Choices Fan Fiction: Ride or Die: Not Him

Photo by Sofia Alejandra on

Disclaimer: Characters represented here as well as the original story are owned by pixelberry.

This content has been written by Angela Harrison based on those characters/stories

For legal purposes, here is the official statement from Pixleberry about the production and sharing of fan fiction and fan art based on their original works: Our studio continues to respect and support fan works, such as fanart, fanfiction, and creative interpretations of our game characters and stories — as long as they’re created for fun and not used for commercial purposes. In fact, you’d be surprised by how much fanart makes its way to Team Pixelberry!May 16, 2018

Fandom: Ride or Die: A Bad Boy Romance

Characters: Logan, Ellie Wheeler

Rating: M, NSFW

It’s past midnight and she’s lost count of how much tequila she’s had. The music is pounding in her ears, sweat slick on her body from dancing. She knows she should be studying but it’s one of those nights.

A night where she can’t concentrate, where nothing she does drives out his memory and she’s so tired of crying. She tried to focus on her studies, but the words kept blurring on the page, her mind kept straying to thoughts of him. Finally she slammed her book shut and went to her closet.

Anger and pain coursing through her as she pulled one outfit after another from it’s hanger. A pile of discarded clothes scattered the room by the time she was done. Finally she had on the tightest, shortest skirt she could find, complete with skimpy crop top and body chain.

The bouncer at the door nods at her in greeting. Pathetic, she thinks to herself, they know me here. How many nights had her pain driven here? She has lost count. She just knows she needs to lose herself for awhile and this is as close as she ever comes to forgetting.

Head buzzing with tequila, music flooding her senses, she dances. She doesn’t care who sees, she doesn’t care about anything, her body twisting and shaking to the rhythm. She’s alone on the dance floor until she spots a boy watching her from across the room. She smiles at him encouragingly. He makes his way to her.

“Can I dance with you?” She appraises him for a moment. He’s the right height, same build, same color hair. She nods and he steps up to her, dancing without touching at first. She throws her arms around his shoulders and sways her hips, his arms go around her waist. Gaining confidence, he pulls her closer. She closes her eyes and pretends, letting the music and sensation of his hands on the small of her back sweep her away.

He grips her tight against his body, their bodies swaying together. She touches the thin fabric of his shirt as she runs her hands up his chest, across his shoulders, down his back. She leans her head on his shoulder as his hands slip under her shirt, smooth fingers gliding gently across the small of her back. Smooth, not rough, not calloused. She inhales deeply then goes stiff in his arms.

“What’s wrong?”


What can she even say? That he smells wrong? That his fingers aren’t rough enough? That he’s not…..him?

“I’m sorry, I have to go!”

She runs out into the night, and makes it to her in car as the tears start to fall, cascading in hot rivulets down her face. She slumps in the seat and lets the emotion over take her. She cries until her chests hurts and her throat is raw. Will this aching grief ever subside?

“Damn it!” She screams out loud as she punches the steering wheel, “Damn it, damn it, damn it!”

Back in her dorm, empty and hollow she whispers his name as she finally slips off the sleep.