ok new anime plot you know the hentai trope of an ugly fat bastard ravaging a young, fit, pretty woman? The plot is that there's this young woman who really wants to be fucked by this one ugly bastard in particular and keeps setting up situations for that to happen, but he actually has a moral code and refuses her advances and he also has a personality beyond just being an ugly bastard, like, he likes jazz and has a philosophy degree or something. And throughout the show they get to know each other more and more and by the end they're very good friends. not lovers just good friends, this is a very important detail to me. I call it "Get Back Here, Bastard!" what do you guys think.
⠀⠀─⠀⠀warnings ミ ˖ ✧ minors do not interact. gender neutral. somnophilia. grinding. fisting of unusual holes. this was supposed to be a drabble lol. happy new year ninah fandom.
word count ─ 1092 words
he shouldn't be doing this, he realizes that ─ but you're just so warm, and he's so cold. it's almost addicting, pressed against you like this, face buried in your neck, but not quite touching you, simply soaking in the warmth you gave off, the feeling of your natural heat, made only worse by the sun's lasting effects as night falls. you don't sleep with your blankets, refusing to make the heat you feel worse as the world comes to an end, but it's enough for him, when all he feels is cold.
he hesitates for only a moment, but he needs more; so he grabs your wrist, gentle, practically featherlight, careful not to wake you. he freezes for a moment when you make a sound in your sleep, adjusting your position, and turning to face him. his face is forced out of the crook of your neck, no longer breathing in the heat, but it's made up for when you're breathing, soft and slow, hits his face, almost as warm as the rest of you.
he waits for a moment, waiting to see if you'll stir, but you relax, and he breathes a shaky sigh of relief. ─ he wonders how you'll react if you woke up to him pressed against you like this; you seem to enjoy his company, but you're also quite strict when it comes to who you let stay in your house, you have to be. will you reach for the gun you keep close to you even as you sleep? he thinks you will, (and maybe he wants that).
he watches your face as he runs a finger across your wrist, you twist, but you don't stir; and he gets bolder, wrapping a hand around your wrist. he holds your hand to his neck, pressed against his collarbone. your hands are warm, a contrast against the coldness of his own, your fingers curls against him and he's tense again for a moment.
the more you remain asleep, unfazed by his actions, the bolder he becomes; and soon your hand is under the many layers he wore, buried up to your forearm in the hole that made up his abdomen, going against the nature of what it was, your hand remaining intact. the warmth of your hands stands out amidst the constant chill that haunts him. it feels almost burning ─ despite you being nothing of the sort, your body only giving off a natural heat, made only more because of the sun (and even so, it's a most welcome feeling).
he can't understand it, but it stirs arousal in him, and it makes him desperate for more, forcing your arm deeper and pulling himself closer to you. his eyes blur from the unusual pleasure, and he tries to focus on your expression, the way your brows furrow from the feeling surrounding your hand, and the sounds you make in confused unconsciousness ─ believing you might be having an odd dream.
but then your hand twists inside him, and you attempt to pull back from the feeling, groaning something incoherent in your sleep and attempting to turn to lay on your back. he has to stop a whine at the loss as he lets you pull away; his grip loosened around your wrist as you stir for only a moment to get comfortable, remaining unaware of what was happening, of what he was doing.
when you relax, he doesn't hesitate for long, chasing the warmth and pleasure you bring as he climbs over you, straddling your hips. he grabs your arm and brings it back to the dangerous abyss of his abdomen, and the returned heat gains a sigh from him, something like relief. this new position requires him to hold onto your arm tighter, keeping you inside him.
the pleasure returns, and he doesn't realize that he's hard until he begins to subconsciously grind against you, dragging his clothed cock along your own abdomen. the tightness of his clothes is constricting but pleasant all the same, a sound he can't stop leaving his throat the more he grinds and holds your hand to his hole, forcing it in deeper until you're as deep as your elbow.
he knows you're going to wake up soon, as the outside becomes darker behind the blinds covering your window, and he's sure eventually people will be knocking on your door, asking to be let in. a part of him knows he should stop here, pull away and maybe jerk himself off in private, away from you and whoever else you let stay in your house. but it feels too good, and he can't stop, can't make himself pull away when he feels himself grow closer to release, to leave the pleasure you were giving him despite being unconscious and unaware.
he's grinding harder now, lost to the feeling as he buries his face in your neck, no longer paying attention to the way you stir. his grip on your arm is tighter now, almost threatening to bruise, and his pace gets faster, chasing the feeling of his approaching orgasm. he moans into your neck, and he's only half aware of the drool that slips past his lips and onto your collarbone, soaking into the collar of your shirt.
and then he moans loud, followed closely by a sharp whine, it's muffled to the rest of the house with the way he's pressed against you, but he's so close to your ear, and the thought occurs to him that you've definitely heard him, but then it's gone, washed away by the relief he feels from his orgasm. he tries to press even closer to you, as if attempting to mold you against him, force your body to combine with his. his teeth drag against your skin as he pants, his grinds growing slower and his grip weakening around your arm.
finally, he comes to a stop, the feeling of cum in his pants growing uncomfortable, but he ignores it in favor of soaking up more of your heat. your stir against him, and realization, the position he's in, how wrong this was, returns to him, and he feels a bit of panic; but he can't find it in himself to pull away, to look at your face and see if you were awake now (although he's sure you are after that).
but he gets his answer soon enough, when your voice grunts next to his ear, sleep still coating your words and confusion hardened in your tone;
kaledo-art
gummygunk
2087
kianamaiart
izzy806
areudirty
germansingergirl
