#oz51

you don't realize olen can sing until you're three drinks deep, pressed against each other in the booth of a bar that smells like stale beer and bad decisions. the karaoke machine crackles as some guy butchers an 80s power ballad, and you nudge olen with your elbow, grinning.

"your turn."

he scoffs, swirling the last of his drink in the glass. "no chance."

"c'mon," you plead, tugging on his arm. "do it for me."

he gives you a look, one that's supposed to be unimpressed, but there's a twitch of a smile at the corner of his mouth. "you just wanna embarrass me."

"maybe," you admit, leaning in, voice warm with alcohol and affection. "or maybe i just wanna see what you got."

he sighs like you're the biggest inconvenience in the world, but a few minutes later, he's up there, microphone in hand, the opening chords of some old rock song filling the room. you're still laughing to yourself when he starts singing—

and then your jaw goes slack.

olen fucking sings.

not just decent, not just passable. he can SING. his voice is rich, a little raspy in the best way, sliding through the notes like he was born for it. heads turn. people at the bar pause their conversations. even the bartender, who looks like he's heard it all, raises an eyebrow.

but you—you just stare, completely blindsided, warmth unfurling in your chest like you’ve never seen him before. like maybe you haven’t been paying close enough attention.

when the song ends, the whole bar cheers, a few people whistling, someone yelling for an encore. olen looks almost embarrassed, running a hand through his dark hair as he makes his way back to you.

"so," he says, sliding into the booth. "happy now?"

"you've been holding out on me."

he smirks, leaning in close, voice low so only you can hear. "what else am i holding out on?"

heat flickers in your stomach, the kind that has nothing to do with the alcohol. you grab his collar, pulling him in until your noses brush, until you can feel the curve of his grin against your own.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀☆゜・。。・゜゜・。。・゜★☆゜・。。・゜゜・。。・゜★

5'5" x 5'9"

sunshine bf x midnight rain gf

she fell first x he fell harder

book smart gf x street smart bf

yapper bf x yapper gf

golden retriever bf x black lab gf

los angeles gf x anaheim bf

nerd gf x hockey player bf

canadian bf x californian gf

clingy gf x clingy bf

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀☆゜・。。・゜゜・。。・゜★☆゜・。。・゜゜・。。・゜★

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀★ their relationship ★

✰ they did not like each other at first. olen felt really awkward hanging out with the daughter of one of the major sponsors.

✰ he always buys her a seat near the duck's bench for the freeway faceoff in la.

✰ they facetime every night.

✰ whenever they hang out, they always get mistaken for a couple.

✰ he gets chirped on the ice for saying that they're "just friends".

✰ olen has a tendency to come to the observatory just to bother cynthia.

✰ on off days, they like to hang out at venice beach, his apartment, or just around la/anaheim. carolyn has banned olen from her and cynthia's apartment.

✰ olen's nicknames for cynthia: cyn, cinnamon, cindy

✰ cynthia's nicknames for olen: lenny, zelly

@ anon who kept asking

nsfw blurb below - oral f recieving

Is the mutual me???

olen had tried everything to get you in the water—puppy eyes, fake promises not to splash you, even outright pouting—but you'd stood your ground, stretched out on the sand with your book and sunglasses like you were immovable. he’d finally given up with a huff, running off toward the waves while you stayed behind, soaking up the sun.

you watched him for a while, because how could you not? he was all long limbs and toned muscles, his dark hair a mess from the ocean breeze, looking like something out of a daydream. he dove into the water, laughing as the waves crashed over him, and for a minute, you almost regretted not going with him. but only almost.

when he came back, dripping and glistening, his hazel eyes practically glowing, you expected him to plop down next to you and sulk. instead, he just stood there for a moment, water dripping from his hair onto your legs.

“it wasn’t fun without you,” he said, his voice low and a little accusing, like you’d personally ruined the ocean for him.

before you could respond, he flopped down onto the towel—no, onto you. his full weight pressed into you, damp and cold and unapologetic as he buried his face in your chest.

“olen,” you groaned, but your hands instinctively went to his hair, fingers threading through the wet strands. “you’re freezing.”

“you’re warm,” he mumbled, his lips brushing against your skin in a way that made your stomach flip. his arms wrapped around your waist, holding you like you might disappear if he didn’t.

“you’re also heavy,” you added, but there wasn’t any real bite to it.

“deal with it,” he said, his voice muffled. then, as if to prove his point, he snuggled closer, his face turning slightly so you could feel his breath against your collarbone.

you sighed, but it wasn’t annoyed—it was soft, resigned. your free hand drifted to his back, tracing lazy circles against the curve of his shoulder blade.

“you’re impossible,” you muttered, but he just hummed, a little smile tugging at his annoyingly perfect lips.