𝚐𝚘𝚖𝚒

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.

Smack!

Another one. Third one today, actually.

It started the moment you met in that dingy motel—Billy had called you over, refusing to elaborate further than 'come babysit a hundred year old supe that can irradiate you at any given moment for me'. There you found America's golden boy, snorting benzedrine on a sticky table and tearing through greasy fast food.

You weren't sure how Billy came to the conclusion that leaving a woman alone with a guy whose mentality was stuck in the 50s was a good idea, but here you were. Nothing but a piece of meat in his eyes, owing him your time, attention and body by default.

And he made that clear really fast, because as soon as you got close enough, his hand reached out almost on instinct to land slap your butt. You'd jerked away with a short gasp, outraged as you defensively pulled the hem of your shorts lower. He'd brushed off all of your insults and whining, grumbling about how sensitive women were, and went back to chewing on his burger like nothing happened.

In his defense, you looked damn good in those shorts. Maybe the 21st century wasn't so bad if this was how women dressed now.

But it's been days, and you're stuck babysitting Ben again in a different motel, the room already reeking of weed from the stash he'd been given to keep him cooperative.

And he just won't stop. Whenever you walk past—smack. When you're mid conversation—smack. Sometimes he just straight-up walks over to you—smack.

Occasionally his hand would linger, squeezing the flesh like you're his personal stressball while he grins like he'd never been so proud of himself. Other times, he does it out of pure reflex, like his brain's on autopilot and slapping your ass every time you brush past him is coded into it.

He doesn't care for your protests, your unimpressed glares, or the way you step back with annoyance—he will keep trying until you let him. Almost like it's some kind of game to him.

But if you had to be honest, he was slowly starting to... grow on you. Whatever that means. He's without a doubt an asshole, but a really handsome and—sometimes—funny one. Just enough to ignore his archaic mindset from time to time.

And enough to want to rile him up.

At one point you'd stopped reacting. Not because you gave up—far from it—but because you'd been planning for retaliation. Let him think you're okay with it. That he's won.

'He wants to play that game? Alright, then.'

Ben's palm barely had the time to retract before your own shot out to give him a taste of his own medicine—

Smack!

His head immediately whipped around towards you, brows furrowed and lips parted just slightly with disbelief. He slowly stubbed out his joint directly on the table close to him, not caring about the circular burn mark it left, as his face morphed into something a little more intimidating.

"...What?" You asked with feigned innocence, batting your eyelashes at him in a way that only fed his anger.

"You think that's funny?" He hissed, eyes narrowing dangerously.

"Well, you clearly do."

He stared at you in silence for a few seconds too long, feeling his rage melt into something closer to amusement. He wasn't one for loud and independent women—too emotional—but he liked the way that one challenged him.

You held his gaze, refusing to back down, even as your pulse picked up. This was stupid. Of course it was stupid. But if you so much as flinched now, he’d never let it go.

The tension was unbearable.

"...Yeah," He finally muttered, stepping closer. "Real fuckin' funny."

You stayed put, standing your ground as he stopped close enough that your chests brushed. His eyes flicked down, then back up as he sized you up, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek.

The way he ogled you made heat creep up your neck instantly.

He suddenly grabbed your hips before you could come up with another witty comeback, and yanked you against him—his growing erection pressing against your lower belly as a he held you there firmly.

Okay, that wasn't exactly the reaction you expected but maybe that wasn't so bad, huh?

"What, you backin' out?" He teased as he felt your breath hitch. "You all bark and no bite? Is that it?"

"Fuck you." You retorted, although it was starting to lack conviction.

He couldn't help but scoff at that, staring at the way you bit on your lower lip like you were trying to fight your own attraction to him.

"Fuck me? Think i'll fuck you instead."

His lips crashed against yours—messy, hungry, almost aggressive—while he practically shoved you against the nearest wall, hips grinding impatiently against yours.

You wriggled against him in half-protest, hands gripping his forearms until your nails left indents in his skin while his own slid down to grip the ass that he loved so much, yanking you even harder against his hard-on. His tongue slipped into your mouth without asking for entrance first—not that he usually seeked permission for anything.

"You're gonna regret that," He groaned in between kisses, one hand sliding up up your back to grip the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair. "Think you can get back at me and i won't say anything?"

Your resolve was starting to crumble. Thank his mother for giving him a face pretty enough to make anyone forget about his ugly personality.

You tensed and your thighs closed up on instinct as he clumsily reached for the buttons of your pants and shoved them down your hips, whimpering against his mouth. "Open up." He ordered, delivering a much sharper smack than usual to your asscheek. "I said, open."

He pushed the fabric further down your thighs as you surrendered with a half-annoyed and half-needy whine, before his arm wrapped around you again and guided you towards the table. He used the hand tangled in your hair to push you down and make you bend over, your own bracing themselves against the wood with a quiet gasp.

His palm slid down to settle between your shoulder blades, pressing down until your breasts squished against the flat surface, while he hooked a finger into the waistband of your panties. He pulled them down without hesitation, exposing your damp, puffy lips to the cold air.

His stupid grin widened when he realized you weren't as unaffected as you pretended to be, his thumb swiping through your folds teasingly. "Look at that," He murmured, amused by the way you twitched. "You keep complainin', but you're so fuckin' wet."

The little huff of frustration you let out only served to entertain him even more, his grip tightening as your hips squirmed in an attempt to move away from his touch. "Ah-ah-ah." He leaned over you, his body blanketing yours as his warm breath fanned over your ear. "You fucked up. Time to face the consequences, sweetheart."

He didn't waste any time, two fingers slipping past your tight ring of muscle and burying knuckles deep, immediately curling them over and over again against that sensitive, spongy spot.

"Hey, go slow—haa—!" You tried protesting, but were forced to cut yourself off with a shaky whimper as he just rubbed faster, sending shivers down your back.

"You don't get to tell me what to do." He huffed out something between a scoff and a chuckle, clearly enjoying the way you squirmed and clenched around his fingers. "Be a good girl for once, and take it."

The room filled with your soft mewling and the lewd, wet sound of his fingering, clear slick dripping down the back of his hand. "You gonna stop bein' a brat and behave, now?" He asked, the hand that held you down fisting in the back of your shirt.

"Nghh—! Y—yes, yes..." You were starting to get breathless, head falling down until your forehead hit the wood with a soft thump and eyes fluttering shut. Just as your thighs started to tremble, he abruptly withdrew his hand, leaving you empty and aching for more.

"Then be patient." He murmured, ignoring your pathetic whines. The warmth of his chest left your back as he straightened up to watch your hole clench around nothing, smiling to himself proudly at the sight of your dripping pussy. He licked his fingers clean before he reached down to his sweatpants, pulling it down along with his boxers just enough to free his cock, pre-cum already leaking from the swollen tip.

"Haa... you're just being mean—ghh..." You whined again.

"Shut up." He rubbed his length along your slit, coating himself with your slick before lining himself up. He thrust in without warning, filling you up completely with a satisfied groan.

"Ahn—!" You choked out a moan, your grip on the table tightening.

"There we go, slid right in. Good girl." He praised almost mockingly as he pulled out until just the tip remained slotted between your folds, before slamming right back in. He fucked into you like a man possessed, drinking in your throaty, messy moans as his hips collided with the back of your thighs repeatedly.

The hand on your upper back slid up until it settled on the back of your head, grabbing your hair at the roots and pulling on it to make your back arch further, while the other one gave your ass a sharp spank that made you yelp.

"Fuck, you love that," He grunted as he felt your walls tighten around him, thumb rubbing the back of your head condescendingly. "You kept runnin' your mouth—mmph, whinin' like a bitch everytime i slapped that cute ass..." He let out breathy chuckles between groans, each strike harsher than the last. "But you fuckin' love it, squeezin' me so damn tight every time."

God, he could get addicted to that feeling—the way you clenched with each impact, the flesh jiggling as he left your skin red and sore.

He stopped as your thighs started to shake again, reaching around to rub and flick your swollen clit as he pounded into your sweet cunt, the table legs scraping the floor slightly as the edge dug into the front of your thighs. "That's it—fuck! Cum on that cock, sweetheart. Be good for me."

Your moans turned into high-pitched, desperate sobs as you neared your climax—pussy gripping him like a vice and heat pooling into your gut as you finally came, hips jerking and bucking back against his. He worked you through your orgasm as he felt his building fast, pre-cum leaking steadily inside of you.

He suddenly pulled out, the hand in your hair sliding back down to grip your hip as he fisted his cock. "Shit—stay still, 'm gonna cum on your ass." He grunted, giving himself a few quick strokes before his hot, sticky seed splattered over your reddened skin, dripping down your now slightly gaping hole. He practically growled, his grip on your hipbone almost bruising.

You both panted for a few seconds, trying to catch your breaths before he leaned down slowly, hands braced on each side of your body and beard scraping against your shoulder as he whispered into your ear.