fuwushiguro - Tumblr blog

fuwushiguro · 6 months

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fleeting return to boost this masterpiece for my bestie <333

Your father's new relationship was rather unexpected, but there was no way in hell you could have predicted everything else that came with it.

a/n: listen. idk what happened here either, i was thinking with my dick i fear. Oliver is pretty gross in this i really threw shame out the window on this one. not really proofread. Comment, reblogs, asks all appreciated. AS ALWAYS, MINORS DNI. 18+ AND DARK CONTENT. BLANK BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED.

w/c: 8.8k (apologies.)

c/w: stepcest/pseudocest, virgin!reader, female reader, manipulation, size kink, petnames (doll, sweetheart, darling), fingering, oral (m receiving), headpushing, biting/marking, dacryphilia, corruption kink ig, brief mentions of spit and sweat, piv, unprotected sex, creampie. If there's anything else you think should be tagged, please reach out to me in the comments, or send a message.

What you don't see is The line that we've been riding What you don't know won't kill ya but it's trying so hard And I've been feeling caught up I lost the god that's holdin' me down Short your position to listen to the sound of You falling out

dividers and header by me. song inspo here. part of the @enchantedforest-network.

Your father's new relationship came as a surprise to you for a multitude of reasons. Firstly, the new relationship is announced to you not as you meeting your father's new girlfriend, but his fiancée, deciding after only a month together to tie the knot. When you know, you know, your father had told you. If you didn't know better, you would assume this was about money, but your father doesn't have that kind of cash, and to her credit, your soon to be stepmother does truly seem like a very lovely woman. She's all smiles as she meets you, apologising for what a shock this must be.

And she's not totally wrong. It's definitely a surprise your father is engaged, though with the amount of "late nights" at the office, you weren't stupid enough to not do simple math that your father being out later, plus the smell of an unfamiliar woman's perfume, equalled your father having a new girlfriend. You weren't sure why he'd felt the need to hide this from you, your parents had been separated for years, and you didn't miss that he seemed happier these days. The second surprise comes when you're informed you'll be gaining more than a step mother, but a step brother, too.

"Oh you'll love him, my Oli." She beams at you from across the table, her already bright smile seeming to grow brighter still as she speaks of her son. "He's a good boy, he'll look out for you. He's actually a senior in your college, so he'll be able to show you around!"

The idea of at least one potentially friendly face on your new campus is a welcome one, though you knew there was no guarantee you and your step brother would even like each other, though your step mothers words left you hopeful.

She starts moving their stuff in over the next week. It's the third day you finally meet him. Carrying a particularly large box in through the front door of your home, your eyes land on Oliver Aiku for the first time. The first thing you notice is the sheer size of him. Easily clearing six feet, with broad shoulders and a filled out muscular frame to match. It's when he offers you a breezy smile and a small nod you notice what is obviously his most distinguishable feature.

Looking down at you is a set of eyes unlike any you had seen; one eye a brightly vibrant green, the other a deep purple. You can't help the flinch of surprise, and the subsequent feeling of mortification at that being part of your first impression. He simply laughs, you imagine this isn't the first time he's gotten this reaction. And it's not. Oliver is more than aware of his most defining feature.

"It’s fine. Pretty unique, right?" His voice is warm, deep, you think it matches him quite well. His smile remains easy as he shifts the heavy looking box with remarkable ease into one arm and extends a hand to you. "I'm Oliver."

You already knew, his mother talked about him nonstop, singing his praises at any opportunity. Her only son, took such great care of her when his father left. His appearance was a little far from the clean cut one you were expecting. The tall young man had shaggy hair, and a little bit of scruffy facial hair on his face, but not enough to be considered unkempt. You took his hand and introduced yourself quietly, his large hand and thick fingers engulfing your own as he towers over you. His hands were rough but warm, and his smile was disarming, filled with a charm and confidence which you couldn't deny seemed well earned. The handshake lingers a little more than you expected it to, but you chalk it down to this being a very alien situation.

His mother and your father emerge from the kitchen, joining the two of you in the hall.

"Let me grab that off you, Oliver." Your father states, a small 'oof' escaping as he takes the large box labelled 'master bedroom' from your new step sibling's grip.

"Think I'll have my work cut out for me, keeping the boys on campus in line with this one, Sir. She's a credit to ya'" Oliver chuckles, father and stepmother joining, but something about it doesn't sit quite right in your chest.

You quickly realise your new sibling isn’t quite the angel his mother thinks he is. There’s two Olivers. There's Oliver around his mom, polite, courteous, helpful. A soft smile and a mild manner that truly would have you believing he is the golden child his mother sings of. But then there's Oliver when his mother isn’t around, who brags loudly with his friends about the various girls he’s seeing, laughing at their obliviousness, or even their heartbreak. You grow less and less tolerant of him, finding yourself seething just a bit any time he enters the room. And god, does he just love that. You wonder just how someone gets this good at lying, at wheeling and dealing his way through life with a near horrifying ease and indifference at those left in his wake. You wonder if there’s any remorse or shame in there, but if there is, you haven’t seen it. You hate the way his gaze lingers on you when he’s talking with his mother, the glint in his eye that tells you he’s aware of the fact you know this is an act, and he’s proud of it.

It's a little after midnight when the living room window slides slowly open and your stepbrother's large frame makes its way awkwardly through. Bicoloured eyes stare widely at you before he registers who was looking back at him, his face panicked and ready to spew out some excuse for but a split second in the room illuminated only by the screen of the tv.

"Oh, s'just you." He states cooly, face returning to the same carefree indifference it usually bares, like he hadn't just scrambled into the room through the fucking window that was not designed for a man of his stature to climb through. "Thought a goody two shoes like you would be all tucked up in bed by now." His voice is singsongy and snarky, almost like a playground bully. You roll your eyes and give him a little fake laugh, though it comes out as more of a scoff.

"Aw, c'mon, don't be like that." Oliver coos, though it drips with something sinister, like he's luring you into some sort of trap. Making his way behind the couch where you were sitting and bending down, Oliver's chin hovers just above your shoulder. The smell of his familiar cologne, mixed with cheap beer fills your airways as his lips linger by your ear, his breath fanning over your pulse point. "You're not gonna tell on your dear old nii-chan, right?" The words are quiet, dangerously soft, laced in a wicked tone, and you don't even have to look at him to know he's got that smug half grin on his face, one you can envision perfectly in your mind. His almost too-white teeth sparkling and heterochromatic eyes regarding you like he was gracing you with his gaze. It makes your skin crawl and warm, all at once.

Things change after that night. Your step brother's bedroom door, which was almost always firmly shut now often hangs open. It's in the start of summer, when you're heading for a shower, that it becomes apparent this isn't completely innocent on Oliver's part. As you pass his room, you hear the heavy clinking of metal. Curious eyes can't help but glance towards his open doorway, and instantaneously, you wish you hadn't. There was Oliver, laying on his weight bench, face stern and jaw taut as he held a heavy barbell above his chest. Sweat sticks to every inch of exposed skin you can see, glistening in the sun of summer afternoon.

"I don't give a fuck what you do, Oliver." You grumble, ready to shrug him off of you. Before you can, his rough, calloused fingers are cupping the cheek on the opposite side to him, and Oliver's lips, stubbled, but surprisingly soft are against your temple. You're frozen to the spot as his lips hover by your ear once more. "You're a doll. Thanks, sis." He chuckles as he stands, ruffling your hair before slipping his hands into his pockets, whistling some tune you can't discern through your shock as he ascends the stairs. You curse your burning cheeks as you try turning your attention back to the tv, but something in your brain gnaws at you, something unidentifiable that still makes you feel entirely… guilty of something?

You can see the muscles of his upper body and his biceps ripple as he moves the barbell with relative ease, though he grunts softly as he pushes it up and away from his torso again. It's the first time you see it, too. From hip bone up to the top of his ribcage, black ink decorates his tanned skin. A viper, mouth agape and fangs bared, coils on your step brother's side. It's fitting, you think, for your treacherous step brother to have a venomous serpent emblazoned on his body like that. His movements almost make it seem alive, its scales shifting with the muscles, coated in the glossy sheen.

"Your old man never teach you it's rude to stare, doll?" Oliver half grunts, though the usual tone of lofty arrogance is heavy in his words. His head is still turned towards the ceiling, but he leers at you with a bright green eye, obscured ever so slightly by his scruffy bangs, partially damp with sweat. You avert your gaze immediately, snapping your mouth shut. You can taste the shame at the back of your throat that he caught you staring. You hate the way his scolding causes your thighs to squeeze together.

“Just didn’t know you had a tattoo, that’s all…” You trail off, tone far more defensive than you would like, especially around Oliver, always feeling like those damn eyes are scrutinising you, looking for the first sign of exploitable weakness. He racks the barbell and sits up, and you can’t help the way your eyes shift to the way his shorts ride up his toned thighs. It’s so brief, but Oliver sees it. His weight shifts a little, thighs spreading only slightly further apart as his elbows rest on his knees, leaning forward.

“Oh yeah? Funny, pretty sure my tattoo’s on my ribs, not my leg..” There’s a fake innocence to his voice, brow quirked as he watches you lingering in his doorway. Amusement dances across his face as your brow furrows, holding your towel tighter to your chest. He gets to his feet and stands in his doorway, looming over you as his forearm rests against the frame. He smells musky and strong, and so entirely Oliver as he offers you a wicked grin.

“Have fun last night?” You breathe out, eyes fixed down on the soapy water in the sink.

“Now, go ahead and shower, sis, or I’m gonna tell your daddy he’s raisin’ a dirty little pervert, hm?”

It’s around 12pm on a Saturday about a week later when you hear an unfamiliar female’s giggle coming from the upstairs hallway. Your father and stepmother were out for brunch, and you were washing dishes in the kitchen. You hear two sets of footsteps descending the stairwell, and Oliver playfully shushing someone. You turn your head as you hear the front door open down the hall, and see Oliver kissing a girl clearly dressed in last night’s clothes goodbye. You avert your gaze quickly back to the dishes in the sink, scrubbing hard and focusing instead on the sound of the water sloshing around in the metal basin. What feels like an eternity filled with more floaty giggles and the deep, flirtatious murmurs of your stepbrother’s husky voice later, Oliver appears behind you at the sink, leaning over you to grab a glass from the cupboard over your head. You tense as the smell of vanilla and flowers hits your nose, your jaw tightening.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” He teases, voice a little more gravelly than usual, a lingering indication of what was presumably a sleepless night.

“I don’t.” You huff, and you’re lying to yourself as much as to him. You do care. It’s stupid and it’s sick but you do care. Why do you care? He’s your fucking step brother. Your insufferable, frustratingly charming and stupidly handsome step brother. You gasp when his large palms grip your waist, and spin you around to face him, and you could swear by the look on his face, he was able to read your mind.

“She new? Or is she one of the many girlfriends in your rotation?” You quip, though the accusatory tone in your voice surprises even you. Oliver pauses, placing the glass aside as his hands come down either side of you on the countertop, caging you in place. He laughs then, and you can feel his chest brush against your back as he does.

“Shit, you always this bitter in the morning, sweetheart?” Oliver’s head leans forward, into the peripheries of your vision. “Why do you care?”

“Don’t tell me you're jealous? That’s not appropriate, is it?” His condescending tone makes you want to slap him, but all you can do is stare up at him as he towers over you, wide eyed, shame flooding every single one of your veins.

“No.” You squeak, and it’s not even slightly convincing, to you and definitely not to him as a look of humoured disbelief washes over his face.

“Holy shit, you’re actually jealous. I was just kidding around.” His grip on your side tightens slightly, and you shift in his hold, heart feeling like there’s a hummingbird fluttering around in your chest. Your palms feel sweaty, and it's not from the warm water they were previously submerged in. He drags you away from the sink, and pushes you against the kitchen island, leaning down closer to your face as you bend back to keep some semblance of distance. “You’re nasty, little sis.”

The words churn in your stomach and he’s right. He’s so right that your legs press together, in some feeble attempt to stop the wetness pooling at the apex of your thighs. You dart your head to the side, away from his accusatory gaze, swallowing a whimper that sits thick in your throat. You’re ripped from your shame when you feel Oliver’s hand force its way between your thighs, cupping the entirety of your sex over the fabric of your cotton shorts. You immediately try to shove your hips back and away from his touch, but you’re met by the hardwood of the cabinets, and the whimper you suppressed finally slips out.

In a swift motion, his hand flicks up, slipping under the waistband of your shorts. You don’t know whether to curse yourself or not for not wearing panties, but it’s not like you could have anticipated this would be happening to you this morning. His middle finger slips between your folds as you bite down on your lower lip, your hands flying up to grip at his biceps and holy shit was he always this big? Your brain is screaming at you to tell him to stop, that this is way too far, that this is completely wrong. But you can’t. You don’t think you really want him to. You feel small and pliant in an instant, and you curse yourself for enjoying this as much as you are.

“Fuck, I can feel how wet you are…” Oliver mumbles, and as you glance back at him, you can see what you register as a split second of surprise on his face, and you wonder if it's because he's just as caught off guard at his own actions as you are right now. Your eyes meet and silence hangs in the air, all that can be heard is both of your slightly laboured breathing, your thighs trembling around his hand. The pressure of his hand against you eases off as you watch each other and you’re waiting for him to step away. But he doesn’t.

“Oli wait I-” The nickname feels clumsy on your tongue, but in your panic you’re desperate to appeal to his mercy. Your eyes look up at him, soft and apprehensive, though entirely clouded with lust.

“Been driving me fuckin’ crazy, you know that? You’re just so fuckin’ pretty, but I had to behave. All this time I’ve been making you this wet though, huh?” He almost growls, his eyes trained on where his hand disappears beneath your shorts, the pad of his finger slowly rubbing circles over your clit. You shudder, trying not to press yourself into his touch, and you swear it’s the hardest thing you’ve ever done. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and you try your best not to think about all the practice he’s had, for a whole litany of reasons. His hand starts to dip lower and your grip on his bicep tightens, heart slamming against your ribs.

“Relax, promised I’d take care of you when we met, didn’t I?” His nose brushes against your temple, and it’s an uncharacteristically soft gesture from him, the viper that is your step brother. But the fact he is your step brother and this is his idea of ‘taking care of you’ definitely taints it. You inhale deeply, and Oliver's heavy scent fills your lungs as you try your best to settle yourself and just focus on the feeling, his long finger is deeper in you than you could ever possibly get your own, curling slowly, working you open and soon, your body untenses.

“You’re a virgin. I know, sweetheart, s’written all over you. Fuck, I can feel it.” He states plainly, smugly. Of course he knows, of course he can tell that sort of thing. You want to be mad, defensive, but he slowly eases his finger inside you, and your mind blanks as you sigh out a quiet moan, muscles still tensed, apprehensive at the intrusion, having never had anything besides your own fingers inside you. “Only a virgin would get this wet from so little..” His gruff voice coos, and your thighs clench around him

"There we go, such a good girl f'me." Oliver praises, nearly purrs, and slowly, adds a second finger.

"Fuck!" You moan, but it's broken, still choked back, reserved because you know this is still incredibly wrong, even if it feels heavenly. Your hands slip to his chest, fingers fisting his white t-shirt, and you can feel the muscles beneath, hot and firm as you push against him, though you aren’t sure if you’re truly trying to push him away, if you truly want to.

His fingers work diligently, and suddenly, he finds the spot in your walls that has your back arching, your moans shameless and echoing around the kitchen.

"There she is. Feels good, right baby?" Oliver asks, lips ghosting over your neck in a way that sends a shiver down your spine.

"Y-yes Oli. Please don't stop. Think I'm gonna cum.." Your voice borders on pathetic, interrupted by heavy pants and whines.

"Yeah? If you wanna cum, ask your big brother nicely." He presses his lips to your neck, a brief but open mouthed kiss that has you tilting your head for more.

"Please, Oli, please make me cum!" You cry, your hands which look so small compared to the expanse of his broad chest.

"Try again~" He teases, fingers slowing inside of you, much to your dismay. More dismaying still is what dawns on you. What Oliver is asking you to do. All you can do is shake your head in defiance, and Oliver responds immediately, stopping his fingers completely inside you, down to the knuckle.

"All you gotta do is say it and I'll make you cum, baby, promise." Oliver all but sneers into your ear. With his index and ring finger buried but stilled in your cunt, he has you pinned against the kitchen island with sheer strength alone, though his much larger frame works basically as insurance.

"You're fucking sick, Oliver." You can't help the way the words come out in a whine, body betraying you as you attempt to rock your hips into his palm, desperate for any kind of friction. It turns your stomach in its own special way, the rampant disgust at your stepbrother's fingers filling your cunt mixing with the lust and hunger that comes with something so forbidden. It's filthy and corrupt and oh so delicious.

"Don't try to sweet talk me now, told you I'm already willing to get you off." He curls his fingers only slightly as he whispers against the shell of your ear, your body keening into his as he does. They still once more, and like your body before it, your mind betrays you too, pride going with it.

"Make me cum, nii-chan, please!" You gasp, almost sob in fact, like the last shred of dignity is escaping your lungs as your forehead collides with Oliver's chest. His fingers respond instantly, setting a skilled pace, curling his fingers in the perfect way that has you rolling your hips to pull him even further into your dripping cunt. His free hand comes up, weaving into your hair and rubbing at your scalp, his cheek resting against the top of your head.

"That's my girl. Now, better hurry up. All that time you spent fightin', mom and dad are gonna be home soon.." His voice is sickly sweet, but the warmth spreading from your core clouds your better sense, and all you want to do is obey him, to be his girl, a good girl for your older brother.

You cling to his shirt desperately as your thighs tremble, body starting to feel weightless.

"Come on, make a mess for your nii-chan, doll." He breathes out, nipping at your neck over your pulse point and it's just so dizzying. It's so much him and you hate it and you love it all at once. It has your head swimming and all you want is to have him closer, deeper and the thought is as delicious as it is sickening.

Your vision goes white as your orgasm crashes over you, Oliver's arm wrapping around your waist to hold you secure, strong arm easily baring the weight your legs no longer could, fingers still fucking you through your high, making sure to help you ride the whole thing out as he purrs praises you can't even make out through the haze of pleasure you're experiencing at his very talented hands.

As you come down, body feeling light and euphoric, you find yourself nuzzling into Oliver’s chest, smaller hands still clutching at his shirt. His cheek is once again resting against your forehead, the hand that was around your waist now rubbing gently at your lower back. And you’re both silent and the moment feels as intimate as it does incredibly confusing. You’re basking in the glow of your first orgasm that wasn’t at your own hands, but it was your stepbrother. Your stupid, cocky, irritating stepbrother, but god, when his weight shifts, your hands cling tighter and you actually give a quiet whimper, and you don’t want him to move away from you.

You’re pulled back to reality as Oliver’s familiar laugh rumbles from his chest, his hand slipping out from your shorts. You blush as he slips his fingers, shiny with your essence, into his mouth, sucking them clean before removing them with a pop.

“Shit, you’re adorable. But I think we got company, doll.” Oliver says as he turns his back to you.

As if on queue, you hear the front door open, and you jolt, trying your best to steady your still heavy breathing, and adjust your shorts. As your stepmother enters the kitchen, she smiles as she looks at Oliver, who is now finishing the dishes you started. Seriously?

“Thank you, honey. One less thing to worry about today.” She chirps at her beloved son and heir, before her eyes meet yours, and worry creases her brows. “Are you feeling alright, sweetie? You look flushed. Are you sick?” Your stepmother places the shopping bags down on the island counter between you, and Oliver turns again, looking first at you. He feigns worry as he steps towards you, but you can see the glint in his bicoloured eyes. He places a large palm on your forehead, the hand that had been pressed to your cunt not five minutes prior, before sharing his worried glance with his mother.

“Mhm. Got a date.” His eyes watch you carefully, analytically, and you stiffen, determined not to give away your disappointment. And you hate it. You hate the jealousy that twists cold in your gut, because what were you expecting? This was Oliver Aiku after all, and you knew him better than most.

“Think you’re right, mom. She is sick.”

After this, Oliver sneaking into your room whenever the mood strikes him becomes a pretty regular occurrence. Fucking you on his fingers in the middle of the night with your back against his chest and a large hand over your mouth to muffle some of what Oliver tells you are the prettiest moans he’s ever heard. You learn pretty quickly he seems to love overstimulating you, dragging orgasm after orgasm from you as you kick your legs and claw at his large forearms in desperation, worried about your ability to keep quiet enough that you two don’t get caught. You learn he likes it when you cry too, lecherous tongue occasionally lapping at the salty tears coating your cheeks.

It’s dirty, it’s wrong, and soon, you can’t get enough. You can’t sleep without it, without your step brother leaving you floaty and panting and coated in sweat and your own cum, pressing a kiss to your temple, your shoulders covered in bite marks and blooms of red and purple left in his wake that you have to make sure remain hidden. They’re all you have in the day time, when the sun is out, Oliver is different, save for a few knowing flirtatious glances, he doesn’t change his behaviour towards you, a distance between you both that just fuels your need for him. Catching a glimpse of his marks while you change or shower leaves you yearning, wondering when Oliver will find his way into your bed again next.

Despite your desire for him, it never went further. You were still apprehensive, unsure if you were ready to bid goodbye to your virginity. And to his credit, Oliver never really pushed the matter. He seemed unbothered by your reluctance, content with training that pretty little throat of yours to take him just how he liked. You were his blank slate, a pure canvas he could teach to not just suck dick, but his dick specifically, and as far as the teaching went, you really were a pleasure to have in class.

You’re almost giddy when your parents tell you both they’re going away for the weekend, excited at the idea of being able to fool around with him without having to hold back or worry about getting caught. However, when you find yourself at Oliver’s bedroom doorway on Friday evening after your parents had left, your heart sinks when it seems Oliver had different ideas. He’s fixing his hair in the mirror when he sees you frowning behind him in the reflection.

“What?” He calls to you, and his tone makes you flinch, it’s irritated and curt, eyes falling back to his reflection as he fixes the collar of his shirt. That reaction was exactly what he wanted, unbeknownst to you.

“Are you… going out?” You question, voice meek, meeker than you’d care to admit. You can tell by how he’s dressed that he is, and it’s clear this isn’t some casual hang out with friends.

Oliver has to stop his lips twitching into a grin as he turns to face you, palms resting down on his desk as he leans against it.

You had overheard him talking to his friend Sendou plenty of times about his many conquests, you’d once been disgusted by that exact behaviour from him in fact, but somehow, somewhere along the way of this strange path you walked with him, you had thought you were the only girl Oliver was involved with now? His step sister? You felt like an idiot, but pride forced you to choke down the heaviness in your chest.

“Oh, well, have fun, I guess.” You shrug, putting on your best tone of indifference. You turn to retreat back to your room, ready to lick your wounds in peace, but are startled when Oliver’s hands clamp down on your shoulders. For a man of his size, he should not be able to move as quickly or quietly as he does.

“Don’t wait up, kiddo. And no boys over while nii-chan’s out, ‘kay?” He all but hisses in your ear before he slips past you. And that hurts. It hurts because you know Oliver knows there’s no other boys. He’d made you promise, after all, one of the nights he lay between your thighs after edging you senseless, that if you promised him your pussy was his, he’d finally let you cum. And through your tears of frustration, you had nodded your pretty little head, sniffling out a broken “All yours, Oli-nii.” You were stupid enough to think this meant something of more significance to him, too, it would seem.

He raises a brow behind his scruffy bangs, scratching his chin for a moment before he speaks. "C'mere."

It’s dark when you wake in your bed hours later, save for the soft glow of your laptop screen, unfinished college work looking back at you. Puffy eyes remind you of your evening, unable to focus on your work as a flood of emotion had washed over you, frustrated and confused as to why you were so hung up on him, why you still so desperately wanted his approval. The clock told you it was 3am, and you’re about to go down to the kitchen when a sound down the hall turns your stomach. You hear a faint, but rhythmic thudding, and then a breathy female voice cry out your step brother's name. You hear Oliver next, a familiar throaty register, a playful ‘shhh’ and something mumbled that you couldn't quite make out. You clamp your hand over your mouth to stifle a pathetic sob that rattles your chest, your desire to leave the bed dies out immediately. Bunkering back down, you pull your blanket over your head, determined not to cry again.

You hated this, the gnawing desire to have all your older brother’s attention. You hated that this made you burn with jealousy. You hated that even though Oliver probably wasn’t thinking about you, he was all you could think of. But Oliver was thinking about you. He was hoping you'd overhear, in fact. Sure, getting laid was a fun bonus, but Oliver wants you jealous. He wants you to be fragile and pliant, manipulatable. Pussy is just so much better when it's desperate, after all.

It’s the afternoon when you wake, the late summer sunlight that seeps through the blinds rousing you from an embarrassingly fitful sleep. The house seems quiet as you peek out your bedroom door, and you assume Oliver has left you alone once again. You pad sullenly into the hall, towards the stairs.

“Mornin’, sleepyhead. Nice shirt.” Oliver is sitting on his bed as you pass his door, his voice startles you, your eyes dropping to your chest. You're wearing one of his shirts, one left in your room during one of the many nights he’d skulked his way between your sheets. You shift your tired eyes back to him, crossing your arms over your chest defensively. His brows crease, and his face, to you, reads as concern. “You shouldn’t stay up so late studying.”

You give a half hearted scoff, shaking your head at him.

“What about you, Oli? Did you enjoy your late night biology lesson?” You try to sound angry, you try to inject venom, but you feel defanged, your throat feels thick as you recall the sounds that snuck their way down the hall as you tried to sleep. Oliver diligently fights off the smirk he feels stirring, and instead, gives you his best briefly puzzled look, before he fakes his best ‘Oh’ expression, and rubs at the back of his neck. Your eyes fall to his hand, and a hint of purple peeking out from the neckline of his shirt has your eyes darting away again. Gotcha, he thinks.

“Sorry. Thought you’d be asleep, doll.” He mumbles, moving to sit on the edge of his bed.

“Don’t- don’t call me that.” You protest weakly, shifting your weight on your feet as you linger in the hall.

You don't want to, you want to stay mad at him, to stay firm, but your body reacts of its own volition; like it always does with him, and you find yourself standing in front of him before you even realise.

He spreads his legs further apart before pulling you down onto his lap, legs either side of his thigh as you face him.

His arms coil around your waist as he tugs you closer to him, his unique eyes scanning your face before he speaks again, and the words leave you so surprised you almost feel like you've been burned, like you've touched a searing hot surface you were expecting to be cool. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean for you to hear it." His voice is gentle, and alarm bells go off in your head. This isn't like him. You ignore them.

You crumple, then, into his broad chest, arms looping loosely around his neck.

"It hurt, Oli…" you murmur quietly, eyes drifting to the hint of purple on his neck before darting away again. It made you ache, thinking about someone else's lips on his neck.

"C'mon baby, you know you're the most important girl in my life, right? No one else gets me like you do." He lifts your head up by your chin to look at him while he speaks, and there's a sincerity in his eyes. Your brain screams; you know better than this. Your fingers weave into the hair by the nape of his neck. Oliver's brain simply tells him it's working.

"I want you, Oli-nii." You pout up at him, and his brow quirks once more. His face leans in close enough that you can feel his breath fan across your lips.

"I'm your big brother, how much more could you have me?" Oh, he knows. He knows exactly how much more, he just wants you to say it. Needs you to say it.

Your big wet eyes look up at him like the most pathetic puppy he's ever seen. Don't do this, your brain near begs. Your hand slips further up into his hair.

"Want all of you. Need all of you." You breathe out softly, and your hips rock almost imperceptibly against his thigh. Oh, but Oliver notices. Feels the heat of your core through the flimsy panties you wore beneath his shirt. His large hands slip down from your waist, gripping your ass and pulling you along his thigh once again, eyes like gems of two different colours dropping momentarily to watch the way your lower lip wavers at the friction. Almost got you…

"Gonna need you to be a little more specific than that, sweetheart..." His voice is almost a whisper, lips ghosting mere centimetres away from your own, and you can't see the viper's bared and venomous fangs through your desperation to just have him closer.

"Fuck me, nii-chan. Please." You barely get the words out before he strikes, his lips hungry against yours as his hands guide your hips back and forth over his thigh, the decadent friction against the now tensed muscle better than before. Your hands clench tighter in his messy hair, and a groan passes from his mouth to yours as your tongues tangle together. It’s messy, sloppy, and Oliver’s demeanour is different than usual, much more aggressive and assertive than he’s been with you before.

He’s quick to remove his shirt from your body, tossing it across the room without much care, and his mouth lands immediately against your collar bone. Your head drops back, and one of his hands instantly finds its way into your hair, gripping it right at the base of your skull, keeping your head secured away. You whimper at the pressure, but it’s not wholly unpleasant, and you almost feel like a limp kitten in his clutches. It was nice, to hand the control to him, to not have to think. You continue to grind desperately against his leg, the wet patch forming on the grey fabric of his sweats would be embarrassing if you could actually care right now.

Oliver’s greedy mouth sucks hickeys onto your skin, much darker and angrier than any he’s left before. He knows you’re never going to forget this, but he wants the signs of him left on your body for days to come, you were his. His to use whenever he felt fit, whenever he decided. When these ones faded, he’d replace them with more, his own way of marking his territory. Not that he had to worry, he knew you knew better than to let anyone else play with your older brother’s toys.

His hand slides up your side to your chest, calloused palms brushing over your pert nipple as your body keens into his touch, lips moving to the column of your throat to relish in the way your whine vibrates against his lips. His grin is wolfish as his fingers knead the flesh of your breast.

“You been touching yourself like I told you to, princess?” He asks, nipping gently at the sensitive flesh just beneath your ear, and you nod your head immediately as best you can against the vice grip he has your hair in. God, you had; Almost any time you were alone, your hands would find your way between your thighs with thoughts of Oliver in your mind, desperate to relieve the ache for him in any way you could.

“Atta girl.” He purrs, lips trailing down as he takes the nipple of your neglected breast into his warm mouth, pinching it between his teeth before sucking on it, tongue gliding over the sensitive skin. “Gonna make this much easier.”

You’ve never been in his bed before, and currently, this uncharted territory smells like a mixture of your brother’s familiar scent, and another woman’s overbearing perfume, and it causes the anxiety in your stomach to creep up into your chest twisting and thrashing against your ribcage like a trapped little animal. But if you do this, Oliver will be yours, right? Why seek out other girls when he has you right down the hall, all his, untouched by anyone else. That’s what you tell yourself. That’s what you want so desperately to believe.

The thought gives you pause for a moment, resolve wavering momentarily. Oliver seemed a lot more.. Aggressive today.

“You’ll be gentle with me, won’t you, Oli-nii?” You question, squirming slightly in his lap.

“‘Course, baby, don’t you trust me?” Not entirely.

“Yes.” You breathe, despite yourself.

He smirks at this, shifting his weight to pull you from his lap to lay you on your back on his bed.

He hooks his fingers at the seat of your underwear, tugging them down your legs, and you don’t miss the way he tosses them into a slightly open drawer of his dresser. You don’t have time to protest this before he’s slipping his middle finger inside you and pressing at just the right spot, its location engraved into his brain at this point. You writhe in his sheets, hands twisting the fabric between your fingers as you arch off the bed.

“Can’t wait to be inside this messy little cunt, I swear.” He huffs, tugging his shirt over his head with his free hand. The sunlight hits his tanned skin just right, toned torso looking near hand carved in the easy glow of the afternoon.

“What’cha being so quiet for, baby? We aren’t gonna get caught, let me hear you.” He emphasises his words with a pointed and skilled curl of his fingers, thumb now rubbing circles against your needy clit. Your toes curl as another moan is ripped from your throat, loud and shameless, and it has Oliver preening, fingers setting a much faster pace. And it’s impressive really, how fast he pulls an orgasm from you, and then a second one, hole clamping around his fingers as he sings praises of good girl, that’s it and how you’re so good to your nii-chan. Your chest is heaving when he pulls his fingers from you, your chest starting to glisten with sweat and thighs sticky, soaked in your fluid and his spit.

You can’t help the way your eyes wander on his body, to the open mouthed serpent emblazoned on his side in dark ink, to the coarse trail of hair trailing from his bellybutton, disappearing beneath his sweats that strained against his hard cock. Your hand reaches out, brushing over the hair with your fingertips before hooking onto his waistband.

“Slow down sweetheart. Gotta prep you first.” Oliver chuckles, adding in a second finger and scissoring them inside your drooling hole. You brace yourself on your hands behind you as you sit upright, hips rocking into Oliver’s hand. He leans forward as he kneels between your legs, and spits down onto your pussy, swiping the fluid across your clit with his thumb. The sensation courses through your body, and a soft moan tumbles from your lips.

Oliver hooks his arms under your thighs, pulling your body down towards his much larger one. He finally pushes down his sweats, and his cock springs free, tip shiny, covered in precum. He shifts, resting his length against your pelvic area, and suddenly the nerves are back, seeing just how big he is, how deep it would reach. Oliver sees the apprehension on your face, and his lips quirk up into a smug grin.

“Gonna take it all for me, right? You can handle it, can’t you? My good girl.” Despite him phrasing it as a question, you’re sure there was only one answer Oliver would accept here.

You nod meekly, and he shakes his head in response.

“Use your words.”

“Y-yes.” You offer. His face shows a hint of irritation, exhaling through his nose.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, Oli-nii.”

His expression turns light again, and he sits back a little. “Well, come get it wet for me first, doll.”

You scramble quickly to your knees, though it takes some effort, legs feeling heavy and uncoordinated beneath you. You lean down, taking his tip into your mouth, tongue kitten licking the salty precum from it. The second you relax a bit, Oliver’s hand grasps the back of your head, and pulls your hand right down, pubes tickling your nose as you splutter and choke at the sudden intrusion into your throat. You go to pull back, but Oliver’s other hand has joined the other on the back of your head, fingers woven together and keeping you in place. Your hands fly to his thighs, pushing against him, but it’s no use.

“Breathe through your nose and don’t be such a brat. It’s easier on both of us, the wetter it is.” His voice is gruff, and there’s a callousness to it that makes the tears on your lashes from gagging turn into ones of embarrassment as you fight to compose yourself and just breathe. “C’mon, you asked for this.” You promised you’d be gentle.

“Deep breath for me, sis.” He instructs, mismatched eyes stern, though there’s a hint of a smirk on his that leaves you uneasy. Still, you do as commanded, inhaling deep through your nose. As you do, he pushes forward, and the stretch forces that breath right out of your lungs. It’s a noxious combination of pain with the barest hint of pleasure, and your hands fly to his waist, nails anchoring into his skin as you whimper pathetically beneath him. He snorts, and embarrassment floods your veins, eyes watering once more.

He holds you there for a few seconds more, thrusting shallowly, before pulling you back by your hair. You gasp for oxygen as a trail of spit connects your lips to his cock, and he scoffs as he sees your tear streaked cheeks.

“Don’t be such a crybaby, princess. Think that’s the least you could have done for me, yeah?” He almost laughs, his hands already pushing your shoulders back, down onto his mattress, his knees shoving your thighs apart. Your breathing tucks in your chest as you sniffle, doing your best to soothe yourself, to settle down against the sheets as his hand wraps around the base of his cock. His tip nudges your clit before he lines it up with your still soaked hole.

“Keep breathing, it’ll feel good soon.” His own voice is laboured, and you can feel by the way his palms bear down on the mattress either side of your head, he’s holding back. You nod, taking even, albeit shaky breaths. He pushes forward again, slowly, and you grit your teeth, thighs instinctively squeezing at his hips in a vain attempt to close. He shushes the whimpers escaping your throat, pressing his lips to your forehead.

“Nearly there, just a little more. S’gonna hurt, though, won’t lie.” With that, he pushes forward, much sharper than before, his heedy groan mingling with your protesting cry, your nails without a doubt leaving their mark on the skin of his waist.

The tears are back, slipping away from the corners of your eyes. But Oliver’s there, kissing them away from your temple, one hand moving to grab your hip.

“Good job, darlin’. Won’t move until you say so, ‘kay?” His voice is soft, gentle, but something about it leaves you waiting for him to say just don’t make him wait too long.

The next thrust is harder, deeper, and the scale of pain and pleasure is tipped more in favour of the latter as you moan for him. He keeps it slow but deep, carving you painstakingly to him. And if he was his way, it’ll stay that way. His pretty little sister the perfect size for him and him alone. And he’s confident he can pull that off, fuck you dumb enough to swear you off any other men, to ruin you to the point you’d only ever want him. Confident he can brainwash you with this dick that you’ll let him get away with whatever he wants. Fuck, it only took fucking one girl within earshot of you to have you offering your virginity to him on a silver platter. What other sick fantasies of his could he indulge in with you in the name of keeping his attention? For now, he’ll keep it light, he’s got all the time in the world to break you down.

You squirm beneath him, shifting as you try to adjust, waiting for the ache to dull. And after a few timid rocks of your hips into his, the pain turns to a fullness, full of him, and there’s a growing need for friction, for more. The pain isn’t gone, he feels thick and heavy inside of you, but your body tells you this is probably as comfortable as it’s going to get before he moves. His eyes watch as your expression changes from pain to slight frustration, and a self satisfied grin lights up his features. He presses a final kiss to your forehead before sitting upright once again, and for some reason, his frame feels even bigger now that he’s buried in you to the hilt. He presses a hand down on your abdomen, giving one slow, shallow thrust. He huffs through his nose before he speaks;

“Fuck, feel that? How deep I am in this tight fucking pussy?”

You nod with a whine, the added pressure of his hand on your abdomen just feeding the desperation. You’re full of him, body and mind.

“S’all yours, Oli-nii. Please… want more.”

“Oh, baby..” He leans back down again, looming over you as his hand comes up to hold your neck, though he doesn’t squeeze. It’s simply a show of possession. Of power. “It was mine the second I fucking saw you.”

He deems it safe to pick up the pace when the rocking of your hips falls out of sync with his own, faster, desperate for more as you whine out his name and pleads of nii-chan, faster! And he gives it to you, plays his role diligently as you doting, darling big brother, fucking his dick faster into your drooling, twitching cunt. You squeeze him so perfectly, so tight that he has to focus on not spilling into you too quick. He’s gotta make you cum first, show you that his dick can take you much higher than his fingers ever could. He releases your neck, fingers snaking between where your bodies connect to rub circles into your clit, his lips pressing to yours to swallow all your blissful moans with ferocity.

His hips don’t relent, and he fucks you dilligently through your high, till those pretty, wet eyes are rolling back into your head, and your moans are strangled and your thighs are trembling. As you settle, he takes the opportunity to settle into the best pace for him, even as he can see the overstimulation turn your expression to pleasured panic, and you whimper “too much!” vulnerably against his neck where you’ve tucked your head. He’d almost believe you, if your legs weren’t locked around his waist, and you weren’t still chasing his dick like a bitch in heat.

A particularly loud moan signals he’s found the right spot inside you, and he gets to work on bullying his tip against it, your nails raking up his muscular back in some desperate attempt to ground yourself.

“That’s it, baby, just let that feeling take you. Let nii-chan take care of you.” His words are breathy, gruff and strained, fighting back the pleasure in his nerves to get you off first.

“Fuck, Oli-nii, so close, so close!” Your voice is pitchy, hips bucking up to his to meet each thrust, pussy fluttering and sucking him in.

“Let go, doll, f’me, yeah?” He bites down onto the pulse point of your neck, sucks harshly, and you’re done for. With a cry of his precious nickname, your vision goes white and your mind clouds, and all you can think about is him. Fucked full and stupid, little hands pawing desperately at his two toned hair as your orgasm takes you.

“Pussy’s so fucking good, I’m gonna cum.” He growls against your ear, and he almost does on the spot when you sob out a loud “inside, please please please, nii-chan.” Fuck, he thought he’d have to at least try to convince you, or wait until the next time before you’d let him fuck a load into you, but no, here you were begging for it. His hands drop to your hips, pushing them down into the mattress as he pounds harshly into you, more concerned with cumming now than anything else. And before long, he is, filling your cunt with his hot cum, hips stuttering and cock twitching as his thrusts turn to grinds, making sure he’s in as deep as he can. And to his astonishment, you’re pawing desperately at your swollen clit, and shit, you’re cumming again, cumming at your brother cumming inside you, like a fucking whore.

He lets you litter his face with kisses as you both come down, his hand combing through your hair. When he thinks you’ve settled, he pulls out with a hiss, and you whimper, clinging to him when he tumbles onto the mattress beside you. You feel empty, you think, and all that’s going through your head is when you can have him again. Lust for him flows through your veins like a toxin, and you nestle closer to his side, nosing at his jaw, fingers idly following the lines of the coiled serpent on his ribcage.

#PLEASE read this #if u ever read any step cest or any blue lock or any oliver read THIS #it's so good and icky in the best ways #support tumblr writers pls we work very hard and this fic deserves the world <3333 #luxe queue 🚀#bye bye <3

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fuwushiguro · 7 months

Text

NOTSCAREDNOTSCAREDNOTSCARED!

✧˖*°࿐ : 18+ only, no minors. ✧. ┊ ⁭frat boy!oliver aiku x f!reader

Genre: college!au (mostly shameless smut tbh) Notes: first fic on my new blog and it's absolutely disgusting, enjoy. Warnings: 18+, noncon, somnophilia, drugging, virgin killer!oliver, implied virgin reader, tit sucking, pussy eating, biting, fingering, marking, love bites ♡, creampie, spit, alcohol consumption, lmk if I missed any!! Words: 5.3k

What a naïve little thing you are.

That’s the first thing Oliver thinks when he sets his sights on you. A shy, sweet girl wearing the one and only cocktail dress you probably own. It’s so simple but makes a loud statement. You don’t look like the other girls here. You aren’t wearing designer clothes that fit you like a glove, no. The ill-fitting garment you’ve chosen to wear speaks volumes to your innocent nature and your lack of confidence. You don’t have friends, do you? You’re here, alone, in the sleaziest and most prolific fraternity on campus. Of course, it’s a party, and anyone is welcome to attend. But the fact that you decided to come here, alone, makes him think you might be a little stupid.

But that suits him just fine.

He doesn’t approach immediately, for fear of giving the game away too soon. He bides his time and observes your behaviours and mannerisms as you wade through the crowds. His eyes have followed your longing gaze a few times and noticed how you keep looking towards the kitchen. It’s the busiest room in the house right now, he assumes. That’s where the keg and all of the alcohol is.

But almost as soon as you look that way, you avert your eyes and look elsewhere in search of a place to belong. You’ve tried starting a few conversations with the girls, but Oliver knows how catty and mean they can be. Poor thing, fresh meat like you doesn’t stand a chance.

You’re lonely, aren’t you? You’ll feel better with a little company, yeah?

He carefully walks by you in a way that will cause you to spill the drink from your grasp. And with that, this sinful game can begin. The one in which he tells you how sorry he is for causing an accident and ruining your dress. He’s so apologetic that you just can’t help but forgive him right away. And his attractiveness doesn’t go amiss. The kindest person you’ve met thus far just so happens to be so deliciously handsome.

“Let me get you a refill, it’s only fair.” he winks. And you hate yourself because your stomach flits at the casual gesture. It’s probably a line that he uses on all of the girls he meets at parties like this. It’s plain to see that he’s confident. You’re sure there won’t be a shortage of girls throwing themselves at him after a gesture like that.

But you aren’t stupid enough to be the same.

He seems older, by at least two years. He seems comfortable enough here to get you a drink so maybe this is his party. He could have a girlfriend for all you know that is in another room and completely oblivious. You don’t want to make waves before you even experience your first day of class.

People seem friendlier towards you when they notice you with him. Is it genuine? Or could they be laughing at you? His hand resides in the small of your back as he guides you far into the kitchen; until you’re standing between an island counter and the fridge. Your body is warming, and, fuck, he can feel it. You’re so shy. He hasn’t seen a girl like you in a long time. The slightest bit of attention and touching and you’re putty in his hand. What a good girl you are, he’s going to have so much fun with you.

You watch him, carefully, as he rummages through the fridge and grabs a can of beer.

You’re a little deflated as he cracks it for himself and begins to chug.

“I didn’t catch your name.” he states as his unmistakable eyes watch you intently. He has eyes you’ve never seen before, and you’ll have a hard time forgetting. Mismatched purple and green. They’re dull, but not uninteresting by any means. They’re the eyes of a man who always gets what he wants. Those eyes beautiful eyes… they’re bored because they are a prestigious, all access key to gain whatever his heart desires. You hum, hesitating for a moment until you decide you’re too awkward and uncomfortable to hide your name from him. “Oh, that’s a real pretty name. I’m Oliver.” he introduces himself.

“Hey… Oliver.” you smile, unsure of how to respond. You’re so on edge. His peculiar eyes are examining each and every movement you make like you’re being graded. And your heart is pounding… you can’t help yourself. Nobody here has extended so much as a pitying smile. You want to pass his test, he’s the only person being remotely nice to you. But still, there’s a gnawing feeling eating away and corroding your insides and it makes you feel like a criminal, like you’re doing something wrong.

Like you absolutely should not be talking to him right now.

“You’re pretty too.” he smiles, brazenly. His voice is so deep and charming, a sonorous lull as he knows all he needs to do is utter these three simple words to get a girl like you to be completely and utterly captivated. It’s such a pathetic, insipid sentence and you can’t stand that it’s working on you.

You get a full view of his wide, toothy grin and you sense that he’s trying to extend a gesture of trust to you. And you’re encapsulated by it. Pristine pearls almost blinding you and short circuiting your brain as you arrive at the realisation that he might be perfect. His features nothing short of perfection and accentuate his beguiling persona that you can’t get enough of. You haven’t even noticed the way your chest is heaving as you devour a mind-altering cocktail with him as the main ingredient.

And he can’t help but chuckle when he notices how flustered you’ve become from his words, you adorable thing. Three little words are making you squeeze your thighs together and folds your arms over your chest. And don’t think he hasn’t noticed the quickened breaths you’re taking and the dampening forehead you’re suddenly trying to wipe away. He’s noticing everything about you and making mental notes in his mind he will use later.

Do you know how vulnerable you’re being?

You should know better than to be so visibly rattled by him. He may be handsome but he’s hardly screaming upstanding citizen at you. It’s the facial hair. It’s so grotesque and sleazy and wholly unpleasant. And still, the only thought swirling around your tiny, tipsy mind is how it would feel against your skin as you kiss. How would the scruff feel between your inner thighs as he devoured your petalled flesh. You shouldn’t be thinking like this, you aren’t sure what’s wrong with you.

You don’t know how to act, do you?

“Don’t be so nervous, sweetheart.” he tells you, getting closer. The smell of his cologne invading your senses. It’s familiar, it smells expensive and suits him just fine. The type of fragrance you’d save for a special occasion to make an impact and impress people you’re around. Your nostrils flare as you inhale more. More of it. More of him. You need more.

He angles his head as he monitors your response to his proximity. He grins when he notes that you aren’t sure where to put your hands. Moving them a few times before you decide to grip the overhang of the counter behind you until the skin covering your knuckles are taut, turning white. You want to feel his chest, don’t you? It’s so broad and muscular and peaking under his shirt, he doesn’t blame you. You probably haven’t had much experience with a guy like him.

He's more than happy to show you.

You’re starting to think your heart is packing up its belongings and preparing to flee from your own chest as you feel it beating rapidly against your ribs. He’s so intoxicating, you feel lightheaded and overwhelmed by the mere presence of him. His body is trapping yours against the counter. He’s so damn tall, taller than you could have possibly imagined now that he’s pressed against you like this. Your cheeks fill with heat, and you think you might actually faint against him if he doesn’t move away. “There are bad guys at places like this, y’know? Dangerous place to be so pretty.” he warns you, whispering gently in your ear. The tone rushing through your veins and forcing you to shiver. His eyes meet yours after he speaks, his stare willing you to understand what he’s saying.

“T-Thank you…” you mumble.

“Hey, don’t worry so much. I’m the house president, I’ll keep an eye on you.” he assures you, moving away ever so slightly while keeping a lingering hand on your shoulder. A commanding touch to make your body and your mind focus on him. His hand is cold to the touch and you realise it’s from holding the metal can, cold from the refrigerator. The cooling caress of his fingers is polar opposite to the warm smile he’s offering you. You aren’t sure what to do or say, but you need not worry about yourself anymore. He had intended on doing all of your thinking for you tonight, anyway. “Oh, shit, you wanted a drink, right? Let me get one for you.” he speaks, his body moving to act before you can even answer.

“U-Um…” you hesitate, seeing him grab a bottle of rum and a mixer. You hate spirits because they always get you embarrassingly wasted. There are four prominent occasions in the forefront of your mind as you reminisce on the states you’ve found yourself in after drinking spirits. The smell alone is enough to make you gag, but you do all you can to ignore it. You don’t want to make a fool of yourself, you don’t want to do something humiliating that will be talked about for years to come.

You aren’t a prude; you aren’t opposed to getting drunk. You just don’t think it’s a good way to introduce yourself.

He’s moving so fast, and his back is to you as he pours your drink, the red solo cup obscured from your vision as he fills it to the brim for you.

You dumb little thing.

Isn’t this something you’ve been warned about? Not letting your drinks out of your sight at any point, ever. Of course you have, it’s rule number one of going to parties or nightclubs or anywhere that your drink can be tampered with.

You just aren’t thinking straight.

And why would you?

You’re so out of place in this big, intimidating environment. You’re hardly going to suspect the first person to show you a bit of kindness is actually the shadiest guy at the party. But deep down, you know you should consider everyone a suspect after hearing what he had to say. If the guys here are so shady, why does he stick with them? If he’s the president, why doesn’t he tell them to do better?

These few fleeting thoughts have been nothing but. Passing ideas that you thought of and discarded as quickly as they arrived. You can’t live your life in fear or you’ll never make any friends here. And he’s going to all of this trouble for you. You’re nobody to him, and he’s still finding it in his heart to extend a benevolent demeanour to you and making sure you have a drink and a friendly face to keep you company for the night.

So you aren’t going to think twice that he’s slipped something in your drink, you can’t see what he’s doing, but for some reason, you trust him. Would you trust him, still, if he wasn’t so good looking? Would you trust him less if he hadn’t announced he is the fraternity president? He knows you’d never have trusted receiving a drink from him if he just offered it to you out of nowhere.

He’s happy he didn’t have to work too hard, you aren’t completely stupid, but you’re still dumb enough to accept a drink from him like this. You barely even think about it as he flashes you a beaming smile and hands it to you. Hell, it might even loosen you up. You knock half of it back in three seconds and you giggle after the fact.

He’s laughing too.

But it’s at your expense, you poor, sweet thing. You’re going to be seeing so many stars tonight, a sight reserved for Oliver’s favourite angels.

“You’re crazy, huh? You like to party a lot, baby?” he wonders, taking another swig of his drink as he rests against the fridge beside him.

“No, never! This is my first big party.” you confess, and he doesn’t miss the way you slightly cringe at yourself for saying something you must think is a little embarrassing. “I mean, I’ve been to parties… this one is just—”

“You’ll get used to it.” he tells you. “The first one is always memorable, though.”

“Really? How come?” you ask, curiously.

God you’re so cute, it’s killing him. Even he can’t hide the smirk forming on his face as he tries to conceal it with his beer. He decides to not answer. Instead, he admires the way you look disappointed at the prospect of him losing interest in you. He thinks he could bathe in the watery sheen glossing over your eyes as you worry that you’ve said something so stupid that he doesn’t want to talk to you anymore.

He's such a disgustingly vile man. All he can think to do is refuse to put you out of your misery. Instead, he revels in the way you knock back the rest of your drink. The way your eyes widen paints a perfect picture in telling him it was too strong for you. Stronger than anything you’ve ever drank in your life. And that’s without the added ingredient he decided to slip in.

“I— do you have a girlfriend?” your question is abrupt as you wipe the excess liquid from your plump lips. Your watery eyes watching him keenly as you do your best to decipher his intentions.

“No.”

You scoff and shake your head. “I don’t even know why I asked you that, as if you’d tell the truth.” you mumble to yourself, but it’s loud enough for him to hear. And just as you’re about to walk away, he responds.

“I don’t care if you know whether I have a girlfriend or not. I would only care if I was trying to fuck you.” the sentence rolls off his tongue with ease. Like he knew exactly what you were going to say before you even thought of it. And you feel a wave of humiliation crash throughout your body; you feel a current trying to drag you under and suffocate you under the foaming sea.

“Y-You aren’t?” you need to stop talking. You need to stop embarrassing yourself like this. For his benefit. For the other people in the kitchen with you. It feels like everyone is staring at you and laughing at your expense. Maybe you’re just drunk and being paranoid. You should go, you should sprint out of here with whatever small scraps of dignity you have left.

He shakes his head, his hand reaching out to yours to pull you closer to him. It trails, up your side and to your chin as your eyes fixate on his. His thumb smooths over your chin, encouraging you to open your mouth for him. He tilts his can of beer onto your lower lip. The golden, yeasty liquid spills from the metal container and onto your tongue. Your eyes don’t leave his as all you can do is stand there and take it. Your little throat expanding with each glug of the disgustingly bitter drink.

Your body is once again pressed against the counter. He snickers when he feels your body jolt against his as you hear the sound of the beer can he was holding clattering against the tiled floor. And he takes great delight in the way your body melts against his touch as he places a hand on your hip. The other, smoothing the shell of your ear before he levels his mouth with it.

“I don’t need to try, I’m going to fuck you.” he whispers, he kisses against your ear a few times and the sound rushes straight to your clit. You squeeze your thighs together again hoping to alleviate the brewing tension. You pray you were discreet enough for him to not notice.

You weren’t.

And it’s worse as he kisses your neck so openly in front of everyone. He sucks and sucks and sucks until his name is signed in blue and purple blooms against your skin. You bite your lip, internally cursing him for forcing you to have to wear a scarf for the coming weeks until it fades away.

“S-Stop it.” your legs buckle and there is something wrong with your eyes. The room won’t stop spinning. You didn’t drink that much, did you?

“Woah!” Oliver exclaims as you fall into his hold. “You don’t know how to handle your drink, hm? I think you need to sleep it off.”

“T-Tax—”

“No, no. I’d be a terrible host if I made you get a taxi all by yourself. C’mon.” he lifts you with ease, your entire body limp in his arms. And he just can’t believe how lucky he is. How blessed he is to be born so genetically gifted. Because he knows there is no way in hell he’d be getting away with this if he wasn’t attractive. Girls looking at him like he’s some kind of hero coming to your rescue. Him, a hero. It would almost be hilarious if it wasn’t so fucking tragic.

There’s no way you’re forgetting your first frat party.

He’ll make sure of that.

As he passes a few of his brothers on the stairs, they all share a knowing look. Like this isn’t the first time Oliver has been in this predicament. And it surely won’t be the last. He winks at them as he walks by, and he puts you down as he reaches his door, your body dropping like a stone as he lets you fall with no care.

You can do nothing but groan as he drags you by your underarms and into his room. God you want to go home. Not to your student accommodation. Home. You want to be with your parents and under your own roof, sleeping in your own bed. It’s hard to even tell where you are. Are you still in the kitchen? No, there’s no way.

All you can think about is how tired you are.

Suddenly, you’re in the air, being flung onto a nearby bed. You feel like your body doesn’t belong to you. You’re no longer in control and you can’t move your limbs how you want to. You want to use your legs and walk right on out of here and into a taxi.

But you’re lucky, really.

Your body doesn’t belong to you anymore. It’s all his. His to do whatever he wants with. You can’t move, and yet Oliver is going to be kind enough to move you however he likes. Maybe you don’t feel so lucky about it. But you’re just confused right now. Oliver knows you wanted this. Wanted him. The pill in your drink was just a little insurance policy to make sure everyone got what they want.

He prefers girls like this anyway.

Nice ‘n pliant.

“Said I’d take care of you, didn’t I?” he smiles, lecherous hands feeling each and every inch of your body. A curious hand reaching up to touch the fat flesh of one of your tits as he massages it over your tiny little dress. “Think you can wear something like this and expect me not to fuck you?” he whispers.

“Mmmpf…” you hum, there’s still a little defiance in you. At this point, he wouldn’t mind if you were on the cusp of sleep. There’s something so special to him about extracting salacious moans from unconscious bodies.

“’m just getting you out of this little thing… gonna find a comfy t-shirt for you to wear to sleep.” he assures you. He wonders if you believe him. He almost believes himself. But as he pulls down the strapless bust of your dress and your supple flesh is revealed to him, the thought of covering it again dies an instant death in his mind. “Fuuuuuck, gorgeous fuckin’ tits.” he moans, his bulge straining against his jeans as envisions himself sucking them until they’re puckered and raw.

He climbs over you, your tiny frame beneath his domineering one. He’s sure you hadn’t neglected to notice how muscular he is before you passed out, even beneath his clothes. He must be some kind of athlete. He’s too beefy not to be. And boy, does he use his weight and size to his advantage when he’s dealing with delicate things like you.

His head practically falls from his shoulder as he decides to let his fantasy come to life. He licks and laves over your tits individually until he gets a little rougher. Softly nibbling the tender buds until they are aching and so sore. His teeth bruise your flesh as he marks them. An assortment of canines and molars as well as decorative love bites.

Any chance you had of forgetting this party are gone.

You’ll know what happened to you.

You might even remember who did it.

But there’s no way a sweet, timid freshman like you is going to have the courage to tell such an unbelievable tale. You might think there are steps in place to protect innocent things like you. You’re a victim, after all. You need protecting. But once again, that would just be so telling as to how naïve you truly are. Drugging pretty girls at college parties is never going to end. The staff, the students, even the police are never going to side with you.

And why would they? These false statements issued by the board, talks of ‘standing with victims’ and offering a listening ear are nothing but lip service. The institution you have found yourself in will say anything to seem like a worthwhile choice. The right and most beneficial choice to you and your future.

But the harrowing truth is that they don’t have time to protect girls like you when they are too busy covering up the messes of men like him.

He pushes your dress up to your midsection, exposing a pair of white lace panties.

“Awe, for me? You knew you were gonna get lucky tonight, didn’t you?” he asks. But of course, you’re unresponsive. His finger prods at the thin material, an involuntary laugh leaving his lungs as he is greeted with the feeling of your soaked underwear on the pad of his digit. “Too dumb t’speak right now… good job your cunt is telling me how much you want me.”

His thumb circles your clit over the material. And even he’s a little dumbfounded at the way your body betrays you. You squirm and your brows furrow as you try to stave off the pleasurable feeling. But for all he knows, you could be trying to fight him off.

He doesn’t care, though, your pussy already gave your true feelings away.

Even he can’t ignore the way his cock is leaking at the sight of your tight heat becoming exposed as he peels away your panties. A slick string connecting your sex to the material.

You must be a virgin, he thinks. Virgins get wet so easily. He suspected it from the moment he saw you. You’re so awkward and uncomfortable around people, but especially guys. You fumble over your words, and you can’t flirt to save your fucking life. But he didn’t care. The thought of your first time being with him was enough to make him want you. And even if you have fucked before. It doesn’t matter, he doesn’t need to know. The very thought is enough.

He pins your knees to your chest, and he begins to feast on your dripping cunt. You shudder as your body feels the tension building with each suckle and slurp against your clit. It’s unrelenting, he can’t get enough of you. He’s fucking addicted to the taste of your slick and he doesn’t know how he’s gone so long without it. Your left leg ragdolls as he lets go, opting to slip a finger into your unprepared hole without stopping his assault on your swollen clit.

And without hesitation, he’s adding another. He takes his time scissoring you open, and by now he’s convinced you’re a virgin. You’re so fucking tight. There’s no way you’ve had a dick inside of you. Or if you have, it must have been small.

You won’t have to worry about that with him.

Even unconscious, he’s sure you’ll feel how he’s gonna stretch you.

Your lazy groans are like a cheer to him. Your body is telling him what a great job he’s doing. How close you are. How badly you want to cum in his mouth and douse his thick, calloused fingers in your syrupy sheen.

The tip of his tongue lashes over the throbbing button at the apex of your thighs. He doesn’t particularly care if you take him well or not. You’re going to take him regardless. But he isn’t so heartless he won’t try and make it a little less painful for you. He’s urging you to cum for him, his free hand pressing down on your abdomen in a bid to enhance your pleasure. With each whip of his tongue against your clit and every press of your spongy insides with his fingers, he’s trying to drag you over the edge.

Your lifeless body surprises him once more.

He pulls away and observes the way your pussy pulses and your walls tighten around his fingers as you begin to cum for him. Your spent little cunt drooling around his thick digits and coating them in your slick. You even moaned for him. Not loudly, of course. A few tell-tale grunts to let him know you were happy with his work.

His eyes ogle your tits once again, admiring the way your chest rises and falls as he sucks his fingers clean. You’re so fucking cute. You must be heaven sent, the way you stepped into the frat may as well have been a gift with a garish bow from Santa Claus himself.

He unbuckles his belt with one hand whilst squeezing and pinching your nipples once again. They’re so pretty, the prettiest pair of tits he’s ever seen. He’s rock hard in his jeans, leaking like crazy and desperate to be buried to the hilt in your sweet little snatch.

And his heavy cock springs free, the tip leaving evidence of just how desperate he is on his v-neck shirt. Pearly pre shimmering against the black material that is soon to dry and harden and meld with the cotton fibres. But he can’t find it in himself to care. He pulls it over his head and throws it into the corner of his room, he’ll deal with it another time. There’s something much more entertaining lying atop his sheets right now.

“Mmm… think this is gonna hurt sweetheart. But you’re gonna be good ‘n take it f’me, yeah?” he lines himself up with your entrance and gives your still body one final look before breaching your insides with his thick cockhead. “Fuckin’ hell you’re tight. You’re so fucking tight, might cum just from this.” he speaks.

He knows you can’t understand him, but he can’t stop himself from communicating with you anyway. He needs you to know how special you are. That out of all of the girls at the party, he chose you. Don’t you feel special? He’s sure you will when you’re stuffed full of his cum. It’ll all dawn on you tomorrow and you’ll feel so honoured that the one and only Oliver Aiku fucked you open and covered you in so many pretty patterns and was even kind enough to pump you full of his cum.

You have no idea how much restraint he’s showing by not instantly splitting you open on his thick, heavy cock. He can’t help but feel that slowly plunging into your virgin walls is a better display of claiming your body. It’s almost torture for him, easing in inch at a time at an agonising pace.

And when he’s fully sheathed inside your suffocating walls, the pleasure is almost too much, he could shed a tear at the feeling. But, of course, he won’t. He’s prioritising the task at hand.

He holds under your knee and pushes it further into your chest and begins to slowly roll his hips. It’s hypnotising, the way even out of consciousness your eyes can still roll back into your skull. He takes note of how he’s moving when your eyelids begin to flutter.

“Oh baby… right there? Like it when I fuck you there?” he wonders, experimenting with his movement and speeding up ever so slightly. His cockhead is nudging your g-spot so perfectly. It’s so deliciously soft, and those saccharine expressions you’re donning are about to drag him to an early demise.

His grip on your thigh is harsh. Another galaxy of purple bruises forming under his fingers on your doughy skin. He hasn’t noticed. It’s second nature to him to be a little rougher than intended. But it’s part of the fun, right? More little discoveries for you to find in days to come.

He’s entranced by the way his cock vanishes inside of your cute cunt. He’s being swallowed whole by your sticky lips. The sound reverberates throughout the room. The suctioning sounds of you pulling him inside and the tackiness of your pussy and his cock meeting again and again and again.

Your eyes squint as he yanks down your jaw until he sees your tongue. He’s so abhorrent and even at this point he knows this to be the truth himself. He just can’t fucking help it. He wants to do anything and everything to you. He wants to humiliate you because you’re just that special to him. With a cartoonish ‘ptuh’ sound, a glob of spit has landed on your tongue and is slowly sliding down your throat.

With a few more presses of his tip against your sweet spot, you’re spasming around him again. Maybe you liked it after all. You wouldn’t cum if you didn’t. Do you like being taken advantage of by reprehensible scum like Oliver Aiku? Do you like being unconscious while getting your insides pummelled? This might warp your tiny little mind. Maybe you’ll think this is love and this is what you’re meant for. It is, as far as Oliver is concerned. He doesn’t let up humping into your tiny hole. He spits in your mouth again, and it’s the final straw to pull him into his oncoming bliss right along with you.

“Little slut,” he pants, his hips faltering as he feels himself reaching the precipice. “Mine. My little slut. My fuckin’ cunt. H-Hear me? Mine.” he practically growls as he shoots load after load into your unprotected womb. “Ah— fuck. Fuuuuuck—” he finishes, fucking his viscous seed back into you.

He pulls out immediately after, admiring the way his sperm drips and squelches out of your spent cunt. You’re clenching around nothing, poor thing. You must miss him.

But you don’t have to worry. You won’t have to miss him for long. You’re not done, after all. He just needs some time to recharge. He wasn’t just going to fuck you once and be done with you. Not a perfect little pussy like that, no. Those drugs will be in your system for a few hours.

He’s far from done with you yet.

#I moved blogs btw ⬆️

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