venustrvck

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lwk i am becoming a kaiser bpd truther...

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genderqueer reader i love you

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AVE!!!!! HIHIHI!!! :3 i finally caught you on the dash hehe how are you? what’ve you been up to? :3

starry hi !! dash encounter !!! as for what i've been doing, my uncle's (who i haven't seen since i was like... 6) flight landed today, he's immigrating over to where i am atm so we had a large family gathering in celebration. i've also been studying and working !! how about you?

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finding posts on personality disorders in the wild makes me so !!!! i love you personality disorders i love you

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MICHAEL KAISER who has narcissistic personality disorder and ALEXIS NESS who has borderline personality disorder work well together in the most toxic way. Ness feeds off of the attention that Kaiser—someone whom he views as an amazing human being and probably even the pinnacle of his existence—gives him, while Kaiser relishes in Ness' admiration and his ability to control Ness to go along with his own selfish decisions.

It's not necessarily a romantic relationship, but it's a relationship nonetheless—one that greedily feeds off of each other's needs.

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Oliver groans, hands flexing on your waist. You nose your way down to his collar, teeth grazing soft flesh— you pause, gently extricating yourself from his skin, “Mm, were you with Sara-chan earlier?” You ask, looking up at him from under your lashes.

His hands stutter on your waist and he huffs out a laugh, “You know, it’s a little scary how you can always tell.”

“She has a distinctive perfume.” It’s strong and it lingers, heavy with vanilla and sandalwood, and its all over his shirt. You suspect she all but bathes in the stuff, for it to leave a scent trail like that. You nose your way back in.

Sara-chan got her relationship advice from here

OLIVER AIKU X F!Reader

wc: 1.1k

tags: smut, f!reader, dry humping, mention of Oliver's other flings by reader who doesn't have any particularly strong opinions on the matter, Oliver calls reader 'princess', reader spends the whole fic on Oliver's lap bless

His hands cage your ribs, thumb caressing the flushed skin under your shirt as he holds onto your waist. Oliver’s stroking thumb on your skin, his lips on yours, and your tongue in his has your blood singing. You rock on his lap as you surge forwards, breaking the kiss with an obscene sound and latching your lips onto his jaw.

Oliver groans, hands flexing on your waist. You nose your way down to his collar, teeth grazing soft flesh— you pause, gently extricating yourself from his skin, “Mm, were you with Sara-chan earlier?” You ask, looking up at him from under your lashes. His hands stutter on your waist and he huffs out a laugh, “You know, it’s a little scary how you can always tell.” “She has a distinctive perfume.” It’s strong and it lingers, heavy with vanilla and sandalwood, and its all over his shirt. You suspect she all but bathes in the stuff, for it to leave a scent trail like that. You nose your way back in. “’S not just her,” he says, as his throws his head back, hand hiking up your skin and fingers splaying over the small of your back. “You can always tell, whether its Sara-chan or Kei… you’re terrifying.” You hum, but you’re not really interested in carrying on the conversation. You’ve just discovered the tender spot where neck, shoulder and collarbone all meet, and you fully intend to sink your teeth in. You do. Oliver’s grip on you tightens, fingers pressing into your skin. “Fuck,” he swears. You agree. He’s hard, bludge prominent in his jeans, you can feel it from where its standing proud against your clit. You rock forwards, rubbing against him, spine tingling in pleasure. Good. Good. This is good. His cock is thick and large, framed by the seam of his jeans, the friction of it against your clothed clit is heavenly. It would’ve been overbearing if you were naked, the friction of that line-stitch on your bare skin too much to bear, but clothed like this? It’s good. It’s really good. The way the edge rises, ridge catching on your clit as you grind against it... the pleasure of it is indescribable. It fills your clit up with blood as heat pools down your groin and pleasure sparks with its every slide. His cock presses against your underside, too, pushing against your opening.

You feel so full even without him splitting you open. It’s perfect.

You grind yourself against him, over and over, moaning into his skin and he rocks up into you, his fingers bruising your flesh. His breaths come out in shallow puffs, and you can tell that he has his lip between his teeth, with every hint of sound trapped in his rumbling chest. You can just imagine him, eyes squeezed shut, thighs and hands tense as he gives himself over to pleasure. You sneak a peek, and yeah — there he is, eyes squeezed shut just like you thought they would be, worrying kiss-bruised lips between his teeth and jaw clenched taut in tension.

You press forward, pushing down against his cock and your core throbs as you hitch your hips, sliding up and down that seam with the delicious pressure of clit pressed against cock. It’s a delicious grind that has you kneeing in pleasure.

You work your lips up, until you’re against the under side of his jaw. Oliver’s beard brushes your cheek. When you suck, you can feel it fall slack, and a deep groan is released from his chest. His hands spasm on your skin, and he slides them down until he’s got fistfuls of your ass. “Shit,” he says, “Are you trying to kill me?” “I like hearing,” you murmur. Your teeth graze the undersize of his jaw as you latch on again. “Roger,” he says, squeezing your ass in assent. His next groan comes out loud and clear. You pass the next few minutes like that. His hands on you, squeezing, touching caressing as you grind against one another and you worry your mouth over his skin. The sounds of sex fill up the room, his moans intermingling with yours, and your pants leave you wondering whether you’d find the windows fogged over once you’re done — realism be damned.

Suddenly, Oliver's hands on your ass grip with purpose, and he hikes you up against him. His hips thrust upwards, his cock kissing your cunt with every movement. If he was fucking you, he'd be slamming into you.

You hold onto his shoulders, and it's your turn to throw your head back and moan, loud and unrestrained. You love it when he gets like this. Forceful and dominating as he takes what he wants. You can't move with how tightly he's holding you, but you don't mind, it feels so good and the friction has your toes curling. He always makes it good for you. You can feel your body tensing with your impending release.

Oliver squeezes your ass, and you can feel his chest reverberate with the strength of his groan. Wetness blooms between the two you, soaking your underwear. You wonder if he got any on your skirt. You don't care.

His hands gentle on you as they slide up to your hips and you lean close enough to share breath, panting your pleasure into his mouth. You ride him through the aftershocks of his orgasm until your release overtakes you: a second wetness blooming between the two of you.

You take a minute to regain your breath and you can feel his thumb stroking circles onto your hipbone. His voice is raspy when he speaks, “Feel alright?” he asks, and when you nod he smirks, cocksure, “You fell apart so beautifully in my lap, and I didn’t even fuck you.” The words are teasing but they come out with a breathless quality that he either cannot or does not bother to conceal. “I could feel how hard you got, and I didn’t even get naked,” you shoot back as you straighten and stretch on his lap. He leans back into the couch, smile broadening. His hands go up to your waist and trace the arch of your back, “That wasn’t a complaint, princess.” “I know.” The way he held you, the sounds he made, the way he drove into you… he was worked up. Very worked up. The breathlessness you caught in his voice when he said that… you know it’s awe. He had you on his lap horny and wanting, all pretty and dolled up, and free to touch. You’d have gone crazy with it too. You lean in and press a kiss to the underside of his lip, “Thank you, this was nice.” You had a meeting to get to and the drying ejaculate connecting the two of you was getting uncomfortably sticky. You didn’t have much time to linger. You barely had time for this, really. Before you could extricate yourself from his lap, Oliver’s fingers clasp your waist. “Your spare underwear is my drawer,” he says, “Bedroom closet, second drawer to the bottom.” “Thanks.”

You could wash up here, then.

[venustrvck]

dont get me started on another winding plot but I'm suddenly obsessed with the idea of a romance with a guy you've never seen before

[venustrvck]

ave bby we’re both afflicted by “mornings with oliver” it seems ;-; there’s something about him between the perceived hours of 6am-10am that does the brain in. who allowed this type of vulnerability! CLOSE THE BOX !!!!

anw your fic is already dutifully in my queue and i hope you’ve been well and healthy my friend! <3

he needs to get exit stage left, pursued by a bear. no bc aiku being a playboy? a womanizer? fine. aiku being soft and whipped? call the cops i'd like to report a crime worthy of the guillotine.

tldr: i sympathize.

ive been very busy but otherwise alright!! i hope you enjoy the fic lexie <3 and how have you been?

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cora, thank you !! you are wonderful and beautiful

@venustrvck texts me this video and says this is so oliver aiku so i gif it for them

[venustrvck]

OLIVER AIKU X F!Reader

wc: 0.6k

tags: established fwb, the morning after, sfw drabble (no sex on screen), reader speaks in kansai-ben, slice of life, reader raids oliver's fridge god bless

Consciousness crests over you in waves. You stretch yourself awake, languid and comfortable, this was, probably, some of the best sleep you've ever had. Sitting up, you turn to the other side of the bed —

Empty.

Oliver Aiku is conspicuously missing.

You get your legs over the side of the bed and stand up. You forgo slippers, feet bare as you pad your way out into the living room. The feel of the tile on your skin is comfortably cool.

Yesterday, you had a row with your housemates, so you called up Oliver for a fuck. He's always up for sex, and you can usually weasel your way in for a night or two, which was your end goal. Besides, he fucks good. Good sex and a place to crash? A sweet deal if you've heard one. No coupon's offering better shit than that.

You're scratching at your head, hair-tie having dug painfully into your scalp while you slept. You're pulling your ponytail loose when you see him, Oliver, layed out on the couch.

"What are ya doing all the way out here?" You ask.

Oliver's arm is slung over his face, covering his eyes, no doubt trying to escape the sunlight blaring through his bare ass windows. He's got them set up with that fancy shit of his so that they pull open in the mornings on automatic, to let the sun into the apartment, he'd said.

Oliver, arm still valiantly protecting his eyes, grins at you, "You kick."

No you don't. "No I don't."

"It's a good kick, ever considered soccer?" He continues.

"Yer an ass, and I don't kick," you say, making your way across his couch, past the breakfast bar and into the kitchen. If Oliver wanted to be difficult and obtuse, so be it, none of your business.

You help yourself to his fridge and rifle through. It's nonsensical, the way the food's arranged in there, nothing's ever in the same place as it was the last time you crashed. You bend over, looking for where he keeps his eggs. He should really organize this thing.

A wolf-whistle sounds behind you, couch's direction. You look back and — yep. Oliver Aiku's finally deigned to open his eyes to the world, and they're trained right on your ass. He's got his elbow propped up behind him, a roguish grin spread across his cheeks in appreciation. His eyes trail up to your face, eyebrow raising to match his grin and he compliments, "Damn."

In return, you give him a clear view of your eye-roll before you turn back to the fridge, "What do you want to eat?"

"Are you on the menu?"

"Focus, pretty boy," you snap, index and thumb literally snapping in his direction in hopes that he'll pay attention to something other than where his dick wants to go.

It's a magnificent dick with superior tastes, for sure, but you want a full stomach before a full pussy …or ass, considering that's what he'd been looking at.

"Just make me whatever you're having," he says, something off with his tone, and when you look back he's slumped against the couch again, eyes closed, arm slung across his face.

At least it's not over his eyes this time. Instead, his arm's flung out over his forehead, letting the sunlight paint a golden rectangle over his lids the shape of his window's railings.

Probably actually resting his eyes, rather than trying to go back to sleep.

"Ya better not complain," you warn as you pull away, awe tucked behind your ribs. The eggs are in the second drawer.

"I won't."

Well, Tamagoyaki it is.

Not Pictured: Oliver's pure panic when he moved your hair out of your face after his midnight piss, realizing he's catching feelings, and exiling himself to the couch. Oliver still panicking and trying to deflect away from his feelings when you wake up.

[venustrvck]

not me lamenting i don't have time to read fic and then lex's fic shows up and it's perfect. anyways you can find me in the afterlife

[venustrvck]

oliver aiku x reader. suggestive, reader drinks coffee. wc 485.

thinking about waking up to an empty bed and disheveled sheets, expecting to once again be the only person in your apartment... only to find oliver in your kitchen, making coffee.

he's devoid of a shirt and his back looks incredible in the warm-toned window light. he turns around and there's that unmistakeable happy trail that disappears under those sweatpants that sit low on his hips because he lost the string and he’s not even wearing boxers and —

“you sure get comfortable.”

“i wouldn’t call familiarizing myself with a standard coffee maker ‘comfortable’ but if that’s how you see it. caught me red-handed.”

he leans against the counter, arms folded over his chest that make his biceps look even bigger. he knows your staring.

“how do you like your coffee?”

“i can make my own coffee.”

“thats not what i asked.”

“i… like cream in my coffee.”

oliver hums like he’s thinking about that, thinking about something, trailing his gaze over your figure standing in the kitchen in his shirt that he wore here last night that covers you just enough to conceal your panties. he watches the way you approach him on the balls of your feet. like a cat.

“… and sugar.”

“why does that not surprise me?”

“what’s that supposed to mean?”

“means you’re sweet.” his hands travel playfully under the cover of your (his) shirt, gripping softly at your hips and pressing his thumbs into your skin in small soothing circles.

you idly play with the chain around his neck as you listen to the coffee pot continue to drip liquid into the carafe. “how do you like your coffee?”

“black.”

“why does that not surprise me?”

“what’s that mean now?”

oliver laughs in that roughened voice, pulling you against his sturdy frame, so your hips press against his own. you forget to breathe.

“i get enough sugar right here.” he smoothly slides his hand over your neck, to caress the back of your head and meld his lips against yours. slow, steady, like honey. a little too thick for just a good morning kiss.

oliver hums as he pulls away, stroking his thumb over the highpoint of your cheek until your eyes flutter back open. violet and green gaze back at you like a confusing combination of feelings that you can’t begin to describe.

“go get back into bed. i’ll bring you your coffee.”

“you’re not leaving?”

not that you want him to, but you hadn’t expected your casual hook-up to dare overstay his welcome on the first night he’s stayed over.

oliver’s grin widens, pulling your bottom lip down with his thumb while the other hand brushes over the seat of your panties, pressing into your warmth enough to make you take an inhale of breath.

“not before i’ve properly woken you up.”

© aikuwuus 2025. do not reproduce, translate, or feed my writing into ai. do not recommend my writing on any other platform.

[venustrvck]

i still have fics i need to read... but time is kicking my ass so baaaad

now i'm crashing out about oliver and i can't even read fic !!

in the trenches

[venustrvck]

i need oliver aiku so so bad i am down bad i need this man rn please

[venustrvck]

cora is telling me to write it but i wouldn't even know HOW to write that movement i am in panik mode

i was free of this man but one tiktok has ruined me. Seeing oliver's mannerisms in that one couple vid and —

no one speak to me.

[venustrvck]

i was free of this man but one tiktok has ruined me. seeing oliver's mannerisms in that one couple vid and —

no one speak to me.

[venustrvck]

OLIVER AIKU X F!Reader

wc: 0.6k

tags: established fwb, the morning after, sfw drabble (no sex on screen), reader speaks in kansai-ben, slice of life, reader raids oliver's fridge god bless

Consciousness crests over you in waves. You stretch yourself awake, languid and comfortable, this was, probably, some of the best sleep you've ever had. Sitting up, you turn to the other side of the bed —

Empty.

Oliver Aiku is conspicuously missing.

You get your legs over the side of the bed and stand up. You forgo slippers, feet bare as you pad your way out into the living room. The feel of the tile on your skin is comfortably cool.

Yesterday, you had a row with your housemates, so you called up Oliver for a fuck. He's always up for sex, and you can usually weasel your way in for a night or two, which was your end goal. Besides, he fucks good. Good sex and a place to crash? A sweet deal if you've heard one. No coupon's offering better shit than that.

You're scratching at your head, hair-tie having dug painfully into your scalp while you slept. You're pulling your ponytail loose when you see him, Oliver, layed out on the couch.

"What are ya doing all the way out here?" You ask.

Oliver's arm is slung over his face, covering his eyes, no doubt trying to escape the sunlight blaring through his bare ass windows. He's got them set up with that fancy shit of his so that they pull open in the mornings on automatic, to let the sun into the apartment, he'd said.

Oliver, arm still valiantly protecting his eyes, grins at you, "You kick."

No you don't. "No I don't."

"It's a good kick, ever considered soccer?" He continues.

"Yer an ass, and I don't kick," you say, making your way across his couch, past the breakfast bar and into the kitchen. If Oliver wanted to be difficult and obtuse, so be it, none of your business.

You help yourself to his fridge and rifle through. It's nonsensical, the way the food's arranged in there, nothing's ever in the same place as it was the last time you crashed. You bend over, looking for where he keeps his eggs. He should really organize this thing.

A wolf-whistle sounds behind you, couch's direction. You look back and — yep. Oliver Aiku's finally deigned to open his eyes to the world, and they're trained right on your ass. He's got his elbow propped up behind him, a roguish grin spread across his cheeks in appreciation. His eyes trail up to your face, eyebrow raising to match his grin and he compliments, "Damn."

In return, you give him a clear view of your eye-roll before you turn back to the fridge, "What do you want to eat?"

"Are you on the menu?"

"Focus, pretty boy," you snap, index and thumb literally snapping in his direction in hopes that he'll pay attention to something other than where his dick wants to go.

It's a magnificent dick with superior tastes, for sure, but you want a full stomach before a full pussy …or ass, considering that's what he'd been looking at.

"Just make me whatever you're having," he says, something off with his tone, and when you look back he's slumped against the couch again, eyes closed, arm slung across his face.

At least it's not over his eyes this time. Instead, his arm's flung out over his forehead, letting the sunlight paint a golden rectangle over his lids the shape of his window's railings.

Probably actually resting his eyes, rather than trying to go back to sleep.

"Ya better not complain," you warn as you pull away, awe tucked behind your ribs. The eggs are in the second drawer.

"I won't."

Well, Tamagoyaki it is.

Not Pictured: Oliver's pure panic when he moved your hair out of your face after his midnight piss, realizing he's catching feelings, and exiling himself to the couch. Oliver still panicking and trying to deflect away from his feelings when you wake up.