Rae Writes Fiction

taglist: @raspberrie-rising, @wiwiwikitty @chloeee20 @shecleansup @beabogsims @angelryex @loreofsarai @cumming4seb @missmanlykink @sheissopink @marvelhoe13 @legendaryhumanoidalienfriend @imsosorrys-posts @underwxrldqueen @kelbrave @tojisgdgirl @rarebambi @raggatasinthewind @thetoastghost222, @kentpaws @sturnskiss @booboobear-12 @biagaloree @stevesxwhore @beabogsims @angelryex @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger @aileen1237 @dontasklolo @belleberryz @mel1sooverrated3d @sophiesnotes @n4tsredbra @itsnearafish481 @iloveneilperry @feathers-from-cupid @losraire @hbagelzzz @inafieldoflilies @memedin4 @kekeanna266 @ohmybelladonna @sabrinaslotus @f4lin3 @vanillakirstein @zarquit @holowhaze @luvekent @tomatolaunch @cokepewpsii @nayacmenayadont2

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?”

soldier boy who pushes you against the wall when you’re being loud. he bathes in that shit—likes you loud and needy, whimpering about how it’s too much, drooling on his fingers as he takes you from behind. it’s no surprise honestly, he just loves when he can hear how good he makes you feel, and he sure as hell enjoys knowing that the entire vought building knows the same.

“you wanna be fucking loud huh? want everyone to know how much of a mess you are taking this cock?” he grunts, lips curled into a smirk as he comes closer, “it’s no use to act so shy now, let them hear how good i make this pussy feel”

soldier boy who doesn’t give two shits about fucking in a public display. he’ll dismiss it gruffly, tone suddenly a pitch lower than usual “you think i care about an audience?” with his hand loosely travelling down your thigh, playing with the hem of that skimpy skirt you were wearing that made him wanna grab you and take you right then and there. a dark chuckle slips past him as his other hand traces the curve of your jawline. “if i wanna fuck my girl? I'll do it right fucking here.”

soldier boy who loves it when you start whining, asking him to slow down, whimpering and begging him to stop—cause he gets too rough sometimes. when he does eventually slow down and lean closer to you, your body relaxes instantly, and you´re dumb enough to think that he actually heard you. but the moment your lips part to speak up, he immediately speeds up, smile so smug and proud of himself when he sees your teary eyes widen. yeah he’s a menace like that.

soldier boy who believes that using a condom is a waste of plastic. why use it when he can feel your overstimulated walls spasm around his length, making you feel every inch? it’s not like he didn´t look forward to having any children either, so why not better than to breed you instead? watch thick ropes of cum leave your insides, it’s just a sight that undoes him completely.

cybella’s thoughts⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡ lawd save me. i’m back and as needy as ever. i haven´t even finished s5, yikes.