#valedictorian

1 year. your one year anniversary with him, and he was late. it was no surprise, typical ian. probably out smoking with his friends, or in the studio. but when you got all dolled up, and went to the nice restaurant he suggested in downtown, you at least expected him to show.

lightly tapping the glass, your nails were a prominent red, along with your dress. people passed by your table, looks of sympathy and comfort spread across their face as they saw the missing spot just across from you. “god, i look pathetic”, you mumbled under your breath.

“what was that?”, you heard a voice approach. desperately wishing it was ian in front of you, but being faced with the waiter whom you didn’t notice beforehand. “oh, nothing, just a couple more minutes i swear”.

minutes pass, and still nothing. no phone call, no text message, nothing. a burst of screams were heard from outside the restaurant. flashes of cameras, and loads of poparazzi invaded as you noticed a tall figure emerge through the glass door.

“called it”, you mumbled once again. not only was he late, but he was outside taking photos with fans, and signing different types of objects for their so called ‘autographs’. quickly standing up, you rushed towards him, seeing a bright smile on his face.

“hi baby-”, was soon cut off by you shoving around him, and out the door. he knew it was coming, nothing could avoid it. without a doubt, he followed after you, pushing through the crowds of poparazzi towards his black suv. only, you didn’t head towards the suv, you made your way down the street.

high heels clicking, the cold night of chicago brushed through your hair. it wasn’t overly crowded, seeing as it all formed wherever your boyfriend was heading. a pattern of footsteps followed behind you, and clicks of cameras eluded. feeling a large hand on your forearm, you quickly realized it was ian.

you had to keep your cool, nothing you didn’t want the poparazzi to see was not about to happen tonight. “yes?”, you questioned. “stop with the act, get in the car”, he chuckled through his teeth, obviously desperate to talk to you.

thinking about it for a second, you tapped your finger on your chin. “i’m okay”, you chuckled back. you could practically see the fumes coming out of his head as ian scoffed.

“okay then, if that’s what you really want baby”. his voice causing you to feel some type of way was not about to let him off the hook. as the poparazzi started to ask questions, you gave up your fight, and headed back towards the suv.

ian’s security opened the car door, him heading in first, then giving you a hand to help you in. the slick, black leather seats were comfortable, and the space was very roomy. it was private to say the least as there was a divider between the driver and back seats.

you sat away from ian, hands in lap, staring out the window as the car began to move. “c’mere”, he spoke, the words shooting sharply through heavy silence. no reply came out as you began to ignore his words. “baby, y/n, you don’t gotta act like that”, you could tell he was smirking through his every word.

butterflies erupted in your stomach as you could tell he was getting more whiny about it. suddenly, you felt a presence move from the other side of the car, to where you were sitting. a hand slipped onto your thigh, and began to massage up and down your dress.

a smirk slipped from your mouth, turning to face him but only to see him looking the other way, pretending not to be phased. play it that way, see what’s coming. sliding your velvet dress up a little, his hand touched bare skin. at first he tensed, but after a second he rested his hand and began to graze towards your inner thigh.

without a second thought, you moved his hand closer to your heat, not caring for what’s about to happen next. he played with your lace panties, slowly moving them to the side. he placed his fingers onto your pussy, all while staring completely into your direction.

by now your eyes were locked, noticing ian licking his lips, all whilst he was running through your folds. “does that feel good?”, he questioned all while knowing the answer. but before you could reply, he stuck a finger into you. a gasp came from your mouth in an instant, not expecting him to do that.

your head fell back as ian began to pump his finger in, and out of you. soon after, he added a second finger to the mix. strings of moans left your lips as he began to work his way deeper and faster. his soft lips attached their way to your neck, placing harsh kisses under the pressure.

“mhm — ian, ‘s so good”, you whimpered out. and you didn’t even notice that ian began to palm his bulge underneath his jeans until groans left his mouth. your eyes opened just in time to see him writhing around, and leaving a gasp of ‘fuck’ and ‘damn’ from his mouth.

the friction was too much, you began to ride his hand to build up your high. this led to him stopping his actions on himself, and focusing completely on you. “c’mon baby, you can do this”, he groaned out. he definitely enjoyed this just as much, or even more than you did.

your high was building even more, desperately to the point of finish. mumbles of praise left his mouth as your legs began to slightly shake, and incoherent words spewed from your mouth. just to add into the mix, he placed a finger onto your clit, slightly putting pressure and circular motions.

just the right spot. a sudden flash came upon you, and you felt warmth slowly spilling out onto the seats below you. out of breath, both you and ian looked at eachother, completely speechless to say the least. a sudden smirk came across his face as he took his fingers from your heat, and placed them in his mouth.

his hands were to die for, and you couldn’t process it. practically almost coming a second time, your hand grazed his jeans, all while he was still sucking on his fingers. he groaned, but before anyone could proceed, the car stopped.

This reminds me of a quote I heard somewhere:

“Of course you don’t fit in, if you were meant to stand out.”

As Elle dives deeper into the Harvard environment and tries to be taken seriously, we notice a subtle but significant shift: her wardrobe becomes darker, more subdued—less “Elle.” This visual change mirrors a quiet internal struggle. Although she’s growing and learning, she also starts to disconnect from parts of herself in an attempt to “belong” in a space that seems to reject everything she naturally is.

It’s as if, after confronting Warner and realizing he still sees her as less-than, Elle starts to unconsciously tone herself down—not just emotionally, but visually. Her style, once bright, bold, and unapologetically hers, becomes more neutral and conservative. This reflects a moment where even she doubts if being herself is enough. It's not total loss—but it is a moment of dimming her own light.

However, through her own efforts and accomplishments—ones that completely break the stereotype—Elle learns something crucial: that in the end, she only has herself. And that the opinions of others are subjective, fleeting, and ultimately irrelevant if they don’t align with what she knows and feels about herself. This marks the beginning of a deep emotional transformation.

The subjectivity of external opinion is made even clearer when Warner is shocked she got in, simply because he didn’t. As Vivian says, he was waitlisted. His disbelief wasn’t about Elle’s lack of potential, but his own insecurity.

But the turning point comes when she remembers who she is, especially after the encouragement of Professor Stromwell, and later when she takes on Brooke’s case. In reclaiming her strengths—her intuition, warmth, and optimism—Elle doesn’t just succeed; she shines. And with that, the pink comes back. The light returns. Not because she gave in to Harvard—but because she made Harvard meet her on her terms.

From seeking external validation to developing internal self-affirmation. She stops building her self-worth on what others think, and starts being unapologetically herself. She stops interpreting rejection as proof of her inadequacy and instead uses it as fuel to move forward. She not only reaches her goals—she exceeds them. This process involves embracing her authentic self: keeping her style, her kindness, her unique perspective—without sacrificing her ambition.

Her authenticity, far from being a weakness, becomes her greatest strength. And that’s what leads her to real success.

Elle Woods proves that success isn’t about fitting into someone else’s mold—but about having enough confidence in who you are, to move forward without fear.