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sweetsuo · 5 months ago

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Hotel Service.

Oliver Aiku

Cw. afab!reader. Fingering. Oral. public sex. Drinking. Terms like ‘baby girl’. Edging. Genre. [ fic. Smut. basically just smut with vague plot. I am not sorry.] Wc. 2.5k

Rough hands picked at the sides of his phone case. Amidst the many nameless chickadees Oliver had ghosted was a single unanswered text. He sighed heavy and long. Arm came across his forehead as he sprawled across the hotel couch. Despite his disappointment, he laughed, "Damn, this is the shit I do?" The room answered with silence. Oliver was a known playboy. He frequented hostess bars, brought new girls to his favorite karaoke places, and never saved a number. He'd never thought about the repercussions on the girls' end. He never had to. It's not like he put faces to the numbers and never tapped a girl more than once.

But now everything reminded him of you. These walls haunted him with the echoing sound of your voice, drawn out and honied. His hand along the sofa's arm felt hallow without the soft of your thigh rolling between his fingers. The bottle of spirits he sipped from was unbearable without the taste of you to chase it with. Karma truly was fucking him harder than he wished to fuck you again, that was for damn sure.

He leaned forward on the shitty, you-less couch creaking under the weight. Three. Over the last few days, he saw you pick up three other guys at the club. If he weren't so fixated on you, he'd probably give you credit for the skill. He was so hooked on you that he didn't dare pick up another for fear they wouldn't feel as good as you did. What pissed him off more was that you were completely fine. Other chicks were so cock-drunk they'd hit him up by the hour. But you? Nothing. His pride was sniped three times over. As he stared at your contact, Oliver wondered if some pussy were really worth all this frustration.

Fuck it. C’est la vie. He called.

Brrrrrrrrr.

The dial tone taunted him, but he maintained his cool.

Brrrrrrrrrrrrr.

Uncomfortable anticipation settled in his stomach. A taste of his own medicine really was as bitter right about now.

Brrrrrrrr-

His heart skipped a beat.

"Hello?"

To hear your voice is like a shot of a top-class heroine. Immediately, everything in him unwound,

"What's up, Lil chick?" Oliver was casual, voice rolling low against the receiver. He could hear music from the other end, loud and static-filled.

"Oh~ not much. At the cluuuuub –

Not much? I'm hurt."

Oliver's grip tightened around his phone, the smile of relief steeling into something sharp. Whatever this feeling was it was new and he was not a fan of it.

"Aw, don't be like that~" Your words were muffled by the hand covering your receiver, but he could still hear it, "We're just havin' fun, nothin' too deep."

The words burned. For a long time, the striker had been happy to sit back in comfort and defend his peace. He didn't want to be tied down. Hell, he even was the one to say this was no strings attached. Those strings apparently only roped around him now, leaving you free to do whomever you please.

"You wanna have some fun with me, baby girl?" He purred. It was a one-sided challenge to the cuck trying to make a move.

"I don't usually do seconds," You say, but from the languid drawl in your voice, he knew you were contemplating, "What if you're boring?"

"Anything but. Which club?" Oliver stood, dressing himself with the phone still between his cheek and shoulder, "I'll swing by and grab ya now."

Whatever the setlist was, the crowd was into it. You watched the dancing bodies, bumping and grinding under the flickering red lights. The rhythm of the beat seeped into your bones, ratting you from the inside out and numbing your mind from any serious thinking. It’s just what you needed after hard day’s work. In the past hour, you made coy eye contact with two separate pretty boys. You’d catch their eye and when they noticed, you’d look away with a brush of your hair and a sip of your drink. Your time fishing, flashing bait in front of two hungry piranha was well spent. Not just one, but both of your pretty little fish came around to sit by you. They’d think it was all their idea to approach. Men puffing their chests for your attention was always a show worth while, especially when it ended with a quick fuck. It reminded you how silly they could be.

Frankly, ever since you met the scraggly soccer player, no other man could hold up to your expectations. You had too much pride to hit up a one night stand for some dick, though, so you went about your business as per usual. Just this time, you were filling the void he’d left behind. When he called, your heart leapt into your throat. When he said he’d come get you? You shook with anticipation.

That’s how you got to where you were now – entertaining your backup pieces as they cut jabs at one another to get the prize.

“You sure you didn’t get stood up, sweety? What douchebag would pass up on a fine ass like your?”

“I dunno, let’s wait a little longer and find out,” You said with a bite. To swallow down your impatience, you took a sip from your martini glass.

“I’m getting a little antsy over her, hon, you coming home with me or no?” The one to your right asked, sliding a hand along your knee.

You barely move in response, only glance down to the hand in bored disinterest from the corner of your eyes. He doesn’t notice. He’s way too occupied stared at your exposed thigh. You’ll give the guy a proper shot if Oliver doesn’t -

When hands grasped your bare shoulders, you yelped and looked above you. From behind the couch was that pretty little soccer player who so desperately craved your affection. “Couldn’t agree more. Baby girl, you weren’t planning on leaving with someone like that were you?” His voice teased, duochrome hues openly judging and appraising the meat you’d chosen for dinner. Garbage. All garbage to him, of course. “Let’s head back to my place, I’ll treat you right.” His tongue slid across the soft flesh of his lips, teeth bared as a threat to the one with wandering hands. The hand flinched, but didn’t move until Oliver’s hard glare met his directly.

“I’ve been waiting all night!” You were thrilled at the ravenous jealousy eating the playboy up. His hands squeezed your shoulders. Your hand came up to rest along his neck in response. You couldn’t help but notice the rush of his heartbeat through his vein. What a starved, hungry snake he was, writhing at the heat of your hand, “Lead the way, Mr. Patience.”

The hotel door lurched with your weight thrown against it. Your mouth opens in an exhale, only to be hungrily consumed by the striker pinning you. Oliver's body is broad, sturdy, and near suffocating in its press. His tongue explored yours, scraping against the roof of your mouth, running across your tongue and teeth in fervor.

Oliver's hands frantically searched each pocket for his key card. His hips ground into yours, drawing out a sweet and needy whine from you. His cock twitched against the zipper of his pants at the very sound. He needed to hear more of it. He needed more of you. Momentarily giving up on his search, his hands gripped your body. The supple skin seeping between his fingers, the feel of your body heat rising as his hands slid lower. He drank it all in like sweet ambrosia.

Kisses and teeth trailed from your lips to your jaw, nipping at the sensitive skin just under the curve. Your chest rises and falls with heavy breathing, walls cinching against nothing with each heavy grind against you. Anxiety meddled with arousal as you searched the halls for other guests, staff, and cameras. Words tumble clumsily from your lips, "F-find your card, won't ya?"

"Oh?" He purrs against your neck, "Scared someone seeing you?" You tremble at the burn of his breath against you, "Weren't you just vying for some pathetic sap's attention earlier? Now some staff seeing you against a door is too much?" Oliver halts, mouth close by your ear, "You wanted fun, so let's make it a game, alright, baby girl?"

You swallow hard, curiosity getting the best of you, "Rules?"

"You have to hold everything in and I will draw it out," He pulls back, pressing his forehead to yours, "I win if you get the attention you were looking for."

"Easy peasey," You tease, pressing your lips together with a triumphant smirk. Maybe it was the haze hovering over your mind that made you so pliable to his little game. Or maybe the promise to work hard for your moans was it.

"Sure about that?" His hips bucked, and his abs tensed. Trained self-control is the only reign on the base urge to just take you on the door.

"Confident."

"Atta girl." With those two words, Oliver pressed the outside of his right foot against the inside of your left, spreading your legs to the width of the doorframe. The glint in his eyes was lit by lust. His hand, which had been massaging the curve of your thigh, slipped between them. You arch into his touch automatically, pathetically, preciously.

Calloused fingers ran along the length of your panty-covered slit. He pressed into you harder, breathing unsteadily, yet he stifled a single chuckle. Who knew you'd be this wet from a silly little game? Fingers stroked the sodden, silken fabric. He toyed with you. Each stroke towards your clit was matched with each breath in and each stroke over your drooling hole with each breath out. He wanted you to think of his touch every time you breathed.

As the pad of his middle finger ran up, he whispered close, "Hold your breath, baby." Free hand took your chin between thumb and forefinger, tilting your gaze to meet his. Painfully slow and controlled, he grazed over the swollen bundle of nerves. The fabric between you and him added to the friction. The muscles of your obliques tense. Your eyes squint as you hold back the air and the sound you wish to let run free.

Once he went over the hill, he began to roll back, pressing into the nerves in an excruciatingly slow circle before passing over, "Now out." As you let out a steady stream of air, it all hitches as he begins to circle at your entrance. The thong was your only barrier, and fuck did you want it gone.

Oliver relished in the way the fabric slipped with his touch, "You're doing so good. Haven't made a peep." His gaze turns to monitor the hall, deeming it clear, "Let's see if I can't change that."

Your heart throbbed hopelessly, its beat reverberating at his touch. Smoothly, he pushed the fabric aside, fingers now spreading you apart to dribble down his hand. He shuddered, desperate to be in you yet staving off his own desire for yours. He had to make an impression you couldn't forget.

He teased, palm secure against your clit so you felt every motion he made. Fingertips dipped into you, barely giving you enough to hold onto. Your hands, which once braced you against the door, now wrapped around his shoulders, gripping at the leather of his jacket. You couldn't make a noise. You wanted to, though. You wanted to release the hot burn in your chest. You wanted to cry out for him to go in. You wouldn't make a noise. You sway your hips in a desperate attempt for more.

"Awe, greedy little thing," He mutters, kissing your pretty pouting lip, "Keep watch, now." The cryptic words had you furrowing your brow. That was until he dropped to one knee. Panicked, you open your mouth to protest and then quickly shut it. So long as you were quiet, no one would know. It was more than just a competition. He slid down the thong and you stepped out, not even noticing him pocket them. Instead, eyes searched for security cameras, finding only one. Surely, the security guard would call the manager. Or maybe...

He lifted your leg with a firm grasp underneath your knee. The lift raises your skirt, revealing you to the empty hall and the jealous beast kneeling before you. The hand not under your knee now prodded at your entrance, a single digit asking for entry. You oblige, leg left standing beginning to shake. The single-digit pumps slowly at first, only massaging the first inch or so before fully retracting and diving in again. His tongue laps you up, cleaning every inch of your thighs and vulva until he's satisfied. You desperately grasp onto his hair, curling over in soundless pleasure. The position kept you from fucking his hand. It had to have been intentional. There was no fucking way it wasn't. He kept you where he wanted you.

The flat of his tongue now lapped between your folds as a second finger entered, plunging deeper in. He savors your taste, entranced in the twitch of your thighs beside him. His hips rut at the air thoughtlessly, his only release of tension from the friction of denim against his throbbing cock. Oliver ruts to the pace of his fingers, lost in the moment and groaning into your pussy. Fingers pawed deliberately slow at the soft cushion of your walls. It was just the spot to make you bite down hard to keep it all in. You can feel yourself coming undone, fingers gripping into the shaggy black mess between your thighs. His fingers lit you from the inside out, each stroke a matchstick attempting to light.

Through the thick, sticky haze of euphoria clinging to your mind, you register the tapping of footsteps. Pussy cinches against his working fingers. Anticipation and fear all well up inside. Your hand tapped on his shoulder. He heard it. He didn't move. Stubbornly, the python below nipped at your bud to make you break. Fingers worked you with hungered haste, even filling you up with a third. You trembled, unsupported leg ready to give out as you pant helplessly. You were practically leaning on his back, fists now filled with his jacket.

In a poor attempt to ride his fingers to finish, you buck reflexively each time he hits the spot. His tongue made messy shapes on your clit and his muffled, silent groans vibrated along it. Everything coalesced, bringing you right to the edge. You wanted to tell him your leg was going to give, but you couldn't. What went from a challenge of will now became open-mouthed, breathless ecstasy as he kept you right on the precipice of release. Drool trickled from your lips and onto your clenched fingers. The footsteps grew ever closer and so did you. Your head now tilted back, leaning on the rattling door. You staying silent didn't mean shit when the door told all your secrets. It all could be forgiven when you looked down at the man below, eyes glazed yet hard as he glanced up at you in awe. He looked at you in the way you only hoped someone could, "F-fuck, I'm gonna-"

Oliver released you from his hold, fingers drew out, slippery and wet. He licked his lips clean and rose fast, pulling your skirt back down as he did. A frustrated tear ran down your cheek, dragging mascara with it. Your legs could barely hold you up and you were almost certain you were making a mess of the carpet below. Baffled, you grab his hand to put it back and he just laces his fingers in yours, "O-Oliver –"

"Heard there was a noise complaint about a door?" A man in his 50's, obviously fed up with his middle-management job, approached, "Do we have a problem?"

"Sorry," Oliver chuckled, ruffling his hair as if he hadn't just stained his boxers with pre, "We got locked out. Chickadee here was just about the break the door down. Think I dropped my keycard."

"Oh," the manager replied flatly, "This it? Saw it in the hall." Between his fingers was the exact keycard Oliver had been searching for at the beginning of this.

"Perfect. Thank you."

"Get some rest," The Manager grumbled, now walking off hissing 'fucking youths.'

"You want to get some rest?" The brunette joked, grinning at your obvious flustered frustration. He cups your cheek, wiping at the dribbling mascara, "Or do you want me to really make that pretty makeup of yours run?"

#oliver aiku x reader #blue lock x reader #i will fix the header eventually i swear ;v;#oral cw #fem!reader cw #edging cw #drinking cw

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