Short stories

The Olive Theory

MATURE:

& (all over tiktok it's from a show maybe no clue.)
First time writing smut (begging can be read as own fluff story just when there's a dash stop reading if you don't like that)

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If there's one thing in the world Elijah Red hates more than pickles it's olives. He hates the smell and the texture and the taste. And he especially hates the girl across the hall that reminds him of an olive.

He admires her every time he can, when she's locked out of her house (which has happened four times since he's lived here, it would be smart to get an extra key) or when she's going for a walk with her cat. She puts it in a backpack, a little green egg backpack one of the reasons he thinks she looks like an olive. Shes in the exact shape of a pear, a tiny chest with big full hips and thighs. She's a big girl and he has heard more than once on a drunk night her telling herself how worthless she is but he thinks the exact opposite.

He groans, getting up for the fifth time as the smell of olives drafts into his walls. He walked out the door immediately, going to knock on Ollie's door.

"Mr. Red," the olive girl looked up at him, her eyes wide and her smile bright. "What can I do for you?"

"Why does it smell so strongly of olives and vinegar?"

"Well," she flushed, "I was hungry but.. the only jar I had is a uhm.. really big one my sister got me as a joke for Christmas. It smells good so I don't mind but I didn't think of you. Or Lewis!" She suddenly squealed, leaving her door wide open and sprinting to her cat in the middle of the room.

"I think he's okay." Red mumbled as he walked in, hoping to contain the smell he shut the door behind him. Knowing it a futile endeavor he started to hold his breath but gave up quickly knowing it wouldn't be of much help.

This was the second time he had been in her apartment, the first was when he had oringial moved in and she invited him over for cookies but left about five minutes after having to go to her families or something, so he was quickly ushered out and didn't really get a good look. Plus, some major things had changed such as the three foot olive jar in the middle of her living room. He held back a gag.

"So what's up Mr. Red?" He had always hated that name. She couldn't have been less than five years from his twenty-eight but she was determined to make him feel like an old man. He swore she was the one he received prunes and a discount bingo card from every couple of months.

"Just Red, Olive." He mumbled, futility reminding her though she was sure to forget as she always did. "Are you still eating them?" He waved vaguely at the jar, he would puke if he looked over there. The olives themselves were the same size it was just the jar that had grown so more filled up the contents.

Her eyes widened as if she forgot and he forced the thought of her looking cute away as soon as it appeared. She wasn't cute.

She was adorable. He immediately thought of anything else. He couldn't think that. She hated him.

"Yes, well..." she paused chewing on her lip, making red want to bend down and do the same. No. Not do the same, just make her stop. She could hurt herself after all. "No. I'll put them up. I'm sorry."

He frowned at how easily she gave up. "Don't worry about it."

She nodded bashfully, tucking her hair behind her ears. "Thanks Mr.Red." She screwed on the lid to the gigantic olive jar and leaned against her counter. He said nothing for a few moments, glancing at the cat before walking straight out the door.

He went into his house but only stayed there for about five minutes before his guilt was eating at him and he quickly got out of the house, taking a walk and ending up at the supermarket. He bought six jars of olives, the tiny ones of course but at least they wouldn't infest the entire floor with the smell. Once he paid, hiding them in the bags so people didn't think he was absolutely insane, he practically sprinted- two miles- back to his apartment. He got some water and put a different shirt on before walking back over to her door.