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0phantom0 · 5 months ago

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X Games

Ellie Williams X Reader, squid game au!

Red Light, Green Light - Prologue/Part 1/Part 2/Part 3...

So there will be more parts to this then i intended, + lmk if you wanted to be added to the taglist :)

I am using aud for this to make it less confusing, example

45.5 billion won = 50.2 million aud

908 won = 1 aud

Life had a way of kicking you when you were down. Missing your train after running for it at full speed—your chest heaving, your legs burning, and your bag nearly slipping from your shoulder—was just the cherry on top of a week that couldn’t get any worse.

You stood there, watching the train vanish into the darkness of the tunnel, the doors snapping shut just before you reached them. The people inside didn’t even bother hiding their judgmental stares. You slumped onto a bench nearby, dropping your bag on the ground and pressing your face into your hands.

It was hard to pinpoint the exact moment everything started going wrong. For a while, you thought life had handed you a string of bad luck. But deep down, you knew better. It all came back to Ellie.

You loved her, maybe more than you should have. Ellie had been your anchor, the one constant in your life when everything else felt chaotic. For years, it was just the two of you, and you thought nothing could come between you. The way she’d hold your hand in public, run her fingers through your hair at night, or whisper about all the places she wanted to take you someday—it was the kind of love you thought could last forever.

But love wasn’t enough to compete with gambling.

It started small. A trip to a casino during a weekend getaway. She laughed about how she’d almost won the jackpot, brushing off your concerns with a casual “It’s just for fun.” You didn’t think much of it. Everyone deserves a little fun, right? But then the nights at the casino became more frequent. The “fun” turned into hours spent staring at slot machines, betting on cards, and chasing losses she’d never recover.

When her money ran out, she turned to you. At first, it was fifty dollars here and there. “Just to get me through the week,” she’d say, flashing that smile you loved so much. But it wasn’t long before she stopped asking and just took what she needed.

You begged her to stop. You pleaded, cried, shouted—but nothing worked. The nights got longer. Sometimes, she wouldn’t come home until early morning, and when she did, she smelled like cigarettes and cheap alcohol. You told yourself you could fix her, that if you loved her enough, she’d change.

Then came the day she sat you down and told you, with a straight face, that she was fifty thousand dollars in debt. She looked at you like you were supposed to fix it. Like it was your problem to solve. That was the moment you realized you couldn’t save her.

You broke up with her on the spot.

She begged you to stay, swore she’d change, but you didn’t believe her anymore. You walked away, thinking you were free of her. But what you didn’t realize was that her addiction had planted a seed in you.

The first time you gambled, it was out of spite. You wanted to prove to yourself that you weren’t like her, that you could stop anytime you wanted. But gambling has a way of digging its claws into you. It only took a few weeks for you to spiral into debt yourself. Twenty thousand dollars gone, with no way to pay it back.

Now, you were here, sitting on a cold bench at a train station, your cheek pressed into your hands as you counted down the minutes until the next train. Forty-five minutes felt like an eternity.

The bench shifted slightly as someone sat down beside you. You didn’t bother looking up. The station was always busy.

Then you felt a tap on your shoulder.

You flinched, startled, and turned to see a man sitting next to you. He was sharply dressed in a dark suit, his hair neatly combed, and a briefcase resting on his lap. He didn’t look like he belonged here.

“Hello,” he said with a small smile.

You stared at him, unsure how to respond. Something about him felt… off.

“Can I talk to you?” he asked.

You hesitated but nodded. You didn’t have anything better to do.

He opened the briefcase, revealing two coloured cards—red and blue. You recognized the game immediately: ddakji.

“I’d like to play a game with you,” he said. His voice was calm, almost soothing, but there was something unnerving about the way he smiled.

“What kind of game?” you asked, your voice wary.

“It’s simple. If you can flip my card with yours, I’ll give you one hundred and ten dollars. If I flip yours, you’ll owe me the same amount.”

You frowned. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

It sounded too good to be true. You hesitated, but the thought of winning easy money was tempting.

“And if I lose?”

He tilted his head slightly, his smile widening. “You could use your body to pay.”

Your stomach dropped.

“What the fuck?” you hissed, standing abruptly.

“Relax,” he said, his tone unbothered. “I’ll deduct one hundred and ten dollars with every slap instead.”

Your hand instinctively went to your cheek, but you didn’t walk away. Against your better judgment, you sat back down. The man’s calm confidence was unnerving, but desperation clouded your instincts.

You picked the blue card, threw it down, and missed.

He smirked, picked up the red card, and flipped it effortlessly. Before you could even react, his hand came down hard on your cheek. The sting was sharp, and tears sprang to your eyes, but he didn’t seem to care.

“Another round?”

You lost again. And again. Each slap was harder than the last, until your face was red and numb. By the time you finally won a round, you were too stunned to even celebrate. He handed you the money, his smile never faltering.

“You know,” he said, pulling a small black card from his pocket, “there are other games where you can make even more money.”

He held the card out to you, and you hesitated before taking it. A circle, triangle, and square were printed on it.

“What is this?” you asked.

“Ms [name] [last name], 22 years old. You attended [school name] earlier this month, you broke up with your long term girlfriend which led to you 20k in debt, owing it all to the bank. Straight after work today, you spent your whole check and lost everything” He said, without taking a breath. “How do you know all that? Have you been stalking me?” You asked, his eyes moved down to the card in your hand, then said “Think about it.”

You stared at the card in your hand, your heart pounding. By the time your train arrived, you’d already made up your mind.

When you got home, you held the card in front of you, dialing the number printed on it.

“If you wish to participate,” a voice on the other end said, “state your name and birthdate.”

You hesitated, but only for a moment. “(Name), (Birthdate).”

They told you where to meet and gave you a password.

At exactly eleven p.m., you stood shivering at the meeting point, hugging yourself for warmth. The winter air was unforgiving, sharp gusts of wind biting at your exposed skin. Your jacket, barely thick enough for the season, clung to you uselessly, soaked through from the relentless rain. Water dripped from your hair, running down your face in cold rivulets, and your jeans were plastered to your legs, heavy and uncomfortable. You didn’t even bother to wipe your face anymore—what was the point?

The street around you was eerily quiet, save for the occasional squelch of your wet shoes shifting in the puddle beneath you. You checked the card in your hand for the hundredth time, your fingers trembling from both the chill and nerves. You glanced down the empty road, half-expecting this whole thing to be a cruel joke.

Just as doubt began to creep in, you heard the low hum of an engine. A gray van emerged from the darkness, its headlights piercing through the sheets of rain. It slowed to a stop in front of you, the tires splashing water onto the curb.

The door slid open with a sharp metallic sound, and a figure stepped out. He wore a bright pink jumpsuit and a mask that completely obscured his face, his presence looming and unnervingly calm. He stood stiffly, the rain pooling on his shoulders and sliding down his uniform like he wasn’t even human.

“Password?” he asked, his voice muffled and emotionless.

You swallowed hard, your breath visible in the frigid air. “Red Light, Green Light,” you said, your voice trembling slightly.

The pink-masked guard stepped aside without a word, motioning for you to enter. You hesitated for a moment, your stomach twisting in knots, but the freezing rain and the weight of your debt left you with little choice. Taking a deep breath, you climbed into the van.

Inside, the atmosphere was unsettling. The dim light revealed rows of passengers slumped in their seats, heads tilted awkwardly to the side, completely unconscious. Their breaths came slow and steady, fogging up the cold windows.

You forced out a nervous laugh, your voice breaking the heavy silence. “Looks like everyone was pretty tired,” you muttered, hoping for some kind of reaction.

The driver didn’t respond, nor did the guard who slid the door shut behind you with a final, echoing thud.

Moments later, you noticed the faint hiss of gas filling the van. Panic seized you as the air grew thick, your breaths becoming labored. Your limbs feel heavy, and your vision blurred.

The last thing you remembered was the soft hum of the engine and the steady rhythm of the rain as everything went dark.

You woke up to the soft hum of classical music, the delicate notes contrasting harshly with the sharp, fluorescent lights that flooded the room. Blinking rapidly, you tried to orient yourself, your head throbbing from whatever gas had knocked you out. As your eyes adjusted, the room came into focus—a vast dormitory with rows upon rows of bunk beds stacked high, filled with people.

To your right, someone sat on the edge of their bed, staring blankly ahead, wearing a green tracksuit with a number stitched onto the right side. You squinted at it—217. Turning to your left, another person in the same tracksuit sat rubbing their temples, their number reading 042. Confusion washed over you, and you instinctively glanced down at yourself.

Your breath caught when you saw the number stitched onto your own green jacket. 349.

Before you could even process what was happening, the room began to stir. People shuffled off their beds, stretching, yawning, and muttering amongst themselves. A loud commotion drew your attention to the center of the room, where two people were now yelling at each other.

A man with a snake tattoo curling up his neck—101—stood over a woman with sharp features and short hair—067. His voice was sharp, accusatory. “You think I don’t know what you did? You little thief!”

The woman didn’t back down, glaring at him with cold defiance. “I don’t owe you a damn thing,” she snapped back.

The tension was palpable, the entire room falling silent as the argument escalated. You wanted to help her, to say something, but fear kept you glued to your spot on the stairs. The last thing you wanted was to get involved and end up a target yourself.

Suddenly, another man—456—rushed into the fray, grabbing 067 by the arm and pleading desperately. “Where’s my money? You promised me you’d pay me back!”

Before she could respond, 101 shoved 456, his voice rising to a threatening growl. “Back off, old man. She’s my problem!” He raised a fist, clearly ready to strike, but before the punch could land, the sound of heavy boots echoed through the room.

The pink-suited guards entered in perfect formation, their presence immediately silencing the chaos. Everyone tensed, the air thick with unease.

A man in a pink suit, distinguished by the square on his mask, stepped forward. His voice was cold and mechanical, amplified by a speaker. “I would like to extend a heartfelt welcome to you all. Everyone here will participate in six different games over six days. Those who win all six games will receive a handsome cash prize.”

Murmurs spread through the crowd, disbelief and suspicion painted on everyone’s faces. “What is this, some kind of joke?” someone shouted. Others began to protest, demanding answers about their belongings and questioning how they’d been brought here.

In response, the guard gestured toward the massive screen on the wall. It flickered to life, displaying a montage of footage. You froze as images of the pink-suited man slapping various people appeared, each name and debt amount displayed on-screen.

You held your breath as your own face came up on the screen: [Name, Last Name], $20,000 in debt. You shrank back, trying to avoid drawing attention to yourself, your cheeks burning with humiliation.

But then, the next face appeared. You froze. Ellie Williams, $100,000 in debt.

Your stomach churned as memories of your ex flooded back. You rolled your eyes, scanning the room, but she was nowhere in sight. Maybe she hadn’t made it. Or maybe she was hiding just as you were.

The guards handed out consent forms, instructing everyone to read and sign. You grabbed yours hesitantly, scanning the terms carefully. The rules were strict and unyielding, but what choice did you have? You considered signing with a fake name but quickly dismissed the idea. They already knew everything about you. There was no escaping this. With a heavy heart, you scribbled your name on the dotted line.

Afterward, the group was led into a brightly coloured hallway. The walls were painted in vibrant, almost childlike hues, reminiscent of a playground. Spiral staircases twisted upward, and the floor was a checkerboard of cheerful pastels. The oddity of the setting unsettled you—why did it feel so playful yet so foreboding?

As you walked, the line came to a halt at a small station with a camera mounted on a stand. A robotic voice from the machine chirped, “Smile.”

Caught off guard, you hesitated before forcing an awkward smile. The camera clicked, capturing your face before the line moved forward. You fell in step with the others, glancing back at the machine. Your unease grew with every step.

Eventually, the guards led you through a set of double doors and into a massive, open field. The floor was covered in artificial grass, and at the far end stood a giant, childlike doll with an eerie, painted face. The walls were painted to resemble a sunny sky and a peaceful meadow, but the air was heavy with dread.

“This first game will be Red Light, Green Light. You are allowed to move when ‘it’ calls out ‘green light’ and must stop immediately when ‘it’ calls out ‘red light.’ If your movement is detected afterwards, you will be eliminated,” a calm, mechanical female voice announced over the speakers.

The word "eliminated" lingered in your mind, unsettlingly vague yet heavy with implication.

“Red Light, Green Light? Seriously?” you muttered under your breath, trying to keep your nerves from taking over. The absurdity of it all was almost laughable—until you felt the suffocating weight of the situation bearing down on you.

“[Name]!” a voice called out, sharp and familiar. Your heart dropped at the sound, your body stiffening instinctively. You turned your head slightly, hoping you were mistaken, but the voice grew closer, more insistent.

“[Name]!”

Before you could move away, a hand gripped your wrist tightly, and your stomach sank. You turned to face her. Ellie Williams.

Her eyes glinted with a mix of surprise and amusement, her crooked smirk only making your stomach churn. “What are you doing here?” she asked, her tone carrying a hint of laughter. “You’re in debt now, huh?”

“Get off me,” you snapped, pulling your wrist free from her grip.

“Guess we’ve got more in common now, huh?” she teased, her giggle low and careless, like none of this mattered to her.

You groaned and stepped away from her, trying to put some distance between you both as the doll suddenly came to life, its massive head swivelling toward the group.

“Green light!”

The moment the doll spoke, the crowd hesitated. No one wanted to be the first to move. But as the silence stretched on, a few brave players began to shuffle forward cautiously, their footsteps soft and deliberate. You took a deep breath and moved, each step feeling heavier than the last.

“Red light!”

The doll’s head spun around, its eyes scanning the crowd. You froze in place, holding your breath. The room was eerily silent—until a loud mechanical sound echoed, followed by a calm announcement.

“Player 343, eliminated.”

Your heart dropped as you heard a loud bang reverberate through the space, followed by a sharp scream. Your eyes darted to the source of the noise and immediately widened. A man crumpled to the ground, blood pooling around his lifeless body.

The realization hit like a punch to the gut. “Eliminated” didn’t mean disqualified. It meant dead.

A wave of panic rippled through the room. Someone screamed, and suddenly, chaos erupted. Players broke into a mad sprint toward the finish line, ignoring the game’s rules entirely.

The doll’s head swivelled violently, locking onto the runners. Bang. Bang. Bang. Each shot rang louder than the last, bodies dropping one after another.

You stood frozen, your body trembling. Your ears rang, your mind screamed at you to run, but your legs felt like lead.

“[Name], move!” Ellie’s voice snapped you out of your daze as the doll called, “Green light.”

You forced yourself to walk, each step shaky and uncertain. The path ahead felt endless, every second stretching into an eternity.

“Red light!”

You froze mid-step, your arms stiff at your sides. Someone next to you wobbled, their balance faltering. You didn’t dare to turn your head to look, but the sound of another gunshot told you they hadn’t made it.

The carnage around you was unbearable. People sobbed, begged, and screamed, but the doll was unrelenting. Each misstep was met with swift and brutal punishment.

When the doll called “Green light” again, you forced yourself to walk faster, keeping your head low and your focus sharp. Suddenly, your foot caught on something—a body. You stumbled, your arms flailing as you teetered on the brink of falling.

A strong hand grabbed your arm, steadying you before you hit the ground. “I’ve got you,” Ellie whispered, her voice surprisingly soft.

You looked at her, stunned, but she didn’t let go. “Come on,” she said firmly, pulling you forward.

The two of you moved together, her grip on your arm grounding you as you navigated the chaos. The doll’s mechanical voice called out “Red light” and “Green light” over and over, each cycle feeling like a lifetime.

With the finish line in sight, your legs burned, your lungs ached, but you refused to stop. Ellie’s grip tightened as the doll called out its final “Red light.” You both froze, standing just feet away from the line.

You could hear the cries of those who hadn’t made it, the gunshots ringing out like a grim metronome. You closed your eyes, waiting for the doll to speak again.

“Green light!”

Together, you and Ellie crossed the line, your knees nearly giving out as soon as you were on the other side. The moment you were safe, Ellie let go of your arm, stepping away as if nothing had happened.

You turned to look at her, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath.

Around you, the field was littered with bodies. The vibrant, childlike setting felt grotesque now, the bright colours clashing violently with the blood and horror.

The guards began to collect the bodies methodically, as if it were just another part of the game. You looked down at your shaking hands, the reality of what you’d just survived settling in your chest like a heavy weight.

Hope you guys like it so far

Taglist: @vahnilla @radioheadfan699 @defnoteleonor @robinphobia @liztreez @deathbydollz @hemmo01 @soodle-noup @reneesub @ellensmithxo @lamorenita @kissedberries @liasxeatt @smiths-fan--13 @0phantom0 @ellieslittleslutt @aliceellieswife @mrpeanitsbutter @asothinking

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0phantom0 · 6 months ago

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dark fic idea! what do we think?

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0phantom0 · 6 months ago

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the most unrealistic part of the last of us 2 was Dina finding a sexy masc lesbian during a fucking apocalypse

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0phantom0 · 6 months ago

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how are you doing? <3

i hope i die soon

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0phantom0 · 6 months ago

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Fading Lines ; p2

“Even the lines that fade… we’ll redraw them. No matter how far apart we are.”

part two of In Between The Lines - m.list

SUMMARY: The quiet calm of Ellie's return to the facility is disrupted by buried emotions that resurface unexpectedly. As the two of you navigate your growing bond, the weight of her past and the secrets she carries come to light. Old wounds and new fears threaten to pull you apart, but amidst it all, Ellie begins to dream of a future—a future you might share. However, just when you think things might be turning a corner, the truth of her next step comes crashing in, leaving you both to grapple with the fear of losing each other again. WARNINGS: majority set in a mental health facility, mentions of SH, mental illnesses, mentally ill characters, mentions of drugs/drug use, mentions of suicide/suicidal thoughts A/N: i fucking hate writers block

The silence in the waking world is heavy, almost suffocating, but it’s in your dreams where the true weight of it all settles. Every night, Ellie comes to you—not in the way you want, but in a way you fear.

You find yourself standing on a beach, the sky a canvas of soft blues and the sea stretching endlessly before you. Ellie is there, with her hair rippling in the breeze, the kind of freedom you’ve always wished for her. Her laughter is soft, carried by the wind, and for a moment, it feels like everything is okay. Like the world is still whole.

But then, the water shifts. It churns with an unsettling intensity, rising higher and higher, swallowing the shoreline, pulling Ellie closer. You reach out, your hands trembling, but the distance between you grows, the sand slipping through your fingers like time itself. You call her name, but it’s lost in the roar of the waves, and Ellie is pulled under—vanishing into the dark abyss.

You wake, heart pounding, sweat beading on your forehead, the taste of salt on your lips. The silence of your room is deafening. You feel it—that sinking in your chest, the terror of losing her. It’s as if she’s drowning, not in the water, but in the space between you. In the brokenness of what once was.

The dreams don’t stop. They come again and again, relentless, the haunting image of Ellie slipping further away. Every night, you try to save her, but you’re always too late.

The line between sleep and wakefulness blurs, and you’re left wondering if you can ever reach her—if you can ever pull her from the depths of whatever’s pulling her under.

You finally see her again.

It’s a quiet afternoon, the kind where the light filters through the windows in soft, golden beams, casting long shadows across the floor. You’re walking through the facility, the usual hum of conversations and footsteps in the hallway almost drowned by the sound of your pulse in your ears. And then, as if the universe itself has breathed life into the air, you spot her.

Ellie.

She’s in her usual spot, her sketchbook open, a pencil moving effortlessly across the page. The way she sits—head slightly tilted, brows furrowed in concentration—feels so familiar, so untouched by time, like she never left. Her hair, though shorter now, still catches the light, and her fingers curl around the pencil with the same grace they always had.

For a heartbeat, you stand frozen, caught in the tangled mess of emotions you’ve been carrying since her absence. The anger. The guilt. The fear. And yet, beneath it all, there’s a relief—an overwhelming, undeniable relief—that she’s here. That she’s alive.

Without thinking, your feet move before your mind can catch up. You rush to her, heart hammering in your chest.

“Ellie,” you breathe, and it’s like the air leaves your lungs all at once.

She looks up, her eyes meeting yours. For a second, there’s a flicker of recognition, something behind her gaze that softens, like she’s not sure whether to pull away or pull you closer.

But before either of you can say another word, you don’t hesitate. You wrap your arms around her, feeling the warmth of her body, the reality of her presence. It’s as if you’re holding onto a piece of yourself you thought you lost.

Ellie’s stiff at first, unsure of the touch, but then she sighs, her body melting against yours, and for the briefest of moments, everything feels right. Like the world outside doesn’t exist. Like the brokenness you both endured is no longer between you.

“I thought I lost you,” you whisper into her hair, voice trembling.

She doesn’t say anything for a long time. But when she finally speaks, it’s so quiet, so raw, that it feels like a confession.

“I’m still here.”

There’s something different about her now. Something that doesn’t sit right with you, even as you hold her in your arms, feeling her warmth seep into your skin. She’s calm. Too calm. The fire, the defiance, the rebellious spark that once danced in her eyes—those things are gone. Instead, her gaze is steady, the corners of her lips slightly curved in a way that feels… almost resigned.

She’s drawing again. Birds. Like she always used to. The way her pencil moves across the page is effortless, but there’s a stillness to it now, a carefulness that wasn’t there before. Birds have always been her escape, her refuge, something she’d sketch endlessly, as if drawing them could hold together the fragile pieces of herself. You’ve always loved the way her hand flew across the paper, how the birds took shape—wild and free, the wings outstretched, almost as if they could take her with them. But this time, it feels different. There’s no urgency to it, no passion in the strokes. It’s like she’s going through the motions, as if the act of drawing is just that—an act.

You want to ask. You want to say something. You want to pull her back into the chaos that you both shared—the laughter, the fights, the messiness of it all. You want to know why she’s so quiet, why she’s acting like everything is okay, as if the days of heartbreak and confusion never existed. But instead, you just watch. You sit beside her, the silence wrapping around you both, thick and heavy.

Is she fine?

She hasn’t looked at you like she used to, not with that vulnerability or the unspoken weight of everything she’s been through. There’s a calmness now, a sort of peace that feels artificial. You trace the edge of her hand with your finger, but she doesn’t react. It’s like she’s somewhere else, in a place you can’t reach, her mind somewhere distant, unreachable.

“Ellie…” you murmur, trying to catch her attention, but she just keeps drawing. The birds are endless, a never-ending series of lines and shapes, like she’s lost in them.

“Are you okay?” The words are barely a whisper, as if speaking them too loudly will shatter the fragile peace between you two.

She finally pauses, her pencil lingering in midair, as if she’s considering the question. Then she looks at you, her eyes different now—calm, yet unreadable. She’s fine. That’s what she says, and you want to believe her. You want to wrap your arms around her and make it all better, but there’s a hollow ache in your chest that says it’s not that simple.

She’s fine.

But is she really?

The question lingers in the space between you, unanswered. It doesn’t matter. Because when she finally speaks again, her voice is steady, distant.

“I’m fine. I’m here.”

But in her eyes, there’s something you can’t ignore. Something that says, maybe, she’s not really here at all. Maybe she’s already slipped away—one step at a time—into a place that you can’t follow.

And you’re left wondering if that’s the Ellie you know now. The one who’s still here, but not really here at all.

Throughout the next few days, you keep doing everything you can think of to help Ellie feel just a little better. You bring her snacks, try to crack a joke or two, and do anything to break through that calm wall she’s built around herself. But nothing seems to stick. She’s still there, distant, lost in her own quiet world.

Today, though, you’ve got something new. You’ve been practicing drawing—well, trying to. You know you’re not an artist, but you’ve got an idea in your head, and you just have to show it to her. With a nervous breath, you grab a piece of paper, quickly sketch something, and then, feeling a little ridiculous, you roll it up and hide it behind your back.

You find her in the usual spot by the window, where she’s sitting, staring out at nothing in particular. Her pencil’s in her hand, moving in slow, deliberate strokes. When you approach, you try to keep it casual, but your pulse picks up with the little hope you have.

"Hey," you say, a little too loudly, holding the paper behind you like it’s some big reveal. "Got something for you."

Ellie glances up, raising an eyebrow. "What is it this time?" she asks, her voice soft but a little curious.

You hold the paper up and, with a dramatic flourish, unroll it. "Well, I’m not an artist," you start, looking at her with an exaggerated frown, "but I thought I'd give it a shot."

You show her the drawing. It’s not much, but it’s definitely her—sitting at the window, hair falling messily over her face, pencil in hand, and looking… a little ridiculous.

She stares at it for a few long seconds, her lips twitching, clearly holding back a laugh. You can already feel the weight of her gaze, and you brace yourself for the judgment.

Finally, she breaks, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Okay, first off," she says, leaning in to get a closer look, "what’s going on with my hair? It looks like a bird’s nest."

You squint at the drawing, and she’s right. The wild curls are exaggerated into what looks like a messy explosion of lines on her head. "I tried," you admit, laughing. "You’re always drawing birds, so I thought I’d give your hair some wings."

Ellie snorts, then stifles it with a hand over her mouth, looking at you with an almost mischievous smile. "And what’s with the eyes?" She gestures to the drawing, where her eyes are comically huge, like a cartoon character. "I look like I’m going to hypnotize someone with these. Are you trying to give me a superpower?"

You laugh, rubbing the back of your neck awkwardly. "Well, maybe you have superhuman vision. You know, like a hawk or something." You grin, hoping she’ll take it as the joke it was meant to be.

She raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. "Yeah, right. And what’s with my pose? Do I always look like I’m about to fall off the chair? I look like a confused flamingo."

You chuckle and shrug. "I mean, you're always sitting in that one spot like it’s your throne. I just… tried to capture your majestic pose."

Ellie stares at the drawing for a moment longer, her lips twitching again, but this time, it’s less about holding back a laugh and more about something else—something softer. Then, without warning, she lets out a soft giggle, one that feels genuine and warm. It’s the first laugh you’ve heard from her in what feels like forever.

"You know," she says, her tone quieter, "this is really bad… but in the best way possible. Thanks, I think. I needed that."

You smile, relieved that she’s actually laughing. "Yeah, well," you tease, "maybe I’ll take a class or two. You never know. Maybe I’ll become the next Picasso."

She shakes her head, but her smile doesn’t fade. "Sure, sure," she says, still chuckling softly. "Just try not to give me any more superpowers next time, okay?"

"Deal," you say, grinning. "But you have to admit, I’ve captured your grace. You are, after all, the majestic, possibly-hypnotic flamingo of the facility."

Ellie looks at the drawing again, and her smile softens. “I never thought I’d see myself like this,” she says, almost to herself, “but it’s kinda nice.”

You glance at her, catching the vulnerability in her voice. The teasing joke lingers in the air, but there’s something deeper between the lines now—something real, something that’s been missing. The tension has lifted, and for the first time in a while, Ellie looks… okay. Maybe not completely whole, but at least she’s laughing again.

And that’s enough for now.

That night, the dream returns, as it always does.

You’re on the beach again. The air feels warm, the golden sun stretching its light across the horizon, and Ellie is standing there, her auburn hair swaying in the breeze. She turns to you with that familiar, easy smile, the one that used to feel like a promise that everything could be okay.

It’s always the same at first—Ellie calling your name, her voice soft and light as the waves lap gently at the shore. You walk toward her, the sand cool beneath your feet, and when you reach her, your hands meet. Her fingers are warm, grounding.

But then the shift comes, just like it always does.

The sea grows restless, waves rising higher and higher, their deep, rumbling growl swallowing the sound of her laughter. The sky darkens, storm clouds rolling in to smother the sun. Ellie’s smile fades, her expression twisting into fear as the tide pulls at her feet.

“No!” you shout, your voice muffled by the roar of the waves. You reach for her, but the ocean surges forward, rushing around your ankles, pulling her away.

Ellie stumbles, her hand slipping from yours. The connection—the one thing that mattered most—breaks. She’s swept back, her body lost in the violent pull of the water.

“Ellie!” you scream, thrashing against the tide, but the ocean is relentless. Her auburn hair vanishes beneath the surface, and the storm rages on.

Then, silence.

You wake with a gasp, your chest heaving, the echo of her name still trembling on your lips. The room is dark, the shadows unmoving, but the pounding of your heart is deafening.

This dream—it’s not the first time. It’s been haunting you since Ellie’s return, pulling you under night after night. No matter how much you tell yourself it’s just a dream, it feels too close, too real.

Every time it ends the same way: Ellie slipping away, lost to something you can’t control. The dread sits heavy in your chest, and you run your hands through your hair, whispering her name into the quiet.

You can’t keep waking up like this. You need to find a way to reach her, to understand the depths of what’s pulling her under before the dream becomes reality.

The garden is quiet that afternoon, a sanctuary of stillness broken only by the soft rustling of leaves and the distant hum of conversation from the facility’s common area. You find Ellie sitting under her favorite tree, her sketchbook lying forgotten on the grass beside her. She’s staring at the horizon, her knees drawn up to her chest, and the sunlight filters through the branches, casting dappled shadows over her face.

You approach cautiously, the weight of unspoken questions hanging between you like a fragile thread. When she hears your footsteps, Ellie glances up, her eyes meeting yours. There’s something in them—an old ache, softened by time but still present, like a bruise that hasn’t quite healed.

“Hey,” you say softly, sitting down beside her.

“Hey,” she murmurs back, her voice quiet, almost distant.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. You watch as her fingers trace absent patterns in the grass, her gaze fixed somewhere far away. Then, unable to hold it in any longer, you break the silence.

“Ellie,” you begin, your voice gentle but steady. “I need to know… what happened. The day after—” You pause, your cheeks warming at the memory of your first kiss. “That day.”

Ellie flinches slightly, her shoulders tensing. For a moment, you think she’s going to deflect, to brush you off like she’s done so many times before. But then she exhales a shaky breath and turns to you, her eyes shimmering with unspoken truths.

“It wasn’t the kiss,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “Not directly.”

You nod, encouraging her to continue.

She hesitates, her fingers clutching the fabric of her jeans. “The kiss… it was beautiful. You made me feel something I hadn’t felt in a long time. Hope. Like maybe there was a future I could want. But—” Her voice cracks slightly, and she looks away, her jaw tightening. “That same day, I got a letter.”

Your brow furrows. “A letter?”

“From my mom’s family,” she explains, her tone bitter yet resigned. “I hadn’t heard from them in years. And then, out of nowhere, they sent this… reminder. About how I didn’t belong. About how they didn’t want me.”

Her words hang in the air, heavy and raw, each one cutting deeper than the last.

“It was like everything hit me at once,” Ellie continues, her voice trembling. “The kiss, the letter… it stirred up everything I’ve been trying to push down. The pain, the anger, the feeling that no matter what I do, I’ll always be…” She stops, biting her lip, her eyes glistening with tears she refuses to shed. “Unwanted.”

You feel your heart break for her, the weight of her confession settling like a stone in your chest. “Ellie,” you say, your voice thick with emotion. “You’re not unwanted. Not to me. Not to anyone who truly knows you.”

She shakes her head, a sad smile tugging at her lips. “You don’t get it. That day, it wasn’t about you. It was me—everything inside me felt like it was collapsing. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. And I didn’t know how to ask for help.”

Her honesty is both heartbreaking and healing. For the first time, you see the full scope of her battle—not just with the world around her, but with the wounds she carries inside.

You reach for her hand, your fingers curling around hers. “You don’t have to go through this alone anymore,” you whisper. “I’m here, Ellie. I’ll always be here.”

She looks at you then, really looks at you, and for the first time, you see the faintest glimmer of something other than sadness in her eyes. Hope.

The air between you softens after Ellie’s confession, like a weight has been lifted, even if just a little. The two of you sit in silence for a while under the tree, her hand still in yours. It feels fragile, this moment, like a piece of glass that could shatter if either of you moved too quickly.

Eventually, Ellie lets out a small sigh and leans back against the trunk, her head tilted to the sky. “You’re going to get tired of me someday,” she says, her voice light but laced with a self-deprecating edge.

You shake your head immediately. “Not a chance.”

She gives you a skeptical look but doesn’t argue. Instead, she reaches for her sketchbook, brushing off some loose grass before opening it to a blank page. “Alright, let’s test that theory.”

“What do you mean?”

Ellie smirks, the faintest glimmer of mischief in her eyes. “I’m going to draw us. In the future. Let’s see how long you can stand me once I sketch you as an old lady.”

You laugh, the sound breaking through the lingering tension like sunlight through clouds. “Fine. But only if you give me the same treatment.”

“Deal,” she says, already setting to work.

As her pencil glides across the page, you watch the way her brows furrow in concentration, her tongue peeking out at the corner of her mouth. It’s so achingly familiar and so Ellie that you feel your chest tighten with something close to affection.

After a few minutes, she holds up the sketch. It’s a surprisingly detailed drawing of the two of you sitting on a porch, surrounded by lush greenery and a few potted plants. You’re both older, wrinkles creasing your faces, but there’s an undeniable warmth in the way she’s captured your smiles.

“And, of course,” she adds with a grin, “we’ve got a couple of dogs. Big ones. Like, the kind that take up the whole couch.”

You tilt your head, inspecting the drawing. “Okay, but why do I look like I’m about to fall off the porch?”

“Because you probably are,” she teases. “You’ll still be clumsy, and I’ll still have to save you from yourself.”

You snort. “Fine, but I’m drawing you now. Let’s see how you like it.”

Ellie leans back, arms crossed, a playful smirk on her face. “This should be good.”

You grab her pencil and make a valiant attempt, but after a few strokes, it’s clear you haven’t improved since your last effort. The result is a cartoonish version of Ellie, her features exaggerated and uneven, with a giant dog looming behind her like something out of a comic strip.

Ellie bursts out laughing. “Oh my god, is that supposed to be me? Why do I look like I just got hit by a bus?”

“Hey!” you protest, holding the sketch protectively against your chest. “It’s abstract.”

“It’s a disaster,” she counters, still laughing.

But then, as her laughter dies down, she looks at you with something softer, something deeper. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” she says, and for a moment, it feels like the whole world narrows down to just the two of you.

The conversation shifts naturally, flowing into bigger dreams. Ellie starts to talk about places she wants to see, things she wants to do—things she never let herself believe she could have. “Maybe one day we’ll travel,” she says, her voice tinged with wonder. “Somewhere with mountains. Or maybe the beach, like in your dreams. Except, you know, without the drowning part.”

You smile, your heart swelling at the hope in her words. “And then we’ll come back to our little porch, with our dogs and our plants. And we’ll grow old together.”

Ellie hesitates for a moment before saying, quietly but firmly, “And get married.”

It’s the first time she’s spoken about the future with such certainty, such hope. And you can’t help but cling to it, holding the vision of a life together close to your heart.

It’s a normal day—or at least, it feels like it should be. You walk down the hallway, the usual sounds of people talking, footsteps echoing against the walls. It feels routine, almost comforting. Everything is as it always has been. Until you turn the corner and see her.

Ellie.

She’s standing by the door, but something’s off. She’s not sitting at her usual spot near the window or sketching away in her book. Instead, she’s holding a bag, her back turned to you as she speaks with her adoptive father, Joel. His voice is low, but the worry in his eyes is impossible to ignore. His expression changes when he notices you walking toward them, and for the first time, you realize something is wrong.

Ellie’s shoulders are tense, her eyes darting nervously as she looks between you and Joel. Her grip on her bag tightens, and your stomach drops.

You stop dead in your tracks, the reality sinking in. Your heart skips a beat. “Ellie… what’s going on?”

Ellie freezes, her eyes locking with yours. You see it then—the bags under her eyes, the way her lips press into a thin line. It’s not just that something’s off; she’s leaving.

You try to speak, but the words catch in your throat. The air is suddenly thick, suffocating. Your breath hitches, and you feel like you’ve been knocked off balance.

Joel looks at Ellie with a heavy, almost apologetic expression. He opens his mouth to say something but then turns his gaze to you, offering nothing but the truth. “She’s being transferred. To a different facility. One that’s more equipped to help her,” he says, his voice quiet but firm.

Ellie doesn’t say anything. She just stands there, her hand still clutching her bag like it’s the only thing keeping her grounded.

You feel a cold rush of panic. “You’re leaving?” The words come out of you before you can stop them, and you hate how weak they sound. You’re afraid. Afraid of what this means.

Ellie’s expression cracks, the walls she’s built around herself crumbling for just a moment. She opens her mouth, but no words come out at first. She finally speaks, voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t want you to find out this way.”

You’re rooted to the spot, heart racing as the reality of her departure presses in. “Why didn’t you tell me?” The hurt in your voice is unmistakable.

“I thought… I thought it would be easier this way.” Ellie’s voice falters, and she looks down, not able to meet your gaze. “I didn’t want to make you feel like you were losing me again.”

The pain of those words hits you harder than anything. It’s not the fact that she’s leaving; it’s the fact that she’s been hiding it from you. It feels like a betrayal, and your chest aches with the weight of it.

Ellie steps forward then, hesitating before pulling you into a hug. You hold her tightly, not wanting to let go. The scent of her, the warmth of her body, it’s all fading too quickly. You’re both too close and too far apart at the same time.

“I’ll be okay,” she whispers against your shoulder, though neither of you believe it.

“I don’t want you to go,” you murmur, gripping her even tighter.

“I’ll be back,” she promises softly, though her voice cracks. “We’ll figure this out. I’ll come back. I swear.”

But the uncertainty in her voice echoes in your mind as she pulls away.

And just like that, she’s gone.

The door swings shut behind her.

The days blur into one another, each one a shadow of the last. You wake up, breathe in the quiet of your room, and for a fleeting moment, it feels like Ellie’s still there, like the world hasn’t shifted beneath your feet. But then reality crashes in, as sharp and cold as the space where her laughter used to fill the air.

You move through the motions, your heart still half asleep, still holding onto the dream of her, of the way she once was. The dreams have returned, the same ones that haunt you: Ellie standing on the beach, her auburn hair tangled in the wind, her eyes meeting yours with that same smile that made the world feel endless. But then, the waves rise, violent and unrelenting, and she’s pulled under, slipping away from your grasp. Every time you wake, the sense of drowning stays with you, heavier than before.

One afternoon, when the sky seems to bleed into dusk, you sit in the garden, the same garden where you and Ellie once talked about the future as if it were already written in the stars. The world is quieter now, the hum of life somehow muffled, as if the earth itself is holding its breath. You pull out the sketchbook she gave you, the one filled with her art—moments frozen in time, stories she told in lines and shades.

You run your fingers over the pages, each one a lifeline to her, but the last one, the last page, is a void. An empty space where there should have been something—a message, a sketch, a promise.

You close the book, pressing it against your chest, and close your eyes, letting the tears slip quietly down your face. The wind stirs around you, and for just a moment, you hear her laugh in the rustling of the leaves. It’s a sound you’ll never forget, but it’s fading. Like the lines in a drawing, the edges slowly blurring until you can no longer make out what it was.

You’ve always feared that one day, the lines between you would fade completely. That she would slip away, like the last fleeting star in the early morning sky, swallowed by the coming light. And yet, here you are, still holding onto her, still searching for something solid in the ever-shifting tides of time.

You stand, the weight of the sketchbook heavy in your hands, and walk to the door. The breeze catches your hair, and for a brief second, you swear you feel her beside you. You whisper into the wind, not sure if it’s meant for her or for yourself, “Even the lines that fade… we’ll redraw them. No matter how far apart we are.”

And as you stand there, in the quiet of the garden, you realize that some lines never truly disappear. They may blur, they may fade into the distance, but they remain, like a quiet promise in the night.

Because love—like the stars, like the dreams that haunt you—never truly fades. Even when it feels like everything is slipping away, there’s always something left behind. And you will wait. You will wait for the day when those lines are redrawn, when Ellie finds her way back to you, just like you’re finding your way back to her in every waking moment.

! in between the lines masterlist

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0phantom0 · 6 months ago

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LOVE ACTUALLY ━━ wnba!paige bueckers x reader

𝜗𝜚 ━ summary: you and paige spend christmas together with your families.

𝜗𝜚 ━ word count: 5.5K

𝜗𝜚 ━ warnings: brief allusions to sex but really just pure fluff

𝜗𝜚 ━ links: my masterlist

𝜗𝜚 ━ author’s note: i wrote this when i was drunk out of my mind and i did not proofread so take that as you will. anyways merry christmas!

IT’S CHRISTMAS MORNING in Connecticut, the soft hush of snow outside only adding to the cozy warmth inside your childhood home. You and Paige flew in a couple days ago, grateful to spend the holiday surrounded by both of your families. Paige’s dad and her little brother, Drew, made the trip from Maryland, too, making it all the more homier.

The last year and a half has been a whirlwind. Moving across the country to Dallas was one of the hardest decisions you’ve ever made—graduating from UConn and then immediately leaving behind your friends, family, and everything familiar to follow Paige as she chased her WNBA dreams. At the time, you weren’t sure if it was the right choice. But now, as you think about the life you’ve built together, you know it was worth every bit of uncertainty. You’ve got a great job, a cozy little apartment in Dalls, and Paige has already had two incredible seasons in the W. She’s thriving, and so are you, and being here now, with your families under one roof, feels like the perfect reminder of how far you’ve both come.

The two of you are curled up in your childhood bedroom, the soft hints of morning light glinting against the light pink walls. Paige’s bare skin is against yours, her arm draped possessively over your waist, her hand resting firmly on your hip. Your cheek is pressed against her shoulder, and you can feel her slow, steady breaths as they rise and fall beneath you. Everything about this moment feels so peaceful, so perfect, that you can’t help but linger in it.

Paige shifts slightly beneath you, and her fingers tighten their hold, pulling you closer. You tilt your head up to find her already looking down at you, blue eyes still heavy with sleep but soft with that familiar adoration that always makes your chest tighten. Her lips curve into a small, sleepy smile.

“Merry Christmas,” she murmurs, her voice husky and warm, roughened by sleep in a way that sends a shiver through you.

You smile back at her, your lips brushing the skin of her shoulder as you reply, “Merry Christmas.”

She leans down to kiss you, and it’s slow and unhurried, a perfect reflection of the way the two of you are easing into the morning. Her lips are soft against yours, her hand moving from your hip to your ass, squeezing gently as she deepens the kiss. Your body reacts instinctively, shifting closer, and Paige takes the opportunity to guide you over her, her hands steady on your waist as she pulls you to straddle her.

Her hands roam lazily over you, mapping the familiar terrain of your body as if she’s memorizing it all over again. The feel of her palms on your bare skin sends warmth pooling in your stomach, and your breath bitches when her fingers trail power, brushing against your inner thigh.

It’s enough to send your mind flashing back to last night, when Paige had you biting into your pillow to keep quiet, fucking you in a way that was far from appropriate with both of your families in the house, in the rooms just next door. It was reckless, but neither of you cared much in the moment. And judging by the way her fingers swipe teasingly at your clit now, she’s not feeling particularly concerned this morning, either.

A gasp escapes your lips, and Paige smiles against your mouth, her tongue sweeping in to claim yours in a kiss that’s deeper and more demanding. Just as her fingers begin to circle your clit lightly, the door knob rattles sharply, accompanied by Drew’s unmistakable voice.

“Why is the door locked? Wake up! We’re opening presents!”

The two of you freeze, and then Paige groans in frustration, pulling away reluctantly. She tilts her head back against the pillows, her hand coming up to drag across her face as she yells back, “We’re comin’! Go downstairs, we’ll be down in a sec!”

There’s a pause, then the sound of Drew retreating down the hall. Paige drops her head back to look at you, her expression equal parts annoyed and amused. “Always interrupting,” she mutters, leaning in to steal another slow, languid kiss.

You smile against her lips, your hand coming up to brush her hair back from her face. “We gotta get up,” you say softly, though you make no effort to move just yet.

She sighs, her arms wrapping around you to pull you closer for a moment longer. “Yeah, yeah,” she mumbles, her lips brushing the corner of your mouth.

Eventually, the two of you untangle yourselves, reluctantly leaving the warmth of the bed to retrieve the matching Christmas pajamas Paige insisted on buying. Hers are just slightly too big, the waistband of the red plaid pants hanging low on her hips as she pulls on the soft cotton shirt. She tosses you your pair, watching with a lazy grin as you shimmy into them.

By the time you’re both dressed, Paige wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close for one last kiss before heading downstairs. When you get down there, the smell of fresh coffee and the sound of Christmas music fills the air. Your families are gathered around the tree, Bob offering you both a warm smile, your parents calling you cheerful “Merry Christmases” from the couch.

Drew has taken his role as gift sorter very seriously, picking up each package, reading the tags with exaggerated importance, and then delivering them to their respective piles like he’s Santa himself. You and Paige sit side by side on the floor, leaning into each other, your thighs pressing together as you watch. Her hand rests on top of yours, brushing her thumb over your knuckles, and it makes your heart swell.

Your older brother lounges beside you, watching Drew in amusement. His grin slowly shifts into something cheeky, though, as his gaze lands on you and Paige. He leans closer, lowering his voice. “Late night?” he asks, eyes glinting with mischief as they flick to the faint circles under your eyes.

Your cheeks flame instantly, and you seat at him, whispering sharply, “Shut up!”

He laughs, lea no no away just in time to avoid your second hit. “Hey, just sayin’,” he teases, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “You both look a little… tired.”

Paige smirks beside you, clearly trying not to laugh, but you nudge her with your elbow, giving her a pointed look. She quickly schools her expression, though the amusement in her eyes is impossible to miss.

Your head snaps toward the couch, where your parents and Bob are chatting, thankfully oblivious to the exchange. You exhale in relief, shooting your brother a glare that promises retribution later.

Eventually, Drew claps his hands together dramatically. “Done!” he declares, plopping down onto the floor next to his own gut pile.

Your mom beams. “Stockings first!” she says, already reaching for her phone to start taking pictures.

Everyone does as she says, reaching for their stockings. You sift through yours, pulling out chocolates, fuzzy socks, and a cute little keychain your mom must have picked out. Paige grins as she pulls out a gift card, showing it to you like it’s a trophy. Drew’s stocking is filled with candy, which he immediately starts eating, and your dad jokes about how he gets socks every year without fail.

Your mom takes picture after picture and you roll your eyes in amusement as she pointedly tells you to smile wider for the photos.

Once the stockings are emptied, it’s time for the real gifts. The family settles into a rhythm, taking turns opening gifts. You and your brother exchange gag gifts that leave you both laughing, shaking your heads. When it’s Drew’s turn, you can’t help but feel smug as he opens your gift—a limited-edition jersey—and immediately declares it his favorite, much to Paige’s offense. She pouts dramatically, muttering, “I tried so hard,” which only makes you grin wider at her.

Her moment of redemption comes soon enough, though. Paige’s gift to your mom—one of those electronic picture frames that flashes different photos of your family—earns a gasp of delight. Your mom’s eyes shine as she hugs it to her chest, turning to Paige with a heartfelt, “Oh my gosh, Paige, sweetie!” She leans down to kiss Paige’s head, and you catch the faint blush on Paige’s cheeks. Your heart swells as you watch her fit so seamlessly into your family.

When Paige opens your first gift to her, you watch nervously as she opens the shoes she’s been eyeing for weeks. “Babe,” she groans, clearly thrilled but half-scolding you for indulging her obsession. You roll your eyes, telling her she deserves them, even if they barely have room in your already shoe-filled apartment.

Her second present from you is a new pair of Airpods, which were more of a last minute thing since she lost her pair on the flight here. She thanks you, knowing she needed them.

The last gift is the one you were just excited to give: a framed collection of her college jersey behind a collage of photos from her UConn career, the biggest one being of her holding up the natty trophy. There’s a handwritten note in the back of it, telling you how proud you are of her. You can’t take all the credit for it, though, as Nika helped you with a lot of it when she was visiting you and Paige in Dallas a few weeks ago. Paige’s eyes mist over as she stares at it, and she leans over to press a firm kiss to your temple, whispering how much she loves you in your ear.

Paige’s gifts to you are just as thoughtful. She starts with handing you a small box. You open it and gasp—they’re a pair of diamond earrings—actually, the pair of diamond earrings—you’d fawned over at some event you attended with Paige, where there had been a ton of different jewelry displays. “Shit,” you murmur, fingers ghosting over the diamonds. You’d seen the price tag on it, you know how expensive they were. You lean your head on Paige’s shoulder, saying, “Thank you, P.”

She grins before handing you your next one—a weekend getaway to a cabin in the Pacific Northwest. You’ve talked about wanting to go so many times, jokingly telling her you want to live out your Twilight dreams, and now here you are.

“Paige,” you whisper, staring at the printout of the reservation.

“You’ve been stressed,” she says simply, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You deserve this.”

The room falls quiet as you hug Paige tightly, everyone sifting through their opened gifts, satisfied. You think all the gifs have been opened, so you settle back, too, but then Paige’s voice cuts through the chatter. “Wait,” she says, her smile lighting up her face. “You’ve got one more.”

You narrow your eyes at her, exasperated. “Paige,” you groan, knowing she’s already gone overboard.

“Chill,” she laughs, waving off your protest. She gestures toward your brother. “Come help me.”

Confused, you watch as your brother jumps up eagerly, everyone else around the room exchanging knowing, excited smiles. You start to stand, too, but Paige shakes her head, her grin widening. “Stay here,” she tells you. “Be patient, babe.”

You sit back down, bewildered, as Paige and your brother disappear into the basement. Everyone else seems to be in on whatever this is, and you try to piece together the surprise, but you’re left empty-handed.

A few minutes pass before your brother and Paige finally emerge back from the basement. You immediately notice Cooper, your family’s golden retriever, darting ahead of them. His nails click against the hardwood floor as he bursts into the living room, tail wagging so hard it looks like it might propel him into the air. He’s a whirlwind of energy, bounding straight for Drew, who’s still sitting cross-legged on the floor surrounded by wrapping paper. Drew laughs, trying to push Cooper’s snout away as he eagerly licks at his face. The dog is clearly thrilled to finally be apart of the action after being booted to the basement during gifts because he was too hyper.

Your focus shifts back to Paige, who’s holding a large box in her arms. She’s being careful with it, her steps deliberate as she sets it down in the middle of the floor, a few feet away from you. The grin on her face is impossible to miss—it’s a mixture of pride, excitement, and something that feels almost mischievous.

Your eyes narrow immediately. “What is it?” you ask, suspicious.

“You see,” Paige replies, her tone teasing as she kneels beside the box. Her hands rest on the top of it, and she’s clearly holding back a laugh at the confusion on your face.

Your gaze darts to your brother, who’s leaning casually against the couch with a smirk. You turn back to your girlfriend, your suspicion growing. “Paige,” you say, dragging her name out. “If this is a prank…”

Paige gasps in mock offense, her blue eyes wide. “A prank? On Christmas? Would I do that to you?”

“Yes,” you deadpan, which earns a round of laughter from your family.

“Just open it,” Paige says, brushing off your sarcasm with a grin and a roll of your eyes.

You hesitate, shifting on the floor as you inch closer to the box. Something about it feels… odd. It’s big, but not heavy enough to be something truly large. And when you look closer, you think you see it move. Your breath catches, and you tilt your head, trying to hear.

You think you catch a noise.

Your heart starts to race as you reach for the kid, glancing at Paige one more time. “I swear to God,” you say, eyeing her.

“Just trust me!” she says, laughing now. Her eyes gleam, and her grin is so wide.

You lift off the lid, and for a second, you just stare.

Then, your entire face lights up.

“Wait, oh my God!” you exclaim, grinning so wide your cheeks hurt. Inside the box is a tiny golden retriever puppy, his fur soft and fluffy, his bright eyes blinking up at you curiously. He has a red bow tied snugly around his neck, and he’s pawing at the edge of the box, already eager to escape.

You don’t hesitate—you reach in and scoop him up, cradling him in your arms as he wriggles excitedly. He’s warm and small, his paws pressing against your chest as he stretches up to lick your face. His little tail wags furiously, and you can’t stop laughing as he covers you in emphatic kisses.

“Paige!” you gasp, still laughing as the puppy snuggles into your neck. “Oh my God! Are you serious?”

“Surprise,” she says, her grin impossibly wide. She looks proud, and there’s a soft warmth in her gaze as she watches you hold the puppy like he’s the most precious thing in the world.

“I can’t—I—” you stutter, voice cracking slightly. Tears well up in your eyes as you hold the puppy close, his little head resting against your shoulder. “You really got us a puppy?”

Paige nods, sitting back on her heels. “I know how much you been wantin’ one,” she says softly. “So… he’s ours now.”

You blink back tears, your heart full as you look down at the tiny ball of fur in your arms. He lets out a soft tip and nuzzles closer to you, and you can’t stop smiling. “What’s his name?” you ask.

“Maverick,” Paige replies. “But I’ve been calling him Mav.”

“Maverick,” you repeat, testing it. It feels perfect, like it was meant for him.

You look back at Paige, your eyes shining. “When did you have time to do this?”

“They helped me,” Paige explains, gesturing to your mom and brother. “The day we got here, we went to pick him out while you went last-minute shopping. He’s been in the basement ever since, hanging out with Cooper and our brothers.”

Your mom smiles warmly from her spot on the couch. “It was all P’s idea,” she says. “She was so excited about it—she couldn’t stop talking about how much you’d love him.”

Your heart swells as you look at Paige, who’s trying to act nonchalant but is clearly basking in the praise. You lean over, the puppy still nestled in your arms, and press a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “I love you,” you whisper.

Paige smirks, though there’s a blush creeping up her cheeks. “I know,” she says playfully, earning a soft hit to her arm from you.

The rest of the morning is a blur of excitement. Maverick becomes the center of attention immediately, with everyone wanting to hold him or pet him. Even Cooper seems thrilled about the new addition, sniffling bum curiously and then wagging his tail like he’s just made a new best friend.

But no matter how much everyone else tries to steal Mav’s attention, he keeps coming back to you and Paige. Like he belongs there. Which, you suppose, he does now.

THE SNOW FALLS steadily, blanketing the night in a soft, shimmering layer of white. The world feels hushed, as though the snow has pressed pause on everything else, leaving just you, Paige, and Maverick in your one little bubble. Your boots crunch against the snow-covered sidewalk as you tuck yourself closer into Paige’s side, desperate for any warmth you can find against the freezing cold. The icy air nips at your nose and cheeks, and your breath puffs out in visible clouds.

“I cannot believe you dragged me out here,” you grumble, your teeth chattering as another gust of wind cuts through your coat. “It’s Christmas night. It’s freezing. Who does this?”

Paige just grins, looking entirely unbothered by the cold. “You’ve lived here your whole life,” she teases, her blue eyes sparkling with amusement as she gives you a gentle nudge with her elbow. “Suck it up. You’re supposed to be used to this.”

You roll your eyes, though you can’t stop the smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “I’ve gotten used to the Dallas heat,” you retort, because you have. Grumbling again, you burrow yourself deeper into your scarf.

Paige just laughs, reaching down to adjust Maverick’s leash as he bounds happily ahead of you, his tiny paws kicking up little sprays of snow. His golden coat gleams under the soft glow of the streetlights, and his tail wags furiously as he sniffs at the snowbanks on either end of the sidewalk.

“Look at him,” Paige says, gesturing to the puppy with a grin. “Look how happy he is. How could you not wanna be out here with him?”

You glance down at Mav, who’s clearly having the time of his life. You sigh, conceding the point. “Fine,” you mumble, pulling your coat tighter around you as you watch him hop through the snow like it’s the best thing he’s ever experienced.

The three of you continue down the street, the cold biting at your exposed skin, until you reach the town square just a block down from your house. It’s quiet and empty, just as you’d expected, but it’s so beautiful and familiar that you can’t bring yourself to complain anymore.

The little shops lining the square are all decorating for the holidays, their windows glowing warmly against the night. Twinkling lights are strung from lamppost to lamppost, and garlands of evergreen and red ribbon add a festive touch to the storefronts. The snow falls steadily, coating everything in a pristine layer of white, and for a moment, you feel like you’ve stepped into a scene from a Hallmark movie.

You glance over at Paige, and the sight of her bundled up in her coat and beanie, snowflakes caught in her golden hair, makes your heart squeeze. She looks over at you and grins, her cheeks flushed pink from the cold.

“Worth it?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

You huff, but you can’t stop the smile spreading across your face. “Maybe.”

She smirks, clearly pleased with herself, and gives Maverick’s leash a gentle tug to redirect him as he tries to nose his way into yet another snowbank. The three of you wander through the square until you reach the massive Christmas tree in the center. It’s a towering evergreen, wrapped in thousands of white and gold lights that cast a warm, inviting glow over the snow.

Paige slows to a stop near the tree, and you glance over at her, your breath catching slightly at the look on her face. She’s smiling softly, but there’s an unfamiliar nervousness—almost vulnerability—that overcasts her expression, making your heart stutter.

“What?” you ask softly as you tilt your head at her.

She steps closer, her gloved pinky brushing against yours before hooking around it gently. “This is where we first met,” she murmurs, her voice low, almost hesitant. “Remember?”

Of course you remember. How could you ever forget?

It had been five years ago, during one of those rare weekends when you’d been home from school in December. You’d been wandering the square with a fresh hot chocolate in hand, trying to find a Christmas gift for your mom. The snow had been falling just like it is now, and you’d been heading to the little jewelry shop on the corner when someone had barreled straight into your chest, spilling your drink all over you—and them.

That someone had been Paige.

You’d recognized her immediately, of course. Every student at UConn knew who she was—Paige Bueckers, the basketball sensation, the phenom. You were a freshman, she a sophomore, and you’d yet to see her on campus your entire first semester. But there you were then, seeing her in person for the first time, in—of all places—your coastal little hometown. It was the last thing you’d ever expected.

She’d been mortified, stumbling over herself as she apologizes and offered to buy you a new hot chocolate. You’d tried to brush it off, but she’d insisted, dragging you back to the little café to get a replacement. The two of you ended up talking while you waited for it, and when she found out you went to UConn, her eyes had lit up.

Somehow—still to this day, you’re not entirely sure how—she’d managed to get your number before you left. The next week, you’d hung out on campus for the first time. And from there, it had been history.

Now, five years later, you’re standing in the exact same spot, under the glow of the exact same Christmas tree, with the snow falling around you just like it had that day.

Your chest feels tight as you look at her, taking in the way the snowflakes catch in her hair, the way her blue eyes shine against the cold. She’s so beautiful it almost hurts.

“Of course I remember,” you whisper, your breath fogging up in the cold air.

You watch as Paige takes a little breath, her chest rising and falling as she glances down at the snow-covered ground. Her lips part, but no words come out right away. Her hands fidget slightly with Maverick’s leash, and the Paige Bueckers standing before you—this soft, nervous version of her—is such a stark contrast to the confident and often-times annoying girl you’re so used to seeing.

You tilt your head, eyebrows knitting together in concern. “What’s wrong?” you ask gently, voice barely audible over the soft crunch of Mav’s paws in the snow.

But she shakes her head, glancing back at you with what might just be the softest smile you’ve ever seen. It’s disarming, and your breath catches in your throat a little at it. “I have another gift for you,” she murmurs.

You blink at her. “Paige, no,” you protest immediately, a small huff escaping your lips. She’s already gotten you more than enough—between the thoughtful, expensive presents she gave you earlier and the effort she’s put into making this Christmas perfect, you feel spoiled.

But Paige just shakes her head again, her smile widening just slightly as she takes a step closer, reaching for your gloved hands. You don’t resist as she pulls them out of your pockets and wraps her own around them, the warmth of her touch seeping through the fabric. Maverick’s leash rests between both of your palms, the two of you holding him together.

“Stop,” she says softly, her voice almost teasing but laced with something deeper. “It’s fine. It’s just—this one’s a little… different than the others, ‘kay?”

Your brows furrow a little, still confused. There’s something in her expression—something hesitant and vulnerable, almost like she’s unsure of herself—and it makes your chest stumble. Slowly, you step closer, your eyes boring into hers as you whisper, “P, I don’t know what more you can give me. You’ve already given me everything.”

She lets out a breath at that, exhaling slowly. “Not everything,” she murmurs, eyes downcast.

You tilt your head in question, half-lost. “What d’you mean?”

Paige takes another deep breath, her hands tightening around yours just slightly. For a long moment, she doesn’t say anything, and you can see her trying to gather her thoughts, her blue eyes darting away from yours and then back again.

“Okay, um…” she starts, her voice faltering a little before she lets out a nervous laugh. “I—I don’t really know how to say this, because I’ve been thinkin’ about this for so long, had it all prepared, but now that we’re actually here, it’s—it’s all just kinda gone away…”

Your heart is pounding now, your stomach twisting in anticipation. Paige is rarely like this—stuttering, stumbling over her words—and the fact that she is has you hanging on her every syllable.

She shifts her weight, glancing down at the snow-covered ground for a moment before looking back up at you. Her cheeks are even more pink than before, whether that be from the cold or nerves, and the look in her gaze makes your throat tighten.

“I love you,” she says finally, her voice steady now despite the nervous energy radiating off of her. “I’ve loved you for so long, and I can’t—I can’t even imagine a version of my life where you’re not in it. You’re—you’re my best friend, my person, my everything. And every time I think about the future, it’s you, always you. Every single time.”

Your breath catches, and you think your eyes begin to swim, though you’re not even entirely sure why yet. You squeeze her hands lightly, trying to reassure her even though you’re the one suddenly feeling overwhelmed.

“I want to do this forever with you,” Paige continues, her voice growing softer with each word. “I want every Christmas with you, every family gathering, every walk with Mav. I want you to be there for all my big moments, and I want to be there for all of yours. I just—I want you. Forever. And I don’t wanna wait anymore to tell you that.”

She lets go of one of your hands then, reaching into the pocket of her coat. For a second, you’re confused, your heart hammering in your chest as you watch her movements, and then—

Oh.

Time seems to stop as Paige pulls a small, velvet box from her pocket and drops to one knee in the snow. Your eyes widen, your breath freezing in your chest as you stare down at her, completely locked in place.

She flips the box open, revealing the most beautiful ring you’ve ever seen. It’s simple yet stunning, a perfect match for you in every way, and the sight of it sends a rush of emotions flooding through you.

“Baby,” Paige says, her voice trembling slightly as she looks up at you with the most earnest expression you’ve ever seen. “Will you marry me?”

Your mouth falls open, but no sound comes out. Your heart is pounding so hard you’re sure she can hear it, and your eyes are completely flooded now.

Paige stays kneeling there, her gaze locked on yours, and she looks so hopeful, so full of love, that it takes your breath away. The world around you seems to blur, the snow falling softly around you and the glow of the Christmas tree lighting up the moment like something almost out of a dream.

You can’t speak, can’t move, can’t do anything but stare at her as the weight of what’s happening finally settles over you. Paige Bueckers—the girl who spilled hot chocolate on you five years ago, who turned your entire world upside down without even trying—is asking you to spend the rest of your life with her.

The words catch in your throat, tangled between a sob and a laugh, as you finally come to your senses. Your lips tremble, your heart racing faster than ever, and then it all bursts out at once. “Yes,” you choke, voice breaking. “Fuck, yes. Of course, baby.”

Paige lets out something between a laugh and a sob of her own, her grin so wide it’s almost silly. Her eyes are glistening with tears, matching yours, and for a moment, you’re both just staring at each other like you can’t quite believe this is real.

And then you move.

Instead of waiting for her to stand, you drop down into the snow with her, no longer caring about the cold or the fact that your pants are already damp. Your hands find her face as you crash your lips into hers, kissing her so deeply, so passionately, that it feels like your chest might explode from everything you’re feeling.

Her hands slide to your waist, pulling you closer as the snow falls softly around you, your noses brushes and your tears mingling between the kiss. It’s emotional and raw and maybe the most meaningful kiss you’ve ever shared, the kind that feels like a promise all on its own.

When you finally pull back, breathless and overwhelmed, Paige presses her forehead against yours. Her eyes shine cerulean, her cheeks streaked with tears, but she’s smiling like she’s never been happier in her life. She presses one, two, three quick pecks to your lips, her grin only widening with each one.

You laugh softly, your heart still racing, and then she’s reaching for your left hand, gently tugging your glove off. Her fingers tremble slightly as she takes the ring from its box, sliding it onto your finger with the utmost care.

It fits perfectly.

Paige leans down, brushing her lips against the ring on your finger like it’s the most sacred thing she’s ever touched. “Perfect,” she murmurs, her voice soft and full of awe.

And then, suddenly, Maverick bounds into the moment, pouncing between you and Paige with all the enthusiasm of a puppy who has no idea what’s just happened but is thrilled to be a part of it. His nose nudges your hand, and you both laugh as his tongue flicks out, licking the shiny new ring before jumping up to cover Paige’s face in kisses, too.

“Okay, okay!” Paige laughs, trying to fend him off but not really putting much effort into it. You giggle, reaching out to scratch behind his ears before pressing a kiss to the side of his head.

Paige skips her arm around your neck, tugging you close again. Her voice is soft but teasing as she murmurs, “Now I can finally call you my wife, and no one can complain ‘bout it.”

You roll your eyes, though your smile betrays how giddy you feel. “Still not your wife,” you correct, holding up your hand to show off the ring. “Fiancée.”

Paige just shakes her head stubbornly, her nose brushing against yours as she whispers, “Nah. Wife.”

And then she’s kissing you again, her lips warm against yours despite the chill in the air. Mav paws at both of you, trying to squeeze himself into the moment like he doesn’t want to be let out, and you laugh against Paige’s lips, your heart so full it might burst.

Because there, in the snow, at the very spot where you first met five years ago, the world feels impossibly small and endlessly vast all at once. This is a new beginning—the two of you, Maverick, and the life you’re going to build together. It’s the start of your family, the start of everything that comes next, and as Paige kisses you again, with snowflakes catching in her lashes and Mav pawing at your side, you realize with a sneaky feeling that love actually is—all around.

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0phantom0 · 6 months ago

Text

Shall we cross the line? | E.W

Ellie Willians X Fem!Reader

Modern Au!

Warnings!: Drug use, homophobia, MEN, Y/n is discovering herself so there will be a lot of angst, alcohol, if I forgot anything please let me know!

Ellie knew she had crossed the line by falling in love with a straight girl, Y/n thought she was going to go crazy when she realized her heart was racing when she saw a girl's smile, Ellie.

CHAPTER 1: Heart beating

Spoiler: Ellie feels the air leave her lungs when she sees the most beautiful smile she has ever seen. "Holy shit..."

—

CHAPTER 2: Strange thoughts

Spoiler: "Well, he must be retarded to trade someone like you." "Thanks Ellie, but I think the problem is me." "Impossible."

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CHAPTER 3: First kiss?

Spoiler: "Can I kiss you?" "I've never kissed a girl before..." "It's okay, I promise I'll be better than any of them."

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CHAPTER 4: "Am I broken?"

Spoiler: Tommy sighs and looks at the girl "I need you to be honest with me Y/n... you love Ellie, don't you?" Y/n closes her eyes tightly feeling like she's going to burst into tears at any moment.

—

CHAPTER 5: Only You (End)

Spoiler: No spoilers for the last chapter you hotties lol

—

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0phantom0 · 6 months ago

Text

Assigned To You

Nerd! Loser! Ellie Williams x Fem! Popular! Reader

WC: 1.9k (soz, short ik)

Warnings: reader crying (emotional drunk), fluff

Part 5: Prev/Next

Let me know it you wanna be in the taglist! (this is the second last chapter, maybe last....) It depends

The weight of guilt had been like an anchor around your chest ever since that night. The words you said to Ellie still echoed in your mind, each repetition making your regret sharper and deeper. She had been nothing but understanding, but you had let your fear control you. You had been terrified of the world, of what people would say, of losing the life you’d built for yourself. But you never stopped to consider how much you could lose by pushing her away, by denying yourself and your feelings.

The next few days felt like a blur. You went through the motions—school, meals with your family, awkward interactions with friends—but all you could think about was Ellie. Her laughter. Her smile. The way she had looked at you when she still believed in what the two of you could be. You’d shattered that belief, and now you were left trying to piece things back together, only to realize how much damage had already been done.

It wasn’t just Ellie that you were worried about. You were terrified of your own reflection. Every time you thought about the future, about how things were going to change, your heart filled with dread. What if you lost everything? What if the people who claimed to be your friends turned their backs on you? What if the world didn’t accept you for who you really were?

But in your heart, you knew there was no going back. You couldn’t stay in the shadow of fear forever. Not when the person you cared about most was Ellie. Not when you knew she deserved more than the broken apology you had given her. She deserved the truth. She deserved someone who could stand by her and love her openly, without hesitation or shame.

You couldn’t pretend anymore. You couldn’t run from what you were feeling. And so, when you woke up that morning, something inside you snapped. You had to face this. You had to face her, and more importantly, you had to face yourself.

You got out of bed and walked over to your desk. Your phone sat there, still glowing from last night’s message. Ellie’s words had meant everything to you. They were a lifeline, a sign that maybe, just maybe, there was a chance for redemption. But you knew you couldn’t fix everything over text. The only way forward was to show up, to prove that you were ready to take responsibility for the hurt you had caused.

It was early, and you hadn’t had your coffee yet, but you didn’t care. You were already on your way out the door before your brain could convince you otherwise. The drive to Ellie’s house was a blur of anxiety and anticipation. Your palms were sweaty, your stomach in knots. You kept picturing the look on her face—the way she had looked at you with those sad eyes, like she wasn’t sure whether she could ever trust you again.

When you arrived at her house, your heart was pounding in your chest. You hesitated at the door, raising your hand to knock. What if she didn’t want to see you? What if she didn’t care anymore? But before you could overthink it any further, the door opened, and there she was—standing in front of you, arms crossed, eyes guarded.

“What do you want?” Ellie’s voice was flat, devoid of the warmth it had once held when she greeted you. It stung, but you understood. You had earned that coldness.

You swallowed hard, trying to steady yourself. “Ellie, I’m so sorry,” you began, your voice trembling. “I said those things because I was scared. I’ve been scared of what people will think, scared of losing everything, but… I hate myself for hurting you. I hate myself for pushing you away.”

Ellie didn’t move. Her expression softened for a moment, but she didn’t let go of her distance. You could see the hurt in her eyes, the way it still lingered even though she wasn’t showing it. She was hurting too, but she wasn’t going to let you off the hook so easily.

“I… I can’t be a lesbian. It’ll ruin everything—my reputation, my friends, everything I’ve worked for. And I know that makes me sound selfish and awful, but it’s the truth. I don’t know how to deal with this. I don’t know how to deal with us.”

The words hung in the air between you, but instead of the anger you expected, you saw Ellie’s eyes soften just a little more. She stepped forward, closing the distance between you. For a brief moment, you thought she might forgive you, that maybe you could fix this, but then her words hit you like a punch to the gut.

“That didn’t mean anything,” she said, her voice firm. “You can’t just cry your way out of this, Y/N. You hurt me, and you need to figure out who you are before you drag me along with you.”

Her words stung more than you could have imagined. You nodded, your throat tight, unable to say anything more. What could you say? How could you make her understand that you didn’t want to hurt her, that you hadn’t meant to push her away? You had to leave. You had to let her have the space she needed, but that didn’t make the hurt any less.

You turned and walked away, feeling more broken than ever. But as you reached the end of her driveway, you realized something. You were still carrying the weight of the apology you needed to give, the one you hadn’t quite figured out yet. You couldn’t give up now. You couldn’t let this be the end.

That night, after a long and difficult day at school, you sat at your desk, pencil in hand. You weren’t an artist. You didn’t have a natural talent for drawing. But you needed to do something, anything, to show Ellie that you were sorry. You weren’t sure if it would fix anything, but maybe it would show her that you still cared, that you weren’t just trying to sweep everything under the rug.

You sketched, your hand moving almost instinctively, guided by the memories of her—her smile, the way her hair framed her face, the way she looked at you when she was happy. When you were done, you looked at the drawing, and your heart sank. It was awful. The proportions were off, the lines were messy, and her face looked nothing like the perfect image you had in your mind. But it was real. It was from the heart.

The next day, at school, you sought Ellie out. You had no idea how she would respond, but you knew you had to try. You approached her in the hallway, the drawing folded in your hands. She was standing with her friends, talking and laughing, but when she saw you, she excused herself and came over.

“Ellie,” you said, your voice quiet but steady. “I made this for you. I know it’s not much, and I know I’ve been horrible, but… I just wanted you to have it.”

Ellie looked at you for a long moment, then glanced down at the folded paper in your hands. She took it slowly, unfolding it with care. You held your breath as she studied the drawing, her expression unreadable. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, like it might explode any second.

Then, to your surprise, she laughed. “Is this supposed to be me?” she asked, her voice light, but not mocking. There was a small, amused smile on her lips.

You flushed with embarrassment. “Yeah… I’m not exactly Picasso.”

Ellie smiled again, the first real smile you had seen from her in days. “It’s terrible,” she said, shaking her head, but there was no malice in her voice. “But it’s kind of sweet. Thanks, Y/N.”

The tension in your chest loosened just a little. It wasn’t perfect, and you didn’t know if it would fix everything, but it was a start. It was a step in the right direction.

But even as you felt a small flicker of hope, you knew there was still more to do. You couldn’t ignore Olivia and the damage she had caused, the lies she had spread about you and Ellie. You had to stand up for yourself, for your truth.

You found Olivia later that day, leaning against her locker with a group of her friends. When she saw you, she dismissed them with a wave and turned to face you. Her smirk was as sharp as ever, her eyes gleaming with something like amusement.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Y/N,” she drawled. “What do you want?”

You squared your shoulders, refusing to let her intimidate you. “I know what you did,” you said, your voice steady, even though your hands were shaking. “You had no right to twist things and tell Ellie I was talking about her.”

Olivia raised an eyebrow, her smirk growing wider. “I was just being honest. Ellie deserves to know what kind of person you are.”

You scoffed. “You’re unbelievable. Why are you so obsessed with me? Is it because you can’t stand the idea of me being happy?”

Olivia’s expression darkened. “You’re pathetic, Y/N. You think you can be a lesbian and still keep your perfect little life? If you go through with this, I’ll make sure everyone knows who you really are.”

Her words stung, but you stood your ground. You didn’t need her validation anymore. “Do whatever you want, Olivia,” you said coldly. “I don’t care anymore.”

You turned on your heel and walked away, your heart pounding in your chest. For the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel afraid. You felt defiant. If Olivia wanted to try and ruin you, fine. You were done hiding.

Later that evening, you sat in your room, your phone in hand. Olivia’s words replayed in your mind, but instead of fear, you felt something else—something stronger. You were ready to take control of your story, to stop letting others dictate who you were.

You snapped a picture of yourself—no makeup, messy hair, raw and vulnerable. It wasn’t the most flattering picture, but it was real. It was you. And for the first time in weeks, you didn’t care what anyone else thought.

You uploaded the picture to Instagram with the caption: “This girl is a girl kisser.”

Your finger hovered over the post button for a moment, but then you took a deep breath and pressed it. The photo went live, and almost immediately, the likes and comments started rolling in.

“Proud of you, Y/N ”

“You’re so brave omg!”

“Girl kisser AND stunning? Unfair.”

“Love this for you!”

Not a single bad comment. Except, of course, for Olivia, who wrote, “You’re disgusting.” But you ignored her. She didn’t matter anymore.

Then, just as you were about to put your phone down, you saw a new message pop up. It was from Ellie.

“I saw your post. I’m proud of you, Y/N.”

You stared at the message, your heart swelling with a mixture of relief and gratitude. It wasn’t everything. It wasn’t the happy ending you had imagined, but it was a start. And for the first time in weeks, you felt a flicker of hope. Maybe things weren’t perfect, but you were getting there. And that was enough.

Taglist: @vahnilla @radioheadfan699 @defnoteleonor @robinphobia @liztreez @deathbydollz @hemmo01 @soodle-noup @reneesub @ellensmithxo@lamorenita @kissedberries @liasxeatt @smiths-fan--13 @0phantom0

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