#he lives on the coast like the rest of my ocs so its got like. shark tooth necklaces and dumb t shirts and fake sea glass! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

brockadoodles · 4 years

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I’ll be the love of your life inside your head - b. boeser

AN: hello. Guess I’m back. Just for writing though. So here’s a repost of my fave thing i’ve ever written. :) Check out the sequel after you read this one, Errant Storytelling by @hockeyboysiguess

Pairing: brock boeser x female OC

Word Count: 38,421

Warnings: LONG AF, swearing, drinking, mentions of sex, some angst.

Early September was Brock’s favorite time of the year, with the team getting into the swing of training camp in preparation for the new season that was to come, he always felt like it was somewhat of a fresh start. He would return to Vancouver, most of his body tan and his nose slightly burnt from spending everyday back at home out on the lake or driving through the mountains in his Jeep, top down and dogs in tow. He spent most of his summer alone, finding comfort and solace in just him on the water, able to reflect about the various stressors that impacted his life for eight or so months of the year. He had even adopted a second dog, Milo, who had quickly fit right into his routine.

The change from late summer to early Fall in Vancouver was beautiful, the weather was comfortably cooling down, but the rain that plagued the city not yet setting in for the long grey season, one that had dubbed Vancouver as “raincouver” to those who lived there. He loved Minnesota, but as he spent more and more time in Vancouver, he quickly found himself settling into west coast habits, easing back into the season and his life there more quickly with each passing year.

One thing that had become somewhat of a tradition since his rookie season, was a first night back type of gathering, almost always taking place at some dive bar on the edge of East Vancouver, where he and some of the guys could catch up before the real intensity of autumn kicked in. Petey was no doubt his best friend in BC. He was a year younger, coming onto the team the year following Brock’s own rookie one and he found himself taking Elias almost under his wing. When he first came to the team, he barely spoke any English, and while some of the other guys were welcoming, they didn’t quite have the patience to decipher Swedish like Brock did. So, Brock introduced himself and the two instantly clicked on and off the ice. Catching up with Petey after summer was something that he was looking forward to, now that Petey was no longer a rookie and had settled into life in Canada more.

This September was no different, and Brock found himself sitting in the dark booth in the early evening at the latest dive bar, a place that Jake had sworn by for having the best selection of local brewed beers while he waited on Petey to arrive. The bar was too warm for the sweatshirt and backwards cap he had on even though the establishment itself was rather empty for a Friday night. He supposed that the term dive bar rang true and that this was the quant hole in the wall type place that they usually frequented for their annual return to Vancouver get together.

He slowly ran his finger along the rim of his beer, it was some local IPA that the waitress had sworn on, a glint in her eye that Brock knew too well, yet actively ignored as he politely ordered the drink, sending her a soft smile to say thank you but imply that he wasn’t interested. He took a sip of the beer, biting his tongue slightly at the sensation of it. He set the cool glass back on the table, sighing softly while he pulled out his phone from his pocket, making note that the beer was hoppy and too bitter for his taste. He slid his fingers across the screen, opening up the unread message from the friend he was waiting for.

Olive is always late. Be there soon.

Brock frowned at the text from his friend and set his phone back down on the table. It wasn’t like Petey to be late to anything, in fact for someone who was as young as him, he was incredibly serious about anything he committed his time to. Petey was the type of person to show up ten minutes early and feel like he’s late, having one time nearly chewed Brock out for taking a wrong turn on the highway causing their tardiness at some inconsequential event that he couldn’t even remember the details of at this point. He very vaguely remembered the name Olive, Petey having mentioned something about his new friend he had made over the summer from staying in Vancouver.

It took a few minutes of Brock tapping his fingers on the dark wood table, contemplating something trivial about his surroundings and the people coming into the bar before he saw Petey’s familiar blonde head of hair walking through the wood door. He looked at his friend and noted that he was slightly tanner than his usual ghostly shade, must have been from the endless amounts of time on the golf course with Chris Tanev, the teams’ unofficial dad for the younger guys. Brock slowly got out of the booth, ready to hug his friend when he saw the girl hanging from Petey’s arm, his breath catching in his throat and his mind blanking on how to properly function aside from standing there looking like a person who has just been read something in a language that they don’t even speak.

Time felt fleeting as he watched her laugh at something Petey said, and for a moment he internally groaned with what most people would recognize as jealousy because he wanted to be the arm she was hanging from. Brock knew his friend hadn’t been interested in meeting anyone, and for a moment he almost wished he was because then he wouldn’t be physically so impacted by the presence of this girl he had no idea about other than her name being Olive and that she was always late and absolutely gorgeous.

Olive gripped Elias’s arm tighter as they crossed the threshold of the bar they were meeting someone at. She looked around and noted that everything seemed to be made of wood, the decor resembling some cheesy rendition of what people assumed things looked like in the Tudor times in England. Not that she was complaining, because any bar that had a Tudor theme was a bar that she could get along well with, plus Elias had said there was a great selection of IPA’s and a new person for her to meet, so she couldn’t be happier with how she was spending her Friday night.

Olive was the type of person who most would assume spent her time with her head in her books, romanticizing the world around her. She permanently had her dark hair thrown into some tangled mess on her head, glasses usually residing on the bridge of her nose, and some variation of dark wash ripped jeans and a big knit sweater on. She was simple from a physical standpoint, most often never throwing on more than mascara and her favorite brick red lipstick for a night out. Yet from a philosophical standpoint, Olive was anything but simple. Her brain often worked in overdrive, causing her to need to write lists to herself about everything she needed to do, or thoughts that occurred to her throughout the day. She always kept a notebook in her bag, the same one, a dark navy blue and leather bound notebook with a dot grid on the pages inside, where lists and notes would be unkept and out of order to anyone that would look through its well used pages. It was almost impressive how often she was late, but she was always forgiven for it because she welcomed anyone she met with open arms and a deceitfully open heart.

Olive spotted who she assumed to be Elias’s friend, Brock, slowly getting up from a dark wooden booth tucked away from the rest of the patrons. Her first thought was that he looked exactly what she imagined someone named Brock to look like, bright blonde hair underneath a backwards snapback, skin golden and a light stubble grazing his face. Something about his presence threw her off though, and she found herself calm as they walked up to him, laughing softly at Petey who cracked a joke about him wearing Birkenstocks to a bar.

She walked right up to him with a wide smile on her face, sticking her hand out to shake his as Petey introduced them, with no indication that she realized Brock felt his heart lurch toward something that he had never felt the need to gravitate towards before. Olive stood there for a moment, time frozen as Brock slowly took her hand in his for the first time, knowing somewhere in his soul that he needed to know everything there was to know about the girl named after what was not quite a fruit and not quite a vegetable, that he normally didn’t even like in the first place.

“Oh? IPA guy, huh?” Were the first words that slipped from her crimson red lips, a smirk evident on them. He looked down to the beer in his hand and internally panicked about a response to such a trivial question. Would this girl who he found himself fascinated by ruthlessly judge him for what she might think of as terrible taste in the third most common drink in the world?

“Oh, yeah, uhm, they’re great.” Brock lied, bringing the far too hoppy tasting beer to his lips, forcing down a convincing enough sip to hope that she wouldn’t catch on to his distaste for the beverage. He didn’t quite understand why Olive approving of his beer choice was something that he felt the need to have, but if she loved IPA’s, he was going to have to get used to the taste.

Brock was always welcoming to new people, and as he sat there in a booth listening to Olive tell him and Petey about her classes and latest book she was reading, he was patting himself on the back for saying yes to Petey inviting her. Olive was captivating as she animantly spoke about the things that were passions of hers. She talked loudly, and her hands were as equal parts of the conversation as her voice was and Brock was completely and undeniably hooked from the get go.

Olive bounced up from the table, leaning her body over it so that she could speak to both of them and be heard. The crowd had picked up as the night went on, and now there were quite a few groups of people loudly chatting around them, music also adding to the noise. Brock looked at Olive as she smiled at him, his eyes trailing slightly down her body as she spoke.

“Another round, boys?” She teased, turning her body quickly to walk off.

Brock’s eyes involuntarily followed Olive after she excused herself to go grab another round for the table and he was so focussed on her retreating figure that it took Petey four times of saying his name before Brock snapped out of it.

“Oh? What?” Brock said, attempting to save whatever sense of pride he had left, but this was Petey that he was with, and Petey was nothing short of the reigning king of the ability to observe anyone who was around him. He recognized the look in Brock’s eyes, it was how a lot of people looked at Olive when they saw her, and while Petey knew that Brock’s intentions were nothing short of good, he also knew Olive and how she was when it came to relationships.

“It’s not a good idea, Boes,” he nodded toward the bar, his eyes glancing over to Olive for a moment before returning to Brock. Brock sighed, hating that Petey not only knew him so well, but that he was in the situation to be so infatuated with this girl he hardly knew. Brock just shrugged, looking down at the patterns in the wood on the table while he hoped that his friend would just drop the subject.

“She’s not like you,” Petey continued, and Brock’s head slowly lifted up to question what his friend was trying to say to him.

“She is great, and I care about her a lot, but she isn’t capable of what you want.” Petey shrugged.

“What do you mean?” Brock frowned. Petey narrowed his eyes, contemplating the nicest way to say the next words that would come from his lips before Olive came back to the table.

“She doesn’t know how to give someone her heart, she won’t mean to do it, but she’ll hurt you.”

Brock didn’t have time to respond, instead he sat there and soaked in Petey’s seemingly harsh words and he questioned if he had misjudged the girl who was now bouncing eagerly back to the table, effortlessly balancing three drinks in her hands. She set them down carefully on the table and nodded as she sat down in the booth, this time settling in right next to Brock. The three of them took sips of the new drinks as conversation continued, but all Brock could find himself focusing on was the sound of her voice and clove-like smell of her perfume as her body shifted closer to him. Those three drinks that they were consuming soon became three more, and then three more after that and so on until somehow Brock and Olive had ended up alone together with his hand on her thigh and her head resting in her hand as she looked up at him with lust in her eyes on the same side of the booth where Elias had left them after some girl had swept him away.

Petey’s words didn’t matter all that much to Brock as he sat close to Olive and tried to get to know her as much as you could get to know anyone in this type of setting. He could tell that she was smart, and focussed on her studies, something that she was proud of that was another bullet to the list of things he found attractive about her. Her lipstick was slightly smudged as she laughed at a story Brock was telling, distracting him as he thought about leaning in closer and smudging it even more. Each laugh that came from her lips had Brock thinking to himself that the IPA that was so bitter before maybe wasn’t so bad after all.

“Okay drunkie Ollie, time to get you water.” Brock teased, handing her a bottle of water that he had gotten from the bar. Olive just blinked at him, reaching out to grab the cold bottle from his hands.

“Ollie?” She asked, tilting her head a bit at the nickname.

“S’cute, like you.” He shrugged, a small smile on his lips as he watched her take in the words. Brock had been infatuated with Olive all night, to the point where he almost felt slightly annoyed at Petey for never introducing them. The pull between him and her was apparent, so much so that he found himself stealing glances with her all night, hoping that with each one he would see her beautiful crimson red smile that he had been growing so attached to in a matter of hours.

“You’re cute.” Olive said, reaching a hand up to his face, softly tapping her finger on his nose before cheekily pulling his cap off his head, tossing it onto her own. Brock ruffled a hand through his own hair, an attempt to make it less apparent that he had been wearing a hat for the last few hours, but finding no desire within himself to take the accessory back from Olive. Olive took a sip of her water, confidence pouring through her next moves as she rested her hand on his arm, fingers dancing slightly as she leaned into his ear.

“I mean it, Boes.” She spoke lowly, breath fanning across his neck, so close that her lips almost touched his skin before pulling back, offering nothing but a sly smile as she walked over toward the bar to close her tab for the night as if she hadn’t just pulled his breath from his throat with four simple words. Brock caught her eye once more from across the bar, the flimsy strings that were pulling him toward her were strengthening, and he was finding himself grasping onto what were slowly becoming thick strands of rope between them, hoping that if he just shortened them enough, she could be his.

Olive frowned when the bartender told her the tab had already been closed and pointed toward Brock when she asked who did it. She muttered a soft thank you and set some cash down on the bar for an extra tip before walking back to the boy in question, mentally flipping between whether or not she should argue with him about this or let it go because the gesture was nice and she could only assume he wasn’t hard pressed for money to pay a $70 bar tab.

Brock smiled when she walked up to him and threw an arm quickly around her shoulder, mentioning that he had gotten a cab to take her home. She laughed a bit, making some joke about how he must not know what an Uber was being from rural Minnesota, something that he feigned offense to but laughed along with anyway. When the car pulled up, he opened the door for her and let her use his hand as balance while she stepped in. Part of her wanted to invite him in, to take him home with her and satisfy the new feeling from him that she found herself craving. But the last bit of responsibility in her left the words on the tip of her tongue, knowing that it could potentially put Elias in a weird spot if she were to ask him. So instead, she got into the cab alone, settling into her seat as Brock leaned down.

Olive smiled as Brock leaned against the open door of the taxi, a smirk on his lips and pink from the alcohol they’d both consumed flushing his cheek. She felt a little lost in thought about the boy in front of her and how old fashioned it felt being in a cab when ridesharing was so common in the city. Nonetheless, she steadied her breathing as she tried to focus on anything but Brock’s soft smile that was starting to make her feel like she wanted that smile only for herself.

Brock handed Olive his phone slowly, ignoring the look of the driver who was growing impatient for their nondescript moment to end.

“Give me your number so I can make sure you get home safe,” Brock nodded toward Olive. He held the car door nervously under his hand as he analyzed her reaction to his request, hoping that he wasn’t coming across as some sleezy guy trying to take advantage of a girl in a drunken state. He hoped she could see that he genuinely wanted to know she was safe, and that Petey would have likely appreciated that Brock stepped in to make sure his friend got back to her apartment safely.

Olive smirked, feigning confidence from her next few words as she slowly typed in her phone number, taking a risk with adding an emoji, a simple black heart next to her name. A bold choice wrapped up in such an inconsequential action. She sent herself a text, making sure to have his number as well, and only adding a secret heart of her own to the contact once the door was fully shut and the cab was pulling away from him.

The promise went forgotten as Olive tumbled into her building that night, a soft thank you escaping her lips as she paid the driver and went into the brick building. She loved this building and had lived here for almost three years in the small studio facing the water. It was old, had a charming history from being built in 1902 and stood in stark contrast to the silver and shiny modern buildings that surrounded her in the city, signs of too much money flooding into the surroundings. She liked the old elevators that looked like the ones from the movie Titanic, the creaking of the wood floors as you walked by, and the design details that made her feel like she was in the Edwardian era. Modern felt cold, and Olive was anything but cold.

She tossed her keys on the counter and walked into the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water before retreating to her bedroom. She slowly started peeling off her clothes from the night out that were starting to smell like one of those cigar smoke filled rooms that old men would go to in the early 1900’s to get away from their wives after supper, whiskey in their glasses and cards in their hands. She thought back to the evening, her mind drifting to a certain blonde that she hadn’t come there with, but who had left with dancing through her mind and she found herself wondering more about him as her eyes fluttered closed.

Olive couldn’t have been asleep for more than twenty minutes before she heard the soft buzzing on her nightstand, peeling her eyes open to the soft light coming into her room from the phone that was ringing. Brock’s name flashing tauntingly across the screen as she struggled to adjust to the light as she clicked to answer his call.

“Hi.” She groaned, head still foggy from the alcohol and now the lack of sleep.

“Hey, sorry I just wanted to make sure you made it back alright,” Brock said, his voice quiet and not confident in the words he was saying. Olive smiled even though he couldn’t see it, her stomach doing flips as she thought about how no one had ever taken this much effort to make her feel wanted from knowing her in such a short time. The word to describe him immediately floated into her mind.

“I’m here, Brock.” She responded, rubbing her eyelids softly before continuing.

“Benevolent: well meaning and kindly.” she added, sitting up slightly in her bed and biting her lip for his response.

“What?” Brock laughed softly, unsure of how to react.

“That’s your word of the day, or night I suppose. You’re benevolent, Brock.”

Brock took in what Olive had just said to him as he pulled the blanket closer to his chest and his phone nearer to his ear, hoping he had heard her right. Her not so subtle compliment causing redness to flood his cheeks noticeably even in the dark room he was in by himself. He stayed on the phone with Olive for a short while longer, continuing the conversation effortlessly as if they had been two people that knew each other for far more than just a few short hours on a Friday. When he fell asleep, her soft snores were still echoing through his phone against his ear, and he closed his eyes thinking about how he had never smiled more about a word he had just learned.

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The following weekend, Olive found herself walking down the aisles of the European grocery store with Elias that they both enjoyed so much. The Canucks were about to have a week-long home stretch which meant that at least once that week she would get to veg out with her best friend on his far too expensive couch and marinate in some of her favorite Swedish dishes that Elias liked to make.

She meandered down the aisle, looking for the familiar packaging of a particular sauce he wanted her to grab. Her hair was messily braided down her back and her denim jacket was far too warm for the temperature of the store.

“I meant to apologize for leaving you the other night. I know Brock helped you home,” Elias said. Olive jumped at the sound of his voice, bringing a hand to her chest momentarily while she turned to face her friend.

“Oh it’s alright, speaking of Brock…” she trailed off, her eyes returning to the shelf. She picked up a package of what appeared to be some sort of gravy and started to read it, her eyes scanning over the words in Swedish as if she could even understand them. Elias scowled for a moment, watching his friend tense up at the mention of Brock, a clear indication she was nervous to bring him up. Her cheeks were starting to heat up as she intently focused on the writing he knew she couldn’t read.

“No.” He shrugged, grabbing the package from her and putting it back on the shelf and replacing it with the correct one that they needed for dinner that night.

“What? Does he have a girlfriend?” Olive asked, eyes widening slightly when she turned to face Elias.

“No, but he’s too soft for you. You’ll crush him.” Olive frowned slightly at his words as she processed them. She knew she had trouble when it came to relationships, usually pulling away from the guys she was dating, finding some insignificant flaw in them before they could see all of hers, but she didn’t think she was mean, so to hear Elias imply that she was capable of hurting his friend stung.

“Elias,” she tried to reason. Elias just sighed, annoyance dripping from his voice at the next few words he spoke.

“It’s not a good match, Olive. I don’t think he can handle all of you. He’d just break and you can’t break my best friend.”

“Right,” Olive shoved past Elias, hurt written all over her face at his harsh words. Olive didn’t know how to react entirely to what he was saying, and part of her wanted to fight him on it, to argue that she wasn’t capable of hurting someone in that way. But the truth was, she probably had. Everyone is capable of unintentionally breaking someone’s heart, and Elias’s words pierced a hole in her chest. She couldn’t help but feel bad knowing that what someone who she considered as a best friend truly thought about her.

As she was waiting in the checkout stand with Elias right behind her, her phone lit up with a text from the boy she had asked about just minutes prior.

You busy tomorrow morning?

Olive glanced over at Elias, making her he couldn’t see over her shoulder to her phone. It was probably partially anger that fueled her reply to Brock, wanting to see him in spite of what Elias had said because maybe she could prove him wrong. But if she were to listen to the flutter in her stomach while reading that text she would have realized that her fingers moved across the keyboard at the command of her heart, which was already nestled lightly in Brock’s awaiting hands, even if neither of them were conscious of it.

For you? Always free 😚

She tucked her phone back into her bag and shook her head slightly, a small blush forming on her cheeks as she thought about him. She did her best to keep it at bay the rest of the night with Elias, not bringing him up again and certainly not telling him that she had planned to see Brock the next morning.

The following day, Olive stood outside of Brock’s building nervously as she waited for him to come downstairs to get her. It was just after 9 in the morning and the chilly air had finally set into the city. She was wearing dark booties and jeans, with an oversized cream sweater tucked slightly into the front of them. Her hair was haphazardly thrown into a messy low bun, with strands framing her face. She felt that she looked casual yet cute enough that it looked like she put in effort. This was her first time seeing Brock since the night they met at the bar and while they had begun a regular stream of texting conversations in the short few weeks since then, she was incredibly nervous to actually spend time with him alone. There was an underlay of flirtation in their messages, and part of her felt guilty for being outside of his condo that morning after what Elias had said to her just the previous day.

Brock came out the front door, spotting Olive instantly. He almost stopped walking as he took in her appearance, his mind stagnant as he combed through every variation of the word beautiful that he knew to describe her. When she noticed him walking up, she tucked her phone into her small black bag, smiling brightly at him with those same crimson red lips he had been thinking about for weeks now.

“Hi,” She said as he wrapped an arm around her in greeting. She reacted quickly, snaking both of her arms around Brock’s torso for a moment to reciprocate the hug.

“Are you okay with walking a bit?” Brock asked. Olive nodded and gestured in front of her, implying that he should lead the way. Brock adjusted the dark beanie on top of his head as they started down the street, Olive walking close enough to him that their arms would gently brush every few steps as the two of them settled into easy conversation for the short walk to where Brock was taking her.

Olive started noticing more people as they got farther away from Brock’s condo, some with strollers and their kids, others walking their dogs with coffee in their hands. Most of them were carrying reusable bags with fresh produce sticking out. By the third block she realized where they were headed, forgetting that the farmer’s market was in full swing for Fall. She smiled a bit to herself, wondering if Brock was the type to come here alone or if he had just assumed correctly that it was the type of Sunday morning activity that she would enjoy.

“I didn't peg you as a market kind of guy,” Olive laughed softly as they walked into the market. She stopped for a moment to look at one of the stands they were passing by, her eyes settling on the fresh bouquets of flowers that were arranged beautifully on the tables. The woman behind the stand said a friendly hello to her while telling her about the local nursery they owned, Olive nodding softly as the woman spoke.

Brock’s eyes watched as hers drifted toward one specific arrangement. He picked it up as Olive chatted with the woman, a man walking over to him from behind the table who Brock could only assume was her husband based on the matching rings on their fingers. He looked over one last time at Olive, making sure that she was still engrossed in conversation as he paid for the bouquet of flowers for her, hoping that it wasn’t going to be crossing any sort of boundary between them. He thought back to what Petey had said to him the night they met as he rationalized that the flowers were simply a reason to hopefully make her smile.

Olive turned as she finished up the conversation with the woman, stopping as she saw what Brock was holding out for her. She tentatively reached out, grabbing the bouquet of flowers in her hands and blushing slightly. She looked down at the arrangement of sunflowers and wildflowers in her hands, heart beating faster as she thought of something witty to say in the moment to save face from her now red cheeks.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to woo me, Brock Boeser,” She smirked, raising the flowers slightly toward him, a friendly banter in her voice.

“That depends, Ollie, is it working?” he countered. Olive blushed in response, rolling her eyes slightly to try and keep the rhythm of her heart in check. She was standing on the shore dipping her toes into the water with Brock, all evidence pointing to the need of treading softly, but Olive Burke was never good at wading water, she needed to dive head first and swim.

She didn’t answer him as the two of them continued to walk through the market, stopping occasionally to look at things, conversation picking back up between them like they didn’t just share what felt like to Olive as a moment of something more than could be described as just friendly.

“So I have a confession to make,” Brock started as they walked up to the specific destination he had brought her here for in the first place.

“And what might that be?” She smiled, placing one hand on her hip as the other held the flowers from earlier in the morning.

“I really only come here for this specific tent,” he smiled, nodding up to the small coffee stand.

“God, of course,” Olive laughed as they neared the front of the line, her stomach doing backflips at how charming he was without even trying. Of course Brock would only know about a farmers market for bagels and coffee, why should she have expected anything different?

“I actually found it my rookie year, back home there’s this small place near where I grew up. I remember being a kid and my brother, sister and I would always get bagels and hot chocolate on Sunday’s. So, when I was wandering around with Coolie after I adopted him and I found this place, it kind of felt like a comforting piece of home.” Brock recounted the memory to Olive.

“The chive one is my personal favorite,” he smiled, his words lightening the tone of the conversation. He watched as Olive carefully scanned the menu, her dark eyes reading over each word from behind the glasses he liked her in so much. He felt a bit silly being so enamored by her essentially just standing there looking at a menu, and before he realized the potential consequences of his actions, he slipped his phone from his pocket and took a photo of her hands and the flowers, posting it to his Instagram story with a simple blue heart emoji.

Brock was surprised at how comfortable he felt around Olive in terms of conversation. In just the short time that they had been here, he found himself sharing small details of his life that usually he wouldn’t have with girls who he hadn’t known very long. But with Olive something felt right. He wasn’t sure if it was because there was that knowledge in the back of his mind that Petey wouldn’t have been such good friends with someone who wasn’t a genuine person, or if it was his heart that was clouding his judgement as he shared almost intimate details of his life with her while they settled down onto a bench with their food. Brock wasn’t sure what all of this was, or if it could become anything despite Petey’s warnings, all he knew was that Olive Burke was fascinating, and he wanted to tumble into knowing all of her.

They both walked slowly toward her car, nerves bubbling in Olive’s stomach as she wondered what all of this meant. She knew she was already stepping in too deep with Brock, knowingly going against Elias’s request when it came to his friend’s heart. But part of her didn’t care, Brock was calm, soothing, and in one short morning that felt like a better first date than she had ever been on, she wanted more.

She stood nervously in front of her car, focussing her eyes and hands on the flowers that he had given her. She wasn’t sure where this would all lead, and for the first time she found herself hesitant about saying goodbye to him, her mind racing with questions about her next move.

“Did you have a good time? Or am I as boring as Petey likely told you I am?” Brock asked, his eyes focusing on her. She looked up at him, his soft smile sending the butterflies that had been running rampant in her stomach into a flurry once again.

“You’re not boring, Brock. You’re,” she paused, thinking of the word she wanted to say carefully. She smiled at him, matching his expression as she spoke, “amiable: having or displaying a friendly and pleasant manner.”

Brock breathed a sigh of relief, her word for the day causing his nerves to sky rocket. Olive was on and off paper entirely too good for him, but the slight indication of affection she was showing in a simple word of the day toward him had him reaching out to give her a hug goodbye. Olive reacted quickly, wrapping her arms around him, carefully trying not to squish the flowers. They pulled apart and stuttered out slightly awkward goodbyes as Olive got in her car and watched Brock walk away, her heart thumping loudly in her chest.

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Brock tapped his fingers lightly on the steering wheel as he drove to practice a few mornings later, a subtle smile on his lips as the quiet sounds of his playlist echoed in his car. His almost date with Olive was still fresh in his mind. The two of them had spent almost the entire afternoon together, with albeit a somewhat awkward goodbye that was still circling in his mind. It wasn’t too bad though, as his days and nights had been filled with conversation from her, simple texts and late night phone calls as their connection started to grow.

Brock felt quite literally on cloud nine as he skated out onto the ice, not thinking twice before heading up to Petey to start warming up.

“Petey!” he called out, skating up to him. Elias turned his body away from Brock, ignoring his friend’s greeting and continuing to work on his shot.

“I would appreciate it if you didn’t date my friend,” Petey said, shooting a puck harshly toward Jacob and then skating away, leaving Brock slightly out of it as he wound up for his own shot, one that got blocked by Jacob almost effortlessly. He couldn’t understand why his friend was being so cold toward him, he knew that Petey had warned him about Olive not being capable of opening her heart, but Brock was more than willing to accept and take on that risk. He didn’t understand why Petey didn’t seem to consider how he was feeling either. Brock didn’t respond as he skated off toward the bench to follow his friend and confront him about the almost outburst that had just happened on the ice. When he reached the bench, Petey just turned, skating back out and away from him like he was the last person he’d want to associate with. What was really getting to Brock about the entire situation was that he knew Petey was selective about his friends, he knew that he wouldn’t have invited someone who wasn’t genuine into their inner circle, so why was he so bothered by Olive and him being attracted to each other?

“We’re not dating, petey. What are you even talking about?” Brock groaned, skating over to his friend, this time with Petey remaining in his spot for the next drill.

“You took her on a date two days ago.” Elias grumbled, not looking Brock in the eye. Brock rolled his eyes slightly at his friend, failing to see what the big deal was when it came to hanging out with Olive.

“It wasn’t a date,” he argued, “How did you even find out about it? Do you have little scouts following her around to make sure she’s not seeing me?”

Elias shot his head to face Brock, and deep scowl on his features. It was such a contrast to how Brock and Elias normally acted around each other. They were inseparable and never fought over anything serious. So as they stood there on the ice, the tension between them was obvious and their teammates were starting to pick up on it.

“Your Instagram is public and that picture was stupid.” Was all that Elias said before skating off once more, leaving Brock to remember that he did in fact post a photo to his story and maybe in hindsight it wasn’t his best post ever.

Petey was cold toward Brock for the rest of practice, constantly shuffling the puck away from him in drills, not listening when Brock tried to communicate, so much so that the rest of the team started to notice. It wasn’t normal for Elias and Brock to not get along, and it was starting to hinder the rest of the group’s dynamic.

Brock positioned himself in front of Jacob as Petey took his spot to start a tip in drill. The first few shots hit Brock’s stick so hard that he could feel the vibrations through his gloves. He was starting to get frustrated with Elias, finding his attitude and reaction to something that shouldn’t have even been a big deal a bit extreme. But if there was anything that he knew about his friend, it was that he could hold a grudge and was most certainly not afraid to show it, the only difference was Brock had never been on the receiving end of it.

Elias lined up at the blue line, slapping a wrist shot toward Brock. He watched as it hit Brock just above his knee. Brock fell to the ground, groaning loudly as he scrambled to get up, Jacob having to come up behind him to help him skate one legged back to the bench. Elias knew it was immature, but part of him didn’t feel entirely that bad for it. He of course wanted Brock to be okay, but he also wanted him to know that he was pissed, and if that realization had to come from a slapshot that Brock missed with his stick, well then that was the price he had to pay.

“You fucking did that on purpose!” Brock yelled as he passed Petey, his leg throbbing in pain as the trainer helped guide him off the ice. He was fuming at this point, Petey’s attitude starting to take its toll on his own, and the wrist shot sending pain shooting down his leg wasn’t helping to calm down the situation.

“Yeah, well that’s karma for dating my best friend behind my back.” Petey shrugged. JT watched as Brock rolled his eyes at Petey, their little squabble audible for most of the team to hear. He skated up to his linemate, patting him quickly on the shoulder.

“Listen if anyone is gonna date your best friend, Brock isn’t a bad option. You know he’d treat her well. Don’t let this come between you guys.” JT tried to reason as best he could without getting in the middle of whatever was going on. Elias nodded, the words not fully absorbing in a rational way in his mind yet. Olive and Brock were his best friends, and while the idea of them dating was something that he should have been supportive of, he just couldn’t see it ending well and didn’t want either of them to be hurt. So instead of supporting it, he thought asking them not to would be enough to prevent it, but he didn’t know just how deep either of their hearts had already been invested into each other.

Brock didn’t come back out for the rest of practice. Instead he sat in Petey’s stall with his leg elevated as he waited for the rest of the team to finish. He had an ice pack securely resting on his thigh as he ran through various versions of what he wanted to say to Petey when he came back.

Elias walked into the dressing room, his eyes narrowing when he saw Brock sitting in his stall. He maneuvered around his friend, passive aggressively ignoring Brock each time he said his name.

“What’s your fucking deal, Petey?” Brock asked as he sat, unmoving as Petey tried to work around him to hang his gear up in his stall. Elias shook his head as he sat down next to him and started untying his skates while Brock waited for a response.

“You took her on a date,” Elias mumbled, annoyance clear in his tone. Brock rolled his eyes, wondering how he had even found out about his Sunday with Olive in the first place.

“Oh my god, Petey. It wasn’t a date. We just hung out together. We literally walked around,” Brock tried to reason with his friend. He didn’t think it was fair that he had to justify spending time with Olive to Petey. If Petey didn’t want them getting along, why did he bring her to dive bar night in the first place? He knew they didn’t have any attraction to each other, Olive was most definitely not a bad person from what he had learned about her so far, so he couldn’t figure out why Elias was so stubborn about it all. Elias didn’t say anything in response as he packed his bag to leave, Brock growing more and more frustrated with his friend.

“Well am I allowed to be her friend or is that too much for you to process?” Brock scowled, pulling his blue practice jersey over his head as he started getting himself ready to leave.

“You can be friends, I just think if you date and break up it would mess with the group,” Petey shrugged curtley. Brock could tell that his friend didn’t want to broach the topic anymore, but he also realized that this seemed important to him, and he the last thing he wanted to do was put a girl above one of his best friends. Brock nodded at his friend and finished taking off his gear. When he was fully changed he pulled out his phone, noticing a text from Olive that had him second guessing his decision from just moments prior.

Cognisant: having or showing knowledge or understanding or realization or perception.

Reminds me of Elias.

Brock sighed at his phone and locked it, putting it back in his pocket along with Olive’s message. He was frustrated, partially at Elias for being so damn stubborn, but mostly he was frustrated with himself for not wanting to shake Olive from his thoughts. He wasn’t sure what would make him feel better at this point, but running head first into the boards was slowly starting to sound like an appropriate response to the copious amounts of thoughts and scenarios currently skating through his mind, each one a different outcome that disappointed a different person, usually himself.

It was only a few hours after Brock was nearly reprimanded by Petey for showing interest in his friend that Olive was frantically pacing around her living room, pulling her sweater sleeves over her hands as she heard the seemingly endless ring of her phone. She was starting to feel her hands shake each time she heard someone’s voicemail. After a few failed attempts at contacting almost everyone she knew who could provide her any sense of comfort, she opened her contacts and scrolled to the only B name in her phone, not hesitating to press the call button.

Brock answered after one ring which was something that could not be said about the other people in her life currently. Olive breathed a sigh of relief, feeling her eyes well up with fresh tears when she heard his voice in her ear.

“Hey, sorry I haven't messaged you back, I was at practice and got caught up. Are you calling to tell me another fancy word?” Brock joked over the phone, smiling softly to himself as he pictured Olive’s concentration face as she read and annotated her latest book, something that he had seen a handful of times since meeting her the previous month. Olive always brought her books with her, scattering them around any table that was in front of her. He knew most of her words for him had struck while she was mid-reading and he found himself infatuated with each one that she sent along to him.

“I’m sorry I called, I just… my mom wasn’t answering, neither was Elias, and I-,” she cried into the phone, shaking her head slightly in regret for bothering Brock. He was clearly having a good day, based on the tenor of his voice.

“Olive, you can call me anytime you need, please don’t apologize,” Brock said, his voice steady in Olive’s ear and offering her a sense of reassurance that she wasn’t a bother to him, something she so desperately needed to hear in that moment.

“My dissertation got rejected, and not just rejected, like, they ripped me apart,” Olive sniffled as she rubbed her temples. She wasn’t sure if Brock even knew what she was talking about, or if he would be able to console her in that moment. All she could think about were the harsh words of her advisor that afternoon telling her that she had to start her entire proposal from scratch, something that had taken her weeks to work through.

Olive was the type of person to give her everything into her program, she was passionate and opinionated and not afraid to be assertive, so when she tried to do those things in her proposal that she was extremely proud of, she thought her advisors would appreciate the effort. It turns out, they did not appreciate anyone drifting from the classic narratives offered in literature, and she was expected to produce something to get her masters degree that was likely going to be a carbon copy of thousands of other works. She was devastated and didn’t feel like she had anyone to turn to as she waited for Brock to respond.

“Are you home?” Was not the response that she had expected from the boy on the other end of the line, his voice hesitant and slow as he spoke. She nodded once, wiping her eyes with the stretched out now slightly damp sleeves of her sweater before answering him softly.

“Yeah, I just got here,” Olive whispered, fresh tears falling down her cheeks, hair even messier than it normally was from how much she had fussed with it in frustration.

“I’ll be right there, okay? Do you want to keep talking while I drive?” He asked. Olive could hear him locking his door, keys slightly clinking together in his hands.

“Can you tell me about your day, please? I just need to think about something else right now,” she responded.

Brock launched into a recount of his day, telling her everything from practice, to his walk with the dogs. He didn’t miss any minute details, except for the chunk of practice where Petey had given him a temporary but large bruise, and she found her tears slowly drying up as she laid on her couch listening to him talk. Brock’s voice was soft, calming, and when he laughed telling her about some inconsequential event that had occurred at practice, it was hard for her not to smile. She didn’t realize how calm she had become from just his voice until she heard him saying her name a few times, awakening her from her slight daydream of him.

“Olive?” Brock laughed, he was standing outside of her building, that deep red brick building that he had heard her describe so many times, the ivy that usually adorned it was just vines, leaves having already fallen off for the upcoming winter.

“Mhm?” She answered.

“Can you buzz me in?” Olive smiled at his words, getting up to tap on the button that would unlock the door for him. It was only then that she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror as she set her phone down, waiting for Brock to make the short journey upstairs to her unit. She stepped closer to the mirror, sighing softly at her red cheeks and her dark eyes were still slightly red and watery from the crying. Her sweater was wrinkled and the sleeves were slightly stretched from pulling them to wipe her eyes. The tall socks she was wearing were completely mismatched, one grey and one blue and black striped. Her hair looked more like a birds nest than it usually did, and she knew she didn’t have time to make herself look more presentable before she heard his footsteps in the hallway and three soft knocks on her door.

As soon as Olive opened the door, Brock pulled her into his arms. He slipped one hand just underneath her sweater, resting at the curve of her back to push her flush against him. His other arm wrapped around her shoulders, bringing his hand to the nape of her neck, holding her in his chest as he pressed a light kiss to her forehead, something that both calmed Olive and made her nervous at the same time. They stood there in the doorway for a moment as Olive wrapped her arms around Brock’s body, steadying herself from the waves that had been crashing into her all day, feeling safe and finally not seasick for the first time being there with him.

Brock slowly walked forward into Olive’s small apartment as he held her. He could tell by her voice earlier on the phone that she was upset, but when he saw her he knew the extent of what upset to Olive actually meant. He looked around quickly at her apartment, scanning the room and taking in how much it looked like an extension of her. He could see a small wooden table by the kitchen window, books and pens scattered on top of it, a cup of coffee that he assumed was from that morning left behind and cold. She had lots of artwork up, various prints and drawings in simple frames scattered around her walls. Next to the velvet couch, there was a small potted tree that had the faintest white lights on it. He noticed that there were more papers and books on the coffee table, Olive’s signature navy blue notebook resting on top of them, sticky notes sticking from the edges.

He reached his hands down to Olive’s hips, tapping them gently to guide her to sit on the small island that was in her kitchen. He rested his hands on her thighs, pressing soothing circles into the tops of her soft black leggings, her mismatched sock covered feet dangling from the counter. He looked at her, seeing another side of Olive that he had never been met with before. The Olive that she let him see was loud, always confident in her words and feelings, and who almost always had a smile on her face. The Olive in front of him looked tired, a broken down version of herself, and while she was still the most beautiful person he thought he had ever stood in front of, it reminded him that even the most independent, strong people sometimes fall down too.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Brock asked as he gripped Olive’s thigh a bit tighter. He was trying to show her that he was there, that in this wild, chaotic mess that was clearly storming through her mind, he was the boat that was there to keep her steady and get her back to shore safely.

Olive shook her head slightly, wrapping her arms around Brock once more. He was wearing a soft dark hoodie and smelled like cinnamon. When she looked down his legs she noticed the slippers on his feet, her heart fluttering steadily at the idea of Brock leaving so quickly to come be with her that all he threw on were his old grandpa slippers. She squeezed his sides softly, pulling back from him to look in his eyes, finding nothing but comfort in them. Brock was standing there and all she could think about was how his presence felt like a Sunday afternoon, when you’ve come home from brunch and wrap yourself in a warm, thick blanket, secure and full, emotions that she didn’t understand why she was feeling for someone who up until recently had just been Elias’s friend Brock to her.

Olive did her best to plaster on what was left of her to offer him a smile as she fixed the dark rimmed glasses on her nose and looked up at Brock as she held his waist. For a moment she found herself daydreaming again in front of him, admitting to herself that if Brock wanted to lean down and kiss her, she would be a willing participant. She could feel the heat rising to her cheeks, something that seemed to happen quite often around him, so she hopped off the counter and went toward the stove, distracting herself in a way that would hopefully rid her of the daydreams about Brock.

Brock watched Olive carefully as she wandered through the kitchen, pulling out a pan and various items from her fridge. He noticed that her eyes looked less puffy than they had when he first walked in, and her smile was subtle but slowly coming back to her face as she grabbed a bottle of wine from the shelf and two wine glasses to go with it. She gestured to the glass as she poured and he nodded in confirmation. Brock had never cared for wine, but for her he would take in the notes of the dark liquid, pretending he didn’t think about how the color resembled that of her lips.

“Assuagement: the feelings that comes when something burdensome is removed or reduced,” Olive spoke as she handed him the glass of wine, raising her own to his glass in a small toast. Brock felt a sense of relief at Olive’s latest word of the day for him, understanding what she was trying to say he had done for her without actually saying it.

Brock looked at Olive in a way that he had never looked at anyone else before, and in another world maybe he would have been able to act on it without Petey’s stupid rule giving him a guilty conscious over the thoughts he was having about pressing her body against the counter and kissing her. But he knew that even if he could, in this moment where Olive was now dancing in her kitchen, laughter filling his ears while she cooked, he would have been taking advantage. Olive had shown him part of her personality that she kept hidden from most people, sharing a vulnerable side to the pressures she faced every day, and while she was laughing with him now, all he wanted her to know was that he could see her and that he cared about her more than a stolen kiss on a Monday evening would have been. Olive deserved more than that, and even if it killed him, he would wait as long as it took to be right for them.

Olive fell asleep that night in a wine drunken haze, half curled up on her couch with Brock’s body flush behind her. His hand was running through the ends of her hair that she had finally let down in front of him, easing her of the headache that had accumulated partially from the crying but largely from the wine. She wasn’t sure what time it was when Brock nudged her softly, helping her into bed before he pressed a kiss to her forehead, whispering that he would let her know when he got back home that night and a sticky note on the table by her bed with the words “you’re amazing” written in his terrible handwriting for her to wake up to. In another scenario, she would have been brave enough to ask him to stay.

--------------

By mid-October, things had started to shift not only in the now cold and constantly cloudy Vancouver weather, but between everyone. Olive and Brock had only drifted closer, their feelings for each other tethering over the edge of too much in late night phone calls from Brock in the hotel hallway to keep from Elias hearing them, both of them knowing that things were progressing toward something more but not having quite enough courage to admit it to each other let alone the obstacle standing in their way, Elias. Olive had tried to maintain as much normalcy with Elias as she could. They still had their Tuesday night hangouts when his game schedule allowed it, and she rarely mentioned her growing friendship with Brock unless Elias brought him up. Everything was clicking into a dangerous place, with secrets developing between friends who never had them to begin with.

The season had just started, and the schedule had been packed enough that Thanksgiving had come and gone, it now being closer to Halloween. Olive was absolutely horrified when Elias told her what they normally do for Candian Thanksgiving, which was apparently ordering takeout and drinking shitty beer. Thanksgiving was Olive’s favorite holiday and it was astonishing to her that anyone would willingly choose to not celebrate with home cooked food and a $5 bottle of red wine. Although luckily this time Elias had provided the refreshments for the evening, contributing his kitchen as a workspace and six bottles of champagne that likely cost more than her rent.

But if there was one thing that Olive had insisted since meeting Elias all those months ago, it was that she was going to treat him to a Canadian Thanksgiving, even if it had to take place after the actual holiday. So, she looked at his schedule and nailed down a date and invited herself to use his gorgeous NHL player salary kitchen and made him invite the rest of the guys for an after the fact Thanksgiving. If she was going to educate Elias on the importance of mashed potatoes and roasted turkey, she was going to do it right, making sure that it was from a kitchen that had adequate counter space, for a group of people who could actually eat the amount of food she was making, and to spend some quality time with her growing group of friends.

Olive tapped her hand impatiently on Elias’s door. It was only 11, but she already was running almost an hour late so she knew Elias should have been up and ready to help her with the preparations. Elias answered the door, his hair slightly messy and his glasses covering his eyes. Olive looked him up and down quickly before folding her hands across her chest.

“You clearly need to wake yourself up, so here’s my keys, go grab the rest of the groceries while I start,” she demanded. Olive brushed past Elias while he groaned softly and put on his slides, grunting as he closed the door behind him while he went toward the garage in his building. He loved Olive, but she was too loud for his mind sometimes, and he was beginning to dread the whole Thanksgiving experience that she had been so adamant about having for everyone.

When he came back, he saw that Olive had already taken over the kitchen. There were pots and pans everywhere that he wasn’t even sure how she found, considering he didn’t even know he had them and she had taken off her jacket and had the sleeves of her Canucks sweatshirt that he didn’t even realize she had borrowed from him pushed up her arms. Elias set the bags on the counter and began unpacking them slowly while Olive continued to arrange various items on the counter. As he picked up the champagne bottles to put them in the fridge, he noticed the back of the sweatshirt, Boeser written in bold white font staring him right in the face. He froze as he looked over the name, nearly dropping the champagne when Olive turned to face him.

“Why do you look like you just saw a ghost?” She laughed, grabbing the glass bottle from his hands and putting it into the fridge herself.

“Why do you have Brock’s sweatshirt on?” Elias countered. Olive didn’t miss a beat as she came up with an excuse as to why she was wearing his sweatshirt, not wanting to tell him that he had left it at her apartment after spending the night there the week prior when they had gotten back from a particularly bad road trip and he needed a friend.

“Oh, his normal dog person had to miss a day when you guys were gone so I went over to feed them and when I was leaving it started raining and he said to just grab something. I only wore it so I’d remember to give it back tonight, I have other clothes to change into for when everyone starts showing up,” she shrugged, almost surprising herself at how easily the lie slipped out from her lips. Olive hated lying to him, she hated not being able to tell her best friend that something as simple as wearing Brock’s sweatshirt sent butterflies swarming in her stomach, that the worn fabric with his name on the back made her feel safe and secure. But she knew how Elias felt about the idea of them, and while there were obvious feelings developing on both ends, she knew that until there was truly something to share, she shouldn’t tell him the truth about why she had the sweatshirt.

Elias didn’t answer her, instead he finished laying out the various groceries until she shooed him out of the kitchen and into his own thoughts. He felt like something was off from her explanation, but he tried to shove it off as he went through the rest of his day. He took a shower and settled into the living room, popping back into the kitchen when it was nearing 5.

“Elias, if you’re not going to help me peel these, you’re free to go back into the living room,” Olive scolded Elias jokingly. She had a bowl of potatoes and carrots in front of her, washed and ready to be prepared as one of the many dishes she was making for herself, Elias, and some of the other Canucks boys that would be coming over later.

“No, I can help, it’s almost 5 and you need to shower you smell,” Elias smirked as he grabbed the peeler from Olive’s hands. She looked at the clock, noticing that there was only about an hour and a half left on the Turkey that was roasting in the oven. She looked over at Elias, who was holding the peeler backwards looking absolutely lost as he tried to figure out what to do with it. She sighed as she took it from his hands and turned it around, motioning how to correctly hold the small tool. Elias may have been smart when it came to playing hockey, but when it came to essential kitchen tasks he was certainly nowhere near being functional.

“Can you handle doing this while I shower and get ready? All you have to do is peel them and put them into boiling water and set a timer. I’ll be done by then,” Olive asked, worry in her voice. Elias nodded at her, a smirk present on his lips as he spoke,

“Yes, stinky, go shower I can do it.” He said. Olive rolled her eyes and retreated toward his bathroom, grabbing her bag that she had brought with all of her things to get ready with her.

As Olive got ready she could hear people starting to trickle into Elias’s apartment. She couldn’t help but listen in as she heard the voice she had been excited about hearing all afternoon.

“Where’s Ollie-pop?” Brock said, his voice was a bit muffled from being a wall over from where she was doing her makeup.

“Don’t call her that, it’s stupid.” She heard Elias reply followed by Brock laughing, their voices melting out of earshot as she assumed they went to the kitchen.

She looked in the mirror and pulled a few strands of hair out of her braid to let them frame her face. She fussed around a bit, swiping on her dark red lipstick slowly as her stomach filled with nerves while more voices that she recognized started filling the room. She knew why she was so nervous, and it had to do with a certain blonde boy whose laugh she kept hearing as she slowly got dressed in Elias’s room. She took a big breath, dusting her hands off on her skirt before putting on a brave face and leaving Elias’s room.

Olive panicked a little seeing all of the boys and a few of their girlfriends scattered around the room, champagne in their hands and indistinct chatter filling her ears. Brock noticed her first, he always did when she was in the room, and he got up to walk toward her. Olive froze as Brock stepped in front of her and handed her a glass of much needed champagne, a soft smile on his lips that was nearly torturous for her to look at without thinking about kissing him. She took a generous sip of the champagne, watching as his smile turned into a smirk sent in her direction. She could lie to Elias, she could maybe even put on a show for everybody else and pretend like her heart wasn’t leaping into Brock’s hands, but she couldn’t lie to herself anymore about how she truly felt, and that was what terrified her as she stood in front of him.

“I know Petey is terrible in the kitchen but wow was he that bad?” Brock teased as Olive finished the glass of champagne he handed her. He tried not to let his mind wander and focus on the red imprint her lips made on the champagne flute and what that did to him. Olive simply shrugged and traded the glass with his nearly full one, drinking down the light colored liquid from that while he let his eyes travel down her body. She was wearing a black knit sweater with the front tucked into olive green shorts, a gold belt buckle slightly visible. Her legs were covered in sheer black tights and she had no shoes on. Brock tried not to let himself think about how it all would look in a pile on his bedroom floor.

“Hey handsome, I’d love to stay and chat but if anyone wants to eat I need to force Elias out of the kitchen,” Olive said. She shook her head at herself, wondering how she let that come out and tried to ignore the fact that Quinn was staring at her as she walked past a now blushing Brock. When she was out of earshot, Quinn patted Brock on the shoulder, laughing as he spoke,

“Hey handsome, you should probably stop drooling over Olive before Petey notices.” Brock rolled his eyes and ignored his now snickering friend as he ran a hand through his hair, the compliment ringing in his ears.

Both Olive and Brock spent the rest of dinner drinking probably too much champagne than was acceptable at Thanksgiving. But neither of them cared as they downed each glass, desperately trying to escape their own mutual feelings to keep the growing tension away from the presence of their friends. Brock spent all of dinner almost putting his hand on Olive’s thigh under the table, wanting to reassure her that he was there and wasn’t going anywhere no matter what anyone thought. Olive spent all of dinner pretending not to notice Brock’s hand moving toward her every so often, or his soft eyes when he looked at her while she was speaking. If you held her down and told her to recount what anyone else had said that night, she wouldn’t be able to do it because all that was being written on the sticky notes in her head was how much she adored the boy sitting next to her and the constant reminder that they had to be kept apart.

Olive excused herself to the kitchen, using the excuse of grabbing another bottle for the table, but really she just needed a moment to herself away from Brock to catch her short breath. She didn’t have long to regain her composure before Brock walked into the kitchen. Olive tried to suppress the way her eyes looked him up and down, the alcohol clouding her judgement as she looked at his beige sweater and dark jeans that were just tight enough on him to send her into overdrive while she thought about what it would be like to peel them off of him. Brock on the other hand took a step closer to the girl he had spent the entire night thinking about, the alcohol clouding his judgement with a burst of confidence and a newfound appreciation for the thrill of potentially getting caught in a compromising position in Petey’s kitchen.

“You look absolutely fucking gorgeous tonight,” Brock smirked, resting both of his hands on either side of Olive as her back was pressed lightly against the counter. They had both had a bit too much to drink, and Brock wasn’t blind to the lingering looks they had been catching each other in from across the room all night.

Olive put one hand on his chest, her dark painted nails a contrast to his light beige sweater. He smirked down at her, noticing the blush rising to her cheeks, matching that signature red lip that he currently was dying to smudge. He reached a hand down to the waistband of her olive green shorts, the black sweater she was wearing tucked in lightly in the front, and sheer tights covering the rest of her legs driving him wild.

“I like these, especially,” He smirked at her, the champagne providing him the confidence to give such compliments in Petey’s kitchen with everyone just a few feet away, laughter muffled through the walls. He always thought Olive was gorgeous, but something about seeing her so happy amongst all of their friends had his mind reeling all night, and the alcohol was doing nothing to calm his feelings about her down.

“Oh yeah?” Olive smiled as she wrapped a hand around the base of his neck, tugging lightly on the ends of his blonde hair and watching as his eyes turned a darker shade as he looked at her. Brock was warm, the kitchen was warm, and her heart felt warm as they shared this not so innocent moment that seemed like it was long overdue, despite having known each other just a few weeks. Olive felt a comfort with Brock that she didn’t quite understand yet. She wasn’t able to confront her feelings in a meaningful way, instead she settled for finding any and all words that reminded her of him, scribbling them down not too neatly to save for him on pale pink post-it notes stuck amongst various pages of her navy blue notebook, never far from her person or heart. Just as quickly as his warmth was enveloping her, it went away as Brock pulled back and ran a hand nervously though his hair, a slight cough coming from his chest as she looked past him and was met with the curious eye of Elias who had walked in holding two empty bottles of the very wine that had gotten them into this mess.

“Brock I think Quinn needs you,” Elias grumbled, setting the champagne bottles in his recycling bin with a crash that was so loud it was almost impossible for Olive or Brock to ignore the not so subtle shift in his mood. Brock raised his brow at Olive, silently asking if she was alright before she nodded in response, waiving him off with her hand, the dainty bracelets on her wrist clanking together softly as she moved.

Elias watched closely as Brock left the kitchen and was out of earshot and he turned his body to face his friend. He slowly moved over to the sink, rinsing off a couple of the plates that had occupied the stainless steel space, the tension in the air between them was enough to nearly sober Olive up, her intentions with Brock quickly dissipating under Elias’s intense stare. She could almost feel the disappointment radiating off of him as she waited for him to speak.

“Stop flirting with Boes,” was all he managed, his voice curt and short in the usual Elias way but with an undertone of annoyance coming from him. Olive was a bit surprised by his words, knowing that Elias had never expressed interest in her let alone anyone for anything that could amount to something long-term, so she wasn’t sure if this was jealousy he was exhibiting or something else. She sighed softly, readjusting her sweater and brushing some of her hair that had fallen into her eyes out of them.

“I’m not,” She argued back and it wasn’t clear who she was trying to convince more, Elias or herself, because if she were to think back to the moment before Elias walked in, who’s to say that it wouldn’t have ended in a kiss that had been on her mind since Brock had walked into her life that night at the bar.

“I just think there needs to be a boundary,” Elias shrugged once more and Olive found herself growing irritable at his dismissive tone. As far as she was concerned, her and Brock were both adults and while Elias may have been the common denominator between them, he had no right to dictate what type of relationship that would develop between them.

“Boundaries?” She scoffed, walking across the kitchen to grab his arm, forcing him to look her in the eyes and say what he meant. Elias frowned at his friend, but held firm in his requests as he gently lifted her fingers from his wrist.

“It would bother me if you and Brock were together,” was all he said as he turned off the running water and went to exit the kitchen, leaving Olive standing there to relish in her own thoughts. She did her best to distance herself from Brock for the remainder of the night, trying to remain calm and collected as she hugged him quickly goodbye while Elias’s eyes hovered on the two of them from across the room. She sighed as he walked out the door, almost regretting the mess she was so willingly getting herself into.

The awkward goodbye from Thanksgiving didn’t last that long, as Olive found herself falling figuratively right back into Brock’s arms. She had been spending copious amounts of time at his condo, sometimes staying there while he was away for games and watching his dogs. She felt comfortable when it was just them, their friendship steadily progressing when they were able to be alone with each other. The problem was that they both knew it wasn’t just a friendship that had sparked between them, there was something more pulling them together and it was evident in how they spoke to each other, and how they touched each other more than anyone who could be just friends would. When they were alone she didn’t think about it being a secret, she was comfortable with Brock.

When they were with Elias, they slipped into another type of friendship, one that felt entirely wrong for how close they were. Brock hated lying to his best friend and there were so many instances where he would almost tell Petey just how much he liked Olive, but then he would remember that bruise from what was now months prior and he would freeze, letting the words hang in the air without ever getting them out. When Elias made his mind up about something, that was it, and part of Brock was beginning to accept that anything with Olive had to be just between them even if it hurt in the long run.

--------------

It was now late November and Olive was comfortably maneuvering her body around Brock’s kitchen, wearing his sweatshirt, her overnight bag sitting inconspicuously out of the room on his bed. If any outside person were to be watching, this was a comfortable couple in an established relationship, spending their night together. Sometimes for Olive it truly felt that way, and while nothing physical between them had occurred past some inarguably too intimate cuddling while they slept, she wanted it to be true. She wanted all of his nights and mornings, she wanted to kiss him and hold his hand in public, she wanted to tell Elias that she had completely fallen for his best friend and have him accept and support it. But that wasn’t the scenario, and instead she settled for the almost that she could share with Brock, investing her heart even further into something that might never actually happen.

Brock leaned his back against the counter, taking a sip of his beer and watching Olive as she started adding in various spices. Brock was by no means a chef, let alone anything close to an average cook. His expertise rested in baked chicken and steamed vegetables, and olive chastised him when she arrived with groceries and found out he didn’t have any spices to use until she dragged him to the store and made him stockpile all of the seasoning that he could only imagine how to use. There was something about olive standing in his kitchen that for the first time made his place feel like a home. He let his mind drift so far as to think about her there all the time, an image that left him nearly chugging the rest of his liquid courage and walking up behind her at the stove. He reached his hand to her waist, letting it settle there for balance as he wrapped his other arm around to pick up the spoon and take a bite of the soup she was making.

“Brock Boeser! Stop it, it’s not ready yet!” She shrieked, swatting his hand away softly. He knew she wasn’t truly upset, her laugh echoing softly after. Brock rested his chin on her shoulder as he mindlessly traced his fingertips along her waist. He felt his mind shift back into a trance of what domesticity with Olive would look like, and he had to keep focusing on the fact that it wasn’t real or he would have kissed her by now.

Olive relaxed slightly into his arms, momentarily forgetting about the circumstances and reaching her arm up to thread her fingers through his hair. She was stuck in the moment, her mind racing and completely forgetting about the reality of Brock not actually being hers to take. She almost felt like she was out of her own body watching herself as she turned her head back to face him, using her hand to softly glide him down toward her. She watched as his eyes fluttered shut and his hand gripped her waist tighter, their lips almost touching. Her lips touched the corner of his mouth and it snapped her out of the daze she was in, with her jumping away from him and catching her breath, cheeks red and heart pounding.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I didn’t-“ she struggled to find the words, raising a hand to her chest with the hopes that it would somehow calm the rapidness of her heart. All Brock did was smile, his calm demeanor never falling despite his insides scrambling at the fact that Olive practically kisses him.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he said, taking a step closer to her and kissing her forehead softly, his lips lingering there for a moment longer than necessary until Olive relaxed into him, slowly wrapping her arms around his waist and putting her head in his chest. She was trying not to let herself get carried away by the intimacy of the moment or his heartbeat pounding nearly as fast as hers in his chest.

“Uhm, right,” She frowned, heart still racing as she backed away from him and focussed her attention back on the soup. She could feel her cheeks becoming hotter as she felt embarrassment flood through her body at what just happened. She wasn’t sure what was more embarrassing, almost kissing Brock and missing, or having to hear him brush it off like it wasn’t a big deal. For the most part, Olive always felt that Brock and her were on the same page, the sticky note with the words for him sitting comfortably next to her own. She thought back to Thanksgiving and how she was so sure he was going to kiss her until Elias walked in and he didn’t, the same feeling of disappointment that filled her then was creeping up once again.

Brock didn’t miss a beat as he kissed her cheek once more, his hand settling back onto her hip as if it perfectly fit there. He shifted into conversation, effortlessly pulling Olive back out from her own head in the most reassuring of ways. She focussed on the soup in front of her on the stove instead of the moment that they almost shared because if she thought about it too hard, she might do something really stupid and kiss him again, this time not missing the target.

By mid December, Brock had spent most of his rare days off preparing for the holidays. His family was coming out to Vancouver this time around because with the Canucks schedule this year, it would give them the ability to spend more than a few days together. Brock normally loved going home for Christmas, he loved spending time back at home, finding comfort in the harsh Minnesota winters that most people from there dreaded. But he didn’t mind the change this year, because it meant more time with his family and he had planned a surprise for his dad to come to see one of his games just after Christmas. So, to prepare for the momentous holiday that was Christmas with the Boeser’s, he tried his best to emulate the tree and decorations from home, filling his call log with facetime calls to both his mom and brother trying his best to get it absolutely right.

After about an hour of trying to untangle the Christmas lights that were tossed carelessly in a storage bin he didn’t realize he even had, he felt his frustration growing. He just wanted everything to go smoothly for everyone, but reality slapped him in the face with the realization that while he may have appeared to be an adult, he absolutely would not know how to host anything let alone Christmas if he couldn’t even untangle lights. He was supposed to see Olive later that night, wanting to take her to dinner in celebration of her new dissertation proposal being approved, but now he was questioning whether or not he would even have the time to. Just as he was picking up his phone, the girl in question was calling, a photo of her sleeping with Coolie on her lap lighting up his screen and making him smile softly.

“Hey Ollie,” Brock sighed into the phone as he stood up.

“Okay, what’s wrong,” Olive laughed, not meaning to make fun of Brock but noticing immediately the melancholiness that he was hiding in his voice.

“If I tell you, you can’t laugh at me,” Brock joked, switching the call to FaceTime so that he could see her. Olive smiled at him through the screen, her messy bun sitting almost perfectly on top of her head and her glasses pushed up on her forehead. He couldn’t help but notice that she was wearing his old sweatshirt, the one that she had brought to Thanksgiving but never actually gave back. Seeing her in his clothes was almost like he had a piece of her, something that he knew he wanted. Olive rolled her eyes slightly, a teasing smile on her red lips as she urged him to continue. All Brock did was show her the mess he had made on the floor. When he flipped the camera back to him he could see that she was walking, and he heard keys jingling in her hands as she moved around her apartment.

“Senseless: Lacking common sense,” she teased as she struggled to lock her door one handed, adding, “I’ll tell you what, I will forgive you for obviously not being able to take me out to a fancy restaurant in Yaletown tonight to celebrate my dissertation if, and only if there is Greek food on the way to your place by the time I get there and you get those horrendous lights somewhere that I will not ever see them.”

“Deal, babe,” Brock laughed, already moving to throw the tangled lights back into the bin that they came from.

When Olive showed up at his apartment 30 minutes later complaining about the traffic, he already had Greek food as promised from her favorite place sitting on the counter waiting for her. She walked in, wearing his old sweatshirt and a pair of grey leggings, hair up as always and even in her relaxed state he thought she was the most breathtaking thing he had ever seen.

“God, what did I ever do to deserve you, Brock Boeser?” Olive moaned as she pulled herself from his arms and started opening the bag, the delightful smells filling the air around them as she handed him a container.

“Careful, you might regret that statement when you start helping me decorate,” He said as he took the container from her hands, letting his fingers brush hers gently.

“I get you, Christmas decorations, and Greek food, nothing could ever be better than that, Brockadoodle,” She smiled and Brock nearly melted into a puddle on the floor, the stupid nickname toasting his heart each time she said it. Olive was so different from him in so many ways, she was smarter, louder, and more sure of herself than he ever was or had been. But his favorite thing was that he no longer could count on one hand the things he was starting to love about her, he found himself studying the small mannerisms that you don’t notice about a person until you’re falling in love, and while there was still a metaphorical fence separating the two of them, he was already building an arsenal of tools to start tearing it down.

The two of them decorated for hours, laughter and distractions coming between them as the sun went down and the city lights illuminated through the room from the floor to ceiling windows in his living room. Olive let out a satisfied sigh as she flicked off the living room light, letting the white Christmas lights sparkle around the room. The moment felt almost too domestic, especially when Brock came up behind her and wrapped his arms around the middle of her, pressing a soft kiss onto her shoulder and muttering a soft thank you to her. She placed her hands over his and patted them lightly, her smile growing along with the butterflies that he always seemed to put into her stomach.

“They’re going to love it,” she whispered, her heart heavy with the realization that this wasn’t for her, this wasn’t a Christmas that they were spending together, because they weren’t together. Olive slipped from his arms and went over to the couch, settling in next to Milo who was currently sleeping. She shook any heaviness from her heart as she patted the spot next to her and Brock walked over.

“Are you staying tonight?” He asked, hopeful that the answer was yes.

“Mhm,” Olive nodded, pulling the blanket over both of their laps and settling back into his arms while he turned on the TV. She snuggled closer to him, resting her hand on his thigh underneath the blanket as she curled her legs behind her and let her eyes close.

“Enrapture: give intense joy to,” She smiled into his side as she gave him another word for how he made her feel. The words written in her notes slowly become variations and synonyms for the same concept, her falling in love with Brock. It was the only way she knew how to express it to him, giving him subtle hints of it as she drifted asleep, knowing that with the three squeezes he gave to her hand that he felt the same.

--------------

A few days later, Brock found himself bickering with Petey as he tried to get the last bit of his Christmas shopping done before the team went on a road trip, coming back just the day before Brock’s whole family came into town.

Brock opened the door to the old bookshop and held it as Petey walked in, the scent of old books lingering in the air. He had been hunting for a first edition copy of Jane Eyre, Olive’s favorite book for weeks. He had sent countless emails to various shops around Vancouver and Victoria, and made several phone calls inquiring about the book before he found this shop, a quaint small family run bookstore on Vancouver Island. When he got the email from the owner saying that they had one copy he was already out with Petey, having no choice but to bring him along or risk the one present that had been the most important for him to find being gone by the time he could come back. So, he asked the shop owner to hold the book, and dragged Petey to the ferry to get to the Island.

Petey to Brock’s surprise didn’t ask too many questions about how the plans for the afternoon had shifted, and Brock for once was thankful for that stupid Mr. Sensitive nickname that the team had dubbed him with because now he could use that as his excuse for why getting Olive, someone who was just his friend now, such a sentimental Christmas gift. Elias wandered slowly into the bookshop, looking much too modern in his beige Essentials sweatshirt and dark pants in comparison to the warm shop. The shop was something straight out of what he imagined a store like this to look like, with books scattered along old wooden shelves, and a velvet couch sitting at the center of the room, a small black cat sleeping on its cushions.

Elias walked over to the cat, reaching down to let the small animal sniff his hand and get acquainted with him before scratching it softly behind his ears.

“That’s Leo,” a sharp but friendly voice called causing both Brock and Elias to look up toward the woman who was coming out from between two shelves, a stack of dusty books cradled in her hands and glasses hanging from a cord around her neck.

“Well hello, Leo,” Petey greeted the cat, continuing to softly pet him until he heard soft purrs. Brock watched on with an unrecognizable look on his face, not because he didn’t like cats, but because he had never seen a cat in any sort of store before. Petey noticed his friend’s confusion and did not pass up on the opportunity at making a joke to him about it.

“I know you only like dogs, Boes but you don’t have to stare at poor Leo like he’s ugly,” Elias commented, Brock immediately groaning slightly in response.

Brock continued to ignore his friend, instead he paid for the book, thanking the woman profusely behind the counter. Elias watched and listened and they spoke, his mind wandering as the words sank in.

“We don’t normally have something like this in stock so when I got your email I knew we had to hold it. Must be for someone special to go through all this effort,” the woman smiled at Brock, a fondness present in her voice that he recognized. Brock smiled softly thinking about it, for a moment he forgot that Petey was within earshot and he almost let himself confess to this woman who owned a quaint little bookshop, something that Olive had always wanted to do. But then Elias came walking up, grabbing the book from his hands and he remembered that he couldn’t say how he truly felt, instead masking his feelings as best he could as he nodded.

“Just a friend,” he smiled and Elias scoffed, knowing that this gift was far too special for it to be for just a friend.

As the two of them walked out of the store, Elias didn’t say anything. He chose to live in his own world of denial, one that ignored the events that had just happened because if he were to face them he would have to face the fact that his closest friends had been lying to him and had gone behind his back in the exact way that he practically begged them not to. Instead he did what he knew how to do best, cracking a joke about Brock being too sensitive for his own good and then changing the subject as they continued with the rest of their shopping.

Days later, Olive was sitting in her kitchen, frustration growing within herself as her own procrastination had taken over. She took a sip of the now cold coffee that had been sitting on the table next to her as another far too confusing video about how to hand bind a book played on her computer screen. There were papers scattered everywhere, various notes and lists of words that reminded her of Brock and how he made her feel, some that she had read in books of her own and others that she went searching for because her own feelings became too much and she needed the simplicity of putting them into one word for him. It was late and she had to literally give him this tomorrow, cursing herself for procrastinating so badly on his gift. Brock had made her feel so many of the things that she never knew another person was capable of making her feel and even if it took all night until her fingers cramped, she was determined to bind this damn book for him.

She nearly cried as she held the finished book in her hands, the binding was terrible, and the writing on the inside was messy but she had finished it, and for it being nearly two in the morning that was enough for her. Olive was never one for crafts, her artistic abilities had stopped with horrible crayon drawings that her mother used to display on the fridge from when she was five. She was a reader, a philosopher when it came to spoken and written words, she wasn’t a crafty person by any means, but she was proud of this and hoped that Brock was receptive and not off put by the gift.

She chose to wrap it in a small bag, setting it on the counter by her keys so that she wouldn’t forget it the following morning when she left for his house. She went through her nighttime routine, a small smile on her lips as she thought about seeing Brock the next day and giving it to him as she fell asleep.

Olive was nervous as she drove the now familiar route to Brock’s condo. She knew that his family was in town and had told him that they could exchange their gifts after the New Year once things had settled down, but Brock was insistent that they needed to do it before Christmas. So, Olive found herself driving through the windy streets on a small detour on her way out of the city to her own childhood home in Kelowna. She had her favorite Christmas album playing softly from the car stereo as she rationalized and talked softly with herself that this wasn’t a big deal and she might not even meet anyone in his family.

She typed in the gate code that she had memorized over the last few months and pulled her car into the guest spot, seeing Brock’s Range Rover parked next to it. She rolled her eyes, thinking again about how impractical that car was and reminding herself that Brock wasn’t exactly normal as she stepped out of her own car. She smoothed out her tights, a dark green suede skirt falling a few inches above her knees, a cream colored oversized knit sweater keeping the top part of her warm. Her hair was in her signature messy bun on top of her head, and glasses resting on her nose.

She anxiously brushed the stray hairs from her eyes with one hand as she held onto the small wrapped bag in the other as she stepped into the elevator. She walked slowly out of the elevator and down the hall to the front door she had seen many times over the last few months as she tried to give herself an encouraging pep talk about how this wasn’t that weird of a situation and Brock would surely like the gift she had picked out for him. She bit her lip slightly as she raised her hand to knock on his door, the gold bracelets on her wrist dangling as she knocked three times. When the door opened she was met with a familiar face that she had seen in many photographs scattered through Brock’s condo.

“Dad, I got it!” She heard Brock’s voice from down the hall, his footsteps coming quickly after. Brock’s dad smiled at her warmly, stepping aside so she could come in. She looked around, noticing the tree set up in the living room with a humble amount of presents underneath it. There was a beautiful flower arrangement on his counter, something she only assumed his mom must have picked out since Brock was hopeless when it came to flowers, and the Christmas decorations that she had helped him with just days prior sprinkled throughout the kitchen and leading into the living room. She could hear various voices coming from around the corner and she felt a bit awkward and like she was invading their family time as she stood there in his kitchen, a bit out of place.

Brock rounded the corner and her eyes widened at the sight of him. He was wearing an ugly Christmas sweater, with a reindeer on the front of it, dark jeans, and bright red socks. His hair was sticking slightly out of the black beanie that he had on his head and she could tell he had freshly shaved. He looked good, even in his tacky yet endearing holiday sweater. But what caught her attention most was the little boy in his arms at his hip. She recognized him immediately as his nephew who he had told her so much about, and her heart dropped to her stomach at the sight of Brock with the toddler. Seeing it in photos was one thing, but with him standing in front of her, a bright smile on his face and his nephew in his arms, she might have collapsed right there if not for knowing his dad was just feet away watching this exchange occur.

The little boy waved excitedly at Olive, twisting himself in Brock’s arms to reach out toward her. Brock settled him down, lowering him onto his feet while holding his hands up so that he could stand.

“Easton, can you say hi to Olive?” He said to the boy, squatting down so that he was as level as he could be with him and taking Easton’s hand and directing it toward Olive. It didn’t take long for him to break from Brock’s light hold, tumbling over toward Olive before she could fully react. She panicked as Easton grabbed onto her tights, wrapping both of his small sweater covered arms around her calves and Brock chuckled softly in the background. She looked over to Brock with pleading eyes, not wanting to overstep any boundaries by picking the young boy up.

“Careful buddy, you don’t want to knock the pretty girl over,” she heard his dad say from behind her, nodding softly at Brock before exiting the room and leaving Olive alone there with Easton on her legs and Brock smiling adoringly in front of her.

“Let’s go to my room, yeah?” Brock asked, leaning down to pick up his nephew and lead her further into his condo that she knew well. He handed the toddler back to his brother, quickly introducing Olive to everyone before grabbing her hand and lacing his fingers through hers as he tugged her toward his bedroom. Her heart was pounding so loudly she was sure that his entire family probably heard it. All she could focus on was that Brock was holding her hand, he had held her hand in front of his entire family, and her mind was going in circles over the simple show of affection as they went into his room, leaving the door slightly open.

Brock dropped her hand and Olive quickly tried to recover from the slight pang of sadness that she felt from the loss of contact. Brock handed her the package, it was poorly wrapped and very obviously a book, but she already loved it anyways.

“Open yours first, Ollie.” Brock said. She carefully handed him the bag, biting her lip softly as she carefully ripped the messily wrapped rectangular shaped present. She let out a small gasp when she realized what it was, letting her hands run over the worn out pages as she took a step toward Brock.

“How did you find this?” She asked him. She had been looking for a first edition for what felt like months, having visited what felt like almost every bookstore in the city multiple times looking for it. Brock ran a hand nervously through his hair, a soft blush and smile present in his features.

“I, uh, found it at this small place on Vancouver Island, went out there last week.” He shrugged, doing his best at ignoring the fact that this much effort was not normal for friends. He swallowed nervously as Olive walked toward him and settled into his arms, her fingers sliding around his sides before one hand pressed against his jaw.

“Thank you,” she whispered as she leaned in. This was it, he was finally going to kiss Olive, a moment that was pent up and he had been waiting for since that night in the dive bar all those months ago. Olive’s lips were almost to his as his eyes fluttered closed, just barely grazing before the door flew open and Olive jumped back, coughing lightly and eyes wide open in shock. Easton had tumbled into the room, Brock’s sister in law chasing after him and picking him up. She clearly read the room as she smirked toward Brock and a now embarrassed Olive, picking up her son and closing the door behind them as she left.

“I should, uhm, get back on the road,” Olive stuttered out.

“Right, yeah,” Brock mumbled out, his lips burning from the almost contact as Olive rushed out of his place, waving goodbye to his family as she left. Brock closed the front door behind her, turning to be faced with every member of his family looking at him in a way that made him want to go back into his room and scream into a pillow. He already had to deal with his own feelings, Olive’s feelings, and Petey’s ridiculous demands, the last thing he wanted to tack onto the list was explaining to his family that she was more than a friend but not his girlfriend yet.

“I liked your girlfriend, Brock,” His dad smiled and Brock nearly collapsed right there. Of course his dad liked her, another nail in the coffin that contained his desire for Olive to actually be his girlfriend.

“She’s not my girlfriend, dad.” Brock shrugged, trying to move on from the subject for the rest of the day as they continued to celebrate the holiday.

--------------

Brock could hear the countdown beginning, each one of his friends echoing the numbers down to the New Year, but it all felt like static in the background as he watched Olive. The lights on the roof were dimmed, presumably for the fireworks that were likely going to be set off when time turned to midnight. He looked at Olive and to him she was the brightest thing of the year even if it hadn’t started yet. He stood off to the side with his now empty drink in his hand watching her as she popped open a bottle of some expensive European champagne that Jacob had sworn by as being the best.

Her gold dress lit up in contrast to her crimson red lips, her long dark hair curled and falling down her back, something that was rare for Olive. Brock’s maroon bomber jacket was hanging from her body, something he had given her just hours before as it started to get dark. But what really was getting to Brock was seeing her laugh as she popped the cork, champagne bubbling out of the bottle and all over the front of her dress. He could hear the countdown hit one as everyone cheered for the new year and he watched as Olive looked around the rooftop, a gorgeous smile on her red lips as she made eye contact with him. She raised the bottle to her lips, taking a long drink before setting it down on the table and walking toward him. With each step she took, her smile grew, and Brock knew right then and there that he loved Olive Burke, champagne stained dress and all.

Olive came tumbling into Brock, tripping slightly and landing right in his arms, laughing loudly as Brock realized just how much she had to drink that night. He grabbed her waist to steady her as she looked at him, her expression inquisitive and different than he had ever seen her look at him before. Olive and Brock had been dancing around each other since they met, both of them steadily falling into each other with no true intentions of stopping. There was a roadblock though, and as Brock looked at the girl he somehow fell in love with all he could hear in his head was Petey’s disapproval, a steady echo in his mind stopping him from pulling her closer every time.

Olive reached her hand up to his hair, running her fingers through it softly as her other hand rested on his chest, sending Brock’s head into a tailspin of worry that she was going to start leaning in. As much as he wanted this and her, he didn’t want it under these circumstances, with Olive having significantly more to drink than he had. It may have hurt to not be able to kiss Olive for New Years, but it would hurt worse for him to know that he had even marginally taken advantage of a situation that she was too drunk to have coherent thoughts over.

“You’re so pretty, Brockadoodle.” Olive laughed, leaning her head slightly into his chest, the warmth radiating from his body as they stood on the roof. Fireworks were going off in the distance, lighting up the sky above the water although neither of them were looking.

“You’re pretty drunk, Ollie.” He smiled at her, watching as her face pulled into a sour look at his lack of acceptance of her compliments. She pouted slightly, leaning her head into his chest and shivering a bit, all of the noise passing by around her as she leaned into Brock. The noise and commotion didn’t matter, all that mattered was him and she knew that this year she was going to be brave. She was going to tell him that she loved him, even if it didn’t end in them together.

“Will you take me home?” She asked, yawning slightly. Brock steadied her in his arms, setting his glass down and wrapping her hand in his, pressing a soft kiss to the back of it as she smiled drunkenly at him.

“Yeah, Olive, I’ll get you home safe,” he nodded as they left the party together, Elias looking on in the distance but too drunk to fully comprehend what was happening right in front of him. Instead the denial crept back into his head as he watched his friends leave hand in hand on a night where the saying about who you spend the new year with is who you’ll be with that year would ultimately ring true.

Brock pulled the covers over Olive as she slowly closed her eyes, the drunkenness taking over her body as the room slightly spun around her. Her heart was heavy, the excitement of the night wearing off and the sadness of knowing that she was spending New Years essentially alone kicking in stronger than it would have if she was sober. Brock started to get up, thinking she was already asleep when he was startled by her grabbing his arm slightly.

“Why didn’t you kiss me at midnight?” She whispered, her eyes nearly watering as she sat up in bed to look at him. Olive was never one to shy away from her feelings, when she liked someone, she told them. But Brock was different, he was sweet, and kind, and everything she didn’t know she wanted wrapped up into one person who had steadily become a constant in her mess of a life. She had only known him for such a short time, all things considered, but now she couldn’t picture her life without him. Elias’s words constantly stop her from admitting her feelings for him, a sharp echo of “you’ll run him over and leave him in the dust,” stabbing her in the chest every time she comes close. So for now, she took what she could from Brock, settling on the dance that the two of them kept doing, sharing her love only in written words with the hope that someday he would decipher it.

Brock frowned, hating that he was unintentionally hurting Olive. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead, his lips lingering there for a few seconds while he held her cheek.

“Happy New Year’s, Ollie.”

--------------

When none of the group was voted in for the All-Star game that year, Olive knew they should take advantage of the week off together, suggesting that they all go out to Whistler and get a cabin, an idea that secretly she knew Brock would love because he was always down for things involving the snow. Largely everyone agreed, and so she found herself settling into a beautiful rented cabin with Brock, Elias, Quinn, and Quinn’s girlfriend on their way to the mountains.

“Really? Neither of you are willing to go?” Brock sighed, looking at Petey and Quinn pointedly. Petey shrugged his shoulders, mumbling something about not wanting to be cold and Quinn actively ignored the question and got up and left the room.

“Ollie,” Brock looked at Olive, who was sitting at the kitchen counter, a mug of tea in her hands, actively trying to ignore the conversation that had been taking place. She set her mug down, looking over at Brock. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to go, it was quite the opposite really.

Brock was standing there, eyes soft as he watched her, a dark green beanie covering his hair, a thick grey sweatshirt on his body. Olive had to shake the thoughts she had been having about him all morning. She was still recovering from seeing him sleepy when he first woke up, his breath hot on her neck while he reached around her to grab his own mug of coffee, a soft good morning coming from his tired, thick voice. His lips had ghosted softly over her neck, a moment that was ripped too soon when he seemed to wake up a bit more and remember that this wasn’t what either of them thought it was. He couldn’t just kiss her good morning like she wanted him to, so the moment passed without words, an awkward dance in the hours before Elias and Autumn retreated from their beds.

Brock wordlessly left the kitchen after that moment, taking Olive’s breath with him as he did, and she had spent the rest of the morning actively trying to avoid his presence. But with him standing near her once more, looking like the boyfriend she wanted him to be, she found herself humming in agreement on going sledding with him, heart rate rising as his smile increased after she had said yes.

Olive was borderline panicking, wondering why she had to be so infatuated with the boy looking at her. She adjusted the dark blue beanie on her head, and zipped up her parka, an added layer of protection over her heart to hopefully prevent Brock from invading into her any further. She plastered on a fake smile, an attempt at covering the nerves that were racing through her body as she kept trying to remind herself that this was no big deal, just sledding with a friend.

Brock opened the door to the SUV and gestured for Olive to get in, watching as she tried to get settled with her large puffy coat on. He was standing there debatably too long, admiring the little flakes of snow scattered in the ends of her hair that were hanging out of the beanie he lent her. He felt a strange pull of affection at the idea of her in his clothes, a picture entering his mind of seeing her in the morning, one of his sweatshirts draped over her body as he kissed her.

“Brock, are we going or are you just going to stand there holding the door,” Olive’s tone was light, and it caused his picture to fade, a slight heat rising to his face as if he was caught doing something wrong. Brock liked Olive, as so much more than a friend, and when her smirk softened into a smile, he felt as if he saw his own feelings reflecting back at him through her eyes.

“You look like a cute marshmallow.” He said, a grin on his face and affection in his eyes. Olive blushed slightly at his words that did nothing to calm the beat of her heart as she rolled her eyes at Brock, barely skipping a beat as she responded with a cheeky comment of her own.

“Thank you, I will be expecting a letter of appreciation for my impact when you make me s’mores later.”

“Anything for you, Ollie,” Brock responded, handing her his phone as he turned on the car, giving her free reign of the music that would softly play in the background as they drove on toward the small town.

Brock drove carefully down the highway, dark green trees covered in snow on either side. It reminded him a bit of the scene in Minnesota where he grew up, cold winters with endless snowfall. But the difference here was that he had Olive next to him, the girl who he had grown so fond of over the last few months, humming softly along to the song playing through the speakers, watching as the trees flew by. Winter didn’t seem so cold with her there, and for a moment he forgot about Petey asking him not to fall for her, he didn’t think about the fact that this was a short week trip in the middle of the season, all that was dancing through his mind was the girl in the passenger seat next to him and how he was going to finally have the resolve to kiss her today.

They quickly rented a sled, his contract preventing them from anything more physical than that like skiing or snowboarding, and headed off toward the bunny slopes. They struggled to get the sled underneath them, Brock insisting he could do it as he pushed them off to start going down the mountain, his arms wrapped tightly around her as she was sitting in between his legs. It was all going well until he tried to turn, sending them tumbling out of the slide and into the snow.

Olive laughed loudly as Brock fell on top of her, reacting quickly to catch himself so that he wouldn’t land on her or hurt her. Her laugh was his favorite song, something that he could set on repeat and listen to for hours, not because it was particularly beautiful, but because each time she laughed it was genuine and the happiness that radiated from her was something he never wanted to stop seeing.

It would be so easy for him to kiss her, with her hair wildy spread out in the snow, flakes of it coming down and melting on her warm cheeks, Olive looking at him like she was standing on the dock, hand reaching out and ready for him to make the jump with her. His body was flushed against hers, hovered over her in a way that felt comfortable and right, visions of what this would be like if the setting were different clouding his judgement. He stayed hovered over Olive for a moment, watching as her eyes flicked down to his lips and back up, hope flashing through his mind that if he did kiss her, she would kiss him back. All of the commotion around them seemingly evaporated as he stayed there, her hand steady on his side, his body hovering over hers, snow indented behind them from where they slid off of the path.

“Can I kiss you?” Brock whispered as he leaned even closer, his own stomach twisting with nerves as he looked down at Olive for her answer. When she slowly nodded, he felt like his chest was going to explode as he leaned in. Suddenly, time wasn’t passing leisurely anymore, it was quick as he leaned down and pressed his lips softly to hers.

Olive reacted quickly to the kiss, months of pent up glances and moments where she thought this very thing was going to happen causing her to ignore all of the reasons why it shouldn’t. She reached her hand up, pulling Brock even closer to her than he already was as she kissed him back, her heart doing flips in her chest and her body lighting up with each passing second.

Everything about the kiss felt right to Olive. She had spent so long dancing on this tightrope with Brock that it felt like one of those slow motion scenes in a bad Hallmark Christmas movie, where the characters would finally pull together and realize their feelings. But this wasn’t a movie, and there wasn’t a Christmas love story to be had for Brock and Olive in late January.

Brock pulled himself from her, offering a smile that was quite possibly the most incredible smile Olive had seen from him as he held his hand out to her to help pull her up. When she was standing and facing him, she leaned up and kissed him softly once more, savoring the feeling of her lips on his, the threads of her heart seaming together as she was able to add the first real tally to the list of almost encounters, ones that had been haunting her thoughts since that night in September when Brock had shown up, crashing completely into her with his lopsided smile, bad taste in beer, and a slightly sunburnt nose.

Olive felt indescribable as she walked through the small town, hand tightly wrapped in Brock’s. For the first time since meeting him she felt like they were where they were supposed to be. They continued walking back toward the car, having stopped in a small cafe for a hot chocolate, something that Olive had insisted was necessary after a day in the snow.

“Brock, stop! You’re going to make me spill this” Olive laughed as Brock pulled her by the waist further into his arms. He was pressing soft kisses to her cheeks that were still tinted pink from the cold.

“I just really like kissing you,” he responded as he brought his right hand up to Olive’s cheek, kissing her softly for what felt like the hundredth time that afternoon. It was something Olive wasn’t growing tired of, all of the pent up feelings for the boy standing in front of her fluttering into the open in a way that they hadn’t been able to before.

After helping Olive into the car, Brock reached over and grabbed her hand once more, threading his fingers with hers as he drove down the highway back to the cabin. Both of them were on edge as they thought about what this afternoon had meant, and how they were going to tell their friend who seemed to want nothing to do with the idea of them being together. Olive was bouncing her knee slightly as they got closer to the cabin and Brock put the car into park, neither of them making a move toward getting out of the car and going inside.

“What are we going to tell him?” Olive was the first to break the silence that had been growing between them. Her voice was soft and hesitant as she spoke and she was desperately trying to keep her own insecurities down as she waited for Brock’s response. She knew what she wanted, she wanted to walk into that house with Brock by her side and she wanted her best friend to accept and be happy for them. But that desire was a large one, and even though Brock had given her every indication that he wanted all of that and more with her, if he didn’t say that it would probably crush her in a way that she wasn’t prepared to handle.

Olive bit her lip as Brock squeezed her hand softly. He turned his body in the car, unwrapping his fingers from hers and instead bringing his hand softly to her cheek, pulling her a bit to look at him as he spoke.

“I want you, I’ve wanted you since I met you, Olive. You’re this incredible, whirlwind of a person and you’re absolutely too smart and beautiful and overall good for me but somehow you tumbled into my life and have had a hold on my heart since.”

Olive looked into his eyes and found nothing but sincerity in them. She smiled into his hand and leaned forward to kiss him once more.

“I like you so much,” she said against his lips, leaning her body over the center console to be as close to him as possible in such a small space, not preparing for what was potentially to come. In that moment, none of it mattered. It didn’t matter that Elias didn’t want them together, it didn’t matter that she had never been able to open up to someone in the way that she had with Brock, and it didn’t matter that she was terrified at the idea of what this could become. All that mattered to Olive was Brock, and she would do anything she could to hold onto him for as long as possible.

“I like you too, Ollie, so much,” He whispered, pulling her in once more before bracing himself for the conversation with Petey that was likely to follow. Brock felt safe with Olive, he didn’t feel like he was compromising his heart by handing it over to her, he felt like he was investing it into something that would grow and evolve into a love that he didn’t know he ever wanted. He gave her one last kiss before they both got out of the car, lacing their fingers together yet again as they walked up to the front porch and into the house.

Brock helped Olive get out of her coat, hanging the oversized parka on the metal coat rack by the door before looking around the hallway slightly to see if anyone would catch him stealing one more kiss. He felt like they were lovestruck teenagers, the thrill of sneaking around getting a bit to his head as he pulled her in one last time, pressing his lips softly to hers while she ran her hands through his hair. She grabbed his hand once more, leading him further into the house.

Petey looked up from his spot on the old craftsman style couch, not noticing their entwined hands and rosy cheeks. The truth was that his mood was far too sour to notice the shift in dynamic between Brock and Olive.

“Where’s Quinn?” Brock asked, still holding Olive’s hand from behind the counter. She looked up at him slightly, squeezing his fingers reassuringly before looking back toward Elias who had a scowl on his face.

“He and his girlfriend went out, not sure where.” Elias shrugged, taking a sip of his tea and quickly adding,

“I’m so glad you two aren’t together or this would be the worst trip now.”

Olive frowned at his words, her head starting to spin and guilt over kissing Brock pooling in her stomach. But what hurt the most, was how quickly Brock had dropped her hand, her heart cracking just enough to make her throat close up at the loss of the sensation of Brock’s fingers threaded through hers. She did her best to let the moment pass, plastering on a fake smile as she excused herself from the kitchen, ruffling Elias’s hair softly as she walked by to get to her room, words dripping sarcastically from her lips,

“Right, well, you don’t have to worry about that.”

Brock tried to pretend that the words coming from his friend didn’t hurt and that he didn’t feel like he had everything ripped right out from underneath him as Petey made the offhand comment. He sighed as he retreated back to his own room to gather his thoughts. He felt completely stuck at an intersection, where if he turned right he would be met with Olive, the girl who had been occupying his thoughts since September, who he had finally kissed just hours earlier after months of daring himself to make it happen. If he were to turn left, he would be met with losing Olive in the way that he wanted her most but he would keep his heart guarded because according to Petey, Olive was only capable of crushing his heart not cradling it. It was beginning to feel like it wasn’t Olive that could hurt him, it was actually Petey.

Brock took an hour to himself and tried to consolidate his thoughts well enough to be able to talk to Olive. He knew that they couldn’t pretend that the kisses and admissions of affection from that afternoon hadn’t have happened, and he knew now thanks to Petey’s comment that they needed to have a definitive conversation about what it all meant. Brock walked over to Olive’s door, bringing his hand up and tentatively knocking on the soft wood. When she answered, he could tell that she had cried and that made his chest tighten even more than it already had as she stepped aside, motioning for him to come into the room.

Olive crawled back into her bed, bringing the dark green comforter back up to her chest as she watched Brock sit down. He ran a hand through his hair, his mind grappling with what he wanted to say to her. He hated that he could see in her expression how hurt she already was, and he wanted nothing more than to be the one helping slow her tears rather than the one who caused them. But he kept grappling over the scenario in his mind, trying to convince himself that chalking the kiss up to a mistake was what produced the best outcome for everyone involved.

“I’m sorry,” were the only words he knew how to say to the girl who was near tears again in front of him, because those were the only words he could come up with that would be true. Olive nodded, turning her head to look away from him, catching her gaze on the navy blue notebook that she always carried with her.

“Miscalculation: an error or misjudgement,” she whispered, eyes filling with tears as she tried to avoid Brock’s expression.

“Yeah.” Brock smiled sadly, hating that this was the outcome of what had been such a happy moment between them before, her lack of words confirming what he walked into that room already knowing. The weight of the words from earlier in the afternoon stepping heavily on both of their hearts. Maybe it was true what they said about timing, how sometimes no matter how right a person is, the situation or timing isn’t right. She couldn’t help but think about how different things would have been if she had met Brock first and not Elias, because she was so sure that her soul belonged with his. But if there was one thing about Olive it was that she would always let herself down before her friends, and if this was that important to Elias for them to not see each other, she would come to live with that no matter how much it crushed her in the process.

The discussion turned down a path that Olive absolutely hated, but had to walk on for the sake of everyone else’s happiness around her. Olive hated disappointing anyone, and the idea that what her and Brock did behind Elias’s back was eating away at her, even if it felt right in the moment. She wanted more than anything to have given Brock her heart and faced Elias hoping that he cared enough about both of them as a friend to be happy that they were happy. But Brock unknowingly tossed the box with her heart in it out as soon as he dropped her hand earlier that afternoon, a clear sign that whatever this was that was developing between them wasn’t worth the risk, and Olive found herself reminded of why she usually left before letting her heart get wrapped up in someone else in the first place.

She found herself laying there in bed and letting the tears fall silently down her cheeks as Brock sat there silent. It wasn’t fair in the moment, but she was so hurt by how quickly Brock had given up that she wanted nothing to do with him for at least a few hours. She just wanted to lay in her bed and cry, and then maybe pull out her notebook and scribble out all of the words that she had written about her falling in love with him.

--------------

It was stupid really, how easily she let herself fall back into things with Brock after the trip in January. How quickly her lists became littered again with words that reminded her of him, each scribbled down in dark ink on various post-its littering the confines of the object that provided her the most sense of security. She wasn’t sure why she agreed to come up to the roof with him that night, why she felt like it would do anything but pull her heart apart more being up there in such a romantic setting when she knew that things between them could never fully transpire. But it was Brock, and all he had to do was smile at her a certain way and she would be there. She would hate herself for it, but Brock had always been just as close to her as she was to him, so even if it hurt that they couldn’t be together, she would allow herself to settle for being in his life in this capacity, because that was better than being tossed out of it completely.

When Brock had called and insisted she came over, she at first thought something was wrong. It was nearing 10pm when he called, a time that if any other boy were to call her up at, most likely meant something else. But she knew Brock, and he whatever this was couldn’t have been a late night hook up call, because as far as she could tell, she was worth more to him than a short “you up?” text. So despite her still feeling wary of her relationship with him, she got in her car and drove the familiar route to his place, trying to conceal the mess that was her beating heart.

Olive followed Brock up the familiar concrete steps, staying two paces behind him as they went toward the door to the roof access point. It wasn’t the first time they had been alone together since the disastrous cabin trip, where she had finally let herself be with Brock in the way that she had been wanting and writing about, only to have it torn apart before the ink could dry enough to not be smudged on the pages. She hated that she still felt this way about him. What hurt the most was that she had all of these words ready for him, but she never got to give him the most important one, the one that told him that she loved him.

Love was a funny thing for Olive Burke, it was something that she read about for years, but never something that she longed for until she met Brock. Her past had been full of almosts, people that checked one too few boxes on the endless lists that she created as her standards. But Brock came into her life and simultaneously her heart, not just checking each box but completely blacking it out, only to end in them having to burn the list for the sake of those around them anyways.

When she got to the roof, she nearly cried at what she saw. Brock had set out blankets and pillows and a bottle of wine, a classic scene for a date that she wished she could actually be on. He had thought of everything, even handing her an old sweatshirt of his to throw on over her thin flannel, his name embossed in white on the back. When she put the sweatshirt on she looked at Brock, a sad smile on both of their faces at the remembrance that this was something that could have been, but wasn’t.

“There’s a comet tonight, in half an hour. That’s why I called,” Brock said. She hated how uncomfortable he sounded, how unsure he sounded after everything they had been through. That might have been the most painful thing about what had happened that snowy day in January, that she not only lost who she thought would be someone to love, but someone who had become one of her best friends. Part of her wished she had never come here to see him, the sense of it being a mistake that could only hurt her filling her thoughts, and the other part of her was ready to give up on the stupid reasons for them not being together. She took another moment to take in her surroundings as the realization hit her harder than the cool wind blowing on the rooftop. She loved Brock, she had fallen completely head first into love with him and yet he was painfully out of reach.

She pushed some of the hair that was blowing into her face behind her ears as she looked at him, the first time she had truly been alone with him since the trip to the cabin. They never talked about what happened, instead she had picked up every time he called as she tumbled back into a seemingly good place with him, her words shifting out of heartache and back into those of a girl in love. She hadn’t seen him alone over that time from the cabin trip until now, each time it had been in a group setting and there was always someone acting as a buffer between them.

“Things have just been weird between us, and I saw this and thought of you and, fuck Ollie, I really missed you.” Brock frowned, his words flawed because he knew that what he was saying didn’t make up for everything that had happened. Him missing Olive didn’t make up for the fact that he was still too much of a coward to just tell his friend that he didn’t care about his dumb rule. Olive bit her lip and looked up at the sky for a moment, before settling her eyes back on the boy in front of her. It hurt being with him, but it had hurt worse not being with him as a friend. She missed when he would bring her here after home games, the two of them always winding down with a few episodes of the show they were currently watching, or her telling him about the latest book she had read, him always listening and taking in the words she wildly spoke because he loved how passionate she was about each one. She missed Brock more than she let herself admit to.

“I missed you too, Brock. She said, pulling down the sleeves of her sweater. Olive reached for the bottle of wine that he had brought up to the roof, reading the label quickly as if that would buy her some time in this moment with Brock. She hated that she felt that same longing for him that she had tried to suppress after the cabin trip. She couldn’t handle the push pull of having him right in her hands and then being ripped away again. Her heart was still cracked from that night in January, and she was so sure that if she let Brock in fully again that it would end up shattered beyond repair on the ground, covered in the dust of her feelings for him.

The two of them sat on the roof for a while sipping on the wine and looking out at the city and up at the sky. As the line of liquid in the bottle started to drift down, the conversation picked up and started flowing between them in a comfortable way. After the drinking had calmed some of the nerves from being alone with him again, she found herself slipping into the same habits with him as if that kiss hadn’t essentially ruined everything between them. It was nice to be back with him, and she let herself open up to him again, this time the mantra of “we’re just friends” steadily running through her mind. The bottle eventually ran out, and the words that were now flowing freely between them just kept getting deeper.

“Why did they name you Olive?” Brock asked as the two of them continued in conversation, the night growing later and the breeze picking up around them. He knew they were slipping into dangerous waters, but he didn’t know how to stop it. He wanted to know everything about Olive that she was willing to give him, and as he sat here and listened to her talk about her family in ways she had never talked about them with him before, he found himself writing his own list of words to someday give to Olive, with love sitting comfortably in permanent marker on the first line.

“I think that they thought if they named me Olive, it would somehow fix the problems in their marriage that they were too blind to fixing before having me. In a way, I was their olive branch, even if it didn’t last.” Brock listened carefully as Olive spoke, revealing something she rarely talked about with people. Olive had never known what love was supposed to look like from a real-life perspective, her parents separating when she was only two years old. All she knew was custody battles, and bitterness, and overnight bags as she was funneled back and forth between two incomplete homes, a future that she never wanted for the family she hoped to one day have.

“Are you afraid of love?” The words slipped from Brock’s lips before he could stop them, a question that caused Olive to stop breathing for a few seconds, the loose threads of the flannel blanket suddenly offering her a welcomed and needed distraction while she raced through her mind about how to answer that question. The problem wasn’t that she was afraid of love, at least not at a surface level of the word, the problem was that her whole life revolved around it, yet she never truly understood what the feelings behind love meant. She closed her eyes for a moment, soaking in the cool air that was blowing through her hair that was down for once, something she subconsciously did before coming up here with Brock in hopes that maybe he would find her pretty enough for his affections.

Olive let her eyes flutter open and she turned her head away from him, breaking eye contact and looking out at the city illuminated softly in the background, curling her hands deeper into the old flannel blanket he brought up with them. Brock watched as she sighed softly, hoping that he didn’t overstep with his irresponsible question.

“Maybe, I don’t know,” Olive said, voice barely above a whisper. She thought back to the kiss they had shared that day in January, knowing that in that moment love was something that for once wasn’t foreign to her. It was something that she saw and felt as she looked into Brock’s eyes right as he asked if he could kiss her. She loved Brock, and she had known that for a while now, its presence in her heart was heavy but steady. But this wasn’t that afternoon in January, this was a late night in February, and things were different. She didn’t get Brock in the end, even if the love she knew she was feeling for him had lingered past that afternoon in January.

“Are you afraid right now?” He asked, the question penetrating the surface level of what was normal for a conversation between two people who had been dancing along the ledge of something more than either of them should have been doing. The late night phone calls, the subtle touches when they were together, the lingering, and the flashbacks of a kiss that they both seemed to avoid facing the reality of all added up to the affirmation that feelings were bubbling up to the surface, pushing them together in the very way they both promised their friend that they wouldn’t do. But, Brock wasn’t afraid and he knew how he felt about the girl sitting beside him from as soon as he saw her stumble into the bar with his best friend, crimson red on her lips, commenting on his shitty tasting beer. Olive’s personality was loud, she was so unapologetically herself. Her hair was always a mess, her scratchy handwriting present on sticky notes that he found everywhere in her wake. She was the definition of coffee that she had let get too cold for it to have possibly been any good, but he would still drink that coffee everyday if it meant Olive was there with him, reading beside him with her dark rimmed glasses perched at the end of her nose, hair thrown up messily on her head and he would do anything to feel her lips on his once more.

“No, Brock. I’m not afraid when I’m with you.” She whispered, looking up at him, her eyes full of sincerity at the moment. It might have seemed too soon for anyone else, but something about Brock made her feel like she could breathe in a way that she never had before. The release of sharing her inner fears with someone who she found herself falling for with each passing day, the moment feeling heavy yet comfortable for her.

Olive felt herself leaning in, the cool winds hitting her skin as she tried to focus on Brock. Her thigh pressed slightly against his, warmth spreading underneath the blanket that her hands held onto as Brock shifted slightly, lifting his hand to the side of her face.

Time felt like it was slowing down, the stereotypical kiss that is shown in every rendition of the same romantic comedy, feelings bubbling to the surface as her eyelids fluttered shut and his lips inched closer. All she had to do was close the distance, and let herself fall safely into Brock’s waiting hands. But as she neared the line, Elias’s words echoed in her mind. His comment from that day at the cabin so many months ago, and she knew that no matter how badly her heart wanted Brock, she couldn’t betray her closest friend for the sake of her own heart’s desires.

“Brock, wait.” She pulled back, pressing her hand softly to his chest. Brock opened his eyes slowly, and he almost wondered if the whole thing had been a dream. He felt his heart sink as her eyes cast downward, a familiar feeling of rejection pooling in his stomach. If he was being honest with himself, he knew what the next words out of her would be, but he wanted to live in the moment just a bit longer. He wanted to kiss Olive again, this time fully ready to confront his feelings even if it meant having to make their friend understand.

“We shouldn’t.” Olive leaned back, creating a distance between them that felt colder than the air surrounding them. Brock didn’t know what to think other than that he wished for the circumstances to be something different than they were. He knew why they shouldn’t, and even if it was the right decision to stop before anything happened, it made him long for better timing, a parallel universe where perhaps he had met Olive first, not Petey, because if he had then maybe he could experience getting to know her without the cloud of influence that Petey had over their relationship that Brock felt like shouldn’t even matter anymore.

“Right.” He smiled sadly, grasping onto hope that maybe Olive would be willing to try, despite the common denominator in the complicated equation being the one person that they both relied on. He knew it wouldn’t be right to go behind Petey’s back, especially when the warnings were constantly echoing in his ear, Petey’s predictions that Brock would only end up hurt in the end. As much as he liked Olive, he knew his closest friend was trying to help him guard his heart from being the piece of him that he had given away too easily many times in the past.

Olive shivered slightly as Brock moved farther away from her, the moment of misjudgment passing quickly as they entered into the next serious topic of this moment that was starting to feel never-ending. She fought with her mind to come up with the right words to say to console her own heart and make Brock feel better, their connection so obvious to the both of them even if they couldn’t act on it.

“He’s my best friend, Brock, and yours. I couldn’t live with myself if something happened and I came between you.” She gestured between them, guilt from accepting his offer to be on the roof swallowing her whole. She didn’t understand how something that felt so right in the moment, could also feel so wrong. She just kept envisioning Elias, disappointed, and hurt in her mind if he were to find out what they were doing behind his back. His two closest friends essentially betraying his trust.

Brock sat there mulling over her words, his heart in a physical fight with his head about what was worth risking at this point. He loved Petey, but he also knew that Olive was who he wanted. He couldn’t picture himself with anyone else, and she was here with him, on the roof with her legs pressed against his and her heart breaking right in front of him and he just wanted to put it back together for her.

“Hey, I didn’t give you the word of the day.” Brock turned his head to look at her as she spoke, her tone light, as if she didn’t just take a seam ripper to his heart, carefully plucking the loose threads of her away from his chest. He nodded at her before returning his gaze to the city, the lights from the shiny glass skyscrapers illuminating across the water.

“Ubiquitous: existing or being everywhere at the same time, constantly encountered,” Olive recounted, voice softening as she continued reciting the definition, a frown slightly developing on her lips. Olive looked at the boy beside her, the same one who had somehow become the person who was with her everywhere. Olive had spent so many years studying love, reading every classic she could get her hands on, analyzing the words written from someone’s deepest crevices of their hearts, and she could probably recite the likes of Pride and Prejudice and Jane Eyre by heart if she had to. But despite reading about the projection of love portrayed in literature for years, the actuality of it felt foreign and non transcribable even as it was sitting next to her looking out at the city.

“Fuck, Ollie. I can’t pretend. I can’t just pretend I don’t know what it’s like to kiss you and what it feels like when I’m around you,” Brock sighed, taking Olive’s hands in his own as he looked into her eyes, seeing the panic reflected in them.

“Brock, we can’t,” she tried. Her heart was racing and her head was screaming at her to stop, to not hear Brock out. But her heart was craving the comfort of being nestled with his and she felt like she was grasping onto his hands to prevent herself from falling off of the roof.

“Are you happy, Olive? With this between us? Or do you think about it? Me and you,” he asked.

Olive bit her lip as she tried to stall, but she knew that she had her answer.

“I want to be with you, but,”

“Then fuck, why aren’t we together? Why does what Petey have to say matter? Why does anyone else matter? Fuck, Olive I like you so much. It’s worth the risk,” Brock pleaded.

Olive pulled her hands from his and moved so that she was in his lap, her legs straddling either side of his. She was scared of everything that would happen as a result of the decision she was about to make, but she knew Brock would be there, holding her hand through it. Brock reacted quickly, sliding his hands up her thighs so that they were resting on her hips.

“Let’s try,” she whispered with her forehead against his, her voice quiet but sure. Brock moved one hand to the nape of her neck, pulling her down to him and pressing his lips to hers. Her stomach was exploding with butterflies as her lips moved against his, the two of them closer together than they’d ever been. When they kissed in January it was fun, it was exciting and different until Elias had all but rained on their own little parade. But this kiss was something else, and Olive found herself falling even farther into Brock with each second that passed by, the consequences of their actions not mattering to her at all in that moment.

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When Olive had suggested an anti-valentines day party, she didn’t think that any of the boys would take her seriously. Most people wanted to be coupled up on Valentine’s Day, spending it with their partner and showering them with attention and gifts. Olive hated Valentine’s Day, she thought it was just a mother excuse to romanticize consumerism and make people who didn’t have a valentine feel shitty about it. So when Jake’s now ex-girlfriend broke up with him two weeks prior, and Petey mentioned him having a hard time with it, she suggested having an anti-Valentine’s Day party where everyone could just get wasted and be single. Jake was thrilled about the idea and offered up his house in Kelowna for the occasion.

Olive and Brock had been sneaking around for months, but only weeks officially together and as they gathered with all of their friends, they were finding it hard to keep things hidden. Olive stood in the kitchen, Brock mixing them drinks in front of her. When he was finished, he came in close to her ear as he handed her the drink, his lips grazing her jaw softly and quickly as he spoke.

“You look so fucking pretty, Olive.” She blushed as she took a sip of the concoction he had given her, laughing softly as he pushed him slightly away from her and looked around, hoping that no one caught the seemingly harmless moment between them. But Jake had seen it from across the room where he was sitting with Quinn and Elias, smirking softly at his two friends who clearly had something more going on than they were sharing.

“What’s going on with Brock and Olive?” Jake smirked, nodding toward the pair who were lost in their own little world, Brock and Olive slipping out onto the deck together, both of them blushing and giggling from likely more than the alcohol.

“Nothing, they’re just friends. Sorry if you’re mad about it,” Petey shrugged, clearly annoyed by Jake and Quinn’s incessant meddling into Brock and Olive. Sure Elias could admit they were flirty, but Olive was just like that, it didn’t mean anything. He decided at that moment to get a new drink, needing some space from his idiotic teammates who clearly were reading into something that he felt wholeheartedly wasn’t there.

Jake and Quinn shared a look before drifting their eyes out to the deck, where they could see Olive’s arms wrapped around Brock’s waist as they talked with each other. There were smiles on both of their faces that were recognizable as the type of grinning when you’re infatuated with someone and can’t see anyone else. Quinn laughed to himself a bit as he and Jake watched for a moment.

“That kid is in denial, those two are either in love with each other or they’re just really bad at this whole anti-valentines day thing,” Quinn said, shaking his head slightly thinking about how quickly Elias shut the idea of anything down between them.

“To Brock and Olive, may Petey pull his head out of his ass soon,” Jake joked as he raised his beer toward Quinn’s, the two of them roasting before moving on from the conversation, Olive and Brock still oblivious to the happenings inside and they stood in their own little world where the population was just them.

An hour later, Olive stood outside on Jake’s deck by herself, drink placed in her right hand, and a sad smile on her lips. She was looking out at the water, the calm, still dark blue water slightly illuminated by the moon and stars that shined much brighter than they ever did in Vancouver. Her mind was reeling with regret. Regret for suggesting this party, regret for going along with the whole theme, and most of all regret forever coming to that stupid dive bar night with Petey in the first place. She swirled the half-empty red cup of beer in her hand as she sighed. She was tired of the entire thing, the party, the dumb anti-valentines day jokes she had been cracking all night in an effort to bring at least a laugh to Jake after his horrible breakup, and most of all she was tired of pretending that she wasn’t hopelessly in love with the damn blonde boy standing just inside with his dumb smile, his dumb laugh, and his dumb pink shirt with a broken heart on the chest that coincidentally was pulled right from her own sleeve.

The night had started off so well, the bitter liquid in her cup giving her more courage to be openly affectionate with Brock as the night progressed. She thought back to an hour before, where they were standing here in almost the same spot, his hand firmly against her waist as she swore he was going to kiss her again, taking the risk and finally just being with each other, no matter what their friends thought. But he didn’t kiss her, and instead, she was met with not only a heartache that felt familiar to that night in January when Brock had let her go so easily but another type of heartache as she realized that it was Elias, one of her closest friends, who was encouraging Brock to move on with someone else.

Olive heard the slider door open behind her, Brock’s footsteps almost too recognizable for her even though she didn’t turn around, another thing she was growing tired of. The truth was that ever since she knew what kissing him felt like, her mind couldn’t think of anything else. She had already locked away the hurt that she felt that day he dropped her hand at Elias’s comment. And maybe it wasn’t entirely fair to blame the whole problem on Elias, but it sure felt like her heart was stuck in limbo with Brock’s, waiting for the approval of someone that shouldn’t have ever made them have to choose in the first place.

“Ollie-“ Brock started, his voice was soft and slow as the familiar nickname rolled off his lips. Olive had never been one for liking nicknames, she actually loved her name, but each time it came from Brock she found her stomach flipping and heart beating in her throat over the abridged version of Olive.

“I’m fine, Brock.” She said, still facing the water unable to turn to see him. She didn’t want to look at him, not because of any of his own actions but because it was all too much. Having him behind her, having just a taste of him and then dropping the entire plate on the floor where it sat longer than any five-second rule would allow, and the fact that he was right there on this stupid holiday that she was pretending not to care about was simply overwhelming her and making her heart bend past its breaking point.

“No you’re not, and neither am I.” He said as his voice was cracking with each word.

Olive turned around slowly and took another sip of the now slightly warm beer in her cup as she waited for Brock to say whatever he had come out there to say. She didn’t want to hear it because of how badly she was currently hurting, the jealousy that she had no real reason to even be feeling was creeping in quickly and the longer he stood there looking at her, the more she wanted to snap.

“Will you please just talk to me, Ollie?” Brock tried once more as he took a step closer to the girl he was so crazy about. The girl that would stay up until 2 am sometimes reading, the girl who’s hair was always a mess and couldn’t see very far without her glasses, the girl who was by all means too smart for him, each day sending him words that he didn’t understand. Words that she knew that made her think of him, words that he found himself missing each day that passed without one, the last one being from that day in January.

“I heard you, talking about that girl Elias wanted to set you up with. And it sucks, okay? It sucks that I feel this way, it sucks that I have to sit here and be with you in secret while our best friend brings some girl for you, God, Brock, how am I supposed to feel about it?” Brock’s heart absolutely crashed in his chest hearing Olive breakdown like that, her voice growing quieter and quieter as she continued, a trait that was so unlike Olive that it brought him down even further knowing he was the one involuntarily causing pain. Brock reached out to her, pulling her closer to his chest and for once he didn’t care who could have been watching them through the glass door.

“Olive it’s you. It’s been you. I told him I wasn’t interested, and I almost told him about us, but then I just froze and all I could hear was him saying that at the cabin, and I didn’t know what to do. I want to be with you, but,” Brock couldn’t continue, because if he did he would have to admit out loud that he had made a choice. A choice that left the girl in front of him, the one he cared about more than he thought he could ever care about someone, hurt. A choice that would all but tell her that his priorities were with his friend, no matter how badly it hurt.

“Why can’t we just tell him?” Olive sniffled into Brock’s chest, the haziness of the alcohol finally hitting her as she shivered slightly from the wind. Brock rubbed her back sadly and rested his chin on the top of her head. He hated that he knew Petey so well. He knew how stubborn he was, he knew how much he cared, but no matter how many times Brock almost broke down, he just couldn’t shake Petey’s words about how dating your friends is a disaster, and how it would ruin the entire dynamic of the friendship, from his head.

Olive pulled back from Brock when he didn’t answer, the warmth she once felt from his comfort now turning cold as she connected what he couldn’t bring himself to say back to her question. She chugged what was left of her beer, raising it in a toast more to herself than him as the alcohol she wanted to rid her of her sadness hit her even harder.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Brock.” She said, turning from him and about to step inside, leaving him out in the cold and alone. She froze with her hand on the door handle, turning around to face him one last time before leaving the party that night.

“Shattered: broken into many pieces,” She smiled sadly as she walked back inside, not bothering to see his reaction as she left, a scene that so closely resembled her entire outlook on life lately, words of affirmation scribbled on lists becoming nothing but seemingly every word in the English language to describe heartache as the replacement. At least now he would finally know how she felt.

She wandered a bit closer to the water, taking a seat on the grass as she looked out at the darkness. She knew she would have to go back to the house eventually, with that being her place to crash for the night, and she also knew that Brock hadn’t done anything wrong. But she was tired, the new and exciting part of being together wearing off with the crash into the reality of what it actually all meant.

Olive shifted slightly as she felt someone sit down next to her, surprise evident on her face as Jake sat down and handed her a bottle of water. He looked at her knowingly, a sad smile on his face that she could tell wasn’t from his own recently broken heart.

“Olive, what’s really going on with you and Brock?” Jake tried, his voice soft and tentative as she sighed in response. Olive felt herself tearing up, unsure if the alcohol was what was causing her to react this way or just the feelings that had been building up so long under an umbrella of lies.

“He’s my boyfriend, and Elias doesn’t know,” She said, tears brimming her eyes at how shitty she felt admitting that outloud to someone. Olive didn’t know how she let it get this far. She loved Brock, and while she wasn't ready to admit that entirely to him, she had enjoyed being with him. But you can only lie for so long before it all rips apart, and the guilt of lying to her best friend was starting to eat her alive.

“Do you love him?” Jake asked, his question blunt and to the point. Olive nodded softly, tears spilling down her cheeks. Jake wrapped an arm around his friend, letting her cry on his shoulder.

“Petey adores you, I know he’s a stubborn little shit but, we all know you and Brock are happy. It’s so obvious, he’s in denial, sure, but I think he’ll come around,” Jake reassured her softly. Olive continued to cry for a few moments, wiping her eyes softly when Brock came around the corner, taking in the scene.

“Are you gonna be okay?” Jake asked. Olive nodded and patted his knee in response, wiping her eyes once more as Jake got up and Brock took his place. She waited to say anything until Jake was almost back up to the porch, out of earshot from them.

“I’m really sorry, Olive. I should have done more to stop him. I hate seeing you upset, especially if I had any part in making it that way.” Brock frowned, grabbing her hand and lacing their fingers together softly. Olive sighed and leaned her head on his shoulder, looking out once more at the water before answering him.

“It’s not your fault, Brock. We got ourselves into this mess by not telling him.” She sighed.

“So are we okay?” Brock asked, his voice quiet and tentative. Olive leaned up and kissed him softly, nodding wordlessly before leaning her head back onto his shoulder. They needed to tell Elias, but she also needed a little while longer to process everything and decide just how to do it without upsetting her best friend.

--------------

Brock had always been dismissive about love, never questioning that he was young and lived a life that most other people wouldn’t want or be able to understand and grow accustomed to. He didn’t spend his time daydreaming about the future, and marriage, and kids, he had everything he needed and knew that his time would come when it was meant to. But as he sat there in late April with his black tie around his neck and his white shirt slightly wrinkled from being unable to work an iron, he watched as one of his closest friends stood at the altar. The white flowers surrounding the archway in the gazebo and the simple symphony of the wedding march was playing, but his only thoughts were of the girl who was most likely sitting in her apartment, glassed perched on the top of her nose, probably reading something far too complicated for him to understand and he wondered why he hadn’t just taken the leap of faith to invite her here to sit beside him.

“I think Bo is going to cry,” the voice beside him spoke softly, a fond yet teasing tone to it, and Brock suddenly was lifted out of his own thoughts and painfully reminded why he couldn’t be here with Olive. Because of his best friend sitting next to him, who had practically begged Brock not to develop any feelings for the girl that he was so helplessly already falling for, a secret that had been destroying him to keep.

He laughed softly at his friend, not bothering to give a verbal response because he was almost terrified of any words that were to come out of his mouth when his mind was so concentrated on what Olive would look like walking down the aisle to him, a thought that had his hands shaking and his heart shattering because he knew it would never happen. He knew if he wasn’t careful, he’d let it slip to Petey just how in love he was falling with Olive, Petey’s way too smart and way too beautiful for himself best friend.

Brock checked his watch repeatedly as he watched Bo and Holly make the rounds to thank everyone for being there, knowing that as soon as they got to him he could get out of there as quickly as possible. He was feeling trapped, his airways blocked and his feelings growing steadily and he needed to leave the environment where people were celebrating the very thing he had come to the realization that he wanted. His phone vibrated in his pocket, startling him a bit. He reached his hand down, pulling out the device and seeing the name of the girl he had been dancing around all night.

Ollie :)

Serendipity: the faculty or phenomenon of finding valuable or agreeable things not sought for.

He didn’t have time to overanalyze what that meant, Olive’s word of the day that she had sent him this time doing nothing to calm him down, because he saw the three little dots moving, an indication that she wasn’t done unknowingly strengthening the unbreakable grasp she had on his heart.

This one reminds me of you and me :)

He stood there, looking at the grey text on his phone and slowly lifted the champagne to his lips, knowing that he needed at least three more of these to get through the rest of the night after reading Olive’s words. It was painful in a way that he didn’t understand, how someone could be just within an arm’s reach, who he knew felt the same way about him, and yet they couldn’t act on it. He didn’t get to hold her hand, or kiss her whenever he wanted, and that not so gentle reminder had him reaching for flute after flute of the golden liquid, hoping to forget.

Brock paced back and forth as he wandered into his bedroom, both of his dogs’ feet padding across the carpet behind him. He took off his suit jacket and undid his tie, tossing them too carelessly onto his closet floor considering how nice they were. His mind was racing ever since he left Bo and Holly’s wedding, his heart doing flips in his chest as he tried to push Olive from his mind, not so gently reminding himself just why he couldn’t have her.

The last two years of Brock’s life he had been so focussed on his future, his career, pushing any thoughts of a meaningful relationship so far back that he tricked himself into thinking he didn’t want anything. When he met Olive, all of his apprehensions about the idea of love were tossed carelessly out the window as his heart started driving down the highway toward her. But the problem was, every time he got to the border between himself and Olive, it was like his passport was no longer valid and entry into what would have been something beautiful was denied.

The worst part about it was that he was now wondering if the border would always be closed. No matter how mutual the feelings between him and Olive were, Petey was always there in the back of their minds, and it was hard for him not to wonder just how long things could realistically last between them as long as it was in secret.

He dropped himself into his bed, patting softly at the dark comforter to signal the dogs to come up. He ran a hand softly through his hair, champaign still causing a light fog to clutter his mind, nothing else clear to him aside from how he felt about Olive. He thought back to earlier in the evening, watching Bo and Holly get married and his mind drifted to her, something that should have scared him but didn’t.

If Brock were to be honest with himself, he knew that he and Olive could have something great, something that had the potential to end in life together. But this wasn’t a movie, it wasn’t a whirlwind of love that he could let himself get into, even though unbeknownst to him, he and Olive were both slowly drifting there anyways. Before any sober thought could stop him, he reached toward his bedside table and grabbed his phone, pulling up Olive without giving himself time to second guess if it was a good idea or not.

“One too many drinks there, huh, Brockadoodle?” Olive smiled into her phone, turning it on speaker and setting it gently on her bedside table as she crawled into bed. She knew things were going too far, she was getting too close to Brock, and for the first time in a long while, she didn’t know how to stop it. The feelings had already crossed the moat surrounding her heart, and they were standing there with axes picking apart the walls that acted as the last barrier between letting Brock have her completely, where everyone could see it.

Brock felt himself calm down at the sound of Olive’s voice, soft through the phone. He let the next few words tumble out without fear of their repercussions. He had been thinking about her all night, so much so that if he didn’t get it off of his chest, the cavities of his heart might completely collapse.

“I wanted to bring you tonight.” Brock started, words softer than his tone from before, a hint of emotion underneath them that Olive knew too well. “Brock..” she tried, unsure of how to console him when she had been thinking about being on his arm all night. Olive couldn’t pretend that she wasn’t hurt; she wasn’t there with him, feelings that she had no right feeling about someone who couldn't have taken her as his date anyways. She was starting to grow concerned for her well-being, wondering how far she and Brock could tiptoe around these feelings that seemed to get more and more complicated as the months passed. It should have been simple, they should have been able to be together, but sometimes what a person wants doesn’t line up with reality.

“No, let me finish, please.” He sighed. Olive couldn’t see what he was doing, she could only hear the desperation in his voice. Brock laid in his bed, his dogs lovingly at his feet, and he should have been content. But the side of the bed next to him was nagging him, an emptiness that never bothered him before Olive. He ran a hand over his face, eyes slightly blurring from the overload of far too expensive champagne that he drank at the wedding, hoping to replace the empty feeling of her hand not in his with the glass instead.

“I wanted you there, I wanted to tell you how beautiful you looked in your dress, and hold your hand during the ceremony. I wanted to have you there next to me, and I don’t know if it’s the dramatics of being at a wedding getting to my head, or if any of this even makes sense, but I just was watching Bo and Holly have their first dance and all I could think about was you.” Brock knew he was too much, the feelings he had been trying to keep at bay from someone who he was supposed to just be friends with, no matter how wrong it felt bubbling up like the champagne that he drank just hours before.

Olive felt herself stop at his words, her labored breath filling the space as she waited for him to continue. She grabbed her phone, pulling it off the speaker as if the ghosts in her bedroom were listening anyways.

“I want to kiss you no matter who sees us so badly, Olive. I think about it all the time.”

Olive took her time, attempting to process the words that had just stumbled from his mouth. She focused on the tenor of his voice, the voice that she loved to listen to talk about anything and everything and here it was, whispering words through an over priced cell phone that was pressed tightly to her ear as she held it in her hands. She couldn’t breathe, the weight of what he had just said stunning her so badly that all she could do was breathe softly, willing herself to answer him. She never had time to think about the consequences of what they were doing, instead focussing on the good things about being together even if it was in secret. As Brock drunkenly told her these things, her heart filled with guilt over it all, wondering how they could feasibly continue this for much longer, no matter how much that realization cut her.

“Olive?” Brock whispered, wondering if he had gone too far. Olive hates the uncertainty in his voice but she hated even more that her silence was the cause of it.

“I’m here, Brock,” was all she could manage in that moment. She heard him softly sigh in the background then some shuffling on the other end.

“Do you feel it too? Or am I alone here?”

“I feel it too, Brock. You know I do.”

--------------

“I don’t understand why you didn’t want to bring a date, you were the only one there without one” Petey shrugged toward Brock, referring to the Bo and Holly’s wedding that had occurred just days prior.

Brock was practically fuming at his friend whom he loved dearly but could be so completely dense. He didn’t think Elias was stupid, but how could he really be asking Brock that question when he had to have known how badly Brock wanted to bring Olive the wedding. He was trying to calm himself down, to not let his feelings get the best of him, but he couldn’t stop thinking about how simple this all could be if Petey could just get over his damn stubbornness about Olive and Brock dating.

“Well, I probably would have had a date if you hadn’t have insisted I stay socially distanced with Ollie at all fucking times,” he snapped at his friend. He didn’t look at Petey’s reaction as he walked into the kitchen to catch his breath, replacing his empty beer bottle with a fresh one from the fridge, opening it quickly and drinking a large portion of it.

Elias sat there with a look of apprehension and annoyance on his face, still not understanding why his requests were making him out to be the bad guy. Brock and Olive were friends, the group dynamic was great, why did it have to be more when it was fine already?

“You guys are just friends,” Petey waived him off and Brock swore he felt his eye twitching with how irritated he was growing.

“We’re not just fucking friends, we were practically together until you came in with your ‘I’m so glad you’re not dating’ bullshit and we stopped,” he spat out. Brock was tired of the secrets, he was tired of keeping his feelings for Olive to himself, and he was tired of Petey dictating his love life when he should just be happy for him.

Petey’s mouth hung open slightly in shock at Brock’s outburst. The words hung over him as he went through what Brock could be talking about, anger bubbling up in him at the idea of Brock and Olive, his two closest friends, hooking up behind his back.

“Did you sleep with Olive?” His eyes narrowed at Brock.

“No, but we kissed. And, fuck Petey I really like her, and she really likes me. I don’t understand why you’re so weird about it and why you can’t just be happy for us. I’d be happy for you,” Brock groaned, leaning slightly on the counter as he finished his beer, shaking his head slightly. In a weird way it felt good to get some of it out, even if most of what he was saying was a lie. They didn’t just kiss, they had been together for months at this point and here he was lying to his best friend about it, hoping that maybe if he expressed his frustrations enough that Petey would come around and they could just be together in front of him.

“Well why does it have to be Olive?” Petey asked. Brock couldn’t believe his friend, and he was one minute from asking him to leave because he was making him so frustrated at the situation. In Brock’s mind this was simple, but Petey had this way of making things so complicated simply because he didn’t want things to be awkward between everyone.

“I don’t know, Petey. I can’t help how I feel. I wish you’d just come around because this sucks for both of us. I’m unhappy, she’s unhappy. I want to be with her man, she’s everything I could ever want. You know who I call after every game? Olive. You know who knows everything about my family? Olive. She’s even met them, she met my dad, Petey and he fucking loved her! He still asks about her. I don’t even care about other girls, I haven’t since I met her. I just want her.”

“So you’re in love with her then?” Petey inquired, deciding to ignore everything else that Brock had just said. Brock paused, new beer in his hand as he had almost a stare down with his friend. He took a moment to go through his options, knowing that as soon as Petey said that he knew it was true. He did love Olive, and he might not have realized it but as soon as the words left Petey’s mouth he knew. He knew that everything had been building with Olive, she had written her way into his heart and he was a willing participant, accepting her words and rewriting them with his own pen. Brock may not have been an avid reader, but Olive was the best book he’d ever read.

“Yeah, Petey, I do.” He admitted, voice softening, and heart breaking slightly because he wasn’t sure if that would even make a difference at this point.

“Oh.” Was all that Petey replied, his eyes cast down and guilt pooling in his stomach.

Petey thought about what Brock had said for days, he couldn’t wrap his head around the idea that he was the reason for their unhappiness. He also felt a bit dense for not seeing the signs that they had something developing between them. He spent the next few days avoiding Brock as much as he could. He showed up to practice after he knew Brock would be on the ice, and he stayed until he knew Brock had left, with Brock making no effort to talk to him either. It wasn’t just Brock he avoided though, as he carefully dodged all of Olive’s texts and phone calls, to the point where each time his phone rang he flinched, wondering if it would be one of them.

Brock knew Elias was ignoring him, but he honestly didn’t care anymore. He didn’t tell Olive about the argument he had with Petey, instead he focussed on being a support system for her as she worked through studying for her finals. He was almost thankful for her being busy, it was giving him time to think and hopefully work through everything with Petey so that by the time she was done, they could finally be together and have Petey okay with it all.

Brock picked up the small notebook, the leather slightly worn under his fingers and the binding not perfect from being handmade. He remembered when Olive gave this to him. He remembered everything about her that day, how she insisted he wait to open it until she left with a soft blush on her cheeks, how she looked at his nephew with a look in her eyes that made him practically want to marry her right there, and how his dad adored her even after meeting her for not even five minutes. He remembers opening the book and nearly crying at her words, every word that she had given him before. It was something that was so simple yet said so much at the time that he wasn’t able to read until now. He was in love with Olive, and he was ready to tell her that and stop hiding it.

As Brock was flipping through the worn pages, some of them with tea stains, some with scribbled out words, a small folded up piece of paper fell to the ground. He knew that he missed it the first time he looked through this book, and he slowly reached down to grab it from the floor. He held the piece of scratch paper up, reading each word and definition carefully, part of him feeling guilty for reading something that seemed personal, even if it had his own name on it. He smiled at each word, fondly appreciating Olive’s anecdotal word of the day that she would give him without fail, everyday. His eyes were caught on the last word, sending him into a headspace that hadn’t felt this clear in a long time.

Enamored: in love.

He read and re-read that word over and over again, his heart pounding thinking about her saying this to him. Suddenly all of the words over the last few months became clear to him, the realization of each one being her way at telling him that she loved him, without having to actually say it. It all made sense now, and Brock didn’t care about Petey’s words anymore, he didn’t care that Olive might hurt him, because he knew that it wasn’t true. Olive wasn’t incapable of giving her heart to someone, she had already given it to him in the way that she knew best, through words. He didn’t care what anyone else thought anymore, he was going to be with Olive fully, no matter what Petey had to say about it.

Across town, Olive set her glass carefully on the coffee table as she heard someone knocking on her front door. Elias was sitting still on the couch, only lifting his head up slightly when he heard the knock. Olive just shrugged her shoulders and walked over to her front door, peeking through the peephole only to be met with confusion by what she saw.

“Who is it?” Elias inquired, his hand still scrolling through his phone absentmindedly.

Olive didn’t answer her friend, instead, she opened the door to reveal a floral delivery man who had a cart full of what she assumed was more flowers than any regular person needed. Olive stared at the man for a moment, thoughts racing through her mind as she tried to come up with an excuse about the flowers that she could already guess were from Brock. Her stomach bubbled with anxiety as she carefully signed her name on the packing slip, stepping aside to let the man carry not one, but twelve bouquets into her kitchen.

Elias looked up in confusion, setting his phone down on the coffee table and wandering up to the counter toward a bouquet that had a card. Olive panicked, it was like time was moving at a glacial pace, and she was stuck in the pathway between the delivery man and Elias, knowing that her friend was going to get to the card that was likely from his best friend first.

“Do you have a boyfriend you haven’t told me about?” Elias teased, grabbing the card in his hands and opening it. Part of him was hoping the answer would be yes, and that it would be someone other than Brock but the other part of him was starting to realize he could no longer live in a perpetual state of denial when it came to his two friends. It normally wouldn’t have been weird, and Olive wouldn’t have minded that her friend saw what was on that card if the circumstances were any different. She felt helpless as she saw Elias’s smirk turn into a frown as he read whatever was written, and all hopes of the flowers somehow not being from the boy she had grown so fond of dissipated with his frown.

Olive watched Elias carefully as he set the card down, his lips slightly pursed while he looked at her. She felt her chest caving in, preparing herself for him to be furious with her. She and Brock had completely crossed the line of exactly what her best friend standing in front of her had asked her not to, and seeing the way he frowned at the card broke her in a way she didn’t think was possible.

Olive never wanted to hurt Elias, and her intentions that night so many months ago at the bar were to never get involved with Brock. But as she had come to realize, intentions don’t matter when the outcome hurts someone and seeing Elias’s somber expression had her mind reeling with regret.

Elias just shook his head, walking slowly back to the couch where he sat back down, the silence in the room was noticeable, and Olive found herself realizing just how badly she had messed things up. Olive glanced at the flowers, sighing softly at the card that was resting on the counter, Brock’s handwriting visible from where she was standing.

“You should read it,” she heard from behind her. Elias’s voice was soft and sincere, an emotion present that she wasn’t able to read. She looked from the card back to her friend, willing herself to read what Brock had written for her.

I’m enamored with you, Ollie.

Olive felt her eyes well up with tears at his words, running her fingers softly over the ink on the card before setting it back down on the counter.

“Elias…” she tried, unable to stop her voice from shaking.

“How long have you and Brock been together?” He asked, his voice soft but steady, almost no emotion behind it, which somehow made everything feel worse. Elias was never cold toward her, in all the years they had known each other, nothing had ever come between them. But now, with everything that her heart was feeling toward his best friend, she felt like she was sitting in a room screaming, with the house on fire around her as she watched each relationship burst into flames around her.

“Since February” was all she managed to say, her body frozen in place as she studied his face for any sort of reaction that she could read. There was no point in lying to him anymore, it was time to face the reality of the situation and confess to Elias what was going on. He cared about Brock and Olive, and she could only hope that by seeing how happy they were together that he would be happy for them.

“So you both have just been lying to everyone this whole time.” There it was, the coldness in his voice that she was dreading, her eyes immediately looking away from his. She knew he was mad, and to be honest, he had every right to be because even if she and Brock weren’t together, they were very clearly and undeniably something more than friends, a confirmation that she could no longer hide from or deny.

“It’s not like that, it's just, I don’t know Elias. I didn’t mean for it to happen, and then it did and you were just so against it. We were going to tell you, when we kissed in January and then you just made that comment and we decided to stop. But, I don’t know Elias.” Olive sighed, looking over at her friend with tears in her eyes, desperately trying to convey to him what she was feeling even though the words themselves weren’t coming out. She had never seen him look so disappointed toward her, something that she hated she was the cause of.

“You love him,” Elias nodded and Olive froze. She knew she loved Brock, and seeing his note meant that he loved her back, something that she had spent years longing to find but convincing herself that she didn’t need. Brock had come into her life and completely checked off every cliche list of things as he swept her off of her feet, crashing her heart into his in a way that had for so long been this secret that they couldn’t admit to each other or anyone else. All she could do in that moment was look at Elias with a glint in her eye and an open heart and nod, confirming his observations that she did indeed, love his charming, goofy, wonderful best friend, Brock Boeser.

Elias watched his best friend from across the room, mixed emotions in his heart, and various thoughts racing through his mind. He wanted Olive and Brock to be happy, he loved both of them, but he couldn’t shake the sense of hurt he felt knowing it had all been behind his back. He also knew that his own warnings had been what was keeping them from being together, and as he looked at Olive with her heart on her sleeve, he felt the guilt rising at being the one responsible for preventing her own happiness.

“I’m sorry,” Elias shook his head, trying to find the words to say to his friend that would make up for this mess, the mess that he was ultimately the cause of for his own selfish reasoning. Elias paused for a moment, looking over at Olive before sighing softly.

“I’m glad he didn’t listen to me, though. I know I fucked it up, but I’m happy that you both are happy,” He said. Olive tilted her head slightly at him, a curious expression on her face at his words.

“What do you mean?” She replied.

“I told him you’d crush him.” Elias said. It was so quiet that Olive almost didn’t think she heard him correctly. She didn’t think she concretely understood the words that just came from his lips, because the Elias she knew would never say those things about someone that he cared about and when it hit her that he didn’t want them to be together so badly that he would say something like that to Brock, she felt the anger rise in her stomach.

“God, Elias. You don’t get to do that, you don’t get to say those things about me,” Olive said. She stood up from the couch and began to pace back and forth between her couch and the kitchen. Her mind was reeling, and all she wanted to do was kick Elias out and not speak to him ever again. Olive felt like a fool for not seeing that this was how her best friend truly thought of her, as someone who was only capable of causing heartache to others.

“You think I’m not capable of love, that I’m just some bookworm living in her own head about the idea of love. Maybe that was true back then, but at least I tried. I let Brock into my heart in the only ways I knew how, falling in love with him yet stopping myself because of you. I spent all this time not wanting to come between you and it turns out you sold me out to him as someone he should never love, because people who have a harder time I guess aren’t capable of it at all, right?”

“Olive, I didn’t-“ Olive cut him off harshly.

“It doesn’t matter, you still said it. You’re my best friend, Elias, but I’m clearly not yours.” The tears were steadily flowing down her cheeks and her head was starting to pound from everything that was happening. She hated that it was blowing up in this way. She hated that her heart was breaking from potentially losing one of the best friends she ever had, but she mostly hated that he ultimately was right in his assumptions, because she didn’t see how her and Brock could continue to be together now that the truth was out.

Elias knew he fucked up. He knew his mistakes had cost two of the people he cared most about heartache, and while he didn’t know that Brock had said that to Olive until she threw it in his face, he knew that there was no way his friend didn’t mean it. Brock was absolutely in love with Olive, the kind of love that you think only exists written on pages for others to live through vicariously, and he knew for all the months he had been keeping them apart for his own selfish reasons, he needed to fix it.

“Do you want to tell me about him?” Elias smiled, trying his best to show her that he was sorry and that he regretted what he had done. Elias was never good with words, he overthought everything that ran through his head and it more often than not ended with feelings unsaid. He didn’t want to hurt Brock or Olive, and he let his mind swindle him into thinking that if they were together it would somehow ruin the dynamic of their friend group. He knew it was selfish, and it was long overdue that Elias did something selfless instead.

Olive looked over at her friend, shocked a bit by his change in demeanor. She bit her lip softly, unsure of how to react to his question because she did want to talk about Brock. She had been wanting to tell Elias for months just how happy his best friend made her feel, how she had never thought anyone would understand her in the ways that he had so easily.

“Elias, that’s not going to fix it.” She whispered.

“I want to hear about it, I want you to be happy Olive,” Elias said, softly nodding towards the space next to him on the couch. As Olive was about to start telling Elias everything, the familiar sound of her FaceTime ringtone started going off. She glanced toward her phone that was sitting in front of Elias on the coffee table, seeing Brock’s name and photo lighting up the screen. She shook her head slightly at Brock’s timing but then furrowed her brow at Elias’s soft reaction to seeing the name on the screen.

Elias picked up the phone, handing it over to Olive as she stared at it ringing in her hands, letting the call lapse. She unlocked her phone and carefully texted the boy in question, letting him know she would call him back in a while before setting the device screen down onto the table.

“I don’t know what you want me to say.” She said, putting her head in her hands.

“Well, how did it start?” Elias tried, a genuine soft smile on his face as he encouraged Olive to start speaking. Olive recounted everything to Elias, feeling the weight of secrecy lifting from her chest. It felt good to share these things with him, to tell him the little things over the past few months that she had wanted to share with him about Brock.

“I do love him, Elias, and I’m sorry that things happened this way and I’m sorry we didn’t tell you but, I don’t want to hide it anymore. It’s not fair.” Olive cried, her voice shaking slightly from the emotions that she was feeling. That was her first time admitting those feelings about Brock out loud and she hated that these were the circumstances that brought them on.

“You should go tell him, Ollie.” Petey smiled, getting up and grabbing his coat so that she could leave. Olive watched carefully as he wandered toward the door,

“You spent so long keeping this from me, trying to keep me comfortable when you shouldn’t have needed to. You’re my best friend and I’m sorry. But, you should go to him, tell him how you feel. He’s more important than us right now,” Elias said as he opened her front door and stepped out.

It took Olive all but five minutes to throw on her shoes and grab her keys. Her hair was a mess, her head hurt from crying and she felt like a wreck, but none of it mattered. None of it phased her as she climbed into her car and thought about how she was going to tell Brock that she loved him for the first time, and that they didn’t have to hide things anymore.

Brock opened the door and Olive stood there in front of him. Her eyes brimmed with tears that he could see through the rims of her glasses, strands of her hair were falling out of the messy ponytail that sat at the nape of her neck. He looked down to her hands, seeing the card sitting in her fingers, the chipped nail polish a sign that she had been upset.

“Olive,” he started, and she cut him off, waving the card up to eye level as she spoke.

“Did you mean this?” She asked, her voice cracking and fresh tears falling down her cheeks. She bit her lip as she waited for a response, her own emotions overflowing with each second that ticked by. Olive was by all accounts no stranger to the idea of love, but rather she was constantly a bystander in the stories that depicted the tragedies and greatness of it all. But here she was, standing in front of the first boy she ever truly loved, hoping that for once she wouldn’t be a bystander.

“Of course I did,” Brock said, reaching out to grab her hands softly as he led her inside and closed the door. The dogs ran to Olive’s side, another reminder of one of the many things he loved about her coming into view as she knelt down and greeted them, the first smile he had seen from her since she knocked at his door.

“Then why didn’t you say it instead of sending it in a card?” She asked.

“Because I’m a fucking idiot.” Olive scoffed at his sentence and Brock panicked, realizing he picked the wrong choice of words to convey how he felt.

“Olive, I’ve been in love with you for months, since New Year’s Eve when you spilled a bottle of champagne all over your dress. I almost told you after Bo’s wedding when I called you in the middle of the night and told you I wanted to kiss you like a drunk idiot. You’re my favorite person, and nothing involving stupid petey and his stupid fucking rule changes that. I don’t care about petey I don’t care if he’s mad, I just want you, Olive, if you’ll have me” Brock was laying it out as clearly as his could, the words rushing from his mouth as he desperately reached out trying to hang onto the hope that what he and Olive had wasn’t lost because of his mistake.

Olive walked to Brock slowly, tears still rolling down her cheeks at the overwhelming emotions she was walking through. Each step she took felt like another word scribbled down in her notebook, another checkbox filled about the boy that consumed almost all of her thoughts. He was everywhere around her, in her heart and mind, in her readings and coursework, and in that little blue notebook that used to be about her life but was now filled with words, each one a synonym for how much she loved Brock.

Olive reached her hands up to Brock’s cheeks, his slightly grown out beard course against her hands in the best way as she pulled his head down to hers, crashing her lips to his for the first time since January. It was different this time, this kiss was harsher, deeper, and this time she knew that when she let him go he wouldn’t actually be going anywhere, they could be happy.

Brock reacted instantly to the kiss, wrapping his arms around her waist and pushing her back to the wall. When they pulled apart they both were breathless, Olive’s lips tinted a slightly darker shade as she put one hand on his chest, feeling the best of his heart.

“I love you, Olive. That’s yours.” He looked down to his chest then back at her, wiping some of her tears away as he held her tightly.

“I feel like we’ve wasted so much time,” Olive sniffled, wiping her eyes but smiling. Brock was hers, and it felt like she had been waiting a lifetime for him. To have him right there but just out of reach for months had more than taken its toll, but the weight that was slowly evaporating from her shoulders was freeing. She had Brock, she hadn’t lost her best friend, and she felt like she was no longer floating around waiting for the idea of love to catch her. It had, and it was standing in front of her, hands on her hips, his heart beating under her own hands.

“But we’re here now.” Brock smiled, leaning down to kiss her once more. He couldn’t believe this was happening and that he could be with Olive wholly. He didn’t even know if Petey knew she was here but he didn’t care. He was tired of letting a stupid rule dictate their happiness, and Petey would just have to get over it if he was mad still because he had no intentions of letting Olive slip through his fingers again.

“I have one last word for you, or phrase really,” Olive said as she tugged softly on Brock’s hair with one hand, the other still firmly pressed over his chest, feeling his heartbeat under her fingertips. He nodded at her, smiling fondly while he waited for her to continue.

“Unapologetically in love, which I think needs no definition,” she grinned, watching as Brock smiled once more, this time against her lips as he kissed her again. His hands planted firmly on her hips, sliding his fingertips just underneath her sweater to feel her soft skin as the kiss deepened, something that was long overdue for the both of them. His hands slid up further, fingertips dancing along the skin just underneath her bra.

“Brock,” Olive whined against his lips, shifting her body even closer to his.

“Yeah?” He murmured, his head dipping to her neck, pressing soft, but open kisses there, his breath hot on her throat.

“Bed,” she demanded, not having to tell Brock twice as he pulled his hands from her sweater, lacing his fingers through hers to lead her back into his bedroom.

Everything slowed down as Olive started pulling off her sweater, with Brock kissing her firmly as his hands reached down to the top of her leggings, fingertips on fire at the touch of her skin. She tugged on the hem of his shirt, breaking apart to pull it over his head and then leaning back down onto the bed. Brock hovered above her as they kissed again.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful, Olive,” He whispered as he looked at her. They had been together before, but seeing her in his bed, in front of him, and being able to tell her that he loved her made everything feel different and he was ready to savour every second of it. He peppered kisses all down her neck and chest as his hands wandered down her body, slowly sliding the leggings off as she picked up her hips.

Sex with Brock had always been good, but something about the way it felt with his hands on her this time, and they way he knew every dip and inch of her body, knowing that he loved her made it that much better. Olive had never been one to put that much weight into sex, it was something that she enjoyed but never let herself get attached to the person she was with. This felt different, his was the person that she was completely in love with, and everything felt like it had fallen into place as she wrapped her legs around him while he moved. She pulled his head down to hers and kissed him as she felt herself getting close underneath him.

Brock slipped out of her as they both finished, slightly out of breath as he threw on sweats while he walked to the bathroom, returning with a warm towel and one of his shirts for Olive to wear as he helped her clean up. He kissed her forehead softly as he handed her the shirt, climbing back into bed as she put it on and retreated into the bathroom, returning a few moments later with a lazy but beautiful smile on her face.

Olive crawled into bed and rested her hand softly on Brock’s bare chest, her head falling so that it was leaning against his shoulder, the words from minutes before hanging over her head, replaying in her mind as she felt her cheeks heat up from the thoughts of him consuming her. She could hear the rain that was now coming down outside, and the room was getting dark from the sun beginning to set.

Brock placed a kiss to her head, her hair unruly from his hand that had been in it only moments prior. He thought about how beautiful she looked in that moment, a soft smile on her lips that were slightly puffed up from kissing, cheeks still flushed. She looked up at him, her smile growing in the moment.

“Can I tell you I love you again?” She said, voice quiet and unsure, something that Brock noticed. Olive was loud and carefree, she didn’t question her feelings or emotions unless they meant something to her. Brock knew how she felt because he had felt that way about her for months now. It was out in the open, and he wanted nothing more than to tell the girl he loved just how much he loved her all the time and hear it back.

“You can tell me you love me anytime you want, Olive.” He said, eyes focussed on her as her cheeks heated up even more. He grabbed her hand that was on his chest and thread his fingers through hers as he adjusted his body to hover over hers, pressing his lips firmly to Olive’s once more that afternoon.

“I love you, Brockadoodle,” Olive smirked, causing Brock to laugh softly as he hung his head into her neck, his hand squeezing hers gently.

“I love you too, Ollie.”

--------------

Days turned into weeks as things shifted into a new normal. Brock and Olive were finally together, completely out in the open for everyone to see. Elias had apologized and fixed things with the both of them, missing his friends and feeling awful that he had unintentionally hurt them for so long. It was now summer and Olive had just gotten back from spending a time in Minnesota with Brock, meeting his family officially as his girlfriend. She felt at ease for the first time in almost a year, she had her friends, she had Brock and now she was starting summer classes to help knock how more of her graduate degree.

Olive wandered around the second floor of the library with a cold coffee in her hands. She was growing slightly impatient as she looked around for an empty table, groaning internally about why there didn’t seem to be any open spots this time of the year. It was early July, and no one usually took summer classes. She felt her gaze settle on a pretty redhead as she came up with an alternate plan, knowing that she needed to be in the library to focus or she would end up on FaceTime stupidly smiling at her boyfriend much before their scheduled time to talk that night.

She walked quickly over to the table, the pretty redheaded girl looking up at her wide eyed as she stood across from her.

“Can I sit here? I promise I’ll be quiet and I have snacks I can offer as bribery,” Olive smiled, putting on what she hoped was her friendliest face as the girl looked at her inquisitively.

“Uhm, sure,” she nodded slightly before settling back into her book.

Olive sat down and carefully started pulling her materials from her bag. She was doing her best to be quiet, not wanting to disturb the pretty girl in front of her. She let her eyes slip up and connect awkwardly with hers.

“I’m Olive,” she smiled, trying again to break the ice in hopes that it truly was okay that she was sitting here.

“Autumn,” the girl replied.

Olive continued arranging her things, combing through her notebook for the page where she left off so that she could resume her reading notes. Autumn watched her carefully as she did so, seeing Olive’s egregious amount of sticky notes with black ink scribbled all over them. She looked over at the book that Olive pulled out, more sticky notes visible from the sides of it. Autumn looked down in front of her, nothing there except for a pen and the short bullet points scribbled on her own arm and she immediately felt the contrast between them. When she looked back up, she noticed that Olive was now holding the same book that she was currently sitting with.

“Are you in the contemporary poetry writing class too?” Olive looked up at Autumn, her small voice surprising her as she looked over at the book the redhead was currently holding in her hands. She hadn’t yet been to the class, having missed the first week of summer courses because she went home with Brock to meet his family properly, so she couldn’t have seen Autumn before.

“Yeah, are you?” She asked, a friendly tone in her voice.

“Mhm, I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you, it’s a pretty small class,” Autumn was surprised at how forward she was being, she wasn’t normally one to be talkative with people she didn’t know. But she was new to Vancouver, and finding common ground with someone who had at least given her the impression that she was nice might not be a bad idea. She had been so excited to move here for school, escaping her hellish small town where everyone pathetically needed to one up each other with some trivial small town mindset. She hated how no one there seemed to want to leave, even though every last one of her peers from home were shallow minded and would do anything to cure some of the boredom that came from never leaving.

‘Oh, no I missed last week. I was in Minnesota with my boyfriend,” Olive smiled, thinking to herself about Brock and how it had only been a few days and she missed him. Her time in Minnesota was short but sweet. Brock’s family was incredibly important to him and she knew how close they were, so meeting them formally and as his girlfriend instead of just in passing had been nerve racking. Brock could ignore Elias’s now non-existent objections, but if his family didn’t like her she knew that it would be a deal breaker for them.

“Oh, is he from there?” Autumn asked, setting her book down. She could see on Olive’s face how much she lit up at the mention of this boy she was with. She was doing her best to not be shy, to try and make conversation with Olive and hopefully at least have a study partner for their shared class. Autumn was never great at making friends, her thoughts were often internal and she was quiet, and she was normally okay with that. She was an observer and liked to take in the world around her with her own thoughts, coming up with backstories for strangers in her head. But something about Olive was inviting, and she found herself wanting to hear her instead of imagining her story.

“Yeah, but he lives here for work. He’ll be back in a few weeks though. Hey, you should come out with us. He and our friend Elias have this dive bar night tradition when they get back in town. The bar they pick is usually terrible, but the drinks are cheap and the company is great.

Autumn was caught off guard at the invitation, but found herself wanting to accept anyways.

“Okay,” she smiled, picking her book up once more and beginning to read.

Brock had only been back home in Minnesota for a few weeks, but he found himself counting down the days until he could go back to Vancouver. Normally he loved going home, spending everyday on the lake and with his family. But this year it was different, this year he had someone waiting for him in Vancouver, and while he loved being home he knew that his heart was nestled into that small brick studio apartment, tucked safely right on the kitchen table next to a days old mug of coffee and a list that was probably far too scattered for him to even understand, Olive guarding it safely as she worked on the latest project or deadline she had to meet.

One thing that had been getting him moderately through was their nightly calls, always at the same time, and always ending with both of them falling asleep together over FaceTime. Technology had given them an avenue to still be together, even if it wasn’t physically.

“I’m so ready for you and the dogs to be back, I feel like I’m going insane here in my apartment now that summer term ended and you’re not here,” Olive smiles into her phone, Brock looking back at her fondly. He had just spent the afternoon on the lake, and his nose was slightly burnt, something that Olive teased him about. Truth be told, he couldn’t wait to be back either, this time for different reasons than the previous years. This year he had someone to come back to, and all he wanted to do was get back into the city and back with his girl.

“Do you miss me or just the dogs?” He laughed, flipping the camera to show both Coolie and Milo at his feet.

“Mostly them, but I do miss you too. Oh, speaking of, can I invite someone to dive bar night? I found a place too,” Olive asked as Brock flipped the phone back so that he was showing, now running a hand through his slightly damp hair.

“Sure? You have a new boyfriend you’re not telling me about?” He joked.

“No, but I met this girl that I think Elias would like. Brock, she’s like so pretty. Like so absolutely gorgeous, way prettier than Elias and he’s pretty. She’s a redhead though, does he even like redheads? I also kind of already invited her, so if you say no well then that’s tough shit for you,” She started rambling about Autumn, the girl who she had quickly become nearly best friends with in the short time that they had known each other.

“God Brock, they’d be perfect. They both think too much, it’ll be great. Elias will probably hate her clothes but he can get over that. Did I mention she’s absolutely stunning?” Olive added.

“Oh my god,” Brock laughed at Olive on his screen, “She’s not prettier than me right? Not going to leave me and build a little bookshop somewhere with her? He joked.

“I mean if Elias doesn’t go for her, it’s not a bad idea, maybe I should ask her…” Olive trailed off.

“You’re not even bi, calm down.” Brock teased.

“Sexuality is fluid Brockadoodle, especially when it’s pretty girls who read. Unlike you, who does not.”

“Petey doesn’t read either!” Brock retorted.

“Look, all men have flaws. You and Elias just happen to have the same one. If I can deal with it, so can Autumn,” Olive teased as she adjusted her glasses on her nose, taking her pen and scribbling down a few notes. Brock just rolled his eyes slightly, a fond smile on his face as he watched Olive get excited over the idea of playing matchmaker.

‘I’m kidding, honey. But, I really think that her and Elias would be a pretty couple, as I mentioned, they both think too much.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t meddle,” Brock tried, not wanting to put them in the middle of something involving Petey again.

“Listen, I’m trying to help our friends find happiness, this is not the same thing as what happened to us. So, can I bring her to dive bar night?” Olive was set in her mind, Autumn had quickly become one of her best friends and she wanted her to meet the other people in her life that had helped make the last year feel full, and if she could help two of her friends potentially find the love that her and Brock had found, she absolutely wanted to do it. Autumn and Elias both deserved happiness and love, and she couldn’t help but keep adding things to her lists of reasons about why they were almost a perfect match as she thought about setting them up more and more.

“Of course, I mean I’d love to meet this girl you’re going to run away and start a bookshop with,” Brock teased. He genuinely did want to meet Autumn. He loved hearing Olive get excited about anything, and he was more than happy to add someone else into the small group of friends that he had in Vancouver.

“Mhm, you don’t think Elias will be mad right? You know how he is about new people, but I think he’d really like her.” Olive said, internally groaning about how selective Elias was about who he spent his time with. It’s not that he was mean, or rude, but he took a while to warm up to new faces. Even when they had become friends, she was so sure he didn’t like her for weeks until they bonded over some obscure European grocery store in East Vancouver.

“He’ll be fine,” Brock shrugged.

--------------

A few weeks later, Brock found himself settling back into Vancouver, a familiar calm presence resonating in him as he adjusted back into the routine. This time was different though, because he was happy to be back for new reasons this year, one of which was standing in his ensuite bathroom getting ready for the annual dive bar night experience that had become one of his favorite traditions since moving to Vancouver.

“Brock, where’s my lipstick? I swear I left one here last time,” Olive called from the ensuite as she dug through the drawer of her things that had found a home in his bathroom. There were signs of her everywhere in his condo, and Brock had been steadily dropping hints for weeks about her just moving in.

Brock came into the ensuite, gently placing his hand on her waist as he leaned around her to pull the lipstick from his drawer. He smirked slightly as she took it from his hands. He made no move to change positions as he watched her swipe the signature crimson over her lips and fix her hair.

“You know you wouldn’t have to have duplicates if you just moved in, Ollie,” he said as he kissed her neck softly and tightened his grip on her waist. Olive turned her body into his to face him, lifting her hand to thread her fingers through his hair softly. The idea sounded amazing to her and she couldn’t in good faith argue that it was a bad idea when she knew that she would be spending more time here than her own apartment now that he was back. It also made her heart flutter, knowing that he was serious about her in the ways that she was serious about him. But, she also had her apprehensions, and didn’t want to rush into something too soon.

“My lease is up in December, let’s revisit then, yeah?” She smiled, thinking he would be okay with the compromise. Brock kissed her in response.

“So, that’s a yes just not yet, right?” He smirked.

“We’ll talk in November,” she laughed as she pulled herself away from him, fixing her slightly smudged lipstick. Her phone buzzed with a text from Autumn, letting her know that she was on her way to the bar to meet everyone.

“Come on, you’re always late!” She teased, walking out of the bathroom with Brock on her heels.

“Yeah, don’t think that’s me.” He laughed as he grabbed his keys.

Olive reflected back on the last time she walked through these bar doors, she was with Elias and was looking forward to meeting his best friend. She had no idea that by walking into the shitty dive bar in East Vancouver that night that she would meet someone who would completely engulf her with a type of love that she only knew from books and dreams. She didn’t know that the blonde boy, who was slightly sunburnt and bold enough to wear Birkenstocks to a bar would be the one that she was walking in with just a year later. Brock reached his hand down and he laced his fingers with hers, leaning down to press a kiss to her temple before they got to the entrance.

“Love you, Ollie.” He said, a wave of nostalgia from the last year hitting him as they got closer. Last year he watched as Olive walked into the bar with her red lips and messy hair and this year he was the one that got to walk in holding her hand. To anyone else it would be something straight out of a terrible Hallmark card that you get for Valentine’s Day, but to Brock it was the truth, he did feel lucky. All of the time spent, all of the drama had been worth it to him because that stuff is inconsequential when you know you want to be with someone.

Olive looked up at him and tugged on his hand slightly as she leaned up to kiss him properly, her red lipstick smudging slightly. She took her other hand and wiped it from his lips quickly, smiles on both of their faces.

“Love you, Brockadoodle. Now, let’s see if we can help Elias fall in love.”

#brock boeser imagine #brock boeser fic #brock boeser story #canucks story #canucks imagine #nhl fic #brock boeser

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sagasofazeria · 3 years

Text

OC-tober day one!

Prompt: Journey

Taglist: @talesfromaurea @hellishhin @thelaughingstag

And a special Event Tag for oc-tober: @oc-growth-and-development

For this one I’m doing two things! First, I finished the maps of the rest of Azeria and I’m too proud of them to wait to share haha. The heroes journey across a significant amount of this map throughout the story.

I’ve also included some snippets of each character leaving home for the first time, as it’s the beginnings of their journeys here.

Maps up first!! Behold, the full continent in all its massive size and glory. Super proud of all of this, I think it looks awesome. Also please excuse the repetition of the name labels and compasses and that stuff, I have the maps all on separate pages and wanted to make sure they can stand alone as well.

[Image Description: Six hand drawn maps, each showing a portion of a continent. Besides the northwest corner and a small exclave on the west coast, most of the land is of the country Azeria. The other parts are part of Leinos. The continent is covered in deserts, plains, hills, and rainforest/jungle. Off the western coast is the fog-shrouded sea of dragons, and off the eastern side is the vast ocean of Aksir-Atan. To the north is the Ikarron ocean./end ID]

Now for the snippets!

Gonna put them below a cut so this doesn’t get too long.

“Yep. I’m tired, Ardos,” Faulkron said, moving to push past.

“Of what, son?”

“Well first of all, that! Stop saying that, you know I’m not your son,” Faulkron said with a growl.

“Maybe, but I raised you, didn’t I?”

“I don’t care! I’m sick of all this! I’m tired of being here, with you!” Faulkron snapped.

Ardos’ face fell further, and his shoulders sloped. “You don’t mean that, do ya?”

Faulkron groaned and leaned against the wall, throwing his free hand into the air. “Maybe I do! I don’t know! I don’t even know who I am, Ardos! This town is all I know, but it isn’t me! How am I supposed to live like this any more?”

“Oh, a simple life ain’t so bad-“

“Yes it is, da— Ardos,” Faulkron quickly corrected, turning away.

“You almost called me dad,” Ardos said, a tiny kindling of hope in his voice.

“We all slip up,” Faulkron said, the coldness of the words making him almost regret saying them. Almost.

“You’re sure you wanna leave?” asked Ardos, voice much softer than it had been before, and laced with pain.

“Yes.”

“You even know where you’re goin’?”

“No. That’s the point. I’m tired of the things I know, I want something new.”

“I won’t stop ya, son.”

“I know,” Faulkron said as he turned back to face the door again.

“Come back and visit?”

“Ha. We’ll see,” Faulkron muttered, pushing past Ardos and out the door.

“Be careful!” Ardos called after him.

“Hmph.”

“I love ya, son.”

Faulkron didn’t respond.

•••

Fuego

•••

The fog lay, as it always had, like a heavy blanket over the island.

Fuego lit the lamp at the front of his boat with his fire, coaxing it to life and sending the fog hissing back, the slender ship’s front pointed out to sea.

He turned back to shore. His family, friends, the King even, were all gathered on the beach, similar lanterns in hand. The whole island had gathered to see him off as he sailed into what could prove to be a fatal journey.

Fuego took a deep breath, then spoke.

“People of Zul’Zagan! I promise you all, this great journey I’m taking now? It will be nothing compared go the glory of my return! I swear by my life I will sail the sea and find the fire to burn away the Shroud, the gods have decreed it and so that is what I go to do. I will keep you all in my mind, my heart, and my soul. I know these gifts are a thanks for what I’ve done, but it feels wrong not to thank you all as well. This is and always will be my home, and you are my people. I carry you with me anywhere I may sail.”

The king stepped forward, voice regal and booming. “And I pray for smooth seas and a forgiving sky on your quest, Fuego. We will not forget you either, lightbringer.”

The king bowed his head in salute, and Fuego returned the gesture. Waving goodbye to his family, he whooped as he unfurled his sail and his ship leaped forward into the unknown.

•••

Shakari

•••

“Shakari A’Tusaara. You have violated the laws of the Duulza, your people. You have stolen from the Vhamani, those who are your elders and who wield magic you are not yet strong enough to control. You show yourself to have dangerous hubris. Your ambition could be the downfall of all of us, you know this.”

Shakari hung her head. She couldn’t bear to look at her family, watching from the crowd.

“I am aware.”

“So then you know why we must exile you.”

“I do,” they responded, fury and pain boiling inside their chest.

“Very well. Shakari, you hereby lose your place among the Duulza. You are no longer your mother’s child, and have no home in Duulza lands. You will be sent into the desert alone. If you should return and you have not been humbled, you will be met only with blades. If you should return and have made right your crimes, then you will be welcome once more.”

The elder, a rugged-looking dragonborn with sandblown blue scales, stepped forward, magic swirling around their claws.

“I place this Mark on you now. When it has gone, return to us. Remember, you are not above the world, but part of it. A dragon’s ferocity is wasted on destruction.”

A searing heat pressed into their chest, a white-hot symbol appearing on their scales as the elder placed their palm over Shakari’s chest.

“It is done.”

Still wincing from the brand, Shakari turned her back on her tribe for the last time, and walked into the desert.

•••

Jetra

•••

Jetra scowled at the man on the street corner.

“Marakos, the Hero! He died for you, all of you! He fought off a bandit scourge, and sacrificed his life! Honor his sacrifice. Be a hero! Join the army of Leinos! Remember him, and fight!”

She was sick of hearing the army talk about her father like this.

Setting her jaw, she slunk through the crowded streets toward the recruiter.

She snuck up behind him where he was standing on some crates, and before he could spew another lie she kicked the crates out from beneath him.

He crashed to the ground, sputtering, and Jetra took off back into the crowd.

When she was sure she wasn’t being followed, she made her way back to their house.

Her mom wasn’t home yet, so she let herself in. She packed her stuff quickly, and when she’d finished, she waited.

When her mom finally opened the door, Jetra had already made a meal.

They ate it in silence for the most part. They were both tired, and their minds were making all the necessary noise.

When the food was gone, Jetra finally spoke.

“I’m leaving tonight, mom.”

“I suspected,” her mother sighed.

“I can’t take this anymore, and-“ Jetra started.

“Hush, love. The less I know, the better, remember?”

Jetra sighed. “I know.”

“You’ve got everything?”

“Yes.”

“Come here,” she said, opening her arms and standing.

Jetra walked over and sank into her arms.

“I love you, daughter. Please, be careful.”

“I will, mom.”

With that, she stepped out into the nighttime streets of Anikora.

As she walked through the shadowy streets, she saw a small glowing bird appear on a nearby rooftop. It flapped its wings once, then took off. She smiled, and followed it out of the city.

•••

Alejandro

•••

His parents didn’t say why they were leaving, just that it was today. Alejandro wasn’t sure how to feel. He would miss the village a lot. He waved goodbye to all his friends, his old house, the beach, and the rest of the village, as his dad held him on the horse they were riding. His mother was on another horse next to them, with all the stuff they’d taken with them. It wasn’t a lot, because they couldn’t afford that much more space.

When they’d reached the big city, they stayed for a while, before getting on a boat that took them across a lot of water and to another city. Then they were walking again, and they walked with some other people too, people Alejandro didn’t know. There was another kid too, and they played sometimes, but it was mostly boring. They all traveled for a really long time, and Alejandro quickly forgot which way it was to home.

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wallgirl · 3 years

Text

The Little Nereid Part 11

Record of Ragnarok fanfiction

Poseidon x OC

Word count: 2,100

Dynamene, youngest of the 50 Nereids, has lived most of her adolescence as a servant alongside her sisters at Poseidon’s palace. But with her coming-of-age birthday and other developments, what she initially thought was just admiration of her master blossoms into something stronger and more passionate… and painful.

Categories and warnings: Romance, angst, unrequited love, coming-of-age, earn-your-happy-ending, slow-burn (ish); no sexual content. There will be some graphic violence in the future.

Starting a temporary hiatus; will have about ?17? parts total.

---

Dynamene could hardly see through the dark, brackish water that surrounded her on every side. She was too upset to pay attention to where she was going; she swam straight on until her tears had stopped. When she had finally slowed to a halt, she didn't recognize the ocean around her. The water was colder and the coral reefs had disappeared. A heavy stillness and silence pressed about her. She allowed herself to drift down to the bottom, her gentle landing stirring up clouds of silt. She was completely alone now. This part of the ocean was largely devoid of sea life; any way she turned, she saw no movement. It was only her and the swaying kelp that stretched as far as her limited vision could see.

Sniffling quietly, she removed her bracelet and cradled it in both hands. It didn't shine in the hazy water, but the colors remained the same. She stared at it, wishing that the same strong hands that had gifted it to her could appear now to caress her cheek and tell her that everything would be alright.

But they would not. She was all by herself, with no one to count on or turn to. She didn't dare go back home now, where they would surely lock her up on account of keeping her safe. She couldn't go back to his palace either; that would be the first place her family would look for her. Her face crinkled up again in despair, but no tears emerged; she had cried them all out long ago.

What do I do? Where do I go? I'm alone now. And I have the feeling that, no matter where I go, people will discourage me from following my heart. She squeezed the bracelet tight.

I want to see you. Won't you come here, so I can talk to you? I want to hear you explain things in your calm, logical way. I want to hold your hand and feel how strong its grip is around mine. I want you to hold me until I feel better, and this ache goes away.

Her lower lip quivered, and she allowed herself to sink down onto the coarse sand. She curled up, squeezing the bracelet to her chest with both hands. But you won't.

Maybe my feelings are hopeless after all. I have no way to act on them. I can't tell him what I really feel, and my family won't let me be with him. It's all useless. It's all for nothing.

She sensed something moving in the seaweed nearby, and quickly turned. A small pike was poking its head out, watching her puzzledly.

"Oh, excuse me, my lady," the pike said quickly. "I wasn't expecting to see one of you Nereids way out here, especially so late."

"No, it's okay," Dynamene sat up straighter. "I hope I didn't disturb you." She brushed the sand from her cheek.

"Not at all. I was just settling in after a hunt." It swam forward curiously, its immobile little face and dark eyes an almost humorous clash with its sympathetic voice. "Are you alright? You sounded upset."

"I..." Dynamene covered her face in both hands. "I am. It's been a horrible night. I've ran away from home. I got in an argument with my older sister... I don't know where to go from here."

The pike rested against her leg sympathetically. "I'm sorry to hear that. Family quarrels are never fun. Do you want to talk about it? It might not be much, but I can listen."

Dynamene took a deep breath. "I... I've fallen in love with someone that my family doesn't approve of."

"Oh, dear. That's no good."

"No. I want to be with him, but they won't hear me out. They don't like him at all. I don't know what to do. I love him, but it's hopeless. Nothing will come of it." Dynamene wiped at her eyes, despite the fresh tears bubbling away in the water.

The pike was quiet for a moment, flicking its tail in thought. "I might have some advice, if you'd like."

Dynamene looked at it in surprise. "You do?"

"Yes. About thirty miles from here, overlooking the coast on a tall hill, is a temple of Aphrodite. Perhaps she could counsel you."

Dynamene jerked back in surprise. "Aphrodite?! I'd never even considered..."

"She can be temperamental, but it's said that she loves a good love story. She might see fit to help you. You can get there from here by following the north star."

Dynamene mulled this over briefly. Temperamental... I already knew that from gossip over the years. But if there's even the slimmest chance that she can help me, I have to try. She had never spoken to Aphrodite, only seen her from a distance during formal events. Aphrodite was not one to often lift a finger for mortals who asked for her help. But Dynamene was a Nereid, and part of Poseidon's court. Perhaps she would be willing to speak to her. Dynamene's expression began to brighten with hope. "Thank you so much, friend. I truly appreciate it."

"Not at all. I hope your luck improves, Nereid." The pike brushed its face against her hand before returning to its home in the weeds.

Dynamene took a deep breath, her spirits slightly lifted. A door had finally opened for her; she had a spark of hope to embrace now. That spark had lit a new resolve within her, flooding out the dark hopelessness that had weighed her down previously. But it was so late, and she was tired. There was no way she could make the long swim to the temple on her limited energy. She began to walk the ocean floor, the current gently pushing against her body. She just needed to find a good place to rest for a while.

Her approach stirred up a school of silvery blue fish from the weeds, and they scattered in every which way about her. She stopped to watch them swirl about her. Their color was a perfect match for Poseidon's eyes. The ache returned to her chest, and she reached for them, her fingertips brushing against the slick scales.

I wish I could see you right now. Are you asleep at the palace? Or have you returned to the Indian Ocean, seeing to your duties? Even if we're miles apart, the idea of you being awake as well comforts me...

I love you. I want to be yours. I want you to be mine. I want to wake up next to you in the morning and see the sun shining in your fair hair. I want to cling to your arm as we attend events together; you and I, as lovers. I want you to take me all across the ocean, showing me everything you know, everything you see.

If that can happen, then one night alone on this cold seafloor isn't so bad.

A dip in the silt ahead seemed like a reasonable spot to stop. She curled up in it, her body just small enough to fit comfortably. She waved her fingers, and the surrounding seaweed gently bent over her to weave themselves into a delicate shelter. Taking comfort in her new course of action, she quickly faded off into a deep sleep filled with visions of slender lips and strong arms.

---

Hundreds of miles away, Poseidon stood before a towering underwater wall of craggy rock. Focusing his energy, he slowly rose his arm and tightened his hand into a fist. By his will, the rock groaned in an ear-splitting crack before separating. Giant segments of the wall began to fall slowly through the water, narrowly avoiding the sea god. He didn't blink. He knew they wouldn't touch him.

The last of the fault was finally broken up; at least that of it which had been causing the disturbance. Given another year, the grinding of the plates might resume. Even he couldn't stop the movement of the Earth's giant tectonic plates, but he had no desire to. It was simply another cycle of nature. That being said, he also didn't like the idea of the friction leading to disaster. He'd have to have one of the lesser sea gods keep an active eye on it for the time being.

His work finally finished, he leapt from his perch to land on the ocean floor. One task was done; now he had another to focus on.

"Come to me," he spoke. His words were at a casual volume, but they resonated over hundreds of meters, reaching out to the sea life nearby. At once, the animals stopped what they were doing and began to flock towards him, his words an undeniable command. Like a scene from a painting, fish, cetaceans, and crustaceans of every sort formed a colorful crowd about him in the pristine blue waters.

"The largest of you, find me more of these." He held up an opened oyster in his hand, showing them the mother-of-pearl interior. "Only oysters that are this size or larger will do. Quickly."

The sea life scattered, the biggest animals rushing out obediently to find what he'd asked for. Some of the oysters they fetched were broken from being opened by other animals.

"No, not the cracked ones," he told a whale who brought him a large oyster that was nearly trisected. He gently placed his hand on its head. "Only those that are intact. I need them for jewelry."

The whale looked at him with its intelligent dark eyes before hurrying away once more.

Why am I doing this? I promised her a bracelet. I don't need these many oysters.

A necklace and a tainia for her hair will be much more visible. No one will miss them. I'm sure she'll be over the moon with delight. Such a simple girl.

But a bracelet is a rather pathetic gift. So low-brow coming from one of the greatest gods. So easy to miss on such a slender wrist.

A heap of oysters with shining interiors quickly began to pile up next to him. "That's enough," he told his subjects. "Thank you."

He summoned a bag, and as if they'd returned merrily to life, the oysters hopped one by one inside. He fastened the bag and was about to return to the surface when he saw a humpback dolphin steadily approaching from far off in the blue void.

"What is it?" He asked the animal as soon as it came within range. He recognized the intricate golden markings on its back immediately as a sign that it was part of the court of the Nereids' family. "My day is busy enough as it is."

"I apologize for... interrupting you, sire," the dolphin began apologetically. It was completely out of breath, as if it had raced the entire way here. Poseidon's brow furrowed. If the dolphin was arriving just now in the morning, it had to have left its palace in the dead of night.

"You're nearly incomprehensible. Surface first, then tell me."

"Lord Poseidon, it's an emergency. The Nereid Dynamene has run away overnight."

Poseidon froze. His jaw clenched tightly. "...Run away?"

"She had a quarrel with one of her sisters last night, and escaped into the ocean. She hasn't been seen since. Her family is... is worried for her."

Poseidon's lip began to curl. Those idiot Nereids. I allow them to remove her from my palace, and they can't even keep hold of her for one day. Worthless sisters. I should have never let them leave. "Where do they think she might have gone?" He managed to ground out. Cracks began to form in the seafloor beneath his boots.

The dolphin shrank away from him, his anger apparent from the way the water was beginning to simmer about his body. "They haven't any idea, my lord. They wondered if she might have returned to your palace."

"That would be the logical idea." His cool words barely concealed his rage. "Return to them. I will return home and organize a search on my end immediately. If she has returned to the palace, I will send word."

"Yes, my lord." The dolphin quickly swam towards the surface to take a breath before making its return journey.

Poseidon stood there, fuming, as he formed a plan of action. The sea life nearby quickly scattered, not wanting to get caught in his growing wrath. Stupid child. She'll get herself killed. She's far too naïve and weak to traverse the ocean alone. So like a young girl, to let her emotions rule over her. The water around him was boiling now, bubbles hissing in his ears.

Eyes snapping, he waved his arm in a sweep before himself. The water began to roar as it swept quickly all about him. For her sake, she'd better be at the palace.

The turbulent current dispersed, and he was gone.

---

AUGHHH

I listened to On My Own from Les Misérables. The 25th Anniversary Samantha Barks version. That's what I thought of with Dynamene by herself.

Is Poseidon even capable of loving another person? Or is owning someone like an object the closest he gets to affection?

I will be taking a brief hiatus from writing this to refill my writer juice, no longer than 3 weeks. I love this story, but I'm losing energy for writing it. I need to give it some space to regain that emotional drive. I will see you all soon!

#record of ragnarok #poseidon #poseidon x oc #record of ragnarok poseidon #shuumatsu no valkyrie #fanfiction

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peaches-writes · 4 years

Text

full circle

description: even if you’ve only known him for eight years, if you think about it, you’ve actually been with minho for most of his entire life. member: minho / lee know genre: fluff, historical au, vampire au, time traveler au, college au, neighbour au, best friends to lovers au, fem reader, this is a longer and revised version of reliable source word count: 10k warnings: explicit language, mentions of animal murder, war, death, blood, alcohol note: yay a third entry to the seven hundred and one universe! oc from seven hundred and one universe is named shiyeon here while the oc from kart rider is named soojung! + this prolly has a lot of plot holes & is just generally mediocre but whatever it’s fiction lmao + @skzwriternet

present: February 13, 2020

Even before he saw you on the other side of his apartment door at 9 PM with all of your work materials and equipment, Minho already knew full well that this day was coming. He’s always known most days are coming. He‘s just more excited for this in particular than the rest, given its inevitability that he‘s lived through for almost 600 years of his total 900 years as a vampire. Tonight, as evidenced by the Google Docs displayed on your open laptop, is the night you’d travel to the past for your doctorate thesis and meet his past self for the first time.

He just didn’t expect this in particular to be on the day right before Valentine’s Day, when he and his two other housemates have decided to make a complete mess out of the kitchen with all of the chocolate they’ve been trying to make.

“Hi, sorry for bothering you at this hour but I was thinking—ew, what’s that smell?” You instinctively and bluntly ask first, sniffing the air escaping his side of the door. Minho could smell it too, strongly at that, and the older vampire could only purse his lips and widen his eyes at you. “Are you guys—please don’t tell me you’re actually cooking humans this ti—“

At that, he immediately shakes his head and breaks out into a nervous laugh, pulling the door closer to his body and effectively hiding Jisung scrambling around for the exhaust (and maybe the fire extinguisher too, for some reason) before you could peer over his shoulder. “No, no! It’s just Jisung and Jeongin—well, it’s mostly Jeongin then he dragged Jisung in on it—they’re making Valentine’s Day chocolates for...some people.”

You could sense the slight bluff in his tone (supported further by the little heart-shaped candy on his cheek) and that at least one of those ‘some people’ he could possibly be referring to is one of your friends, Nari, whom Jeongin has not-so-discreetly been pining over since your second year of college, but you easily let it slide. In the eight years you’ve known the vampires who live and own your apartment complex, after all, you’ve definitely walked in on much wilder things than a couple of questionably burnt chocolates (chocolates aren’t even cooked, as far as you’re concerned!). “Um, okay, sure, I’ll trust you with that.” You squint your eyes at him. “Anyway, can I come in? I need your help with something.”

Minho exhales a small sigh of relief which he turns into a smile for you before looking over his shoulder once to make sure that the coast is clear then opening the door wide once again. “Yeah, come on in.” He concludes next, picking up your backpack on the floor and your heavy laptop in your hands as you cross the threshold. “But it’s really messy in the common area right now so we’ll have to stay in my room, if that’s okay with you.”

You’ve never been in his room, not even when you first became friends in your first year of college eight years ago or on game nights when he always asks for help taking out his Play Station sets. All of Jisung and Jeongin’s jokes of his serial killer tendencies when you’re not around could be true for all you know and it’s the only thing going through your head as you wordlessly follow him inside his apartment, pondering on the thought.

In response, Minho bites down a laugh between his teeth next to you as he accidentally reads your thoughts and when you catch him in the act, you make sure to elbow him with your freer arm, careful of your drafts binder. “Ya, stop reading my thoughts without permission, you asshole!” You scold him in a sharp hiss right as you pass Jisung and Jeongin in the open doorway leading to the kitchen. You greet the two courteously and even make a salute to the fallen chocolates, to which Minho laughs even more at and the two boys groan in protest. “Well, shit, it really is...bad.”

“I know, poor people who’ll get that tomorrow.” Minho shrugs.

“You could say Nari, it’s fine, I won’t tell.” You shrug back with a laugh, taking this time to take the candy off of his cheek and walking past him and the other two boys with a parting wave before Jeongin could even process that you caught up to him and his crush so easily.

Minho, meanwhile, clears his throat awkwardly and follows you, in a poor attempt to hide his immediate flustered expression. Some of the chocolates were actually for you but he won’t tell you that too, of course.

Especially not when you arrive in his room not long after, nodding in approval at its cleanliness that clearly contrasts the current state of his kitchen and, by a slight extension, living room. “Glad you to know you don’t murder people in your room, Min. See? We get closer as friends would every day.”

“I’ve been on blood bag and animal diet since we met, you brat. Don’t tease like that.” Minho rolls his eyes, prompting you to laugh.

“So, where do I work, then?” You ask after, turning to Minho on your side and accidentally brushing your shoulders together.

He gestures to his work table in response, naturally placing his other hand on your back and guiding you towards it. He really hopes you’d be oblivious to the way he’s growing more flustered this time. He doesn’t let you in his room for a reason, after all (that being it’s too intimate in his opinion). “You can use my desk.” He instructs you after, following you and pulling an extra chair for himself once you’ve reached his desk. Placing your backpack next to his work bag then your laptop on top of the table, he then asks, “So, are you travelling now or later?”

He already knew you’d do it sometime now, he really just wanted to ask to keep the conversation going. He even has your hanbok ready—bought from Changbin’s wife’s shop last month.

But, to you, he seems to have miscalculated the situation a little bit as a realization dawns on you while you’re taking out the portable time travel machine from your backpack. It’s actually just a watch but your professors insist on keeping them in really fancy boxes. “I can do it now if it’s oka—wait, I haven’t even told you that part yet! How do you know I’m not just going to hoard your wi-fi?” You exclaim mid-thought, your mouth falling agape and forming an ‘o’ shape in surprise. You know he wasn’t reading your mind just now because, usually, Minho would announce his presence obnoxiously loud in your head or make the face he did a while back but he didn’t this time. “So you’re going to agree to my request? Is that it?”

Eyes equally wide in his mistake, Minho falls back in his chair and ends up fumbling around with his words. “Well—no, I mean, you always only need my help when you’re about to time travel so—!” He tries his best to cover up which only elicits a victorious smile from you. “Ugh, fine, you got me!”

“So, you’ll help me? I mean, past you, technically.” You ask again for confirmation, sitting down on your own chair this time as you fully take out the portable machine and place it on your lap. “I have to tell you, though, that I need to travel to three other periods for my thesis this time. Is that okay?”

Minho props his elbow on the arm rest and nods against his knuckles. “You already know the answer to that, I think.”

You chuckle at this. If eight years of knowing him has taught you anything, it’s to pay attention to the smallest details. He’s clairvoyant, after all, and you need to up him at his own game every now and then somehow. “Then, I’ll also need the proper attire. Haseul said that she can’t take in commissions at the moment so I couldn’t—“

“In the closet, furthest right.” Minho gestures to the walk-in closet behind him in defeat. “You can use that for all the times you’ll go, too.”

“Have I told you that you’re my bestest friend in the world today? Even more than Nari, and she’s a witch, might I add!” You dramatically announce with a grin, handing him the machine’s box before standing up and making a beeline to the double doors on the other side of his bed. When you follow his instructions and find a pink and blue hanbok along with a floral hairpin on the very end of his closet, you then take it out and head to the open bathroom across the room. “Oh, wow, you even got my size right! You must’ve been preparing for this for a long time, huh?”

He really has—but, again, Minho is too stubborn to admit it to your face. “Just tell me if it’s uncomfortable or something.” He simply replies to you instead before you could close the door and change. Once he hears you acknowledge him with a hum before clicking the door to a lock, he then quickly prepares the time travel watch for you (by the way he remembers you doing it in front of him countless of times while you were cramming for a school requirement with him) then places it next to your laptop in exchange for his phone to message the rest of his friends.

minho [9:13 PM]: its happening

chan [9:14 PM]: you’re confessing?

hyunjin [9:14 PM]: hey that’s great! good for you hyung!!!

minho [9:16 PM]: no! y/n’s making the travel to 1388!

changbin [9:18 PM]: chan u know not to get ur hopes up w minho alr we all know he’s hopeless

minho [9:21 PM]: just bc ur alr married u brat

Changbin was still typing out a reply in the groupchat when you came out of the bathroom in your hanbok, laughing behind your hand when Minho looks up and momentarily gapes at you. “Why are you looking at me like that, weirdo?” You furrow your brows as you approach, smacking his arm before sitting down on his bed right behind him with a slight struggle. Peering over his shoulder, you smile appreciatively at noticing the time machine already set up. “And I see you’ve set up the machine without breaking anything this time! Progress!”

Minho scoffs, swiveling his wheeled chair to face you properly before gesturing to the hairpin in your hands. “You don’t like the hairpin?”

"I don’t know why you’re making me wear a hairpin that looks like a wedding heirloom.” You frown. Not to mention, from it’s material, you could tell that it’s new as well, meaning it was designed this way on purpose. “Won’t it attract too much attention?”

Minho doesn’t know why you eventually came to him in the past wearing the hairpin too. He thought his future self was being ridiculous then (and he still does in the moment). “I don’t know, either,” He tells you truthfully this time, standing up from his chair to place it on your tightly-made bun. “But you did come wearing it eventually so just go with the flow, I guess? I don’t know, what do your sci-fi movies say?”

You scoff at him, puffing out the heat rising up to your cheeks at the proximity. He could read your mind if he wants to but he doesn’t seem to be in the moment, even when his lips are gently fanning air into your ear as he fixes the hairpin with utmost care. “I guess I’ll just have to follow your instincts, then.” You sigh in defeat. “I can’t miss a detail, even if it’s weird.”

“Right. I was there in the moment before you right now.” He smiles cheekily before sitting back down on his chair, passing you your time travel box after. “Ready to go?”

You nod, fixing your collar one last time before receiving the machine from his hands. “You haven’t met me in the 1388, right?”

“The first time you met me in the past was in the 1910s for that graduate thesis of yours and the oldest version of me that you’ve met so far was the one from the the 1740s.” Minho corrects, recalling your fourth year thesis some eight years ago. “But the first time I met you in my history was for this doctorate.”

Your eyes light up at this. “Really? You’re meeting me for the first time now?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“We’ll have differing first impressions after this!” You point out to which he snickers. “Also, I haven’t met this version of you, you might be a snob in 1388 and think I’m weird or something.”

Minho personally doesn’t think his first impression of you will ever change, no matter when you’ll meet in time. He’ll always think positively of you. “I was already turned for a long time, then. I haven’t met Chan and the others but I’ve seen and heard of weirder things than a time traveler.” He assures you. “Now, go, so I can help Jisung and Jeongin in the kitchen.”

Rolling your eyes, you then set the date to January 1388 (you notice Minho’s already set the location while you were in the bathroom) before bidding a temporary goodbye to him, disappearing into thin air with the watch on your wrist right after. “I’ll be back before you know it!”

In the blink of an eye, you’re already in a flea market somewhere in Seoul (then named Hanseong, you made sure to remember that well out of all of your history and anthropology notes).

past: January 1388

You easily find 1388 Minho wandering around the flea market, a crowd of court men and women following him religiously as he examines the crops, livestock, and flowers being sold in stalls. The sight makes you scoff in disbelief, even more when you approach and see how he ignores each and every one of them up close.

You know Minho isn’t the one of royal blood in his current coven of vampires (that’s Hyunjin—you know it well from the amount of times you’ve pestered him in your other time travels while he was sulking over his present day fiancée) but he has mentioned in passing once about being popular in the palace court, a socialite of his time if you will.

But then, who could blame him? He’s just that handsome and charming.

“Minho...Lee Minho...” You try calling for him in the crowd but to no avail, the slight embarrassment of following the crowd creeping up to you. It reminds you a bit of when you first saw him in your timeline, your first year of college and his fourth year (because Chan keeps insisting that he goes to university every now and then to pass the time) when all kinds of students would also follow him around at the campus library. It’s annoying, regardless of wherever you are in the world timeline. “Excuse me, Lee Minho!”

He only turns to you when you raise your voice, an eyebrow momentarily raised until your eyes meet and a look seemingly of recognition crosses his features.

You became friends with him as an older vampire but why is he more intimidating as a younger one? It’s probably the rest of the crowd’s eyes being on you because of your sudden interruption. Either way, you forcibly gulp down your nervousness and call for him again. “Lee Minho?”

“Yes?”

“C-Can I—Can I talk to you for a moment?” You gesture for him to follow you, his piercing gaze making your hands shake a bit. This is probably what Chan meant when he said Minho was a bit scary when he first met him in the 1400s.

Minho follows you, anyway, which alleviates and heightens your nervousness at the same time. The crowd would’ve followed if not for him glaring at them not to right before you turned to the main entrance of the flea market where a few people were loitering around at. He feels like he knows you from somewhere which, if you knew about, you’d tell him that that’s impossible since, chronologically, you haven’t met him before this.

Once you’re away from the majority of the market crowd, only then do you turn to properly face him and his expectant eyes. He’s still looks the same as he does in the present, just more curious, seeing as you’re a stranger for now. It’s comforting, somehow, so much so that it relaxes you and eventually makes you laugh as well.

“What’s so funny?” He asks you without any hint of malice once you uncontrollably burst into giggles, prompting you to lift your hand up to your mouth. Already developing his clairvoyant abilities at this time period, he could easily tell by the unfamiliar terms in your thoughts and the way you hold yourself up that you were different—far more different than everyone around you. “And who are you?”

You wave your other hand dismissively, taking a step back to recuperate. You end up giggling a few more times before you could manage to take a deep breath and exhale slowly by turning your eyes away from Minho momentarily. “I’m sorry, I’m Y/N and I—sorry! It’s just so...it’s a bit weird!”

“Definitely.” Though your answer is unsatisfactory, the boy nods anyway. “And how do you know my name?”

“I know you from the futur—wait, you can tell that it’s a bit weird too?” You raise an eyebrow and fold your arms over your chest. “It’s…sometime in the 1300s—“

“Thirteen eighty-eight.”

“Right.” You nodded at his correction with a dry scoff, piquing his interest further. “It’s only 1388 and you’re already this good of a clairvoyant?”

Minho was instinctively taken aback with you. His present self forgot to tell you that clairvoyance doesn’t have an established name in this time yet. “How did you—? What? Huh, well…the hanbok—the hanbok’s a bit of a giveaway too, I guess. It looks different from what the court women usually wear.”

You then briefly glanced down at your hanbok, a pout resting on your features when you look back up at Minho again. “Really? But you—I mean, my source told me that this was accurate.” Come to think of it, you didn’t really check the attire thoroughly since you really needed to travel immediately to cram your paper. You’ll have to give 2020 Minho an earful about this later. “Ah, guess it’s my fault for not double-checking. I was in a bit of a rush to come here.”

Minho from 1388, however, shakes his head at you in disapproval then briefly begins pointing out the different design patterns that looked foreign to him. “And this hairpin,” He pointed your hair accessory last, from what you can remember at present. There’s an unreadable expression in his face, one you’re too flustered to interpret as amusement. “This looks like a wedding heirloom but…a bit futuristic for my time, if that makes sense. I don’t suppose you wanted to come here disguised as someone’s wife, right? That’d attract more attention to you.”

And with that, you almost immediately deflate right in front of him with a defeated sigh and he smirks teasingly in return. To the passersby at the flea market, people could’ve easily mistaken the two of you for a quarreling married couple. “So that’s how it is.” You surrender easily, your arms loosening. “I guess even at this time you’re clairvoyant and smart. How annoying.”

His smirk grows even more triumphantly at this. “So, why did you come here?” He asks next. He figures out halfway through your rambles that it’s probably better to go along with you than to insist on his own questions, at least until you’ve organized your thoughts a little bit better.

You ponder on the question for a moment, shifting your weight between the balls of your feet to pass the time. When you do answer, you explain, “Well, it’s a little crazy but my source has said that you’ll be okay with it so...believe it or not, I’m from the future and doing my doctorate thesis on a dynasty that’s about to establish itself around this time.” When 1388 Minho doesn’t immediately and visibly freak out as he would on your worst case scenario, you take this as your cue to continue. “You’re still alive in my time but I can’t tell you what our relationship is or it’ll be spoilers! All I can say is that you��ve helped me passed a lot of my major requirements in school and if you’re okay with it, you can help me with this one too!”

The Minho in front of you thinks that you probably know him very well to know that he’s not easily spooked with anything out of the ordinary, not even by someone who claims to be from the future and is doing an academic paper about the past. You did mention knowing his personal history, as well, which effectively gained you his trust. He just hopes you’re not married or something in the future as the hairpin seems to be trying to imply or else he’d consider this first meeting of yours a bit chaotic for his liking. “Sure. Where do you have to be right now?”

Really? It’s that easy? Is all you can think about, much to Minho’s curiosity when he reads your thoughts. “O-Oh, well, um...if you can take me to the palace courts, that would be...cool, I mean nice.”

And so, Minho from 1388 ends up showing you around the palace courts for the next six months that follows (but, really, it’s just merely six minutes in the present time), even introducing you to people whom you ended up entrusting with your data-gathering. You almost mentioned Hyunjin and his fiancé, Shiyeon, on more than one occasion, remembering how the vampire would be with Seungmin already by this time while the immortal witch would be travelling around Korea, but opted not to instead when you also remember that no one from this time period really liked talking about the previous fire that killed most of Hyunjin’s family.

Besides, you didn’t want to mess up the timeline and have Minho meet Hyunjin before he could meet Chan, even when he would ask you about it right before you left.

“How am I in the future, by the way? Am I allowed to ask that?” Minho asks you curiously as you hold out your watch in front of him. It was starting to get annoying, having to hide it in your bell sleeves all the time. “And what am I doing by then?”

“I can’t say anything specific that’s important.” You scrunch up your nose disapprovingly to which Minho only glares at you in response. “Just trust me, you’re sort of happy with where you are in my present day. You don’t have to worry about it now, it’s still 600 years away, anyway.”

Minho mistakenly interprets that as the two of you being married in the future. He doesn’t have feelings for you in this time period but he takes your word not to worry about it until it’s happened.

Besides, you seem kind. He’ll see something in you eventually.

“When will I see you again, then?”

“Um...around 1418, probably?” You answer with a hint of uncertainty as you faintly recall your thesis’ outline. You needed to see King Sejeong’s court next. “You’ll still be here, right?”

Minho initially had plans on moving to a nearby province but he nods, anyway, thinking that that could wait for a few more years. “Yeah.”

And with that, you’re gone again.

present: February 13, 2020

When you get back to the present day, it’s only 9:35 PM, almost six minutes since you left, but Minho’s already in the kitchen, helping Jisung and Jeongin clean up their mess.

“Back already?” Minho asks with a blood bag between his teeth when he catches sight of you by the open doorway as he wipes the kitchen island clean, immediately noticing the grin you wear on your face. “What did you think?”

“You were much chiller then!” You exclaim, ducking past Jeongin and Jisung to sit down right across Minho on the countertop. “I mean, you were a bit scary at first with the whole glaring thing you got going on but you were very calm and collected, then, like you weren’t even phased about me being from the future!”

Of course he would be at that time, he was literally there when it happened (and also because he’s always had a feeling even from before that you’d meet but that’s also on his long list of things he won’t tell you). Instead, you see him quirk an eyebrow, throwing the rag towel in his hand to the side to pick up his phone and resume his Kart Rider. “Weirdoes vibe with weirdoes, I guess.” He shrugs, chuckling when you protest at this. “Anyway, you got what you need, right?”

You nod happily with a hum, propping an elbow up on the now clean counter and resting your cheek on your palm. “I have enough to write about later when you’re done cleaning.”

“Ya, Y/N, if you’re gonna stick around at least help us clean the kitchen!” Jisung complains as he drags a wet mop across the floor behind you.

“And why would I do that? I didn’t even help you make the chocolates!”

“Because Minho’s been making cho—” Before Jisung could finish his sentence, however, Minho throws his rag towel towards the younger vampire, aiming it directly to his face. “Ya!”

You shake your head in disbelief, turning to Minho again after. “Anyway, I have to fix my notes for a bit and you need to tell me where else I went for this paper!”

Also because you were kinda cute back then, you think to yourself more as an after-thought, not really expecting for Minho to accidentally hear it.

Now, Minho knows why he made you wear the hairpin. Is it normal to be jealous of one’s past self?

present: February 16, 2020

Minho offers you a whole bag of your favorite mini Toblerones the next time that you knock on his door to work on your thesis. The Valentine’s Day homemade chocolates were a fail even when Felix was eventually brought in last-minute (then you just had to disappear for a whole day with Nari and Shiyeon, too), so he rushed to the nearest convenience store to buy you the Toblerones as soon as you told him that you’ll come over again to pester him with his Internet connection and ask him more about your work.

Maybe this is really it, the one you were talking about in his past.

“You’re being nice to me with all this chocolate.” You squint your eyes with a piece of the chocolate in between your teeth suspiciously across the dining table as you work, head buried in papers to revise and dusty reference books. Your professor has you on travel limit as everyone else, only allowing you up to four actual visits to the past, hence the mountainous stacks of library books and journals you’ve borrowed from both the campus library and Changbin’s personal collection. “What do you need? Ya, I’m talking to you.”

Minho, busy in his own academic work on his laptop, only peeks up at you belatedly when he’s reaching out for his blood bag buried underneath all of your papers. “What?”

“What are the chocolates for?” You ask straightforwardly this time, picking up another mini Toblerone off the yellow bag. “Last time you bought me something from the convenience store was when you ate the squirrel I was feeding in the back garden.”

Minho only shrugs as nonchalantly as he could, though he can’t help but feel a little flustered as evidenced by the way his eyes briefly widen. The squirrel incident was a long time ago and yet you still won’t let it go. “Can’t I be nice?” He simply asks back in answer to which you scoff at. He laughs along with you, anyway. “Jeongin bought it then gave me the extra, probably to give to you since I can’t really eat it.”

You wanted to tell him that Nari actually shared the chocolates Jeongin gave her and they were definitely not Toblerones but you let it slide again. For some reason, it’s funny seeing Minho try to cover up something right in front of your face and thinking that he’s doing a good job at it. He’s trained you to see past his bullshit for the past 8 years, he should really know better. “Um...right.” You nod teasingly. “I’m gonna pretend you’re not looking very suspicious right now.”

Minho could clearly tell that you’re doubting him even without reading you but he does nothing more to it. He’s too deep in his bullshit already and you both know that.

Truth is, he was just fulfilling something you mentioned in your second visit to him (and probably as a way to give you something on Valentine’s Day even if it’s two days late).

“Anyway, when are you making the travel again?”

“Right after I finish summarizing this book.”

And it happens to come full circle today, too. What luck does your best friend have.

past: August 1418

You jump between days in a span of six years this time (which is approximately an hour and twelve minutes back in the present time) with the help of Minho, Chan, and Changbin from 1418 helping you by preparing an entire closet of clothes and coming up with a very detailed background story of how you were a distant relative of Chan’s from the province in the case that someone asked about you. The other two boys were more than happy to welcome you despite how foreign time travel was to them in this time period because, apparently, you’re all Minho’s ever talked about since they met.

“It’s nice knowing that Minho didn’t fever dreamed you up or something.” Changbin joked to you once towards the end of the six years of your data-gathering, to which he received a full apple shoved in his mouth from Minho. In this time period, his wife, Haseul, was still in that sleeping curse you still don’t understand fully at present, carefully laid in a tomb somewhere in the capital. Fortunately, you managed to avoid telling him that she wakes up seven centuries later (and that they get married) throughout your entire stay and avoided spoilers. “Vampires who’ve lived long like us tend to do that sometimes. Heck, even Chan does that lots of times these days, telling us about this immortal person he’s been looking for a while now. I guess it’s the human brain’s natural response to having a lot of memories.”

“Minho remembers me just fine in the present, though.” You shrug as you re-write your interview notes, to which Minho mumbles a ‘Really?’ at. When you nod at him, he immediately rolls his eyes up in thought. You want to tell them that the person Chan’s been looking for at this time’s also real (and that he and said person, Eunhye, even live together now), too, but you decide against it later on for spoiler reasons again. “You have really good memory in the present, you even bought me Toblerones today.”

“What are those?”

A realization dawns on you right there and then, a small smile forming on your lips to which Minho quirks an eyebrow at and Changbin immediately asks you about. “You’ll find out soon enough. Just know that they’re my favorite.” You simply answer, standing up from the front porch of the inn you’ve been staying at and dusting the dirt off of your new hanbok. You remind yourself to ask Minho and Changbin about where these are at present later on. “Anyway, I’m off! I need to interview a few court people then I’ll be off your hairs again soon!”

When it’s time for you to leave again, Minho’s still pestering you about what Toblerones are.

“Come on, tell me!” He protests, going as far as holding your wrist where your watch is before you could escape. “Y/N!”

You only grin up at him mischievously, gently swatting his hand away. “February 16, 2020! Also, make me ramen and coffee when I get back to the other side, please! I’d really like that!”

present: February 16, 2020

A steaming bowl of ramen and a warm cup of miraculously decently-brewed coffee are on the kitchen countertop by the time you come back, just as you asked him six hundred years in the past. What you didn’t expect, however, was the way your notes and references have also been organized neatly on the table while you were away and Minho dozing off on the nearby sofa in the open living room (he really likes genuine sleep lately which you’re yet to ask him as to why). You make sure to check that he really is sleeping by pinching his nose (and getting no response which is his usual indication of actual sleep) before placing the blanket he has reserved for you in his apartment over his hunched over body.

“You don’t really need it,” You whisper tiredly, tucking the blanket close to his neck. His skin is naturally cold, as any normal vampire’s, but you’ve slowly grown accustomed to it over the years. “but how else am I going to say thank you for remembering my request after six hundred years? You’re going above and beyond anyone I’ve ever met, Lee Minho, you should stop raising the bar too high for men like this.”

three

past: May 1592

“Are you sure you want to be here?” Minho from 1592 asks you right after you’ve reappeared in his house. Chan is out for work and Changbin is visiting Haseul on this particular day, leaving him to tend to their main house alone. “We’re in the middle of—”

“A Japanese invasion, I know.” You finish his thought for him, casually plopping down on the front porch right next to him and gingerly receiving the cup of tea he offers you. The garden he’s been trying to tend the last time you were around hasn’t made any significant progress even when an entire century has passed. You want to think it’s because the boys have been travelling elsewhere right before you returned but you also know it’s because they haven’t met Seungmin and Hyunjin yet. Those two are still probably travelling with Shiyeon. “That’s exactly why I’m here.”

“Don’t tell me you’re—” Minho leans away and gazes back incredulously at you. He can already tell, with his own abilities, that you’re not thinking of what he’s thinking but he asks anyway to fully confirm. “I’m not letting you go to the frontlines if that’s what you’re going to ask me this time.”

You chuckle at his genuinely mortified expression as you sip on your tea, making the boy furrow his brows at you. You really must be crazy. “You already know I’m not thinking of that! Though, I will ask you crazier things in the distant future.” You assure him. “I’ll only be staying for a year, six years again at most since I only need to complete a few interviews and fact-check a few books.”

“Good.” Minho sighs in relief, taking a long sip of his tea as well. Even in 1592, the only human beverage Minho could stand is tea, you’re quick to notice. “That’s...that’s a relief.”

“Why would you even be worried about going to the field, you’re immorta—ya, perhaps, do you you care about me?” You tease, grinning widely at the sudden realization. “We have a really messed-up timeline but you already care about me as early as now, that’s cute!”

Minho from this time period could only roll his eyes at you against his sudden flustered feeling. If he was curious of your relationship with his future self when you first met, he’s curious as to how his future self keeps up with you this time. “Because you might be important to me in the future or something.” He bluffs to which you only chuckle fondly at. “I can’t really tell since you won’t tell me exactly how I know you in the future.”

“Well, what am I to you now?”

“A friend.” And he means it truthfully.

You’re momentarily taken aback, Minho sees even when you’re quick to hide it. Present Minho won’t even call you his best friend like you do to him. “Then just—just remember that until then.” You point out, smiling when you gaze over to his side and see his sincere expression. Something leaps in your chest at hearing him say those words without his usual playful tone of voice. It’s not what you’ve always been hoping for but it’s a start. “Won’t it be better if you just find out in the moment when it does happen?”

Minho wants to tell you that he can’t wait but his teasing nature always gets the best of him first, “Hm, maybe you don’t actually know me at all in the future, that’s why you’re always being vague when I ask you.”

You scoff, smacking his arm. “Ya!”

“So, really, what are you to me in the future?” He insists anyway, swiftly dodging your hits until he’s caught your wrist in his hands. “Friend? Best friend?”

A lover? He wanted to add further but he bites his tongue back just in time.

“I always call you my best friend but I’ve yet to hear the same thing from you so, honestly, how would I know when you’re so secretive with your true feelings all the time! I’m even surprised you answered my question just now.” You frown, unintentionally coming off as bitter in your tone of voice as you retract your hand back to your side. You place your cup down as well, careful of the remaining tea so it doesn’t accidentally spill on your hanbok. At this moment, you miss the way Minho’s expression turns into confusion. “If it helps, though, I can only tell you that you always let me in your house to hoard the wi-fi—which you don’t have to know about right now!—and you’ve kept me around long enough to know when you’re trying to lie to me or read my thoughts with your clairvoyance thing going on.”

Minho nods along, humming in thought. “So you’re a parasite?”

You inhale a deep breath, focusing all of your energy into restraining yourself from hitting him for a second time. “You’ve called me worse.” You sigh with a controlled laugh. “Expired dinner and ex-wife who has nowhere else to go are my personal favorites.”

Next to you, Minho’s eyes genuinely widen in curiosity. “We got married?”

“Um, no? No, no, it’s an expression!” You shake your head and snicker despite the contrasting heat on your neck. Minho grows flustered at sensing the blood rushing up to your face. “I don’t even know if you’re capable of romantic love, dude. You’re always kinda everywhere and nowhere.”

Minho’s not offended, though, especially not when you try to apologize after at realizing that you’re not as close with this version of him as you are with the version you know in your own time. “It’s fine.” He assures you with a shrug, knowing full well that you were just kidding around. “I’m guessing with that that I’m still single five centuries later.”

“That and a bit of a flirt, too.” You clarify before his words fully process in your head. “Wait, so that means you haven’t dated even before this?”

Minho shakes his head. “No, no one’s caught my eye yet.”

You purse your lips in thought of this new revelation. It’s in moments like this, when you’re meeting past selves of your immortal friends that you realize just how little you actually know of them. “Huh, I didn’t peg you as the type.”

“The type to what?”

You shrug slowly, hunching over in your seat. “To be the fall in love just once type? I don’t know...”

Chan has mentioned to you once about Minho believing in soulmates but you were quick to dismiss that then. Remembering that now, maybe he is right.

And, as if he has been reading your thoughts this entire time, Minho agrees with a nod. “Then, now you know. If you’ve lived as long as I have, soulmates are really nice to think about.”

“But you always tease me about it...you from the future at least.” You pout. “Again, no offense, it’s just that—from the way I know you in my time, you’re very confusing.”

When you glance over at Minho, you see him sit up straighter and lean closer to you again, your shoulders bumping against his as he tilts his head to meet your gaze. “Really? How am I confusing? Maybe I can help.”

You scrunch up your nose. “Ah, but that’s unfair. You’ll take note of this in the future again.”

“Your time’s five hundred years away, I’m sure I’ll forget this with time.” He assures you to no avail as evidenced by your squinted eyes.

“You remembered my ramen and coffee request from last time, though.” You argue back, making his eyes light up.

“I will?”

You nod, placing a finger on his forehead and pushing his face away from yours. “Yeah, so I don’t trust you. Let’s just leave it at that.”

Minho doesn’t bother you anymore about it for the rest of your one-year stay, which you’re more than grateful for.

present: February 22, 2020

He does, however, teases you about it again when you’re back to the present. Closing in on you in one of his bone-crushing hugs when you reappear in his room, he asks, “So, how was meeting me in the 1500s this time, best friend?”

“Excuse me, what did you say?” You furrow your brows at him, your arms going limp on your sides while your entire body freezes on the spot.

“I just called you my best friend.” He repeats casually with a shrug. “Why?”

Minho purposely omits the fact that he double-checked his old journals to make sure that you just time traveled to that period when you mentioned to him how he’s never called you his best friend. He’s been waiting for this opportunity to set it right with you since he didn’t know much of the context back then.

You shake your head in response, reluctantly hugging him back once you’ve regained feeling in your arms again. “Nothing, it’s just...”

“Dude, you’re acting like past me and present me are different people.” He chuckles against your hair, squeezing your frame once before pulling away. “So, we’re good, right? You’re not bitter about the whole best friend thing now?”

You frown, slapping his elbow to which he only chuckles at. “Who said I was bitter?”

“You did in 1592!” He teases, his mischievous grin softening into a fond smile after. “But seriously...sorry about that. I just think it’s cheesy to say most of the time but you really are...my best friend now I guess—maybe until you die in 50 years.”

Minho then runs away before you could even protest, prompting you to chase him out of his room and into the hallway. “Ya, Lee Minho! I’m going to kill you first, you brat!”

But you know that deep in your heart that he’s only joking (and also because Jeongin has gossiped to you once about accidentally reading one of Minho’s journal entries from the 1700s once about meeting someone who shares your name but was already working as a professor in university and may or may not already be a vampire).

present: February 29, 2020

“Okay, to refresh...” You mumble as you adjust the watch on your wrist and the switchblade Minho insisted on you keeping in your pants’ pockets. Next to you, said vampire’s is sprawled on his bed, a reviewer and highlighter in hand. “In 1895, Hyunjin was following Shiyeon around the world, Seungmin was starting out his photography career, Soojung was taking a beauty nap, Haseul was still sleeping, Changbin was going on a Jack the Killer rampage somewhere in Europe, Jisung was still a newborn, Felix, and Jeongin haven’t joined you yet, and Chan was...learning yoga with Eunhye? Is that right?”

“And I’ve met all versions of you by this time.” Minho adds in absentmindedly before going back to chanting his notes over and over again. He really doesn’t need to since he really has sharp memory these days but you let him study for whatever it is he’s studying, anyway, so he has something else to do besides Kart Rider and annoying his other friends. “Just tell past me who I’m meeting when you arrive since you know how I kept mixing graduate studies you and college thesis you up all the time.”

“That’s...you guys have lived lives.” You puff out a tired breath, making Minho glance up to you briefly and chuckle. “Sometimes, it makes me and Nari feel so small.”

“It’s not much.” The boy shrugs back. “It personally hasn’t felt that long.”

“And why’s that?” You hum curiously.

He mumbles something behind his paper but you don’t hear it well. When you ask him about it, he only shakes his head and kicks you with his socket foot, urging you to go already.

Minho actually said, “It’s because you’ve been with me the entire time.” but he’ll just tell you all about it later when you come back.

With a scoff, you then swat his foot away and bid him goodbye. “Fine, see you later then.”

“I’ll organize your notes until then. Bye.”

past: July 1895

Minho sets your location on your watch to his house, now renovated to what was considered modern then. You’ve been here countless of times, albeit in different time periods of your own past (the last being when you had to ask for his help in the 1860s about your graduate thesis), but you’ve never been here in the 1890s, not when a newborn Jisung had the self-control of a toddler and immediately tried pouncing on you the moment he smelled you on their front lawn.

Now you know what the switchblade is for (and the one time Jisung kept apologizing to you in the 1910s).

“Ji, calm down!” Minho growls in annoyance, holding the younger boy by his arms as he drags him back inside the house. He can feel your anxiousness increase just by looking at this unfamiliar side of Jisung, prompting him to send you an apologizing look. “Sorry, um, Y/N, I—”

“I-It’s...it’s fine.” You assure shakily with a curt nod, taking a step back as well when Jisung tries regaining two steps towards you again. “I think I came in the wrong day.”

“It depends. What are you here for?” He asks, his voice growing faint as he successfully manages to lock Jisung inside the house. He then quickly jogs back to you, examining your face for any recognizable hints of where you could be from.

“Doctorate thesis.” You answer for him, earning you a look of realization from him.

“Oh, it’s you.” He smiles in relief. You remember distinctly how these were also the very same words he told you when you first met him in a time travel. “I was thinking you’d never come back.”

You feign a frown in front of him, making him laugh. “Why? Did you think I wouldn’t finish my studies?”

“It’s just that the next time you came back, from my point of view, is when you were only in college to ask me about the 1810s.” He clarifies, to which you nod in understanding. So he does remember. “I thought it weird at first that you didn’t come back sooner to finish your doctorate.”

“Ah, well, you in 2020 has been a big help—well, him and a shit ton of books.” You chuckle awkwardly. “This is my last trip for my doctorate, actually, since I have the smallest amount of resources for Queen Min.”

“T-This is—this is your last?”

You smirk at his briefly dejected expression, elbowing him gently. “Why do you look so sad? You already know we’ll meet again in the future. Plus, you’ll still meet younger versions of me later on for my college requirements which is a bit confusing to hear right now but you’ll get it later!”

Minho opens his mouth to speak, initially to tell you something about being frustrated that he’s only seen glimpses (and different versions) of you throughout his life so far, but he’s suddenly cut off by Jisung banging wildly against the front door, making him and you flinch.

“Um...what if we deal with Jisung first?” You suggest. “I assure you we’re all going to be great friends in the future but no one really told me that this would happen.”

Minho nods slowly next to you, rubbing the nape of his neck. “Yeah, we should probably take care of him first before your thesis. You could spare five minutes to sit down, right?”

“Definitely.”

And so, you spend the rest of your first day getting Jisung to calm down in your presence.

present: February 29, 2020

“Chan, babe, please, please, please promise that you won’t flinch when we use the party poppers later.” Eunhye sighs exasperatedly as she leads everyone into organizing the kitchen and living room. “Felix, good job on the cookies by the way! They turned out really well! Jisung, hurry up with that banner!”

“Babe, I don’t flinch!” Chan yells across the hallway as he re-checks if everyone will have enough party hats, trumpets, and poppers for later.

“Yes you do!”

“What’s so significant about today, anyway?” Nari asks Jeongin as the two enter the apartment with boxes upon boxes of blood bags and alcoholic drinks. “Besides Y/N finishing their thesis, of course.”

Shiyeon and Hyunjin follow closely behind with take-out boxes of chicken wings. “Because today is Y/N’s last time travel before they become a professor! A lot of good things are going to happen after, trust me.” Shiyeon answers with a wink.

“How come you know all of that? You were barely with us in the 1800s.” Jisung asks while struggling to put the other end of your congratulations banner across the kitchen. Soojung is on the other end, arm beginning to fall asleep as she holds up the other end of the banner for Jisung. “Even Jeongin and Felix don’t know that.”

“There’s a thing called correspondence and Hyunjin was a diligent gossiper.” Shiyeon only chuckles, setting down the take-out boxes on the countertop. “Also, hey, I was there in one of Y/N’s visits! It just hasn’t happened in our timeline yet but it will in three years!”

Minho then emerges from his room, phone in hand counting down the seconds until you’re back again. “Okay, we have two hours to get everything ready.”

“Lee Minho where have you been this entire time!” Eunhye complains, finally taking the boy’s presence to take a seat. “I’ve been organizing everyone for a whole ten minutes!”

“You mean you have two hours to get ready.” Haseul teases, seated on one of the dining table chairs and helping Changbin, Seungmin, and Felix make proper chocolates this time. “Don’t you have something else important you need to prepare?”

“No, I can just wing it.” Minho dismisses to which Chan immediately laughs at, catching the younger boy’s panicked expression.

“Sure you do.” Seungmin dryly responds, to which everyone topples over in laughter.

past: November 1905

“You’ll see me again in five years, at least from your point of view.” You assure Minho from 1905 right before you leave. Jisung’s apologizing again about the incident last time but you’re quick to hug him and effectively shut him up. “The one you’ll meet in 1910 is going to be a little different, though, a little younger.”

“But it’s still you.”

You smile at this. “Yeah, still me.”

Minho wants to tell you so badly that he’s met another version of you while you were away, someone older, but he quickly pushes the thought at the back of his head. Is this how you feel holding back spoilers from him? Instead, he ops to tease you. “You know, when people usually meet, it’s not as backwards as us.” When you raise an eyebrow at him, he continues, “You keep meeting me from the past and I’ve met you from the future countless of times. Even if culture’s going to be different in the future, I’m pretty sure this is still not how it goes there.”

Finally, understanding, you let out a laugh, hitting his side playfully. “Definitely not.” You agree sheepishly. “But I think that makes it even more special. It makes you wait until we’re in the same time, right?”

Minho nods. “What date are you going back to again?”

“February 29, 2020. Why?”

He says nothing else on it but bids you goodbye with one last hug instead. “Nothing. I’ll see you again soon...or another version of you.”

“And I’ll see future you.” You chuckle before disappearing.

present: February 29, 2020

You come back to all the lights in Minho’s apartment turned off at the present. You hear whispers and the soft clicking of a lighter as well, prompting you to follow the noise outside.

“I think it’s better if Changbin doesn’t hold the cake, don’t you think?” You recognize Haseul’s loud voice even from the hallways, fueling your curiosity even further.

A slight pause then follows before you hear Chan agree, “Yeah. Hyunjin, you hold the other cake.”

“Lix, you’re stepping on my foot.” That’s Jisung, you know by the way he’s always whiny when he complains.

“Oh shit, sorry!”

“Everyone, quiet! Y/N’s on their way!” Nari scolds and the hushes then quickly fall silent once you reach the kitchen, flipping the light switch on the hallway to the sound of party poppers exploding right in front of you. Only then do you see the big ‘CONGRATULATIONS Y/N!’ banner hanging right above everyone standing in a line with cake, hats, and trumpets.

“Um?” You raise an eyebrow at everyone, breaking out into an uncontrollable grin. “What’s with all this?”

Minho of your time then walks over to you with a Toblerone cake, carefully protecting two candles from the breeze that enters through the windows. “Chan and Eunhye insisted on a party so...congrats on finishing your thesis!”

Over his shoulder, said vampire and immortal immediately shake their heads in denial. “It’s his idea!” Eunhye mouths to you with a smirk, making you chuckle.

You then turn to Minho with a smile. “I haven’t even finished writing it yet.” You point out only for your best friend to shrug nonchalantly. “And my graduation’s in a month.”

“Yeah, we can work on that once everyone’s out of the apartment.” He suggests. “Now, just blow on the candles first, Seungmin’s arms are about to fall off waiting to take a picture.”

You briefly apologize to Seungmin on the side with a sheepish laugh, blowing on the cake’s candles after to the many snaps of his film camera. “Thank you for all this. I really appreciate it, you guys!” You thank your guests after, approaching them with Minho on your side this time.

“We can call you Professor now, right?” Hyunjin playfully asks, elbowing you gently on your side.

“It makes me sound really old.” You pout, making him laugh. “In a few years.”

“Three years.” Shiyeon coughs to which Minho immediately glares them down for.

Catching this gesture, you decide on purposely ignoring it for now. You’ll have to ask Shiyeon what they mean with that later. “Anyway, let’s eat. Have you guys been here long?”

“Not really but I’m already starving!” Soojung exclaims, passing you a plate and utensils. Next to her, Felix and Chan instinctively open up all the take-out boxes of food for everyone to dig in.

“Alright, let’s eat!”

present: March 1, 2020

Minho kicks everyone out after by the strike of midnight, when all the food’s been devoured and the party games have been played at least twice. Surprisingly, even Jisung and Jeongin were directed outside by Minho at this time, which you immediately ask him about once the two boys are out of the door. “Don’t those two live here?” You joke with a dry chuckle. “You don’t have to kick them out so we can work.”

“They’ll come back later.” Minho gently shuts the door before turning to you as you stand with your arms crossed in front of your chest, a genuinely curious expression on your face. “I just...need a moment with you.”

You pretend to take a step back with your best dramatic expression of fear. “Oh my God, you’re going to kill me after eight years of friendship, right?”

“What? No.” Minho furrows his brows at this, making you laugh. “It’s just...fuck, now I’m off-tracked.”

You giggle this time, loosening your arms in front of you. “What is it, Minho?”

There have been times, both in the past and present though rare, when Minho has looked nervous in front of you. The last time he was, from what you can remember, was when he was about to tell you that he accidentally killed the squirrel in the apartment’s back garden but even then, he wasn’t as nervous as he is now—fiddling with the hem of his blue sweater for a brief moment before finally taking the courage to step closer to you. “I-I, um—” He stammers out, one hand instinctively going up to his nape. “What I want to say is that...remember when I asked you in 1592 about how I know you?”

“You just teased me about that last week.” You roll your eyes in an attempt to ease the sudden awkwardness, only to make it even worse for Minho. With this, your expression immediately contorts into worry. “What about it?”

“Then in 1905, where you just came back from, you told me we’ll meet in the right time eventually...” He continues after a while, smiling back when you do reassuringly. “In between those centuries, of course, y-you—you came in for your college homework and your Masteral’s but there was also...there was also someone else.”

This unexpected turn drops something heavy on your stomach, your smile unconsciously faltering. Minho wants to snicker but, knowing you, you’ll probably think of him cold if he does so he takes in a deep breath and tries his best to continue with less stutters this time. “Don’t be too sad, it’s still you, just a few months in the future.” He assures with a chuckle, hands instinctively going up to your sides to rub your arms comfortingly. Your eyes widen at this in response and you freeze in his touch. “Anyway, July 2020 Y/N just told me to do something tonight, if that’s okay.”

It takes you a moment to respond but Minho patiently waits, holding back his laugh by biting his lip down. He’s reading your thoughts as they go into overdrive. Is this how you feel when I hide the future from you before? You internally ask to which he nods at. “U-Um, so...what are you going to do?”

“Just tell you that I’ve been in love with you for a long time.” Minho finally confesses, sighing in relief once he’s gotten the words out surprisingly well. “And if you’d like to go out for a trip after your graduation—and not the time travel trip, this time so we can be together right.”

There’s more to it, actually, Minho has a whole paper written and rehearsed for a span of almost three centuries but he figures you’ll find out about it eventually. He could tell you about how he’s been in love with every version of you that he’s met in the past another time or maybe you already know it.

“So?” He asks after a while when you don’t speak verbally. Your thoughts are still muddled and your heartbeat’s a little too fast for his liking but he holds any impulsive urge he might have in for your sake. “What do you say?”

You purse your lips once, mustering up a relieved smile at him after. “You already met me from the future this time—which I commend you for, by the way, because you’ve one-upped me again this time!—so I think you already know the answer to that.”

epilogue

past: July 1799

You know full well that you’re not supposed to travel back in time for personal reasons, especially not for the reason you’re coming into 1799 to see a past Minho for, but you figure that you’re already in your university’s faculty roster. If I get caught, you think to yourself as you easily spot Minho with Chan at an art exhibit in Paris, the professors will probably understand.

“Minho! Chan!” You call with your hand above your head waving frantically at the two, catching theirs and a few patrons’ attentions. You don’t mind the extra attention as you approach him, though, since they did instinctively made way for you because of it. “Hello there, you two!”

“Hi, Y/N!” Chan greets you happily, giving you a side hug. “Aren’t you back too soon?”

But knowing full well that you’re probably not the same one the two met last time, Minho smirks in amusement as he eyes your choice of clothes and asks, “And where did you come from? By the clothes, me from the future probably doesn’t know you’re here.”

“Yeah, I picked out my own clothes for today. Anyway, I won’t be here long.” You roll your eyes with a chuckle. “I’m from July 2020 and I’m not here for any academic work this time! I just wanted to ask you a quick favor.”

From what you’ve detailed in your own journals, the last time you met from this particular Minho’s point of view was when you were doing a paper on the Baroque movement for one of your college classes.

“What is it?” He asks you anyway, his body turned away from the painting that he and Chan have been previously admiring as he gives you his full attention.

Judging from the amount of times you’ve visited him (and the different versions of you he’s meet as well), his future self seems to agree on your requests all the time.

“I can’t tell you much but please prepare something on February 29, 2020!” You answer, your watch beeping on your side to remind you that it’s almost time to leave. “And make sure to mention me! Remember, Y/N from July 2020!”

Before he could ask about it, further, however, you were already gone.

“What do you think that was about, Chan?” Minho asks the older vampire instead.

But Chan simply shrugs, hands going deeper in his pockets as he thinks. “No idea.” He admits in equal confusion. “Guess we’ll have to see in three hundred years.”

219 notes · View notes

strangerobin · 3 years

Text

Rue: Chapter 1 (A Jasper Hale x OC Imagine)

Summary:

Just know that, in another life where I was free of lies and deceit, I would move heaven and earth just to stay alongside you. To spend a lifetime with you. Body and soul.

A chance encounter reunites two lost lovers centuries after their devastating break up. One hardened by life and providence, has forgotten what it is to love and be loved; while the other though hurt by love, has lost neither hope nor heart. When the two worlds collide once again, will it be disaster waiting to happen, or the brink of a new horizon?

Stolen away just nights before their wedding, Jasper had mourned the loss of his lover, Adeline, for centuries. Until a similar face showed up one day out of the blue, just as beautiful and just as youthful.

But you know that I could never stay.

No amount of love or the ring you put on my finger will ever change that.

Save it. Save it for another that will be dearest to your heart, someone who could love you equally, unconditionally, honestly.

For I am underserving. I have much in my life that I wish I could explain to you. Yet this back has been carrying far more that it was made to shoulder already. And I cannot possibly burden you with anymore than you deserve.

So I will go. I will not shackle you to a life of secrets and miseries. Nor will I bind you to eternal gloom and slaughter your happiness, take your sun and hide your moon.

Just know that, in another life where I was free of lies and deceit, I would move heaven and earth just to stay alongside you.

To spend a lifetime with you.

Body and soul.

He took a deep shuddering breath, trying in futile to calm the anguish that was threatening to leak out of his body.

For a moment, he thought his dead heart was ready to burst anytime. But of course his heart had long since ceased its beating, and It had only left with him an equally terrible sense of emptiness.

Why had he decided to go over this again? To rip open scars that were long buried. Old memories that he should long have concealed, lost somewhere in the ocean of his long pitiful existence. He thought he’d be over this by now, after the millionth time. But clearly some things never truly die away.

With care he produced from a small velvet pouch-

A single diamond ring.

It glittered under the moon, splaying the light of a million rainbow everywhere it touched.

Just like how her eyes had shone that day.

When he got down on one knee and proposed to her.

Her mouth agape, lips quivering, staring at him in shock and disbelief. His stomach had churned then when she had simply stood there, dumbfounded; worried that he had taken a wrong move, that she did not love him enough to want to be tied down with him. That perhaps he was still too young, too poor to offer her the life that she deserved.

But then a single tear had dropped from her eyes.

And it was followed by another, and another.

He was thrown in a panic by then, unsure of the mistake he had committed but ready to make any amend just to stop the onslaught of her tears.

Except she had then tackled him to the ground, laughing amidst her tears. Murmuring into his ears, the answer that had only mattered to him.

Yes, yes, yes.

She had kissed him so ferociously that day, stealing his breath away as if she herself would be stolen away the next moment.

A thousand times yes.

And stolen she was indeed.

Left alone in the cold morning light, sheets crumpled from the night they had shared, her scent still lingering in the air. His heart had froze, left with only an emptiness that would rage within him for the next two centuries.

She had only left with him a note and her wedding ring.

Hers. Not his; because he could not tolerate the thought of it being anything else.

And an everlasting memory that would haunt him for the rest of eternity. An aching want and need, a desire left unsaid in the dead of the night.

In those terrible formative years, when he had just been turned, night after nights he would imagine the ghost of a lip, tracing up his spine. Warm breaths at his neck; the touch of a hand, cupping his face gently, as if he were made of glass. Sweet-nothings whispered, empty promises of a life that could have been, might have been. Except none of them were real and every one of which only a figment of his imagination and memory.

Some night he would go on a killing spree, desperate to escape from memories of her that had long since turned into a never-ending nightmare, his raging storm of emotions.

A century and a half later, there were still nights like these, nights where he would meticulously finger the exquisite cravings over her engagement ring. Her name a silent mantra, a prayer from his mouth to the gods he had once worshipped and forsaken.

The pain had dampen over the years but the scars had remained. And the memories still fresh. New companionship may have eased him out of his shell of sorrow. But while he may hold another in his arms now, how could he love anyone in half? When he had long since given away half of his soul to the one who had claimed as hers on that fateful day.

But that was another story for another day.

And his pitiful being could not bear the grief all at once on any given nights; it was alright to remember in portions and halves. That way he would not lose his mind to the remembrance of her then. The one he had lost but must continue to solider on without.

“Oh Adeline.”

“My sweet Adeline, why must you torture me so?”

On the run.

It seemed she was always on the run these days.

No permanent roof ever above her head; even the feeling of a soft pillow and a down quilt seemed foreign to her now. She was more familiar with green moss beneath her head and the stars as her canopy; clothes she snagged from stores, and meals of little preys here and there now. She was always careful not to leave a trace.

Stopping over at the riverbed to cleanse her dusty face; she mulled over her circumstances.

Family they- he, her father had called her.

And yet it was also him who made her life a living hell.

Always asking, always demanding for a hand, a chore to be done, her duties to him as her father, mentor, creator. And when she could not tolerate his iron fist of a control, she did the only thing she was good at.

She ran.

Companionship. Father had told her once. No one can live for long without companionship.

She would’ve proved him wrong then. Scoffed at him. Told him that creatures like them did not deserve anything but misery, and least of all a hint of humanity. Only humans crave company; they had sinned far too much to be deserving of any.

How much blood must be spilled, to satisfy his want for his so called companionships?

But even at times, she had been tempted. A short stay in a town, a job, an education, a short fling. Mindless chatters, a warm embrace to fall asleep to at night. Anything to make herself forget just for awhile how different she was, how she could never blend in with anyone. How over the years she had lost so much, she thought she might as well have lost her heart.

Except her strange family. Whom she completely despised. Mostly.

Ah how she missed those good old days. That one summer when everything was golden and life was simple; the scorching Texan sun, the swaying wheat fields, the straw thatch cottage and its warm hearth and Hettie’s hearty soups, Ralph’s incessant chatter. And those gentle brown eyes and that mop of flaxen hair, shining like golden peat in the summer sun-

She would not let her mind wander there now.

Lock the doors and throw away the key.

She needed to stay vigilant. Her family were not the only ones she was running from. There were more dangerous and mysterious beings out there, ones she did not dare cross. Every little shift in the air, whiff of smell was a signal to her instinct. Even a falling leave could be a sign of the things to come. And right now they were telling her to head north, pass the borders, and into the Canada. There would be ample food and her family would not think to look for her there. In time, she might be able to join a small community, live a life for a little while before moving on to the next.

Keep inland, you’ll be safe. Her instinct whispered.

But she wanted to see the ocean. And the Pacific Northwest coast was a marvel. She knew of a coven near the peninsula; but surely if she stayed to herself, she should be able to cross into Vancouver without a hitch?

Keep inland.

Her instinct only whispered on.

It was the scent she came across first.

The sweet invigorating smell of vanilla and washed linen, that of a babe’s. She froze unnaturally amidst her stroll; this was not the scent of a human, it was… it reminded her of her siblings. Of her kind.

Turnawayturnawayturnaway-

But curiosity got the better of her.

Surely, just surely, a glimpse would not hurt. There shouldn’t be any out there like her. None of the old kinds had the knowledge of… Father had confirmed of this. Or was he mistaken?

And as she tracked the child’s scent; she came into a large clearing of blooming heathers, yet not even the overwhelming floral scent could overpower the child’s scent.

There in the gleaming sun was a child of twelve or thirteen, bronze curls flowing in the air as she twirled around in peals of laughter. Her porcelain skin illuminated; and her heart was thrumming like a little hummingbird.

‘It cannot be.’ She whispered to herself in a daze.

Gasping, the child turned towards her at once, clearly finally discovering that she was alone no more. Initially agitated, the child was quick to drop her caution when she noted how the stranger was still in a trance, staring agape at her. Nor did she miss the equally alluring scent of the intruder, her soft glowing skin and the quick humming of her heart.

Timidly, the child shuffled towards her eyeing her with curiosity. Until the two were face to face each other, apprising the other.

“Are you perhaps…” Like me? Was the unvoiced question.

“Dear God, Child.” She finally found the strength within to muster a few shaky breaths of words, disbelief evidently dominating her countenance. “How is this possible?”

With shaking hands she cupped the child’s cheeks, tenderly stroking the smoothness of her cheeks and soaking up the warmth.

“What of your maker?” She swallowed thickly. “Is he treating you well, Child?”

“Do you mean my Mum and Dad, Miss?” The child furrowed her pretty brows. “They should be just around I think. If you would like to meet them…”

That broke her out of her trance and she immediately straightened her stance. This was dangerous, she was treading on thin ice. A child like her kind would not be left unguarded, her guardians were nearby and no doubt treasured her greatly, judging from her clean attire and priciness of her garments. Any contact would be deemed a threat. She had already overstayed her welcome. And she did not want a fight. Sure she was quick and escaping and hiding had always been a forte of hers, but should she engage in battle, there was no telling if she could even gain upper hand long enough for her to run.

“I must go.” She muttered gravely to the child.

“Wait Miss!” The child chirped in a sing-song manner, unaware of the gravity of the situation. “I’m sure Mum and Dad will be delighted to meet you! And grandpa he-“

Shit. Was this the coven Father had mentioned before?

The idea of meeting an entire coven made her stomach churn. She did not quite understand how the child had come to be, nor did she understand how the Volturi would allow such a coven to exist in plain sight. And she did not intend to find out.

“Child. Child!” She hissed, surveying her surrounding in caution now. “Listen, you must take care. There are people out there who will harm you without a thought or a blink. You must be careful, don’t be so trustworthy of any strangers now.”

She looked the child dead in the eye then.

“Not even me.”

“But you didn’t hurt me! I know you wouldn’t! And aren’t we the same?” The child pleaded imploringly.

“No, not even your kind. And certainly not me.” She smoothed the child’s hair gently and tucked them behind her ear. “Trust no one. Not even your makers.”

“That’s just sad then.” The child replied solemnly.

She stood up and straightened her jacket. “Well, it's a sad and pitiful existence that we lead, Child.” She smiled bitterly then and turned to go. “One day you’ll know.”

She was just about to run when she felt a tuck at her sleeves. Turning sharply, she eyed the child in confusion.

“My name’s Renesmee, Miss. What’s yours?”

She grimaced slightly; well so much for telling the child off, she mused.

“Adeline, my name’s Adeline, Child.”

In hindsight, Adeline really should have seen the attack coming. Her instincts had been screaming at her the whole time after all.

But in a moment of distraction, she had heeded her instincts too late. She did manage to subdue the attack at her jugular with a block, but was still hurled halfway across the clearing. Twisting her body, she managed to land in a crouch; eyes trained on her attacker. He was a strong built man- vampire, tall and handsome, the usual package. And she was surprised to find his eyes golden, not that there was much time to marvel at it. His crouching stance indicated that he was ready for battle and he bared his fangs at her, guarding his child protectively

“Stay away from my daughter.” He growled.

Adeline couldn’t help but rolled her eyes. “That, I had every intention of doing.”

“Stop! Dad! Stop!” She could hear the child- Renesmee crying in the distance. But there was no time for that now.

Leftleftleftleftleft-

Turning to her left, she kicked a pouncing werewolf right in the gut, slamming it into a nearby tree. Right. And then threw a punch at the female vampire that was ready to lunge at her right. Down. Blocked another blow. Shoulder. Landed a hit on shoulder of the she-vampire. Duck. Barely escaped from the wolf’s pouncing attack. Roll. And managed to withdraw herself from the fighting two.

With a final glance at the father and child; Adeline focused her mind in concealing herself before darting out of the clearing.

Promising to herself to avoid the Pacific Northwest at all cost from now on. Wary of the rest of the coven she would find there.

Not to mention the wolves.

And that was how Adeline came across the Cullens for the very first time.

#jasper hale #jasper hale imagine #jasper hale x reader #twilight imagine #twilight #angst #more angst

63 notes · View notes

donttouchmeimwriting · 3 years

Text

Argo ch. 3

Friday the 13th - Friendship/Romance - Jason Voorhees/OC M/M ship

2983 words, 3rd person POV

I'm just as surprised as you are that I'm cranking these out so fast. Thanks, NaNoWriMo!

Cross-posting on FFN under PyroTheWereCat

...

Saturday dragged so sluggishly for Jason as he waited impatiently to visit Lijah again. He spent the day stalking the outskirts of the camp, trying to watch Lijah as he worked. He was fascinated by Lijah's effect on others; it was clearly shown that it wasn't just Jason who was compelled to change behavior simply by listening to him. The kids loved him, and he was popular with the other counselors as well. Jason caught himself daydreaming a few too many times of being one of them and being able to spend the day with Lijah out in the open like they could.

During one of these moments, Jason stared off across the surface of the lake, the sunlight sparkling across the ripples in the water. He wondered what would have happened over a decade ago if Lijah had been at the camp with him...would the other kids have been enraptured by his presence and listened to him then? Would Jason and Lijah have become friends as quickly as children as they had as adults? Or was it their personal experiences that drew them together now and they were all the better for it?

"Enjoying the view?"

Jason spun to face the speaker, relieved it was only Lijah. Lijah laughed at his reaction and looked out across the lake to see what Jason was seeing.

"It is gorgeous out here, isn't it?" he sighed, his expression dreamy, "I've worked at a few different camps over the years but I think Crystal Lake is my favorite."

Jason's heart still pounded in his chest, despite the surprise having worn off. Why was he so nervous to stand here next to Lijah like this? Did the others feel this way around him too?

"Oh, hey!" Lijah said suddenly, pointing down at the nearest dock where two campers and another counselor stood, "That's Terry and Kira over there with Julie. Kira was bullying Terry since day one of camp, saying she looked ratty and pushing her down - you know, stupid kid insults like that. Terry didn't want to be a tattletale, so she wouldn't say who was picking on her, even though we all knew. The director has a rule that we can't interfere unless the kids come forward so we were stuck for a little while. The other counselors and I came up with a detective game to make Kira realize she was doing something wrong and hurtful and she came forward on her own yesterday to admit it. She's been doing great today at making up with Terry and I think they'll be friends really soon. It's so cool what a little positive reinforcement can do."

Lijah crossed his arms over his chest and gazed proudly out at the two kids, but Jason couldn't stop staring at Lijah. What was it he was feeling right now? Impressed at his ability to handle bullies in a way that the counselors when he was a child never could, certainly, but what else? What was it about Lijah that made Jason want to throw his machete in the lake and never hurt anyone again?

"What's up?" Lijah asked, noticing Jason staring at him, "Did I say something wrong?"

Jason shook his head, but could not tear his eyes away. Lijah had his hair tied back today, pulling it off of his neck and away from his face. There was sweat around his hairline, sticking strands of hair to him in tiny swirls and lines. His freckles were more pronounced in the daylight, and his tanned skin almost glowed, even in the shade of the trees. To Jason, this view was much more appealing than the lake.

"Alrighty then," Lijah said, shrugging it off, "Anyway, I just wanted to say hi since I saw you hanging around up here, but I gotta get back to my group. I'm seeing you tonight, right?"

Jason nodded fervently, excited by every second he got to spend with Lijah. Lijah smiled broadly and waved as he set off back to the camp.

"See you later, Jase!" he called.

Jason gave a small wave back, his stomach full of butterflies. He decided he didn't care why he was feeling this way or what it was about Lijah he liked so much. He felt immeasurably and inexplicably happy for the first time in a long time and he didn't want to overthink it. After all, wasn't that what his mother wanted for him?

-------------------------------------------------

Jason returned to cabin 5 that evening a little earlier than planned. The sun had set, but the sky was still relatively light and the camp was winding down from the day. Jason looked through the bedroom window, but Lijah was not in there yet. He tested the window to see if it was unlocked, and to his luck, it was. He checked his surroundings to ensure no one would see him struggle to squeeze through the narrow opening. It was embarrassing enough that Lijah had to see it last night. The coast was clear, so Jason pushed himself into the bedroom, nearly getting stuck in the process. Once inside, he straightened up and closed the window so bugs would not get in. It struck him as he looked around that he was in Lijah's private room alone.

A little snooping couldn't hurt, right? Jason allowed his eagerness to drive his actions as he explored Lijah's room. He first looked in the dresser drawers to see what other clothes Lijah had besides his work shirts and shorts. From the brief snoop, it seemed that Lijah liked light, muted colors and pants with deep pockets. He also seemed to be a fan of chunky bracelets and wristbands, probably to camouflage and support his delicate wrists.

From there, Jason moved to the books on top of the dresser. Adventure novels, a couple college textbooks in the subjects Lijah had specified as his course of study, some notebooks, including the one Jason had used to communicate with last night, and one romance, all paperbacks that looked well used. Curious about the romance novel, Jason flipped through the pages. Mother never had these kinds of books at home, so he wasn't sure what to expect. His eyes fell upon a passage that described a kiss between the heroine and her strapping, yet emotionally manipulative love interest:

"...her cerulean orbs meeting his stormy grey ones in a passionate stare before their lips collided in a kiss so fiery, so full of desire, it would warm the hardened coals of even Wyatt's darkened heart. Charlie swooned into his massive arms, surrendering herself to his rough touch. Wyatt growled into the kiss, his stubble scratchy against her smooth face, but not unbearable. He gripped the back of her neck possessively, but Charlie knew it was part of his insecurity in that he never wanted to let her go. Funny, she thought before the intensity of the kiss forced her mind to become a blank slate of ecstasy, He won't talk about his abandonment issues, but I can feel them here in his kiss..."

Jason set the book down, frowning. Did Lijah really see himself in this Wyatt character? It didn't seem right, but it probably wasn't important. Jason turned instead to the notebooks, but they were mostly blank aside from sparse doodles, camp schedules, and Jason's shaky handwriting. He put the notebooks back where they were and opened the door to the rest of the cabin.

Across from this door was the door to the bathroom, but Jason didn't need that at the moment, so he ignored it and proceeded left down a short hallway to the living area. The hallway opened up to a tiny kitchen and dinette on the right and an ancient, faded couch with a rickety coffee table and an old antenna TV and VCR atop it. This area was not as bright and full of Lijah's personality as the bedroom was, but Jason figured that was to be expected. His own bedroom at home was a reflection of what few interests and hobbies he had. The bedroom was a sanctuary for the individual, and held a piece of their soul. At least, that's what a bedroom should be. Mother had told Jason all about the filthy, lecherous activities young people would get up to in bedrooms. Only a married couple should share a bed, she had told him. It was a sin otherwise.

Feeling slightly hungry, Jason made for the short refrigerator, needing to squat down to see its contents. A couple sandwiches wrapped in plastic occupied one shelf with a handful of apples on the lower shelf, some cans of soda on the door. Jason reached for one of each, hoping to finish them before Lijah returned to avoid accidentally showing him his face. He brought the food to the couch and sat down, his weight causing the seat to sink lower than it was meant to. He removed his mask and devoured the sandwich and apple as quickly as he could, feeling somewhat like a ravenous raccoon. He cracked open the soda can and chugged it, realizing too late that it was a bad idea to drink a carbonated beverage so fast. Bubbles surged up through his nose and he sputtered, covering his face so he did not spray soda everywhere. He coughed and gagged, but the feeling soon went away. He made a mental note to drink anything bubbly as slow as possible, but preferred the idea of never having soda again. It was too sweet for him anyway.

Finished with the meal, Jason located a small trash can at one end of the kitchen and disposed of the remains. He pulled his mask back on just as he heard the front door to the cabin open. He tensed, preparing for a fight, but it was Lijah, alone, who gave a start upon seeing Jason's towering figure in his living room.

"Oh gosh, you got me again!" he cried out, laughing nervously, "You're here early."

Jason nodded once and watched as Lijah locked up and set down the pack he was carrying near the door.

"Are you hungry?" he asked, a tiredness in his voice that worried Jason. Would he be able to stay up tonight? Did he stay up too late last night? Jason shook his head and pointed to the refrigerator, silently telling Lijah he had found the food. Lijah yawned.

"Oh, good," he said, shuffling towards the bedroom, "Sorry, I'm a little worn out from today. We can still hang out, but I might crash a little earlier than last night if that's okay."

Jason nodded and followed him. Lijah turned to the dresser and tilted his head at the stack of books.

"You checked out the romance novel?" he asked, disbelief in his voice, "Huh, didn't see that one coming. It's not very good, but it was free, so I figured why not, y'know?"

So Lijah didn't choose that book for the plot, Jason realized. That made much more sense. Lijah opened the drawers and retrieved a stack of clothes, brushing by Jason to head to the bathroom.

"You can relax in the bedroom if you want for about fifteen minutes while I shower," he said, stifling another yawn, "I'll try to get my bedtime routine done quick so we have some time together."

Jason had no problem with waiting for him to prepare for bed. He was happy just to be in the same building with him and not anxiously wonder where he was like before. Jason sat on the edge of the bed, having grabbed the notebook and pencil he'd used yesterday in preparation for the conversation he would be having tonight. He heard the shower turn on in the bathroom, and an unwelcome thought of what Lijah looked like in there sprung into Jason's mind. Startled by this, Jason shook himself. What was he thinking? His mother's warning about college aged young adults surfaced and he wondered, horrified, if these thoughts would consume his brain like the counselors he'd killed or if he could fight them and keep his head clear and pure. What would happen to him if he couldn't get rid of them?

Jason struggled with this fear until the sound of the water stopped and he heard Lijah moving around in the bathroom. He squeezed the edges of the notebook to ground himself. What would Mother say if she knew what he was thinking about? Realistically, she would probably forbid him from coming back here and have him read Bible passages until the thoughts went away. Mother knew what was best for Jason.

Lijah entered the room once he was done in the bathroom, his hair still damp and his cheeks slightly flushed from the steam. He wore a loose fitting navy blue t-shirt with an unfamiliar logo on the chest and green plaid boxers. He brought with him a wonderful, clean scent of shampoo and mint flavored toothpaste. Jason wrote on a fresh page of the notebook,

"feel better?"

Lijah hummed in agreement, stretching his arms over his head until his shoulders softly popped.

"Nothing like a hot shower to take the day off and get you ready for bed," he said, climbing up onto the mattress next to Jason, "How's your day been?"

Jason thought about it, but didn't want to be too honest that he had pretty much just been waiting all day for this meeting. He wrote,

"did alot of walking. liked what u said about the bully. ur really good with kids."

Lijah waved him off modestly.

"Aw, that wasn't just me," he replied sheepishly, "I can't take all the credit. All of us counselors worked together on that. They're a good group of people. I'm glad I got the chance to work with them."

Jason tilted his head to one side, his interest piqued by this statement. So all the counselors were good, not just Lijah? Would Jason even need to kill anyone this year, or had the nightmare of wicked counselors finally ended? He wondered what his life would become if he didn't come here to kill every summer. It would probably be much like last year, quiet and content with his mother, having everything they needed and just going day to day, living the life she built for them. But Jason knew he couldn't live that life now. He wanted his life to include his new friend, and he wasn't sure how he could do that, with Lijah going back to college at the end of the summer and moving into an apartment somewhere probably far away.

Lijah tilted his head to mirror Jason and catch his attention.

"What's on your mind, big guy?" he asked. Jason considered his next few words and decided to avoid the topic. He wrote,

"u said u had a sister rite? tell me about her?"

Lijah's entire face lit up with a huge smile and his joy was so infectious, Jason couldn't resist matching the expression.

"Phoebe!" he exclaimed, "She's the best little sister anyone could hope for. We're thirteen years apart, so I'm pretty protective of her, and it was really hard for me to go away to college and leave her behind. I call home once a week and send her letters every month of cool stuff I've learned or seen. She likes bugs and dolls and dinosaurs. Our parents won't let her see Jurassic Park though - that's a scary movie about dinosaurs - but I think she can handle it. She's a tough kid. Definitely way tougher than I was at her age. I used to get beat up in school for being, uh, different."

Jason felt a surge of protectiveness for Lijah, though he didn't know who had hurt him. How could anyone even want to hurt someone like Lijah? He curled his fingers into the bedspread, fists shaking with anger. Lijah noticed and addressed it,

"Hey, it was years ago; don't worry about it! Besides, I'm a lover, not a fighter. I'd rather solve my problems with communication than violence."

Jason nodded and forced himself to relax. What was he going to do anyway? Find the bullies and kill them even though they probably haven't been anywhere near Lijah in years? Stupid. Jason tried to explain his thoughts by writing,

"sorry bullies make me real mad. i got bullied to."

Lijah offered a sympathetic look. He moved a hand towards Jason, but rethought the action and stopped, biting his lip.

"I bet they wouldn't mess with you now though!" he said instead, trying to look at the bright side, "I bet they'd take one look at how tall and muscular you got and run away. The machete helps too."

Jason grimaced under the mask. That probably wouldn't be the only reason they ran away...Still, Lijah meant well and he couldn't blame him for trying. It was more effort than anyone had put in before, and that was worth something.

-------------------------------------------------

The conversation continued for a short while, but Lijah soon began nodding off. In one of their quiet moments, Jason looked over and saw Lijah slumped on his pillows, sound asleep. Jason sighed and took that as his cue to leave. He rose from the bed and set down the notebook on the dresser. He looked back at Lijah, bemused by his awkwardly scrunched limbs and his face pressed unflatteringly into the pillows, before turning off the light and leaving through the window to let him sleep.

It was moments like these that Jason was beginning to dislike his heightened energy levels during night time. It worked great for serial killing, but not so much for spending time with a friend. But he was beginning to have a hope and some confidence that things would work out and that he and Lijah would find some sort of rhythm together.

#friday the 13th fanfiction #friday the 13th #jason voorhees #canon/oc #slasher fanfiction #slashers #argo fic

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writersdaydream · 3 years

Text

Lotus Inn

Daniel Seavey x OC (Kora King)

Requested: No

word count: 1.8k

Masterlist

Not my gif

With a final groan, the radio cut and the car had finally given up on us. “I told you we should have gotten it looked at” I said to my best friend sitting in the passenger seat. Knowing I was right, all she could do was glare my way and unbuckle her seatbelt. “Yeah, yeah, now help me push this to the side” she said. I put the car into neutral and got out to help her move the piece of shit to the curb.

“You have your CAA card right?” She asked as we started slowly pushing the car, “mom never lets me leave without it” I said. “Man, why did this have to happen? We’re literally in the middle of our trip” she moaned, trying to push the car with me. “Need I remind you, I told you to check what the engine light was all about” I groaned with her. We were barely making any progress, but after a few minutes we finally got the car to a safe-ish position on the side of the road. “Let’s just call CAA yeah? See if we can’t get ourselves to a motel or some shit” she said, leaning on the boot of the car.

40 or so minutes of waiting in the heatwave, we finally saw the tow truck. “Is there anywhere I can drop you girls off?” The driver said as we grabbed our bags out of the trunk. Ella and I looked at each other, we had reservations at a hotel that we were nowhere close too. “Not unless you’re willing to drive us 4 more hours to our hotel” she joked, earning a laugh from the worker infront of us. “That’s a bit out of my pay range, but I know a place I can take you – always looking for new customers” he said. With no other options in site, we climbed into his car and were soon on our way to the mystery location.

“Here you are girls, Lotus inn, best local hotel on this side of the coast.” “Thank you for all your help, we really appreciate it” Ella said handing the man a 50. “No problem, we’ll get back to you on how much the car will be – hopefully you’ll be able to make the rest of your trip with no issues.” We nodded to him in gratitude and with that we went our separate ways.

“This place looks pretty nice” Ella commented, “yeah, let’s hope its in our price range” I tell her.

Surprisingly, we were able to book a room for a while – having enough money and having to splurge some what into the emergency stash we took. “Well, considering we can’t make it to anything else – feel like going to the pool for a while?” I offered once we settled. “Why not, maybe find something to do” she agreed.

The pool was near empty, people were lounging about – sunbathing, drinking and not a single kid in sight. “Did we get lucky?” I asked plopping myself on one of the lounge chairs. The two of us laid in silence, trying to decompress from the day we just had, I on the other hand was just excited to be out of the passenger seat after 5 hours. “Hey, don’t look now but that guy across the pool is totally checking you out” she said, I looked at her – but due to her sun glasses I couldn’t tell if she was bluffing or not. Deciding to investigate for my self, I flipped to my back and looked across the water – sure enough, a group of five guys were across from us and the bleach blonde one was subtly looking in our direction. “What do you think, out of 10?” I say looking at her. She glanced up once more and then back to her book “I give him a solid 9” she said.

I laughed at her response and headed to the bar. “Hey, two cranberry vodkas please” I tell the server, however I was trying to see if the blonde had followed me or not, sure enough – when I looked one more time, he left his friends and started making his way to the bar. Wanting to talk to him, I took a seat, placing my foot on the one next to me.

“This seat taken?” He asked putting his glasses on his head. I couldn’t help but smirk when he came by – totally a ten in my books. “Not at all” I tell him, grabbing my drinks from the bartender. “So I couldn’t help but notice you from across the pool” he told me, placing his arms on the bar in front of himself. “Oh, so you weren’t just checking out my ass?” I tease him, biting my lip. “Couldn’t help it, you caught my eye” he admitted smiling at me. “I’m Kora, my friends Ella” I tell him, “Daniel. I’ll introduce you to my friends later” he says.

Conversation flowed easily between the two of us, that was until Ella came up and interrupted us. “I take it that’s for me?” She asks referring to the second cran vodka sitting between us. “Oh, shit sorry, uh Ella this is Daniel. He’s in a band” I say emphasizing the last fact. She wasn’t surprised however, “and you say you don’t have a type” she mutters nudging my shoulders. “So what brings you two to the Lotus inn?” He asks, including her in the conversation. “Her car broke down, sort of a last-minute kind of thing – you?” I ask looking him in the eyes. “Me and the guys come here a lot, sort of a hidden gem to everyone, great for a get away once in a while” he said. “Hey Daniel, we gotta go” a taller boy with curler hair said coming up to us. “So much for a getaway – hey we’ll see you at the bonfire tonight right?” He asked pointing to a poster hung up behind the bar. I look to my best friend but before she can refuse anything I agree. “Cool, here’s my number by the way.” He writes 10 digits on a napkin before leaving with the curly haired boy.

Later that night as we get ready for the bonfire Ella cannot stop with all the questions about Daniel. “What’s he like? You guys were literally there for 40 minutes. Is he sweet? Does he seem like a douche bag?” I can’t help but laugh at her – its been way too long since she’s seen her boyfriend and now she’s living right through me. “He seems really authentic? I guess I can say, I mean, we literally lost track of time. He’s so charming” I say as I finish curling my hair. “Well what are you going to wear? You gotta wow him” she says going through my clothes. “I’m going to wear a this set and we’re going to go” I say pulling my outfit out for myself. “I’m not going to dress up for someone I just met and will probably see ever again” I tell her, “boo, you’re no fun” she said shuffling over to her own bag.

The sun had started to set by time we make it to the bonfire. Everything is in full swing, but I don’t see Daniel anywhere or the guys he was with. “Come on! Let’s grab something to drink!” I turn to Ella and she places a lei on my neck as well as handed me some glowsticks. “Where in the world did you get these already?” I asked sliding them to wear as bracelets “It’s a bonfire! They’re just being handed out!”

Daniel

The guys were taking their sweet time getting ready for the bonfire and I was getting impatient, wanting to get out their and meet up with Kora already. “Dude chill have some pre-drink” Corbyn said handing me a red solo cup. “What are you guys even doing? Let’s just go” I said, chugging the beer.

After some more complaining we finally made our way to the bonfire and I found Kora and Ella dancing in front of the fire almost immediately. I stayed with the boys while they grabbed some drinks. Kora looked over at me and winked, earning a blush – which she would never hear about. “That her?” Zach asked as I handed him a beer, “yeah with the flower necklace on” I tell him. I couldn’t help but just watch her for a while, she looked absolutely perfect swaying her hips to the music playing loudly. I downed my drink and went to grab another one when I felt someone grab my wrist. Looking back I saw Kora with a big smile on her face. “Where do you think you’re going?” She asked bringing me to the dance floor, “just admiring the view” I whisper in her ear. I noticed the shiver roll down her spine. “you keep talking like that and I think we both know how this night is going to end” she said.

Kora handed me her drink as Elle came up to give her a refill and grabbed my free hand. I slowly twirled her around and brought her back to my front, keeping her with me and telling other guys to fuck off. “So mr. Rockstar – I take it I’m yours for the rest of the night?” She whispered in my ears, “I mean, if you’ll take me” I tell her.

Elle and the boys soon crowd around us making a semi circle. I can’t seem to look away from Kora however, the sunset hits her face just perfectly. Her eyes are highlighted by the golden rays and she’s glowing. “It’s getting dark – do you guys want to get out of here?” Zach suggested to everybody. “Yeah, we don’t have anywhere to be in the morning” Ella said for us – clearly smitten with the brunette beside her.

We all take some booze from the party and make it back to our suite. “Shit you guys rich or something?” Ella jokes as Zach takes her hand leading her to the couch. “I mean, Daniel did say they are a band” Kora said, her hand never leaving mine. We all disperse around the living room; Jonah setting up spotify on the tv, Corbyn grabbing some glasses, Zach with Ella, Jack with Corbyn and Kora always by my side. “So, we partying or what?” Jonah asked as the music started playing.

The next few hours are spent with booze flowing, jokes being made and games being played. It was only midnight, and a few more people showed up making the hotel room a little crowded. I had opened the door to let the salty sea air cool us all down, and looked towards Kora.

She made her way to me and grabbed my hand. “Baby, come with me” she said leading me out the doorway.

To be continued?....

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eclectickss · 3 years

Text

PGATW Part 6

Wanda Maximoff x Natasha Romanoff x OC (fem!reader)

Summary: The avengers take a vacation to a private island rental off of the Georgia coast! You now have an opportunity to spend time with your new family, especially Wanda and Natasha.

Word Count: 2.1K

Check out my main post for links to the rest of the parts. Third part of the day! I was just looking for excuses to post this, so I caved. Also I decided to add a small plot so that this wouldn't go on forever, so apologies if chapter posts take a bit longer! Also I extended expected length to 10 chapters... small warning though, i have commitment issues <3 (i've never written more than five parts to anything before, so roll with me on this one...) ~el

After what felt like hours (but was probably only 20 minutes), everyone was finally off of the plane and split between the three cars that you all were supposed to have for your vacation.

You managed to get a window seat, but peter ended up with the middle and Wanda on the other side. Pietro took the open shotgun and Nat was asked to drive, and now you were all squished in the car, on the way over to the bridge.

"So," Pietro started. "Wanda got Natasha and Talia? I'm impressed, sister." A grin tugged at his lips while everyone sat in shock. The silence was thick, and you were desperate for someone to break it. Even Peter looked nervous, but you knew that he would never tell anyone. The three of us weren't being that obvious, were we?

"Oh, come on," He mocked. "I'm your brother, Wanda. I notice things. I didn't think anyone else caught on though, you three were acting rather normal for all being in a relationship, though. But you never know! It's only day one, I'm pretty sure, so you all better watch yourselves." Pietro smirked.

"Thank you, brother, for looking out for me." Wanda sarcastically grumbled. "I didn't know you cared about my private life." He laughed.

"Of course I care, sister. Did Peter know about this, though? I would feel a little bad if he didn't."

" No- yeah... yeah I uhh- I knew. Yep. I knew." Peter nearly whispered next to you.

"Oh ok, that's good. That could have been really awkward."

"Yeah..." You managed to push out.

"So Talia," He started again, wishing the only thing he could do would be to shut up. You briefly thought about portaling out of the car and into one of the others, but you didn't want to leave everyone else at the will of Pietro. "How did the two of them ask you? Was it really awkward? Did my sister get shy? "Did Natasha get all flustered and soft?" The assassin and the witch glared at him, but he paid no mind. The two of them were obviously getting annoyed with Pietro's behavior, so you decided to do something about it.

"Actually, Pietro, it was really sweet." You smirked and you could feel everyone's eyes on you, even Natasha who was taking quick glances into the rearview mirror. "Yeah no, when they actually asked me to join their relationship, I didn't believe them at first. I thought they were fucking with me because I had been crushing on them for so long. Turns out, in Wanda's exact words, 'We're not fucking with you, Talia, we just want to fuck you.' really romantic shit if you ask me." Wanda's cheeks were bright red, but at least she was smirking. The boys looked uncomfortable, Pietro most importantly. You could apologize to Peter later.

"Oh yeah, Dude. No, your sister also has really talented fingers too, coming from someone who's seen them in action. She got Nat down hard. It was hot." You caught Natasha's wink in the mirror. "Yeah she called me a 'good girl' as she watched me cum too... her cunt tastes really good, Pietro. I'm sure she could say the same thing about mine." You finished your speech with a shit-eating grin.

"Forget I asked." The speedster turned back in his seat, not daring to make eye contact with you. You looked over to Peter and mouthed an "I'm sorry", but he just awkwardly shrugged it off.

"It's fine. It was worth it." He mouthed back, still obviously uncomfortable, but with a small smile on his face. You wanted to laugh but didn't want to interrupt the new silence as you continued on your drive to the bridge.

You noticed another bridge on the way, imagining that went to a bigger island in the area. There was a lot of traffic around it, so you assumed there was something else to go and check out later.

A little further down the coastal road, a mini-golf course drew your attention. You made a mental note, wanting to check that out later too.

The coolest thing though was the bridge. It had its own gate near the entrance, which all three cars had clickers to.

"Alright ladies plus Peter, welcome to your home for the next two weeks," Natasha smirked behind the wheel as you laughed at the absence of Pietro's name. He didn't dare say anything as you stared at the view from the bridge.

It was gorgeous yet simple. The marshes seemed to stretch forever as you spotted different types of wildlife that roamed the area. Everyone was silent in the car as they took in the view, happy to be exploring new surroundings.

From the top of the bridge, you could see two other islands both off in opposite directions, but they both looked like they were regular tourist destination spots, making you happy that you got to be on a peaceful island in the middle of all of it. You still wanted to check out the other areas, so you pocketed that adventure plan for another day.

As you drove onto the island, you began to notice how small it actually was, but that didn't really bother you too much, seeing as the only house that sat on it was big and beautiful.

It looked slightly worn out from the elements, but it also felt real and authentic. You liked it. There were two stories that you could see, and the front was grand. There were stairs off to the left side leading up to the main entrance, and two garage doors off to the right. Underneath the main part of the house was just a concrete space with beach access, and you could see the dunes from your spot in the car. You were excited.

"Hey, Web Kid, you ready to do some exploring? " You grinned at the person next to you.

"Hell yeah Tal." The two of you high-fived as you caught Wanda's eye roll.

"Natasha, you in? Wanda seems to think it won't be any fun." Natasha laughed.

"You know it." The spy gave a wide grin.

"I never said that!" Wanda exclaimed as Nat finally turned the car off.

"You looked like it..." You teased, making direct eye contact with her.

"Fuck you, Talia!" She laughed as she raced to get out of the car and ran around to your door, but you were already running to the house with Peter and Natasha on your heels when she reached your side.

"I get the biggest room and ladies chose first!" Tony yelled after you as the witch chased everyone in the house. Pietro just sat in the car, happy to be out of that mess.

Wanda almost ran into the three of you in the house as you all were stopped, gaping in awe at the rental home.

"Damn," You breathed.

The front room was a big, tall cylinder with wooden stairs curving up the wall to your left. From where you were standing, you could see straight into a big living room-like area, and just off to the right seemed to be a big kitchen.

The four of you walked into the kitchen slowly, taking everything in, especially you and Peter. Off to your right, There was a grand entrance to the first bedroom in the house, which you guessed was right above the two-car garage. Peeking in, you saw a big king bed and a bathroom off to the side, as well as what appeared to be a large closet.

"Guess I found Tony's room." You snickered at the fact that he didn't get an ocean view, as well as it is right about the garage and right off of the main living area.

Around the corner and down the hall, you all found four smaller rooms on the right, all with queen beds and small bathrooms. They all looked similar too, and now you were happy that you got the first room choice. Down in the far corner of the main space was the laundry area with the only washing machine in the house. Why would something this big only have one washing machine? You internally shrugged.

"Let's head upstairs." Everyone followed your lead. As you passed the main entrance, you saw everyone else unpacking the cars outside. Boring, you thought.

At the top of the stairs was a small space with a balcony that looked into the living room, as well as a wonderful view of the ocean and beach The sixth bedroom was off to the left, with double doors. You opened it, and the second you did, you could see it in Peter's eyes that he wanted it. It was a thin and long room... definitely an odd shape... but you could see its charm. There was a queen bed on the ocean side, and the space was just wide enough to fit two dressers on either wall. The bathroom and closet were on the other side of the room, and it all felt simple, relaxing, and quiet.

"It's all your's, Peter." You smiled.

"Uhh, really? You three get first pick..."

"Yeah. Perks of spending time with the women. Plus, I think Nat and Wanda are going to want the room on the other end. This is a little small." You laughed, remembering seeing another set of double doors at the end of the hall.

"Ok, awesome!" He left the room and headed back towards the stairs.

"Don't you wanna look at the rest of the rooms before you get your stuff?" You shouted at him.

"No, it's fine! You all go on without me!" He disappeared. You realized he probably just didn't want to be in the middle of you three picking rooms, so you understood. Once he was gone, though, Nat spoke.

"Talia," You turned to her. "We understand that you only mentioned Wanda and me in a room, but you know that you are welcome to join us, right?" You smiled.

"Yeah, I assumed." You went to softly kiss Natasha. "But not yet." Wanda rubbed your shoulders. "In my own time, I promise. I just need to know I have a private space for a bit, ok?" You leaned into the witch's touch. "I'll probably spend a lot of time in there though, don't worry." Smirking, you turned to kiss Wanda.

"You don't have to explain anything to us, baby girl." Natasha wrapped her arms around you, as did Wanda.

"I know. I wanted to." That made everyone smile, and you wanted the moment to last a little longer, but you also didn't want to make it awkward. "C'mon. Let's go check out the rest of the rooms." You grabbed their hands and left Peter's room.

The hallway across from you was lined with doors to the remaining 5 bedrooms and another railing peering over the first floor right before the end. Two doors were on left and the final two were on the right, with the last one with french doors at the end of the hall.

The two street rooms on the right were both a little different but had the same idea. They shared a bathroom, though, which Tony failed to mention, so your last two options were the ocean views on the left. The one closer to the stairs reminded you of all the rest of the rooms, but your heart really fell in love with the second one. It was a little bit more of a re-designed rec room than a bedroom, with a big window looking out to the coast, but also an open railing with a rod curtain that peered over the first-floor kitchen and dining space to the right. Two the left was the closest and bathroom that were clearly last-minute additions, but you didn't mind. The best part of the room, though, was the placement of the bed. A queen bed sat elegantly under the big window, and you knew it was perfect.

"I love it." You grinned.

"Really?" Wanda's nose scrunched. "It's not that private..." She said, glancing over the railing.

"I can pull the curtain, silly." You rolled your eyes. "It's quirky. I want it."

"Ok... whatever you like, princess." You punched her arm.

"C'mon. Let's go see your room. Know what I'm getting into." You smirked, making your way to the final bedroom in the house.

While the room was a lot smaller than Tony's, it was much more valuable. There was a king bed placed right under a large, angled window that looked out to the water, as well as a light bathroom with a stand-up shower that shared the same view. It was gorgeous, and you were a little jealous. Only a little bit.

"I think it's lovely." You shined. "Let's go get our shit." Everyone laughed and followed you out and down the steps.

You were going to have an amazing vacation.

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1zashreena1 · 4 years

Text

Angst Fluff Whiplash -14

18+, m/f, technically OCxDiego Jimenez [Power]

Summary: What does an apex predator do after confessing undying love? Princess is about to find out.

WARNINGS: Ridiculous descriptions and ‘the code is more like guidelines’ outlook on grammar. Is it OOC if the character was given essentially zero development in canon???

Non-descriptive sexytimes, the L word, criminal activities glossed over, relationship building, plus size woman+fit man, Anxiety, This one is all feels and

I Am So NOT Sorry.

THE TIME HAS COME

A/N: Princess took on a life of her own and has essentially become an OC. There are infrequent mentions of her description (specifically as plus size) and her actual name in later pieces (its Bicki). She started as self-insert so she looks like me (plus size, white, short, blue eyes, curly hair). If that is not your thing, I totally understand. And do not feel obligated to read this, I will not be offended!

I’m not a fan of “plot” so be aware that most of this series is just meandering through their relationship, angst-fluff-smut whiplash style. But with dick jokes.

TAGLIST: @chelsfic @symbiont13 @nicke0115 @bunnykjm @rosee-sensuelle @girlpornparadise @mandoplease @heresathreebee @xxsteph-enrixx @jetiikad @joalsglasses @mutantcookiesecrets @demoncatstone @squidlywiddly87 @lockedoutofmyotherblog @poeedamerons

"I don't know, Lisa. He won't tell me. Not until this weekend apparently? We're supposed to go shopping."

"Honestly, I'm scared. I mean, there's the whole how did he get a passport FOR me dilemma. Then the part where he knows I don't like surprises. And he said he was calling my sister!"

"Oh my God, she could tell him anything! Please don't tell him about the Backstreet Boys phase. I'm going to have a panic attack."

"Of course he would tease me about it for eternity!"

"What? Watch what words? What are you talking about?"

"Do not hang up this phone! Do you even love me?!? Lisa? …. Hello?"

You toss your phone down on the bed and heave a huge sigh. Your very own BFF, abandoning you like that. Luckily its your own phone and not the insane cell Diego got you because it bounces off the other side of the bed and smacks into the wall before admitting total defeat to gravity.

You stand there staring at your open suitcase. Your typical items are in there already. You don't need any toiletries. Or makeup, now. Or bras. Or underwear. Fucking hell, its like I already moved into the penthouse with him.

… Could I do that? He already basically asked for it. He keeps telling me to quit my job and let him spoil me for real. You wring your hands together while rubbing your lips against each other and being bombarded with intrusive thoughts. Yeah. Until he's done with me and then I have to start all over. At 35.

But its been almost a year now that you've been seeing Diego. What does that even mean, "seeing" him? You think about how the last few months have been so… easy. He practically lives in New York now, their territory split. He opted to control the East Coast and let his sister deal with the logistical nightmare of receiving the imports.

He has been a lot looser since then. Faster to laugh, quicker to goof around, less likely to do anything as hard as he used to do. The distance from Alicia has allowed him to really flourish in every aspect. And he's beautiful with it. The laugh lines and the soft brown eyes wreck you every time.

He says he wants to keep you. Take care of you. You finally believe that he loves you. He has made so many improvements in communication. Hell, he read books on how to be with someone on the spectrum. Do you understand it? Hell no. Are you going to take it and run? Fuck yeah dude. I love him and I want to keep him.

And now he wants to take you on a trip. A surprise destination. Out of the country with a mostly legal passport. You don't doubt that you'll be safe with him. Your parents were a little concerned when you told them since they've never even met him. And they saw him on the national news that time he got arrested by the Feds, so that really inspires confidence.

Your middle sister Lynne and niece Halley accidentally met him that one afternoon about a month back. And they have not shut up about it since. Diego this, Diego that, blah blah blah, paid the restaurant bill in cash, yadda yadda, took us all shopping to a Coach store and then got Halley some crazy new sold out Nikes. Diego had been delighted to be surrounded by a gaggle of giggling girls enjoying his spoiling attentions. Just like always, Diego went to the max and charmed them silly.

It was like having an out of body experience to see Diego with them. You couldn't really fault them, he swept you off your feet with no problems. He was grinning and joking the whole time, making raunchy comments with your sister and encouraging your niece to be assertive (unnecessary according to her soccer coach and the 'Most Aggressive' trophy). He fit right in with them. Afterwards he had asked if that was what it was like to have normal siblings and your heart broke thinking about what his childhood had been like with his sister.

Which brought you back to the here and now. He had mentioned off hand that he was going to call your sister. Maybe you should text her. She might know something.

Maybe you should just pack your bag and trust him.

Your Diego Cell chirps and you dive for it on the nightstand. Is he okay? Please don't be hurt.

Its a pic of him. In the shower. With his own hand wrapped around himself. You choke on air and have to sit down.

I miss you Princess

Holy. Shit. Its been almost a year that you have had unrestricted access to that incredible body and your reaction is still the same. Before you can respond another text arrives:

SOON

The attached pic is just from squinty eyes up.

You burst out laughing at him. You love that he is secretly a nerd about internet stuff. His appearance would never give that away. Time to be ridiculous right back.

Don't make me lick your eyeball

You are a crazy person laughing to yourself alone in your bedroom.

You are so weird

Yet there you are, lusting after this weirdo

You shoot back.

… Am I the weirdo??

No. Still you.

I would threaten to bite it.. but you would like that

Well now you have to

Oh my God. You're fairly certain you could do anything to this man and he would think it was sexy. Its a novel experience.

Can we eat dinner at home tomorrow? I don't feel like wearing a real bra

You know the answer to that.

YES. NO MORE BRAS EVER AGAIN. BE FREE

… no panties?🙏🥺

You can see the hopeful puppy dog eyes clearly.

A for effort babe. One of these days you might get your wish lol

...Are you panty free right now?

Wow. He is really trying here.

I'm packing.

Your pic is a heap of tangled thongs dumped on top of Tiny Murder Panther.

💜🔥😛

He would find that hot. Fucking nympho.

Lemme finish this so I can go straight to the airport tomorrow

Fine. But I am pouting

You do not doubt that.

Don't care. Still love your stupid face

You cannot believe you just sent that.

Princess.

Mi amor.

Diego's good little girl.

You shudder with the praise. You can hear it in his voice, as if he were right here with you.

I love you

Dream of me?

Oh baby, if you only knew. You sigh wistfully.

Always, baby

---------------‐---------

The flight is uneventful, thankfully. Your maxidress with a built-in shelf bra is stupidly comfortable and you actually take a nap.

The plane has barely come to a stop and you already have on your silly lambswool lined Ugg flip flops. You had argued with Diego about these (Why would flip flops need a warm fuzzy lining??) but he had won by sticking one in your face and ordering you to feel. It didn't take a full second for you to snatch them both from him and cuddle them to your chest. His pleased smile full of dimples was worth all the subsequent teasing.

You slip on one of his previously stolen shirts in a metallic lilac color and roll up the sleeves so you have use of your hands. Bending at the waist, you flip your hair over and fluff it back up from the nap. What was that he had said? Oh yes: Wild and thick, just how I like it. The memory makes you bite your bottom lip and smile.

Bastian is waiting for you on the tarmac. He takes your bag and kisses you on the cheek in greeting. "Hey, sweetie. Nice shirt, is that new?" His knowing grin is infectious.

You nuzzle into the collar with a laugh. "Thanks! My boyfriend gave it to me."

Bastian chuckles as he opens the passenger door for you. "Oh, honey. That is not all he is going to give you." He closes the door while you roll your eyes smirkingly.

The ride to the penthouse is uneventful. Well, as uneventful as Friday evening rush hour traffic can be in New York.

Bastian waits until the song is over before lowering the stereo volume. "We're supposed to pick up dinner. Any requests?" He drums his fingers on the steering wheel while you sit at the red light.

You ponder the options. "What kind of a day has he had? Meetings? Tours? Disciplinary action?" You ask Bastian thoughtfully. Sometimes when Diego has a bad day he likes comfort food. Mostly a giant heap of rice and beans next to homemade tortillas, he isn't so picky about the variety of meat.

Bastian glances at you out of the corner of his eye before warily answering, "There was a… termination… at a construction site this afternoon that took longer than expected. That's why he didn't come to get you, he wanted to shower first."

You keep your eyes focused forward to look out of the windshield. "Okay. How about Jalisco's then?" Comfort food it is.

Bastian nods and adjusts course to obtain those tortillas.

‐--------------------

The instant the elevator doors ding open Diego pops up from the sectional and comes straight at you. Your giant sidestep to let Bastian pass is barely completed before Diego is slipping those big hands under his own pilfered shirt to crush your body to him. Your arms go around his neck like a reflex, like this is their natural resting place. He leans his forehead down onto yours and kisses you so very gently.

"Mmmm. Hi." You murmur softly into his beard. Those bottomless brown eyes look over your entire face before coming back to your own. His smile is huge, those dimples make your pulse trip. He blinks slowly down at you, just like the big cat you nicknamed him after.

"Princess. How was the trip?" He always asks you this. You still aren't sure if its just culturally specific manners or if he is requesting a review of the flight crew's performance. Either way, your answer is always the same.

You pull him back down so you can cuddle into his neck. "Its better now that I'm here." He rubs his cheek against your own and purrs directly into your ear in response. Your body's reaction is immediate and decisive. You shiver in his arms and your nipples peak to full attention.

Except this time is different. With only a bralette and the dress's shelf bra Diego can clearly feel what just happened in real time. His eyes are comically round as he peers down at your cleavage in pleasant wonder.

"Oh. I like this outfit." His hands rise up your back to crush you further into him. You chuckle and rub your chest on his firm pectoral muscles. He watches hungrily as your compressed decolletage rises higher yet from the added pressure. "New rule to match the bedroom pants bar, no bras in the penthouse. Fucking magnificent, bonita." He licks his lips after making this proclamation.

You throw your head back and laugh joyfully.

‐----------------------

As it always does the weekend passes too quickly. Its already 1:00pm on Saturday when you two finally come down from the bedroom.

Diego is delighted to hear that your time-off request was approved for the trip. You had told him not to worry about it, your boss always kept her word about this stuff.

That’s when he pulls a ridiculous pith hat out from under the couch. It looks like it came straight out of a Looney Tunes cartoon about a big game hunt on the African savannah. You lose your entire shit and laugh until you do that silent clapping seal move.

Diego keeps repeating, "Wait, stop laughing. Stooooop." But he isn't faring much better. You finally wipe the tears and calm down enough to take it from his limp fingers while he chortles a few last times.

"Baby. What. What the fuck. What fucking is this??" You plunk the hat on your own head and Diego collapses facedown into your lap to gigglesnort uproariously. "Stop. Stop laughing. Stoppit!" You smack the back of his head lightly until he comes up for air.

He closes his eyes and composes himself. You take the opportunity to plop the hat on his head.

"Oh my god, that is so sexy!" You declare in high dramatics.

He grabs your hands and leans in very close to explain. "You need this hat for our trip." Your eyes narrow in suspicion. "You will wear it for our safari quest…" he pauses for dramatic effect and your lips twitch in suppressed amusement. He leans closer yet and captures your stare. His face is hilarious, you can tell he is biting his cheek to keep from laughing. His eyebrows are drawn down in concentration but his eyes are widened in mock excitement. He sucks in a deep breath to exclaim, "To locate palm trees in the wild!"

He laughs as he puts the hat back on you.

You blink a few times in shock. Palm trees? You're going somewhere with palm trees? A tropical locale. Palm trees. Beaches. SWIMSUITS. Your sudden panic must show on your face because Diego's laughter dies off.

You blink furiously, but its too little too late. The tears burn as they well up in your eyes and spill down over your cheeks.

He reaches out to cup your face. "Princess?" His tone is an even mix of concern and fear. "Bicki? What?"

You shake your head 'no' and throw yourself into him. Diego catches you and hauls you into his lap. You curl up against his chest and sob quietly. He pets over your hair, open handed strokes so his fingers don't tangle in the curls, and soothes your back while you shake. Rubbing his nose against your temple, he kisses your cheek and whispers, "Do you want to write?" His gentle care only makes you worse. "...so that is no." He looks crestfallen. He buries his face in your hair and breathes heavily.

Your tears are slowing and your chest is finally beginning to loosen. "Dieg-" you hiccup, wrapping both hands around his forearm. You wheeze a few times before trying again. "I. I. Where? Where are we g-going?"

He sighs deeply before answering. "Nowhere. I won't take you somewhere you don't want to go. I should have known better. I-" He snaps his jaw shut so fast that his teeth click together.

Tilting your head back, you try to catch his eyes. Diego won't look at you. "H-hey, please." You cup his jaw and pull him down to you. He comes, but the motions are stilted. "Look. Please, baby. Let me s-see you."

When he finally meets your eyes it breaks your heart. That chocolate gaze is disappointed, hurt, frustrated even. You wiggle around until you're straddling his lap. He just holds his hands out of the way, not hindering you but certainly not helping either. Standing up on your knees to lean your forehead against his, you reach for his hands and bring them to your chest where you lace your fingers together.

"Baby. I want that." Your nose rubs against his as you speak. "I want to go everywhere with you. I never thought I would ever get a chance like this. To travel? To go somewhere tropical? To have someone who loves me enough to do this for me?" You're crying again. And so is Diego? A little??

He brings your joined hands up to tap your chin. His face is adorably conflicted when he speaks, "You… want to go?" You nod slowly. His eyebrows lower as he tries to make sense of this. "Then why do you cry? Are they, the uh, is that 'happy tears' ?"

Your hands shake in his. "Yeah. Happy tears. I just. I was overwhelmed. I'm sorry." He huffs out a sigh. You continue, "Its almost like the super intense emotions short circuit my responses and I guess my default is panic crying? I don't know."

Diego huffs at you again. "Please stop that. I'm going to have a heart attack." There is a hint of real annoyance in his voice but his lips curl up at the corners.

You free your right hand to reach up and brush his wet lashes. Why did something this little bring him to tears? "Baby, is everything okay?"

He leans into your hand, then turns to kiss your fingers. You giggle, you can't help it, his beard both tickles and delights you. He smirks at you, "It is now, Princess. You should get dressed so we can go."

But you're not done here yet. "Where are we going on the trip? A place name, not foliage that may or may not be present."

His Cheshire cat grin is intriguing and mildly worrisome. He gives you one word, "Xcalak." And then watches while you access your mental map and pinpoint the exact location.

It takes you a moment but you find it with a gasp. "Costa Maya? Like Caribbean-sea side of Mexico??" He nods and you immediately start in with 20 Questions. "Are there cenotes? Is the water really those unreal colors? Is the food amazing there? Can we see ruins?"

Diego cups your face to stop you. "Whatever you like, little girl." With a kiss to your nose and a smack to your ass he ushers you upstairs to get dressed.

-----------------------

The shopping is less traumatic than normal for you thanks to Diego making enthusiastic innuendo nonstop and feeding you between stores. You find sandals, and flip flops, and little slip-on sneakers. All kinds of flowy maxidresses and flouncy skirts paired with new tank tops in buttery soft fabrics. Cover-ups and kimonos and huge airy loose knit sweaters get rung up with linen pants and shorts you actually feel comfortable wearing.

But swimsuits? A disaster. Everything that fits your hips is way too big for your ribcage. Tankinis big enough to go around your middle are about a foot too wide around your chest. You try some maternity stuff… amazingly there isn't any chest support. That confuses both of you for almost 20 minutes while you discuss it over croissants and various iced beverages (coffee for him and some kind of hot chocolate slushie for you).

Then you look across the street and inspiration hits. One of the stores you order bras from is right there and has bra-sized swimwear in the display window. Diego turns to see what stole your undivided attention from him and slaps his hand down on the table in celebration.

You aren't sure which one of you is more excited to get into the store. But while you run around exclaiming at all the things that come in your size Diego stands in the doorway and gawks. When you circle back to check on him he just points to one display wall.

There is lacy, frilly, corseted lingerie. In. Your. Size.

He demands one of everything that fits you and isn't red, brown, or yellow. You don't even argue.

The store does alterations and makes very good recommendations. The sales clerk is impressed with Diego's input, she comments that he really does seem to know your body well. You flush with it, glad that he isn't close enough to hear that. You leave with three bags and seven personalized swim outfits under construction. One is ready to wear and you keep reaching into the bag to touch it in wonder.

Diego notices but just gives you a raised eyebrow.

"This is the first time I've ever felt good about how I look in swimwear." You confess quietly.

Diego wraps a massive arm around your shoulders and tucks you into his side while you continue down the sidewalk.

--------------------

Sunday is a mess as you try to make pancakes and Diego tries to remain physically attached to you like an excessively attractive barnacle. The pancakes are either burnt or still batter in the middle. Leftover carnitas and tortillas to the rescue. Diego teases you about the kitchen failure all day because this is the first time he has witnessed such a thing.

You doze on the couch under the pretense of "reading". Diego rotates through his laptop, cell, and the soccer match on ESPN+.

Until his phone rings.

You both tense up. Only one person calls him instead of texting. He takes the phone into the office to answer his sister. You wait on the couch to see which Diego you get back: silly tickle fight Diego, sad puppy dog eyes Diego that requires cuddles, or angry Diego that needs to fuck you through the nearest horizontal surface.

The elevator dings and Julio comes in with a tray of coffees. "Ay, Gordita. Buenas tardes. I got you the hibiscus thing you like." He greets you with a big smile, then looks around when he doesn't see Diego on the sectional with you.

Hopping up to help him carry stuff, you point to the office in indication of Diego's location. Julio makes a face, "Hermana perra?" and you simply nod. Julio takes Diego's iced coffee and bites the bullet for you. The door closes softly behind him.

You munch plantain chips and slurp hibiscus lemonade until they come out. Diego just looks tired when he comes back to you on the couch, coffee in hand. You open your arms in invitation and he plops next to you with a sigh. Cuddly Diego it is.

He doesn't tell you anything and you don't ask. Everyone watches the match mindlessly. Diego snores softly in your lap while you pet his hair.

He rides to the airport with you but you forbid him from coming onto the plane with you. He is already making this harder than it has to be with his big brown eyes and clingy hands.

"Baby." You breathe into his hair while he snuggles into your neck in the backseat of the SUV. "Its only a week. We do this every week." You pet down his bicep and immediately regret it.

"I know." Diego huffs into your skin. "Why don't you just quit? Let me take care of everything." You go through this almost every week now, too. He nuzzles you, the sensation makes you reconsider his proposal. You pull his head up by a fistful of soft hair and look him in the eye. He blinks guilelessly at you.

"Number one: No. Number two: Stoppit." He laughs at your fond exasperation. "Okay. I'm gonna go. You stay on the ground."

"Fine." He whines. "But I am going to send you a dick pic the moment that plane takes off." He crosses his arms as if daring you to tell him no.

You cup his stupidly attractive face in your hands for a kiss. Okay, several kisses and 27 minutes later, you respond, "Send me one every day. Its my favorite dick." His startled laugh makes you feel very pleased with yourself.

He pulls you into his arms again to kiss you one last time. His beard scratches and you sigh into him. Finally that tongue retreats and he rests his forehead on yours. His voice is low and rough, his hands squeeze tight on your hip and thigh, "I love you, Princess."

Will that ever stop hurting? You close your eyes against the burn of tears but smile with happiness. "I love you, Diego." You pop the door handle before you open your eyes to see him watching you, jaw tense. You stick your tongue out and he breaks into a smirk. With a laugh, you slide out of SUV and walk to the plane, determined not to look back.

When you get up the stairs the pilot greets you, but his gaze shifts behind you. Turning around, you see Diego standing outside the SUV, arms crossed and trying to look so not soft. You smile and mouth Bye baby, he gives you a short little wave. You duck into the plane before you can start crying.

The wheels are not, in fact, off the ground when the phone chirps.

‐-----------------------

The trip is a few weeks out and there is some kind of emergency at the San Diego docks the next weekend. So. You don't get your Murder Panther fix.

And your coworkers notice. They spend all day Monday strolling past your cubicle, straining their necks to see if you're wearing new shoes or some fresh bling. Finally someone has the nerve to ask how your weekend was.

You find yourself blinking back tears. I miss him so much. This is ridiculous, he just texted you at like six this morning. But its not just the conversation you miss, now is it? You miss that big body crowding you into the corner of the couch. His soft curls under your hands. That beard on literally any inch of your skin. Draping yourself over shoulders wider than your hips and knowing that not only can he take your weight, he likes it.

He says he wants to keep you and you desperately want to keep him. Why do you fear this? Is it just his profession? The risk? Oh god, how do you even go about introducing him to your parents??? Diego can be all kinds of charming but he can be a real asshole, too.

And they know what he is: A criminal. For your boomer parents he is the living embodiment of Public Enemy Number One.

Grand Theft.

Money Laundering.

Arson.

Murder.

International Cocaine Trafficking.

HE IS A LITERAL DRUG LORD.

You lay your head down on your desk and try to keep it together.

Your Diego Cell chirps.

Your laughter bubbles up until it comes out of you without your consent. It turns hysterical and you realize you need to leave the office suite. Now.

In the bathroom you stare down at the phone as it lights up again with another message.

Miss my Princess💔👑

How? How is someone who can do all those illegal things so nauseatingly sweet to me?

And then it hits you. Illegal. You didn't use the word immoral. Illegal. You think back to how everyone you see working directly for him is well into adulthood. No children. There are a few women but they are not being sold by him, they are there by their own free will. And he has never laid a hand on any of them, they're just as comfortable around him as the men are. No sex trafficking. You saw someone give their resignation last month. The dude walked away with a suitcase of cash for a decade of trustworthy service. Its a better retirement plan than what I have.

Have you seen him assault people? Yes. You've seen him stab people. Carve off someone's ear because they weren't listening as assigned and it cost the Jimenez Cartel a shipment. You've seen him push an informant down an empty elevator shaft. Choke a man into unconsciousness with his bare hands when you were disrespected.

And you still love him. Not a single one of those incidents weighs on your conscience. Your morality is a dingy grey 12 year old men's undershirt that you should just throw away but you're definitely going to cut into rags to keep for cleaning when it comes to Diego.

The cell lights up again.

Mi amor 💞😍🍑🏝✈⏲👙

You don't know what's worse: His excessive and ridiculous usage of emojis or the fact that you understood.

Look what came

The attached pic is a few pieces of your new swimwear. They look gorgeous, you can't even tell where the alterations were done.

You have to try on all of them. And show me

Of course he wants his own personal show. You feel desire burning low in your belly. Its been a year and not once has he ever shied away from your stomach rolls or hinted at weight loss. He never questions the food you order. And while the two of you have chuckled about shapewear he has never mocked you for using it. Or seemed disappointed when you opted not to wear it. He tosses you around like its nothing and prefers for you to sleep on top of him. Its not that he loves you despite your weight, he loves it as part of you.

-------------------------

Its now Thursday and the desk drawer where you keep your purse at work is vibrating. He knows I'm at work. If he calls right back I'll answer him. You try to keep your Diego Cell out of sight at work or you'll never get anything done. Plus your coworkers are always dying to catch a peek of your infamous sugar daddy/boyfriend.

Yeah. Boyfriend. Keep practicing that. It feels good.

You finish the insurance call and hang up your headset when the vibrating starts again. Your next door cubicle neighbor pops around the divider to advise you to answer that before he comes down here and abducts you.

What deity should I pray to for that??

You snatch Diego Cell and march out to the hall. Poking the green button, you answer the call.

"Baby. You okay?"

"Princess! I… yeah. I'm not hurt."

He sounds odd. There is definitely something going on here.

"What's up? You need me?"

The silence stretches.

"Yes. Please?"

Diego sounds very uncomfortable. It causes you physical pain.

"Well, you have me. What is it?"

You can hear him swallow and in your mind you picture him looking away, hiding some soft emotion shining in his eyes.

"Baby?"

"Here. I am here. I just. I just wanted to hear you."

Something is very wrong with my Murder Panther, you think.

"Babe," your voice is soft, you're trying to ease him. "Can you tell me what's wrong?"

He huffs and you can hear him scrape a hand down over his face. "I know you are at work. And I should not have called. But."

His voice trembles, even over the phone you can hear it. He's afraid.

"Diego. If you need me, then you have me. Tell me, baby." You try to be reassuring but you also really need to know what is wrong.

"I would like to come down there." His declaration is overly formal. You wonder who he is trying to impress. Its certainly not me.

"You… want to come down here instead of me going up there this weekend?" You're trying to make sense out of any part of this conversation.

"I…. grrrrrrrrr." He growls in frustration. Between English being his second language and your sensory processing issues, this is not an uncommon occurrence. He sucks in a deep breath and charges forward in an emotional rush. "I know you're working, but I want to come down there because I miss seeing your face." Before you have a chance to answer he adds, "Pick me up? At the airport, after work? Please, Bicki." His voice cracks at the end and his inhalation is ragged. Your heart implodes.

"Diego. Baby. Of course. Of course I will. I can be there by six." You have a mental flash of how dirty your bathroom is, all the clothes you have laying around, and the vacuum you haven't touched in over a month. Diego needing me is more important.

"Good. Good. Yes, I. I will text you. When I land." His voice is raspier than ever, low and gravelly.

"Sure. I'll be there." I'll always be there.

"Okay. You… you should go." You can hear his determination. You can visualize him squaring his shoulders and setting his jaw, taking on the Jimenez Cartel persona.

"Hey." He grunts in acknowledgement. "I love you." You blurt it out before you have a chance to talk yourself round in circles. You can hear voices in the background.

"And you. You as well." The call ends, but you know.

---------------

You're sitting in your car at the little regional airport second guessing the coffee you got when the phone chirps.

Here

Springing out of the car, you wave to the security guard as you trot past. "Hey Jim, I just have to grab someone real quick. That's okay, right?" You wave vaguely back toward your car parked in the fire lane. There are only four security guards who work here and they all know you at this point.

Jim laughs but waves you on. "Go get 'im, sweetie." Jim must be pushing 90 by now, he doesn't care about traffic laws.

You enter one of the two sets of automatic doors on this entire building and cross through the tiny lobby. There. You can see his dark hair and ridiculous shoulders over a completely unnecessary row of potted plants. He must hear your echoing footsteps because his head whips around in alarm, but his face relaxes into a wide smile. He lengthens his strides to come around the stupid plants, hands automatically reaching out for you.

"Diego." You laugh breathily and fling arms around his neck. He smells so good.

He crushes you to his chest and buries his face in your neck. "Printhesss." He murmurs into you, slurred because he refuses to remove his mouth from your skin.

Turning your head to kiss his cheek, you moan shamelessly for him. He surges back upward to capture your lips and kiss you with mild desperation. That devious tongue sweeps over the roof of your mouth before curling up behind your top front teeth.

Your entire world narrows down to Diego. Chocolate. Tastes like the smoothest Belgian chocolate in existence. He smells perfect, clean but definitively male to you. His silky button-down is smooth under your hands, stretched taut over muscle. Those massive hands gather you closer, molding you to that big, solid body. His beard scratches your face in soft tickles when he alters the angle of the kiss just so.

"Goddamn." A woman's voice exclaiming somewhere behind you catapults you back into the here and now. Which is a dinky little regional airport in rural central Pennsylvania. You know, a very public location in a very prudish area of the country. Fuck.

You pull back and Diego's hands shoot up to the back of your head. Holding you in place, he leans his forehead against yours with a contented sigh. He rumbles softly to you, "Take me home."

You feel so silly seeing Diego in the passenger seat of your Corolla, he just seems so out of place. "You can adjust the seat however, nobody really sits there. I just put it all the way back to make sure you can get in without cracking your head." You sound nervous even to your own ears.

Diego turns to you with a response but his attention is captured by the cup holders in the center console, specifically the Dunkin Donuts styrofoam cup. He points to it, then looks up at you with a slow grin. "Princess. Is this for me?"

You flush but can't stop the embarrassed little smile so you cover it with sass, "Well, it sure as hell ain't for me." You start the car and give Jim a little wave. He winks and gives you two thumbs up. Yeah, I'm aware that you saw that kiss too, old man. Everyone saw that shit.

When Diego reaches for the coffee his fingers brush your hip. The contact burns and you suddenly remember that you have not touched this beautiful man for well over two weeks. Apparently he remembers, too, because he wraps that huge hand around your thigh with rather a lot of force. Right hand slapping down to cover his, your heart rate jumps through the roof. Did I take my blood pressure pill this morning?

"Don't." You choke out.

He rumbles softly next to you, purring with conceited pleasure. "Did my Princess miss Diego?" He asks you with an incredibly pornographic voice.

"Oh, fuck you." Your answering groan is also obscene. So glad the windows are up.

His hoarse chuckle makes your thighs tremble. "You're Diego's good little girl, you will." He's right and you both know it. You would ride him right here in your own damn car if he demanded it. You have a problem.

He lets you redirect his hand to the coffee with only a little resistance. "Focus." You hiss.

"Me or you?" Diego quips.

"Yes." You declare.

Diego's guffaw is contagious and you don't even try to hold back.

Your apartment always seems like an adequate size until Diego is inside. No, bad Bicki. Do not say it like that. His presence just sort of… lounges about in a vaguely threatening but highly attractive manner. Much like the actual man on your couch. You tried to pick up dinner on the way but he just wanted to 'go home'. You are disgustingly happy that your place feels like home to him.

Diego had flopped on your couch immediately and hasn't moved since. Something is very definitely very wrong. There were bursts of your Murder Panther in the car, but he has been just subdued overall. He had turned your stereo up and smiled faintly, watching you sing along. He had also complained that the stereo in your car sucked (Agreed) and this was unacceptable. You're sure he'll do something ridiculously extravagant to remedy this.

You try to give him the remote, he takes it but doesn't do anything with it. You offer him food, both junk and something home-cooked, all you get is a shrug. You putter around for a while, picking things up and sighing before putting them down somewhere else. His dark eyes watch you, unfathomable.

Finally you disappear to the bedroom only to return in your pajamas. This he likes, perking up and blinking rapidly. "Okay, I know you brought something softer than those jeans, so get comfy so I can order shitty pizza and cuddle you."

His jaw drops in momentary shock. Then he scoffs, "I do not cu--"

You cut him off, "Yes, you do and yes, you're going to. Up. Now." This has to be hilarious. This short little woman in overly long pants barking orders at the massive man who heads an international drug cartel. Well, its either hilarious or fatal. I'm about to find out.

Diego looks around, as if someone else might secretly be here to witness him be a little bit submissive and moderately soft. He raises his chin in a tiny show of defiance. "Fine. But I am showering first." He glares with this proclamation, daring you to contradict him.

You throw your hands up in the air. Why the fuck would I have a problem with that?? His eyes follow your hands, like a cat when you try to point out a bit of food but all it does is rub your finger. You sigh, resigned to your fate. "Of course that's fine, Diego. You know where everything is, have at it."

You watch his butt as he walks away to the bathroom.

The pizza actually isn't shitty and Diego eats half of it by himself. When you offer him the cinnamon dessert sticks he shoots you a calculating look. You split the contents, pulling two sticks over to yourself and piling up the rest in front of him. His delighted grin is decidedly not calculated and you lose track of time watching him enjoy dessert.

He's beautiful like this. He wears a soft, silky t-shirt that is tight enough to help you get through the nights you spend alone. His hair is a riot of fluffy curls, free of product and clearly trying to break free of gravity, too. He hasn't shaved for at least a few days and that salt and pepper beard is filling in nicely. His face is unguarded, expression open, those laugh lines and dimples you love make frequent appearances.

After dinner you lay all over each other in some weird we-have-intimacy-issues approximation of cuddling. It works so you don't question it. He has his laptop and you have your tablet and together you have sporadic conversation. Its comfortable.

Until Diego asks you a seemingly innocuous question that you know is very nefarious:

"What color do you like in cars?"

Your eyes narrow so much that you have trouble seeing. "...Why." Your low tone might be frightening to anyone else.

He looks at you over the laptop screen, brown eyes innocently wide. "Just curious. Your car is green. Do you like any other colors?" He slowly pulls the laptop closer to himself to subtly cover the screen with his bulk.

"Diego." You slowly put down your tablet and start leaning toward him. He has nowhere to go, propped up in the corner of the chaise end of the sofa. "What. Are. You. Doing."

"Will you let me take care of you? Just in this one way right now?" He licks his lips, brow furrowed in concentration. Building desperation shows in his eyes and you can't fight that. You don't want to win this.

"Let me see, baby." Your sighed acquiescence has an instantaneous effect. Diego drops the tension from his shoulders and opens an arm to you in invitation. You crawl up him to cuddle into his chest, wedged on your side between all those muscles and the back of the sectional. From here you are stationed directly in front of the laptop screen.

He is looking at cars.

Armored cars.

Armored, bulletproof, explosive resistant cars.

What. The. Fuck.

"Diego, what the fuck is going on?!?" Your apprehensive demand sets him right back on edge. You can feel him go tense underneath you. The laptop gets shoved onto an empty cushion as you throw yourself over him. Tiny hands land on those broad shoulders with extreme force as you use all of your deadweight to trap him. Below you, Diego shakes but you can't tell if its from anger or anxiety because his eyes are scrunched closed tightly. "Tell me why I need a fucking bulletproof car!"

He surges up into your face to match your volume, "She knows! Mi hermana perra knows about you! Alicia found out about us!" You lurch back in shock, but the steel hands on your hips stop you from retreating. His voice is hoarse, louder than you've ever heard him, and its terrifying. Your fear must show because he releases his grip on you like it burns.

"WHAT?" The ramifications here could truly be lethal. Alicia has already tried to set Diego up to take the fall when they were arrested almost four months ago. You know she has scorned Diego's familiarity with his men in the past, that is why he handpicks them personally. To Alicia, everyone is disposable, even her own brother. Her only loyalty is to herself.

Diego's hands come up in an aborted reach for you. You're still too shocked to move. His face crumbles in agony and he blinks furiously, hands balling into fists. "Everything I have ever wanted she has ensured I never got. She, she manipulates me into destroying everything I touch. I will not let her hurt you! I refuse to allow her to break us, mi amor!!" His volume has steadily escalated until he is yelling.

He's afraid. He is afraid that he will lose me. The realization emboldens you enough to take his hands in your own, bring them to your chest, and press them close to your heart. You trust that he won't hurt you in his rage. You don't fear him, this dangerous, powerful, ruthless man that you love.

His hands open to slide up your shoulders, curl around your neck, and his thumbs glide over the pulse point under your ears. He brings your face to his own, his expression twisted up with fear and anger and possession and love.

"You are mine! And I will keep you!"

You realize everything that you have been debating with yourself, all of your pro versus con lists, your stupid little dry erase board covered in sticky notes with your fears, your scribbled timeline of events and possible future predictions, none of it matters. All you care about is the man in your arms. Diego is the most important thing in your life and you can't imagine a life without him. If you had to give up everything to keep him, you would do it in a heartbeat.

Your hands grip tightly around his wrists and you consciously straighten your spine. Expression hardening, your eyes open to meet his anguished gaze.

"I want black."

The armored 2020 Camry is delivered that Sunday. You thank him for finding something inconspicuous with an upgraded JBL sound system and he compliments your understated color choice of Black Sand Metallic. By the time you drop him off at the airport that evening you've managed to replace the new car smell with something better and you're thankful that the leather seats just wipe clean. Monday morning in the parking lot at work, however, is a literal ordeal.

---------------------

The next two weeks feel like they’re seven months long. You clock out at noon on Thursday to a chorus of your coworkers making vaguely lewd remarks and howling with laughter about your vacation. 'Two whole weeks on a beach in Mexico with an absolutely loaded hottie' is what they've been repeating gleefully all week.

You turn around and walk backwards to give them finger guns, "Yes," then you reach down to adjust your pants, "And YES." Their squeals are contagious and you're still laughing when you burst out the front doors to drive home.

You turn the volume waaaay too high in the car so that your teeth vibrate and it feels like you're having heart palpitations. I love this fucking car and I love that man.

There is a rental Tahoe parked in the grass next to the huge gravel driveway at your farmhouse, but he left the second assigned parking space next to your Corolla open so you can park The Beast (as you have affectionately named your new ride) appropriately while away. When you get out of the car you glance up instinctively, Diego is standing outside your front door on the small third floor balcony laughing.

"Are you deaf yet, Princess?" He hollers down in amusement.

You flip him off with the middle finger that wears the gemstone ring he gave you while yelling back, "WHAAAAT??"

His laughter fades as he disappears inside, leaving the door wide open to let out all the cold air. Were you raised in a barn?? Close the door, the electric bill-- You cut off your own thoughts when you suddenly remember that you haven't been paying that electric bill for the last six months. Nevermind.

Before you can start up the stairs, Sara, your first floor neighbor, appears on the porch with their toddler. "Hey stranger!" Sara waves with a big smile and the kid does the same but with some kind of unidentifiable kitchen utensil in hand. "That is your boyfriend, right? He had a key so I didn't think it was your ex but I wanted to make sure. I mean, from what I just saw it is your boyfriend. Also, holy shit, that's your boyfriend?"

If she says the word 'boyfriend' one more time I'm going to spontaneously combust.

"Uh yeah, definitely not my ex. Sorry, I forget that you guys haven't really seen him before, I meant to tell you he was coming." You can feel your face burning and it isn't from the August sun. Sara fans her own face with a hand while mouthing 'he's hot' like you're somehow unaware. You forge on before she can start gushing aloud. "We're actually leaving on a trip tonight so I'll be gone for the next two weeks."

Now Sara drops the kid and scrambles over to whisper fiercely to you, "Oh my god, seriously? Where are you going? Wait, this is the same guy you've been going to see in New York, right? How long has it been, like a year? Is he taking you on a trip for your anniversary? I don't even know his name. Oh my god, that is so sweet!"

Okay, down girl. You're not sure who you're trying to will into being chill, Sara or yourself.

"Um, we're going to Mexico. And yeah, he's the guy in New York. It's just a vacation." You don't even touch the relationship questions with a ten foot pole. You glance up but Diego is still inside, Thank fuck.

Sara hops a little in excitement. "I'm sooo jealous!" She squeals. "You have to take a ton of pictures! I need to see! Oh my god, I bet you guys are such a cute couple!" You nod and start backing away, trying to wave goodbye so you can climb the stairs and then climb Diego. "Ooh ooh, wait, what's his name?" Sara hisses conspiratorially. "Does he speak Mexican? Is he Mexican!?!"

You suddenly remember why you tried to move away from this area. Repeatedly. "Yeah, he's Mexican and yes, he speaks Spanish." You sigh. Sara nods but continues staring at you expectantly. Fine. "His name is Diego."

Sara makes a stupid face like this is a rom-com movie. I cannot take anymore, you must shut the fuck up. "Okay, okay. I won't hold you up. But seriously, we can have a 'pics and wine' girls' night when you come back!" She waves maniacally before snatching up the kid and skipping back inside.

I can't think of anything I would like less. Oh hell no.

You climb the stairs in record time before she can come back outside and start talking again.

Bastian, Julio, and a third man you don't know are in your living room. You do not care and your vague wave shows it. You can hear Julio's warm 'Gordita!' greeting as you spin around and march to the bedroom.

Diego is standing at your bed, tucking TMP into your small duffel, when you burst through the doorway and continue at full speed directly into him. He laughs breathlessly but holds steady against your weight. "Princess. Are you ready?"

You take overflowing fistfuls of his shirt, bury your face in his chest, suck in a huge lungful of air, and shriek at full volume.

"Uhhh...that is a yes, si?" He mutters uncertainly above you.

You rear back to look up at him with a smile so wide it hurts.

"Oh good." His hands come to your shoulders while those beautiful brown eyes sparkle. The dimples and laugh lines come out as he absorbs your infectious excitement. Your hands shoot up to his hair to yank him down so you can crash your mouths together with bruising force.

The effect is immediate. He moans loudly and crushes you against him. You dig nails into his neck and you lick your way into his mouth, his hands snake down to your ass to hold tight. Your left leg comes up as you try to wrap it around his hips. With a pained groan he rips those lips off of yours and pulls back. Undeterred, you move on to assaulting his now bared throat, moaning like porn come to life.

"Princess," he gasps, "You have to sto-- uhhh, yes, bonita. Your fucking tongue." You're too busy licking his adam's apple to pay attention to words right now. "Nooo, mi amor, please, lo siento, stopstopstop." You get in one last nip of his collarbone as he pulls your head back via a handful of ringlets. His pupils are blown wide and he's panting hard. You stare longingly at his delectable mouth while making pitiful whines.

"Please, baby, pleeeease. You're all I've thought about for days. I need you!" You try shameless begging, you're certainly not lying. Petting over his shoulders and down that solidly muscled chest, you shudder and try to pull yourself back to him.

He closes his eyes with a grimace. "Flight! Fuck you on the flight!" He croaks, then yanks your hair harder than you like. The pain clears the fog just enough for you to blink back to awareness. You nod jerkily and step back. "Have to leave now to get there before dark." He explains in a rushed huff. You blink as you remember how time works.

"Right. Yeah, right. Okay. Okay." Straightening to attention you yank off the cardigan you wore for the air conditioning at work, leaving you in a tank top and ready to be productive. Focus on not-dick.

Diego shoves your favorite notepad in your face so you can see your packing list and not him. The distraction works. He has checked off every item in each categorized list but left the strike through action for your completion. You lower the notepad until you can make eye contact with him and intensely whisper, "You know I fuckin' love you, right?"

He laughs so hard he has to sit down on the bed.

You go through every bag, touching each item and crossing it off your list one at a time. He did it. Everything but you.

"You know I don't need TMP, right?"

"Why?" He squints up at you from where he lounges across your bed.

Your face heats up and you clear your throat. "Well, its, I'm. I have, uh, you. So I don't need anything else." The realization of how true that is in every sense gives both of you pause.

Diego surges upright to cup your face and bonk your foreheads together just a little too hard. You giggle and he huffs.

"Mi amor…" he sighs for you, eyes closing in pleasure. You 'mmmmm' in response. Then his eyes snap open and he growls an order, "Get changed so we can go!" And punctuates it with a stinging slap to your ass.

----------------------------

You spend the flight with your face pressed to the window, vibrating in excitement, except for a brief intermission of seven orgasms in the bathroom.

The unknown third man is Joey, Bastian's boyfriend. Joey is even quieter than Bastian and just as cute. They're not overly demonstrative but clearly comfortable moving around each other. Joey works in "Packaging" and does an admirable job of ignoring his cartel drug lord boss being snuggly. Julio naps.

The customs agent at the Cancun airport looks you up and down with wide eyes but stamps your passport with no questions. Its a five hour drive to Xcalak but Diego is adamant it can be done in three. You give him an eyebrow question which he dismisses with a vague wave, "They paved the road all the way to the southern border last year."

Uhh, they what now? You understand soon enough. The drive drastically changes outside of Cancun. The scenery is both beautiful and heartbreaking. There are occasional mansions with armed guards, high fences, and SUVs like your own current ride. Mostly though, its shacks and people on foot or riding bicycles, weaving to avoid stray dogs and huge iguanas. Could I handle this as my daily reality?

The first time the road sidles right up to the ocean you have a small meltdown.

"Is that what I think it is?" Your soft whisper is accompanied by a shaking hand pointing to the left. Diego, crammed into the middle of the backseat between yourself and Julio so you could have an unobstructed view, indicates an order for Bastian to pull over. He reaches across you and pops open your door. You slide out with his hand on your lower back and take about a dozen steps to the lapping water. Diego appears to your right, watching you intently.

"Its gre-e-e-en!" Your stuttering squeal is accompanied by happy tears and you fling yourself into Diego with joy. He laughs at you, but hugs you back just as tightly.

----------------------------

The first week passes in a blur of amazing food, warm green sea, fruity drinks, and shirtless wet Diego. And so many orgasms that you can't keep count. Diego is all over you non-stop, more than he ever has been before (Astonishingly). Its incredible and you feel like the only person in the world. If he's not molesting you then he is at least touching you; keeping you in his lap, holding your hand, cuddling and petting and snuggling like a man obsessed.

You love it. You love him. You love this life.

On Saturday he lets you lead him through the tiny town, your Spanish improving by leaps and bounds as you try to navigate the streets and alleys and shops. The four years of high school Spanish actually prove useful as you manage to complete a purchase all by yourself. Your playful mock smugness evaporates under the blazing desire in his eyes.

He drags you back to the casita in a much shorter and more direct route than you took upon earlier departure. You're marched directly to the bed and he puts one massive hand in the middle of your chest to gently push you down onto your back. There is something different about this, something important in his eyes. Your voice is high and soft, "Diego?"

He climbs up between your legs and leans down to kiss you senseless. It goes on forever; soft lips, scratchy beard, silky tongue, and nothing but the taste of Diego. Your moans and sighs are mixed together, there are moments when you can't tell who is making what noise. His hands are shaking as he strokes every inch of newly bared and sunburnt sensitive skin while undressing you.

It takes repeated attempts, but you finally get him naked, too. The sight never fails to take your breath away. All that soft, and now freshly tanned, skin is like velvet to your touch. You're mesmerized by his muscles flexing and then evening out as he moves above you. He finally gets your linen pants untangled off your left foot and flings them across the room with unnecessary force. Your soft peals of laughter light up his face and it brings tears to your eyes. You reach a hand out to him, "Diego. Baby."

He comes up over you, threading fingers into your hair, kissing you slowly and thoroughly. You can feel him against you, fire hot and mouth wateringly hard, but he makes no move to take you. Your eyes open in hazy confusion as the kiss ends. Diego is watching your face, blinking back tears.

He is holding your head still, hands like steel. Whatever this is, he needs it. And you want to give him everything he needs. Forever.

You're captured by his eyes, bottomless, soulful, and hungry. His raspy voice is soft and trembling with desire. "I love you, Bicki. I want everything. Forever, Princess?"

Your chest compresses and your heart implodes. Scalding tears escape when you blink and you're nodding before you even know it. "Yes, Diego. Yes, baby, I'm yours."

Your back arches off the bed as he comes home and brings you with him.

-----------------------

You wake up crushed under Diego. The sun is still up so you might be able to talk him into going out for dinner. You rub your cheek on the huge bicep doubling as your pillow and Diego sighs directly into your ear from where he is spooned up behind you. Oh yeah, we should have done this waaaay sooner.

He nuzzles your neck just to incite squirmy giggles and you don't even fight it. "I have something for you, Princess. Stay here." He pulls away and you whine about the loss of your pillow. His low chuckle burns you alive with want. "Stay like that. Do not move." You obey while you listen to him rummage around behind you.

He comes around to your side of the bed, still completely and unabashedly nude. Hell. Fucking. Yes. You love it. He hands your glasses over and you slide them on to take in the now high definition view of naked Murder Panther. The view disappears as he kneels down next to the bed so you're on eye level. His expression is very peculiar.

His hands slowly come up to reveal a small box of black velvet. Time slows to a halt as he opens the box and presents it to you.

Inside is a ring. Gleaming in platinum and sparkling with three tastefully large princess cut diamonds.

Its an engagement ring.

Diego is proposing.

He swallows hard and rumbles gruffly, "Now remember, you already said y--"

You cut him off with a shriek. "YES! YESYESYES!!"

In the time it takes him to blink twice with surprise you're on him. Arms around his neck, you throw yourself into his lap. He topples backwards and you ride him to the floor, already bawling hysterically.

He stares up at you in shock as you nod furiously and cry all over him. "Princess. You… you are certain?" If this were any other time you would be howling with laughter at his huge eyes and lax jaw.

Your answer is stuttery but determined. "Y-y-yeah. Put it-t-t-t on me already!"

He laughs in delight at your order and the imperious presentation of your shaking left hand. The ring glides on easily, a perfect fit. It gleams up at you blindingly. After a moment of admiration you lace your fingers with his and sigh at the union. His other hand comes up to roughly brush away your tears. "I know you do not like labels so much… but, you will be my, my married... Person. Thing?"

You stroke his bearded cheek in return, thumb lingering on that dimple. With a hard gulp you dive in head first. Fuck it.

"Yes, Diego. I will be your wife."

----------------------

The next time you wake it is dark out. You reach for a phone on the nightstand to your left and jump when you find one with a loud crack. Diego pops upright behind you, instantly on high alert. "Princess?" He hisses while covering your body with his own.

You gigglesnort, then meekly answer him, "I forgot about the ring and whacked a phone. Everything's okay, baby."

He sighs so deeply that his breath ruffles your hair. "Jesus fucking christ, woman. You are a menace." He flops down on top of you and snuggles back into your warmth.

You reach back with your left hand and grope blindly for his face. He licks your fingers as soon as they're in reach and you stuff them into his mouth as retaliation. He just sucks languidly.

"Mmmmmm, I'm your menace, baby. And I have to pee." He nips your fingers but rolls over to free you. You slide out of the bed and stretch your arms high while arching your back. Diego groans painfully. "What?"

Diego rises to all fours on the bed while the sheet slithers off of him. "You forget that other people can see without glasses, huh?" You cock your head and realize that you have a shadow.

It's a full moon. And I just stretched naked in front of a sliding glass door. "Oh. Huh. I guess I do forget. Oops. I'll be sure to keep that in mind now." Your seemingly tame answer is directly contradicted by the exaggerated roll of your hips that makes your butt bounce when you walk off.

"Fucking menace, woman." Diego growls as you push the bathroom door shut with a trill of laughter.

You never do go back to bed but you do wind up on the beach in front of the casita to watch the sunrise. Julio finds you both snuggled together late the next morning, still asleep on the covered daybed under the palms while the rising tide comes ever closer. At least Julio has the decency to cover your bare ass with a beach towel.

-----------------------------------

By the time you think to check your phone gallery you have… 1,792 pictures. WHAT THE FUCK.

You scroll through the pics, there are a lot you do not remember taking. Was I that drunk or did Diego take some of these? One is a close up of your ass from below wearing a string bikini, I knew I wasn't that drunk. The next pic is Diego asleep on a lounge chair, one arm curled up above his head, muscles glistening in the sun, and swim trunks so low on his hips that it's almost obscene. Immediately following that is the same pic but with your own face photobombing about three inches away from the camera and giving a thumbs up with your left hand so your engagement ring is prominently visible. Oh yeah, I remember that one.

There are videos, too. The first one is Diego making lewd comments while you twerk in the ocean for about ten seconds. Okay, that's par for the course with us. Next is you successfully backflipping off of Diego's shoulders into the green water to everyone freaking out. Shit, even I'm impressed with myself. After that is video of you gagging through a dish of octopus at some restaurant. Both of you are clearly visible in the shot so Julio must have had the phone. Betrayal.

There are tens of dozens of the two of you in various poses and outfits, both disgustingly happy and blatantly in love. There's even a role reversal shot of Diego sprawled across your lap, one enormous arm wrapped around your neck and his knees over your own arm while you grimace and he laughs hysterically. The table to your right is covered in empty bottles and mostly finished drinks. An entire subsection depicts you asleep like you have a stalker. You count no less than 29 of you two trying on increasingly ridiculous hats in random stores.

You can't even keep count of all the close ups of a smoldering Murder Panther. You feel no guilt. Aren't you supposed to be ridiculously attracted to your fiancé??

Fiancé.

You have a fiancé. Your fiancé is Diego. You are engaged to Diego Rafael Jimenez.

I have to explain this ring to everyone. They'll have questions about him. People will want pictures. How do I explain what he does?? Oh my god, there's no closet here. I have to… find somewhere. And I can't I can't. Its-

Your head jerks upright when something touches your hair. Its Diego. Kneeling on the floor in front of you, he has unfurled a sheet over you to block out everything, and he waits there, watching you. Before you realize it your hands are reaching for his shoulders, just the feel of him, warm and solid under your hands, calms you.

Slowly, his right hand comes up to cover your left. "No closet, Princess." His huge fingers grip yours tightly. You nod a little. He just watches you, eyes guarded.

"Ask. Go ahead." You mutter. You can tell from his posture that he is uneasy, apprehensive.

He locks eyes with you and his gaze is intense. He curls all of his fingers around your left ring finger. "Still yes?"

The fear in his eyes breaks your heart. Your voice is shaky but determined, "No. You can't get rid of me. I'm your problem now, baby." His expression would make a meeker woman cower in fear, you laugh weakly.

He settles down on the tile floor in front of you, with the sheet over both of you. Its like four in the afternoon and I am sharing a blanket fort with my cartel boss fiancé while on vacation in Mexico. What even is my life? His elbows are on his knees, chin in hand. He studies you for a minute, you stare right back. He raises one eyebrow and you sigh in capitulation.

"I don't know how to just be happy. I suck at it." You shrug but reach for his face. Diego nuzzles into your hand while you stroke your thumb over his beard.

"Habby isz nawt a berb." He slurs into your palm with a soft kiss.

The epiphany is like a cinder block to the brain.

He's right. I don't have to 'do' anything. I'm happy right now. I've been happy every time I'm with him. And no one had to exert any effort.

People can define themselves. People can define their relationships. Why can't they define their own normal? I can make my own rules. Especially with someone like Diego as my partner.

His one eyebrow slowly rises as he watches your thoughts play out across your face. "You back?" He asks with a hidden smirk, you know its there from the way his eyes crinkle with laugh lines.

"Yup!" Is your decisive answer. Diego licks your palm. "I got better places you can lick, baby." You answer his smirk with a waggling eyebrow.

The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur of play wrestling and inappropriate noises.

-----------------------

You do, in fact, go on a safari. Of sorts. Tours of ruins and jungle and cenotes, lots of side quests because the both of you are easily distracted by pretty colors. You probably added another thousand pictures of various palm trees to your gallery. The hat makes multiple appearances.

Diego has to ship a crate home to New York because he bought you too many souvenirs. You laugh and tease him when he wants to pick out things for your middle sister and niece, until you hear his logic.

"They were nice to me." He murmurs with a little half-shrug, "It was like being in a real family for a little bit." He studies the bins of painted shells on display in the little store with way too much focus.

You spend a moment deliberating before you decide to reach out and touch his elbow.

"Hey," your soft voice brings his gaze your way momentarily before he goes back to ceramic turtle magnets. You take his hand with your own right and rest your left hand on his chest. Diego looks down where your ring glints in the light, then up to your face. "You know you're going to be part of that 'real' family, right?"

Diego's boyish little smile is heartbreakingly adorable.

---------------------------------

The flight home is much shorter than you want it to be and you spend most of it asleep on Diego. At one point you wake up to see Bastian and Joey cuddled up together napping. When you look up from where your head is resting in Diego's lap he is already looking down at you with an unreadable expression.

"What?" You whisper softly. You stifle a yawn and blink repeatedly.

Diego strokes one big hand over your hair and grips your jaw firmly. With a huge toothy grin he answers, "Mine."

"Uh huh. How many times you need me to say yes, baby?" You smirk up at him with an arched brow. He seems to be reveling in hearing you readily admit your commitment to him.

He considers your question carefully while his other hand trails down the front of your body under a blanket. I don't remember having a blanket earlier. Finally, Diego settles on "Every day. At least seven times. Seven is a good number, right Princess?"

Your body jerks as his fingers press between your thighs with steady determination. Your eyes flick over to Bastian and Joey, still out cold. You make a show of wiggling around to get comfortable, and, surprisingly, that involves spreading your legs. "Yessss." You hiss up at him.

Julio reclines his seat and exaggeratedly covers his face with a new hat.

Seven is a very good number.

------------------------------------------

Your first day back to work is a circus. You don't think twice about your normal greeting as you enter the office suite. You swipe your badge with your right hand and pop the door, then wave 'hi' to everyone. Like usual. With your left hand.

There is an excessive amount of squealing that makes you second guess going into a female dominated field. The whole day is a wash because you have a steady stream of people passing through your cubicle. You're glad you had the forethought to curate a photo album of appropriate images to show your coworkers despite Diego's repeated attempts to sneak a dick pic in there somewhere. You most definitely included the glistening swim trunks lounge chair picture. Squealing intensifies.

Everyone comments on the hat and you're forced to tell the story of the hat. How you once told Diego that you wanted to see palm trees, 'But like, in the wild.' And Diego had laughed so hard that he fell off the bed only to pop back up wheezing about a 'Palm Tree Safari' until you smacked him in the face with a pillow. Your coworkers think it is just disgustingly adorable that he never let you live that down.

Your coworkers have questions:

When is the wedding?

Where are you having it?

What kind of dress do you want?

What are your colors?

Are you going to do flowers?

What about the cake?

Who is your maid of honor?

How did your family take the news?

What about his family?

Are you going to New York?

Will you take his name?

Oh shit. I forgot about the whole 'wedding' part of this.

#damnit diego #murder panther #rough me up then dick me down #24 fucking 7 hours in this house #zash writes #all the feels #so gross #soft murder panther #melty princess

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