“Rule number one: If you get cum on my plushies, you’re going to be handwashing them and apologizing to them out loud the whole time.”
Oliver stares at you sitting cross legged on your bed. “That’s rule one?”
You frown back at him. “Got a problem with it?”
“No, no, I just…” His gaze drops to the embroidered smile of your precious stuffed whale and he squints at it a little. “Rule one?”
“Okay, well, we can stop at rule one and you don’t fuck me at all.”
“No, no. Rule one, don’t get the plushie dirty. Got it.” He pauses. “Unless—”
“That’s rule number one. Rule number two,” you cut him off. “The plushies stay on the bed during sex. If they fall off, we’re stopping so I can pick them up off the floor.”
Oliver points at you accusingly. “You’re fucking with me. You have to be.”
“Look into Moby’s eyes and ask him if I’m fucking with you.” You hold up the plush whale, its soulless black eyes staring into his, and Oliver sighs.
“Fine, sure. I’ll pick up the whale if it—”
“He.”
“If he falls off. Happy?”
“Hmph.” You hug the plushie to your chest and set it down gently on the bed, patting the top of its head, and Oliver groans inside. He’s half hard already, and you being cute about your plushies is not helping.
Still, your attention’s divided. He grabs you, pulls you into a kiss that he knows will leave you breathless, and you melt into him, plushie hopefully forgotten—
“Hah, mm, wait.”
You’re panting into his mouth, but you pull away. He can’t help but chase the sensation of you, his lips kissing down your jaw and neck instead, relishing in the little moans he coaxes out of you in between you trying to speak.
“Oliver- Mm, fuck. Oliver.”
Your fingers catch his jaw, and he leans into your touch, nuzzling his stubble into your palm as you guide his face to look at you. He knows he looks stupid and lovesick as he stares, but can you really blame him? It’s you.
“Oliver,” you say, your voice stern.
“Yeah?” And he can hear the tenderness in his voice; it’s a fucking miracle you can’t.
“Rule three. I don’t want my plushies exposed to indecency.”
“Eh? I’m a model of decency, what’re you talking about?”
“Gimme a second, to turn them around?”
Your voice pitches up, almost like you’re whining, and fuck, that’s cute. You’re cute, so fucking cute and goddamnit Oliver is hard, and oh.
Yeah, that’d work.
Oliver leans back, hands lifted in the air, the pinnacle of innocence. “Go ahead, grab your plush, baby.”
You stop and look back at him, brow furrowed. “Thanks, I will? What are you— Oh. You– mm. Fuck. Motherfucker.”
You’d turned around to grab your plush, your ass raised — the perfect opportunity. You’re curled around the little whale, and now, Oliver’s curled around you, dick grinding against where you’re oh so terribly sensitive.
“Hey, thought you didn’t want your little friend exposed to indecency,” Oliver rolls his hips, rewarded with another muffled moan.
“Pervert,” you mumble, and Oliver presses a kiss to the nape of your neck in retaliation.
“Just for you, sweetheart.”
“You’re still apologizing to— hnn— Moby after this. Got it? Ffffuck.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Oliver laughs a little, even more when he feels you twitch under him. “Whatever you want, baby.”
“Hey, I’m here,” Oliver calls, the door to your apartment swinging shut behind him with a metal thud.
The kitchen’s dark, same as the living room. The blinds are shut, like usual, the faint glow of the streetlights below creeping through and coloring the ceiling with thin yellow lines.
He sets his bags on the table - one overnight, one takeout - and goes looking for you when you don’t come greet him.
Your door swings open when he knocks on it, and he steps into your room. His eyes have adjusted well enough to the dark to notice the small things - your laundry basket in the corner, the stray clothes scattered in and around it. Your bed, half-made, your cute plushies with embroidered smiles left under crumpled pillows and partly-folded blankets. The bathroom is lit, dimly - the night light you bought because “you hated the horrible overhead light” is on, covering the bathroom in soft pink and white stars.
He finds you curled in the bathtub, tucked into the far wall of it. You don’t look at him when he opens the door to your bathroom, nor when he comes closer and crouches down next to you.
His hand hovers gently above your back, though he doesn’t let it rest until you give him a quiet “Mm,” of permission. He rubs between your shoulder blades for a bit, before asking, “Need help?”
He feels more than sees the way you shrug, can practically hear the unsaid “Do what you want.”
He runs a thumb against your skin before going to roll up his sleeves. “It’ll be cold for a second.”
You nod your head once, uncurling yourself a bit, and by the way you tremble at the cold air, you must’ve been curled up for a while.
He doesn’t mention it, though, only turns the water on, set to a nicer temperature. The water begins to pool at the bottom of the tub, and when you stiffen when the cold water reaches your legs, Oliver reaches down and mixes it with the warmer water that’s running so it’s not as jarring.
“Turning the showerhead on now,” Oliver warns, and you nod again. He’s glad you have one of the detachable ones, so he can turn it against the wall for those few seconds of cold water before it catches up.
He guides the showerhead over your body, letting the warm water run over your back and letting out a quiet sigh of relief as you untense under the steady stream.
“Hair?” he asks, and you nod again, so he guides the water over your head. He runs his fingers over the nape of your neck and you shiver - Oliver huffs out a laugh, and even though your head is still down, he knows the exact look you’re giving him, an endearingly exaggerated frown.
“Head back, sweetheart,” he instructs next, and even he can hear the affection the words hold. There’s a small huff of your own, but you still listen, uncurling yourself to tilt your head back so he can see your face.
You’re still frowning, but it’s softened into a gentle pout, one that makes Oliver want to drop the showerhead and pull you close to kiss you senseless. Instead, he cups the back of your head and lets the water soak through.
He asks you to reposition occasionally, and you acquiesce each time, doing your best to help him as he lathers your body and rinses it once more. He offers an arm when you’re done, helping you clamber ungracefully out of the tub before beginning to pat you dry with a towel. You stay quiet during this process, and Oliver does his best to make the silence comfortable for you, asking questions easy to answer with a nod or shaking of the head.
When he asks, “Do you have clean pajamas?” he sees a familiar shaky inhale, and finally gives into the urge to pull you close. You try to pull away, a silent protest of “I’m still wet,” but he holds you all the tighter for it.
Your body is lit by pale stars when you finally start shaking, your chest heaving against him as you start to cry, wordless. Oliver feels an unnamed knot in his chest start to unravel as you weep against him, a sense of relief-sympathy-heartache. He holds you and he holds you and he holds you, and when you look at him still teary-eyed, he kisses you, slow and sweet as your lips tremble.
“S’okay, sweetheart,” he mumbled against your lips. “I’ve got extra clothes, and food for when you want it. It’s okay.”
A beat passes. Then two. And when you finally whisper back, “Okay,” Oliver’s heart settles next to yours.
he does not know he is yours, yet. you speak to cracked concrete floors, flipped light switches, to the new and numbered lovers he always seems to have hanging off his arms. not him.
never him.
your words are carefully chosen as well. you dance around the topic of yourself, redirect conversation towards him, laughing all the while at the bitter irony – you two are made for each other, the way you twist his evasions back onto him.
you liked him, once. when he was a beautiful stranger, ephemeral and untouchable. a passing daydream, the heartbreaker come to heel. you liked his smile, his eyes, the way the green in his hair would fade seafoam before he touched it up. most of all, you liked how, despite his habits, he always seemed kind.
oliver aiku becomes real to you on a day like any other. he doesn’t say much - nothing more than a polite “excuse me” as he passes by. two words, ones that set your soulmark alight with an itch that crawls its way beneath your skin. his eyes, the ones you’d dreamed about, one cobalt blue, the other seafoam green, meet yours for a second, each of you appraising the other - and you are glad, then, for the more subtle placement of your mark, the neat uniform letters that curl at the top of your hip. glad that your fated connection is one that can be kept hidden, even from the other half of it.
you cannot avoid him, from there on. half of the knot has been tied, and you can feel the tether grow taut without him by your side. you find yourself drawn to him, over and over - or perhaps it’s the other way around, the universe trying to complete this half-formed connection.
you know he likes you. the knowledge weighs on you, a gravity well in your thoughts. your mind returns to it, again and again and again, a cosmic loop. he likes you enough to hold doors for you, to buy you lunch, to carelessly converse with you despite your apparent apathy to his existence.
he treats you well, in spite of your dismissal, and you hate it. hate the ease in which he makes you laugh, hate the way the words and jokes and joy come bubbling up your throat, hate how you’re forced to swallow it all down again.
you wish he would hate you back. hate your coldness, your clipped responses, the way you can never seem to meet his eyes like that first time. he meets you with nothing but the kindness you once adored, and you curse him all the more for it, because you know it will change once he knows too.
you do not love oliver aiku. you cannot love oliver aiku.
suggestive (kink discussion, bondage and petplay mentioned) with some grinding + praise at the end, i’m tagging dubcon because oliver just kinda jumps into it, reader’s a little insecure, a lot oblivious, and is implied to be more on the inexperienced side, oliver’s like. a soft tease in this ngl, this is Very selfship coded and based on this post, sorrgy not sorrgy :3
“so, whaddya think about being tied up?”
you and oliver are lounging about on the old couch you’ve got in your apartment. you lean forwards and grab your soda, half shrugging, “sounds fun to me! not a huge fan of those, like, metal handcuffs, they don’t look very comfortable, but rope and all that’s cool! shibari’s pretty too, although i don’t think i’d have the patience for it.”
you rest your face on your hand as you lean on the couch arm, cheek squishing a bit as you ask, “what about you? you got any fantasies about being tied up?”
he laughs, shaking his head, and you crack a smile when you notice how grown out the green is. “i’m more of the type to be doing the tying,” he says, shooting you a lopsided smirk, and you consider this with another sip, setting the can down on the table.
“huh. neat!” is your conclusion, and there’s a slight lull in the conversation as oliver stares at you. you tilt your head at him, curious, and he laughs again, quieter this time. weird.
“oh,” another thought occurs to you, “what‘s your opinion on petplay? ‘cause of the leash and all.” you gesture to your neck.
his smile turns cocky at that, and he leans in closer. “why, you trying to collar me?” he asks, voice low, and you turn to glare at him, fist raising in the air.
to his credit, he backs up in an instant, his hands held high like you’re holding him hostage. “woah, woah, woah, i’m kidding, i’m kidding,” he flashes a quick grin, “or am i?”
you roll your eyes and let your fist drop, going to grab your drink again, using it to gesture at oliver. “yeah, yeah. that’s not an answer, bitch.”
his arms drop to rest on the back of the couch, fingers tapping to an internal beat as he thinks. “sure, yeah, i think it’s pretty cute. sometimes they get all whiny, and that’s fun—”
you choke in the middle of chugging the rest of your soda, and you see his eyes flash towards you as you curl in on yourself. he scoots closer and pats you on the back while you hack away, his hand warm as he rubs circles into your shoulder blade. he grabs you some napkins from the table too, passing them over so you can wipe your mouth. when you finally straighten up, he leans back, smirking at you a little. you can only meet his gaze for a second before it drops to the floor, and suddenly sheepish, you mumble, “sorry bout that. wasn’t expecting you to bring up— well. you know.”
he nudges your thigh with his own, his voice teasing as he asks, “weren’t expecting me to bring up personal experience?”
“well, i mean,” you feel your body flush, and your shoulders hunch as you curse yourself internally. “i’ve told you this before, i know i have. haven’t i?”
your leg bounces in place as you continue to ramble. “it’s just that. well. i haven’t… god. okay.” you take a deep breath. inhale, exhale. “so, full disclosure. i haven’t really tried a lot of the things that i say i’m into? i guess it’s more like… i like the idea of that stuff?” your voice gets even quieter than before, “like, i, um. get off? to it?”
you’re not even sure if oliver hears those last bits. when you get the courage to look back up at him, though, he’s staring at you with a quiet intensity, a small smile playing at his lips that makes your gut twist in knots.
“something funny about that, asshole?” you clear your throat, trying to ease some of the tension that’s built up all of a sudden. “because i swear—”
“you interested in trying it?” oliver interrupts, and your mind blanks, your brow furrowing.
“trying… what?”
“petplay. or bondage.” your jaw drops a little and he laughs, not unkindly. “or anything else you think you might be into.”
you shut your mouth in a frown, kicking him lightly in the ankle. “very funny, you dick. there’s a reason i haven’t, you know.” you sigh dramatically, slumping over his lap with your full weight. you close your eyes, placing the back of your hand against your forehead as if you’ve fainted, and say, “not all of us are six foot tall football players with beautiful thighs.” your free hand pats them for emphasis, but with your eyes closed, you miss the flush of color that rises to his ears.
after a few long moments of silence, you peer through splayed fingers to see oliver looking down at you, that same soft smile on his face. he’s handsome, you think, reaching up to caress him, feeling the stubble scattered across his jawline. he lets you for a bit, before his hand grabs yours and guides it close, and you blink up at him in confusion as a gentle kiss is pressed to your wrist. you feel a wicked edge to his smile curl against your skin, then, and before you can tug it back into yourself, your arm is pinned high above your head.
oliver pulls his legs out from under you, and your second arm quickly joins the first, his body settling above your own with a practiced ease. you squirm in his grip, but he’s got you pinned against the couch, a knee between your legs and a smug look in his eyes. he leans down and you let out a little whine as he grinds his knee right where you want it, lust pooling between your thighs as your whole body shakes underneath him.
“well, would you look at that.” his voice drips with satisfaction, his eyes roving up and down your body appreciatively, and you bite back another embarrassing noise. “seems you do like being restrained, hm?”
you open your mouth to answer, only for your words to die with another half choked gasp as he grinds his knee into you again. his breath fans against your neck as he settles into the crook of it, alternating between soft kisses and tiny, nipping bites, and you feel like you’re losing your mind from how good everything feels. he’s got you by the wrists, his hold steady and warm and immovable, and at this point your hips are practically moving on their own, desperate for relief.
it doesn’t help that oliver won’t shut the fuck up. “-so cute like this, you know? always so loud, so brash, but all you wanted was a little attention, hm?” you feel the rumble of his laughter more than you hear it, feel it alongside the gentle scratching of his stubble, and you want to sob — from pleasure or relief, you’re not sure. “it’s alright, baby, you’ve got it, now. whatever you want, whatever you want to try, i’m right here, promise.”
your hands flex under oliver’s grip, and you whine again, trying to collect your scattered thoughts. your hips continue to buck against the sturdiness of his thigh, and you can pull yourself together just enough to whimper out a little “please.”
even you aren’t sure what you’re begging for, but when he lifts his head from where’s he’s been terrorizing your neck, the sheer lust in his eyes makes you shrink away from his attention. it’s too late, though. he rubs a little circle on your wrist with his thumb, before he switches his grip, holding both your wrists with one hand, the other guiding you by the chin to tilt your head into his. when he leans in and presses his lips to yours, it’s chaste at first, to your surprise, although your eyes still flutter closed at the feeling of his lips on yours.
his free hand wanders down, down from your chin, down your chest and below your waistline, and oliver’s kiss gets greedier as it travels closer to where you need it, eventually swallowing your cries whole when finally, finally, he’s reached between your thighs.
the direct stimulation is too much, too fast, too quickly. oliver’s good, even when working with just one hand, and within the next minute the coil within you snaps. you stay there shuddering beneath oliver’s body for a while, him releasing his grip on your wrists and you clinging to him in turn. when you think you’ve settled enough, oliver sits up, grinning at you like a madman.
you, on the other hand, scowl at him and punch him in the arm on your way up, crossing your arms and huffing. “you dick! have you just been trying to get in my pants this whole time?”
he shrugs at you, cocky half grin still clear as day.
“unbelievable. this isn’t happening again,” you poke him hard in the chest, “you hear me?”
“sure, baby,” he says, easy as anything, and you already feel your heart start to race again. fuck. “wasn’t lying when i told you i’d be your partner if you wanted to try some of those other kinks out, though. what was it you said again? petplay?” he leans down, drops his voice, and grins, “you’d look cute in a collar.”
you shiver, glare up at him, and point at the door. “out!”
about to fall so deeply asleep just want to manifest heavy heavy thoughts of oliver nuzzling his cheek against yours in such a way that you feel his stubble scratch at your skin . into your mind <3 GOODNIGHT DUCKYYYY I LOVE U :33333
i need u to know i kept opening and closing this ask for literal HOURS. like i was physically unable to respond right away cause it made me too shy. what the fuck what the fuck what the FUCK ARI WHEN I CATCH U ARI
he’s like the world’s worst most smug cat about it too. laughs a little when you say it tickles, turns his head to the side to kiss (or bite) your cheek… AND YOU KNOW THE BASTARD SMELLS GOOD TOO i need to kill him. evil evil man who knows just how to push all my buttons >:(
