly, his teeth knocking against yours. it was as brief as it was aggressive, and it left you breathless and squirming.

he grinned, plucking the joint he rolled out of his shirt pocket, taking it between his lips. his other hand found your ass again, and with half lidded eyes, ben rutted his cock against you, just once. enough to make you gasp.

“now, why don’t you be a good girl and bend over this hood for me?”

“huh, you never been stretched out, doll?” she asks, her breath hot against your swollen folds. the smell of weed lingers in the air, making you all hazy and warm. 

“just my fingers,” you reply shyly– only to then wince when she brings her hand down sharply on your drooling cunt. 

“think you’re forgettin’ somethin’ at the end of that.” her nails tap against the inside of your thigh, gently ghosting bite marks that she’s left there. she squeezes your flesh roughly. “who’re you talkin’ to, doll?”

“you, mom, ‘m talking to you.”

“yeah, that’s right.” and with that, she pushes one finger into you, whilst her other hand holds you down firmly as you begin to writhe. you’ve never had this sort of attention– and never for your cunt– and just the feeling of a single finger alone is making you clench tightly. “hey, just gotta relax f’your mom, okay? gonna stretch you out before i do anythin’..”

and all you can do, as she adds a second and a third finger, sharpened nails scraping your walls, is whine and squirm; feel so uncomfortable by this sudden intrusion, and yet, grow more wet and needy as she starts to fingerfuck you. 

“yeah– doin’ so well f’me, doll– aren’t you? bein’ my good girl an’ all?” 

you rut your hips forward, grasp onto the sheets below, as you feel your orgasm build. she fucks you like a pro– making you all hot and bothered before you’ve even gotten to the main event. your sweat-slicked body aches, and breathy sounds spill from your mouth as she begins to circle and tease your clit. 

“‘s feeling so good–” you whimper, bucking your hips with more intensity. “mom, i need you– please– mommy–”

“oh, you say somethin’?” she pauses briefly, smirking up at you before going back to basically shoving her whole fist into your gaping cunt. meanwhile, you whine and cry for her– your needy noises getting lost in the obscenely vulgar sounds that your hole makes– and tug on her hair for more.

and when she finally does fuck you? well.

she’s not the type to waste her time. immediately, she bottoms out inside of you, burying herself to the hilt with that fat strap. she stills for just a minute or so, allowing you to get used to the fullness of her; and then she’s back to stretching out your hole, in just the way you need!

every time she slams back into you, the plastic tip of the toy kisses your cervix, and the ridged sides are hugged by your warm walls like you don’t want her to go. “you feelin’ god f’me, doll? feelin’ all good for your mommy?” she coos at you, again and again. you nod absent-mindedly, only able to focus on how full you feel, writhing under her sheer brutality because your poor body cannot take it.

“huh, you never been stretched out, doll?” she asks, her breath hot against your swollen folds. the smell of weed lingers in the air, making you all hazy and warm. 

“just my fingers,” you reply shyly– only to then wince when she brings her hand down sharply on your drooling cunt. 

“think you’re forgettin’ somethin’ at the end of that.” her nails tap against the inside of your thigh, gently ghosting bite marks that she’s left there. she squeezes your flesh roughly. “who’re you talkin’ to, doll?”

“you, mom, ‘m talking to you.”

“yeah, that’s right.” and with that, she pushes one finger into you, whilst her other hand holds you down firmly as you begin to writhe. you’ve never had this sort of attention– and never for your cunt– and just the feeling of a single finger alone is making you clench tightly. “hey, just gotta relax f’your mom, okay? gonna stretch you out before i do anythin’..”

and all you can do, as she adds a second and a third finger, sharpened nails scraping your walls, is whine and squirm; feel so uncomfortable by this sudden intrusion, and yet, grow more wet and needy as she starts to fingerfuck you. 

“yeah– doin’ so well f’me, doll– aren’t you? bein’ my good girl an’ all?” 

you rut your hips forward, grasp onto the sheets below, as you feel your orgasm build. she fucks you like a pro– making you all hot and bothered before you’ve even gotten to the main event. your sweat-slicked body aches, and breathy sounds spill from your mouth as she begins to circle and tease your clit. 

“‘s feeling so good–” you whimper, bucking your hips with more intensity. “mom, i need you– please– mommy–”

“oh, you say somethin’?” she pauses briefly, smirking up at you before going back to basically shoving her whole fist into your gaping cunt. meanwhile, you whine and cry for her– your needy noises getting lost in the obscenely vulgar sounds that your hole makes– and tug on her hair for more.

and when she finally does fuck you? well.

she’s not the type to waste her time. immediately, she bottoms out inside of you, burying herself to the hilt with that fat strap. she stills for just a minute or so, allowing you to get used to the fullness of her; and then she’s back to stretching out your hole, in just the way you need!

every time she slams back into you, the plastic tip of the toy kisses your cervix, and the ridged sides are hugged by your warm walls like you don’t want her to go. “you feelin’ god f’me, doll? feelin’ all good for your mommy?” she coos at you, again and again. you nod absent-mindedly, only able to focus on how full you feel, writhing under her sheer brutality because your poor body cannot take it.

“you’re serious?” his voice is low, rough with disbelief.

you sink to your knees between his legs, the hem of your modest sundress brushing the dusty floor. your hands slide up his thighs, bold in a way that surprises even you.

“i want to save you, sam,” you whisper, fingers working his belt open with surprising steadiness. “and maybe… this is how god sent me to do it.”

his breath catches hard when you pull him out, already half-hard and thickening in your palm. he’s big. thicker than you imagined during those restless nights when you touched yourself whispering his name like a sin.

“fuck—sweetheart…” sam’s hand hovers near your cheek, unsure. “you don’t have to—”

you lean forward and take him into your mouth before he can finish the sentence.

the groan that tears out of him is filthy, echoing off the wooden walls of the confessional like a cursed soul crying out. it’s loud. too loud for this holy place.

the sound shoots straight between your legs.

you suck him deeper, tongue sliding along the underside, cheeks hollowing. sam’s head falls back against the wooden panel with a dull thud. “jesus christ,” he hisses, then immediately lets out a breathless laugh. “shit—sorry.”

you pull off just enough to murmur, “it’s okay. you can say his name.” your voice is soft, almost sweet, completely at odds with the way you’re licking a slow stripe up the length of him. “i like hearing you lose control.”

then you sink down again, taking him further until he bumps the back of your throat. your eyes water but you don’t stop, relaxing your jaw and swallowing around him. sam’s hips jerk, a broken moan spilling from his lips. his hand finally settles in your hair.

“you’re—fuck, you’re really doing this,” he breathes, awe thick in his voice. “in here. on your knees for me like a good little—”

you hum around him and his words cut off into another low, wrecked sound. the confessional feels too small, too warm. every wet suck, every quiet gag, every tiny moan you can’t hold back fills the sacred space.

sam’s thighs tense under your palms. he’s trying so hard to stay quiet now, but he can’t. not when you take him so deep your nose brushes the dark hair at his base and swallow again.

that’s it—good girl,” he whispers, voice strained and reverent. his fingers tighten gently in your hair, guiding you just a little faster. “just like that. you’re taking me so well… fuck, look at you.”

you glance up at him through wet lashes. his eyes are blown dark, lips parted, chest rising and falling fast. the sight of sweet, shy christian you with your mouth full of him seems to break something in his brain.

you pull back just enough to whisper, voice hoarse, “after this… i’ll pray for both of us.” then you dive back down, sucking harder, faster, one hand stroking what you can’t fit in your mouth.

sam’s moans grow louder, rougher, bouncing off the confessional walls like sacrilege. his hips start rocking gently, fucking your mouth with careful restraint even as his control frays. “i’m—shit, i’m close,” he warns, voice cracking.

you don’t pull away. you take him deeper, humming encouragement, eyes locked on his. sam comes with a choked groan that sounds almost pained, hips stuttering as he spills down your throat. you swallow every drop, gentle and obedient, until he’s trembling and oversensitive.

when you finally sit back on your heels, lips swollen and shiny, you fold your hands neatly in your lap like you’re back in sunday school.

sam stares down at you, chest heaving, looking thoroughly ruined and completely in awe. “you’re…” he lets out a shaky laugh, dragging a hand through his hair. “you’re not what i expected from bible study.”

you smile softly, a little shy again now that the heat is fading, even as his taste still lingers on your tongue. “god works in mysterious ways,” you murmur, voice sweet and honest.

then you lean forward, pressing one last gentle kiss to the head of his softening cock before tucking him back into his jeans with careful fingers.

“now,” you say, standing up and smoothing down your dress like nothing happened, “kneel with me. we should probably pray for forgiveness.”

sam looks up at you, stunned, flushed, and already half-hard again. but he doesn’t argue. he just slides off the bench and drops to his knees beside you, shoulder brushing yours in the cramped space, the faint scent of candle wax and sex hanging heavy in the air. the candles keep burning, flickering like they know exactly what kind of salvation just took place.