#nd wcbb

Pairing: Olivia Miles x Reader

Fandom: Women’s College Basketball (Notre Dame/TCU)

Summary: current girlfriend… try again…

A/N: final got an Olivia post for yall

🏷️: @paigeshirleytemple , @cowboybueckers , @unknowgirlypop , @yailtsv , @nicebellee , @sitawita , @thatonesuschix , @vamptizm , @elalfywhore , @starfulani , @authentic-girl03 , @paxaz535 , @azziswrld , @jadasogay , @paigeluvvr , @melpthatsme , @lessi-lover , @courtsidewithlani , @elswhore , @italyyy , @lightsgore , @private-but-not-a-secret , @aubreygriffin , @issilovesherself , @graceeeeeesblog , @sayurireidotcom , @zizi-bee-yapping

This house smells like every good memory I’ve ever had.

Cedarwood walls soaked with old lake water and lemon cleaner. Salt from air-dried swimsuits. Peeling screen doors that squeak like they’ve missed me.

The house my granddad built when I was a baby, back when my only job was eating applesauce and babbling nonsense on the dock while he grilled catfish and sang Luther Vandross like he meant it.

Now I’m grown. And my girlfriend—my beautiful, stubborn, “I transferred to TCU because I needed a fresh start and now I sleep like a baby at night” girlfriend—is sitting on the porch swing, wearing my old high school hoodie and peeling a mango with a paring knife like it’s a sport.

“Babe,” I call through the open screen door, balancing three bags of groceries on one arm and holding my phone in the other, “can you come help me with this haul?”

She grins and pops a mango slice in her mouth. “You just want me to look cute for your little TikTok haul, huh?”

“You do look cute,” I say, kicking the door closed behind me. “But also yes.”

Ten minutes later, we’re both in the kitchen. Sunlight spills through the back windows and glints off the quartz countertop Grandad installed with his own hands.

Olivia’s barefoot, hair tied in a messy puff, cutting strawberries while I set up my phone against a makeshift tripod made of cereal boxes.

I hit record.

“Hey guys,” I say with a soft grin. “So I’m at my childhood vacation house for the week and I’m here with Olivia, my current girlfriend—”

Olivia freezes.

She blinks.

Strawberry juice drips from the knife to the cutting board.

“Current?” she echoes, eyebrows lifting in slow motion like she didn’t just hear me say the wildest thing ever.

I keep going, because chaos is my love language. “And today we’re gonna do a lil grocery haul for y’all—”

“Current?” Olivia repeats, putting the knife down like it personally offended her. “What the fuck you mean current? No, no—cut the cameras. Cut this shit right now.”

I laugh. A full belly-laugh.

She doesn’t.

She marches over, hands slick from fruit juice, and cups my face with both palms. “Y/N. You looking at me?”

“Yes, Liv.”

“No, no, look at me.” She tilts my chin like I’m a kid who just got caught sneaking cookies before dinner. “You mean to tell me—after three years, after I flew you to South Bend for your birthday senior year, after we spent two months talking every night while I was thinking about transferring—you calling me your current girlfriend like I’m just filling in a slot until you rotate again?”

“Liv—”

“No. Uh-uh. Imma crash out on this camera, don’t play with me. I’m not your current girlfriend. I’ve been your only girlfriend. We started dating during March Madness three years ago and you’ve been mine ever since.”

I lean forward and kiss her.

Right on the mouth. Sticky strawberry hands and all.

Just a soft press, slow, right in the middle of her flustered rant.

Then I pull back, smirking. “Anyway, like I was saying before Olivia had a full crisis—”

She groans.

“—I’m here with my current girlfriend, Olivia Miles, and we’re gonna do a lil haul. Starting with… mini cornbread muffins, because someone decided she’s a Southern belle now that she transferred to TCU.”

Olivia shakes her head and backs out of the frame. “Cut the cameras, deadass. Ma, turn this shit off.”

I laugh and end the video, tossing the phone onto the counter. “It’s going in drafts. Relax.”

She doesn’t.

Not fully.

We finish unpacking the groceries in silence. Not the angry kind, more like the fragile kind where someone’s low-key spiraling and doesn’t want to say it out loud.

She keeps glancing at me. Like she’s trying to read something in my face that I didn’t write.

I step behind her and wrap my arms around her waist, chin resting on her shoulder. “Baby,” I murmur, “I love you.”

“You sure?” she whispers.

“Positive.”

“‘Cause ‘current girlfriend’ kinda sounded like you had a future breakup already drafted in your Notes app.”

“Okay, first of all,” I chuckle into her neck, “if I ever wrote a breakup note, it’d be handwritten with tear stains and probably a pressed flower.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better.”

“I know.” I kiss her shoulder blade, slow and reassuring. “But you don’t have to worry. I’m not going anywhere, Liv.”

Her fingers play with mine where they’re linked at her stomach. “You promise?”

“With everything in me.”

She turns to face me, eyes soft and searching. “Then baby me for the rest of the day. I’m serious. I’m fragile. I almost googled ‘what to do when your soulmate calls you her current girlfriend.’”

I laugh so hard I nearly choke on my own breath. “You’re so dramatic.”

“And you’re evil,” she shoots back, smiling now. “But I still want the princess treatment. I want snacks. I want forehead kisses. I want you to call me your forever girlfriend in five different languages.”

“Deal,” I say, grabbing her hand and pulling her toward the porch. “But first, mango and cuddles on the swing.”

Dinner is grilled shrimp tacos and a salad Olivia barely touches because she’s too busy making heart eyes at me across the table.

The cicadas buzz outside like a lullaby, and the old jazz playlist I found on my granddad’s iPod plays low in the background.

My phone’s sitting nearby, propped against a napkin holder. Not recording—just chilling.

Or so Olivia thinks.

Because I hit record five minutes ago. Just for us. Just in case.

She reaches across the table, wiping a spot of avocado off my cheek with her thumb. “You know,” she says softly, “I still think about the first time we kissed.

That night after Notre Dame lost and you found me crying in the locker room. You didn’t say anything. You just pulled me close and let me sob into your hoodie.”

“I remember.”

“You kissed my forehead,” she continues, eyes glassy now. “And you said, ‘No matter what happens next season, I’m proud of you.’”

I nod, feeling that old ache in my chest. The one reserved for people who own pieces of you you didn’t even know were missing.

“Well,” Olivia says, clearing her throat and meeting my eyes, “you’ve been my only girlfriend since that moment. So next time you wanna play TikTok clownery, just know—I’m not with it.”

She glances at the phone, realizing it’s been on this whole time.

And instead of panicking, she leans in and kisses me. Slow. With intention.

Then looks at the camera, back at me, and says, “You’re my forever girlfriend. So don’t do nothing like that no more, baby.”

I grin, cheeks flushed. “Yes, ma’am.”

The next day, I edit the video.

It’s got everything: Olivia ranting, me giggling, strawberry juice on her hands, kisses, eye rolls, mangoes, porch swings, soft music, real love.

I stare at it for a full five minutes before hitting “Post.”

Caption: when your forever girlfriend doesn’t play about her title.

Comments flood in before I even lock my phone.

@/ballislife: Nah she said “cut the cameras DEADASS” and meant it.

@/hoopsgirlfriend: current girlfriend is crazy. she lucky Olivia didn’t pack her bags.

@/livsmiles: she scared for her life now lmao

I turn to Olivia, who’s watching reruns of Living Single on the couch, and curl into her side. She wraps her arm around me like she knew I was coming.

“You see the TikTok yet?” I ask.

She pulls out her phone, sees the notification, and gasps. “Y/N! You posted it?”

“You looked so pretty being mad. I couldn’t help it.”

She groans but can’t stop smiling. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“Forever, right?”

She kisses me again. “Forever, baby.”

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                 -Thank You For Reading!💚💙