PAIRING: Ellie Williams x Reader
SUMMARY: Your daughter is a big fan of Ellie and decides to draw her a picture which leads to the both of you meeting for the first time.
CONTENTS: fluff, reader has a child (age 4-5), jackson!ellie.
Ellie Masterlist
ELLIE! who’s first impression of you was seeing you run after a little girl running straight at her. Grabbing her by the back of her little scruffed up pink backpack to pull her back. Apologising about three times before she told you it was okay.
ELLIE! who notices a piece of paper hanging from the kids hand, crouching down to her level to ask her about it. Who couldn’t help but smile when the little one got shy and hid behind your leg slightly but still bravely handed her the piece of paper with a cute little drawing of the horses in the barn on it and a stick figure with ‘Ellie’ written above it on it.
ELLIE! who gasped and pointed to the stick figure with a "Is that me?? Oh look at that hair, on point!” Who looked up at you with a small smile as the kid came out from behind you to point some things out on the picture, which horse was which, how the swirls on the figures arm are her tattoo.
ELLIE! who ruffles the kids hair, saying she’s gonna hang it up on her wall, and stands up again fully. Who waves off the thank you that you give her. Learning your names and calling the kid a "little artist" making her jump up and down excitedly.
ELLIE! who does, in fact, stick the picture on her wall. Who draws a little sketch of the kid and hands it to you one day to give to her.
SYNOPSIS: The space between you and Vi fractures just as Piltover turns its gaze on Zaun. Lines are drawn, loyalties burn, and the person you trust the most is the one lighting the match.
series masterlist | WC: 11,341
CONTENT WARNING: vi x fem!reader. soulmate and enemies-to-lovers au. canon-typical violence, mentions of mass casualty events. a bit of choking. this is such an angsty chapter.
note: took me a long time to write this chapter but i'm happy with how it turned out! hope you enjoy, there’s a lot going on…
“Ah, shit.”
You were too slow to block the blow. Your partner’s fist slams your torso instead of your guard, sharp enough to make you stumble back half a step.
“Again,” someone calls from down the line.
You reset your stance, jaw tight, and your partner nods apologetically before she raises her hands again. You mirror her, forcing your focus forward, but your attention keeps snagging on the sound of boots behind you.
It’s none other than Vi.
As usual, your shoulders tense at the awareness of her being nearby, but you’re no longer bracing for a sharp correction or a barked insult. Your pulse doesn’t spike with irritation or dread as it used to, and you can’t describe the new feeling that settles in your stomach.
You block the next strike cleanly, countering just like you were taught. From the corner of your eye, you see Vi pause a few steps away, arms crossed as she watches the drill play out. Just as you start to think she might say anything —a snarky comment, a correction, just a simple “Good job”—, she looks away and keeps walking.
It shouldn’t bother you, it never did before. But, for some reason, the absence of her attention feels louder than her criticism ever did. You had never thought you would miss her shouting orders or making fun of your failed attempts to actually hit the target, but her sudden disregard for you made you feel uneven.
Deep inside, you were waiting for her to look at you again. And you hated yourself for it.
Out of habit, your eyes flick toward the edge of the courtyard. Vi stands there with her arms crossed and posture rigid, gaze fixed on a handful of trainees who make the drills look so simple and effortless— smooth footwork, precise strikes, the kind of control that comes from confidence and skill.
Vi barely has to say anything. She just gives them a glance and a clear instruction, and they adjust immediately. You could almost see the ghost of a smile on her face, clearly proud of seeing her hard work training civilians paying off.
You swallow and force yourself to look away, suddenly very aware of how clumsy your own movements feel in comparison.
“Earth to (Y/N),” your partner’s singing voice brings your attention back to her. “You good? You’ve been very distracted today.”
You clear your throat, readjusting your stance as you raise your hands. “Sorry. It’s been a long day.”
“Uh-huh… whatever, you ready?”
You nod in response, and she gets into position. Vi’s voice calls out someone down the line, and you know the order isn’t meant for you, but your body reacts anyway. Your muscles tighten on instinct, but your partner was already throwing the next punch.
You block a second too late, the impact clipping your forearm and making you hiss under your breath.
“Oops, sorry!” your partner grimaces, hands reaching out for your arm. “Did I hit you too hard?”
“It’s alright,” you mutter, automatically glancing over at Vi.
Her eyes are on you this time. Her gaze is assessing, even across the courtyard you notice how solid she looks, all muscle and control wrapped in her blue Enforcer uniform. For once, her attention doesn’t make you shrink. It makes you hyperaware instead— of your posture, your breathing, the way your pulse thrums louder.
You look away, heat creeping up your neck for reasons you refuse to think of right now.
The session winds down not long after. The training yard feels different today— there’s less shouting, less nervous energy. People linger instead of lining up, stretching sore arms and laughing like they’ve survived the worst possible scenario together.
You’re sitting down, back resting against a pillar, when you notice Vi and Caitlyn drift toward the center of the yard. The low chatter slowly fades as everyone watches them, too, and Caitlyn steps forward, with her posture straight and hands folded neatly behind her back.
“You’ve all done well,” she says, voice carrying easily across the courtyard. “We understand that, right now, our situation may seem frightening, but all of you stepped up and decided to help protect your neighbors, your homes, and each other.”
Her gaze flicks toward Vi, who stands just a few paces behind her. She crosses her arms, and your attention snags on the definition in her forearms, the muscle shifting beneath her sleeves. You force your eyes away a second too late.
“On behalf of the Council and the Enforcers, thank you,” the sentence sounds practiced, careful in the way official words always are.
Caitlyn nods in approval, returning her attention to the crowd. “Stay alert and stay safe. If you see anything alarming or suspicious, don’t hesitate to come to us.”
“You’re dismissed.”
There’s a moment of applause, scattered but sincere, and people start to move, conversations picking back up as the tension finally drains from their shoulders. You push yourself up, rolling your shoulders as you grab your things, trying to ignore the dull ache settling in your arm and torso.
Your focus drifts back to the courtyard. Vi is already halfway back into her Enforcer role, talking quietly with Caitlyn about patrol rotations and perimeter coverage. Even on the last day, there is no sharp remark thrown over her shoulder or a single double-look at you. Just distance.
It doesn’t matter, you tell yourself as you sling your bag over your shoulder. You’ve survived worse than a little indifference, so why does it sit so uncomfortably in your chest? The realization settles in unwelcome and undeniable: you miss her attention.
“Hey, partner.”
You turn to find your training partner beside you, her expression relaxed now that the drills are over. She offers you a hand, a crooked smile on her lips.
“Guess this is it, huh?”
You shake her hand. “Yeah. End of the program.”
She hums in agreement, glancing around before she takes a step closer. She lowers her voice, as if she didn’t want anyone else to hear.
“Not for me. I’m joining the Enforcers,” she blurts out, her grin widening with excitement. “This program made me want to give it a shot, and I passed the assessments. They offered me a spot.”
For a second, the noise around you fades. There’s a dull pressure you can’t quite name tightening your chest, and your mind has very conflicting thoughts.
On one hand, your head tells you that everyone else seems to know exactly where they’re headed, while you’re still standing in the courtyard, unsure which direction to walk.
On the other hand, there’s a bit of clarity— if your partner could take the step forward, if this program could change something for her, then maybe it wasn’t as impossible as you’d been telling yourself.
“That’s amazing,” you say, and you mean it.
“Thanks,” she bumps her shoulder lightly against yours. “Take care, okay?”
“You too,” you nod, giving her a gentle smile.
With a quick wave, she walks away, excitement in her stride.
Your gaze lingers on her retreating figure before drifting back to where Caitlyn and Vi stand together. You exhale slowly, fingers tightening around the strap of your bag.
Hovering on the edge of things, half-in and half-out, is starting to frustrate you. The city isn’t slowing down, and you want to do things right. You don’t know if this is bravery or stubbornness or just bad timing. Maybe it’s reckless. Maybe Caitlyn will laugh it off or shut you down immediately. Maybe, just maybe, she’ll give you a chance.
Before you can second-guess yourself, you start walking toward them.
You slow as you approach, not wanting to rudely cut into their discussion. Caitlyn and Vi are standing close, heads inclined toward each other in quiet conversation, and you take a second to admire them, or, more precisely, Vi.
Vi’s arms remain crossed, relaxed but attentive. Her brow creases faintly as she listens, lips pressed together in that familiar way she gets when she’s thinking hard— it’s not like I’m always watching, she’s just predictable, you try to convince yourself. There’s nothing sharp about her in this moment, just a quiet intensity that pulls your attention whether you want it to or not.
Focus, (Y/N), you have to remind yourself why you came over in the first place.
“Sorry,” you say finally, keeping your voice light. “I don’t mean to interrupt.”
Caitlyn turns at the sound of your voice, surprise flickering across her face before she smiles. “Oh, hey. You left me hanging the other night.”
You swallow, hands curling briefly at your sides. “Yeah, sorry about that, too. Do you think we could speak… privately?”
Vi’s curious gaze turns to you for a second, before she gives you a silent nod. She turns on her heal and starts walking toward the gate, boots striking the stone with purpose.
“Is it an urgent matter?”
Cait’s voice snaps your focus back into place.
“I, uh, wanted to ask— well, I… do you think I could try out for the Enforcers?”
Her smile falters, not enough to be unkind, but enough that the space between you feels suddenly more formal and measured. The courtyard noise seems to dip around you, conversations blurring into the background.
“That’s…” she exhales softly, choosing her words. Her eyes study your posture, your hands, your face like she’s already weighing the question. “That’s not a small thing to ask.”
You nod quickly. “I understand. I thought… maybe it was worth a shot, maybe if you saw potential in me I could train and do things properly.”
Caitlyn’s expression softens at your words, but it doesn’t disappear entirely. As much as she would love to help and train you, she knows it is not a decision she can take on her own. Not only that, but given the circumstances, they need to weigh all the pros and cons.
“This is not a question I can answer on my own,” she starts, voice gentle but firm. “You were part of Project Unity, so...”
Before you can open your mouth and take back your decision, she raises her voice just enough to carry.
“Vi.”
You glance over Caitlyn’s shoulder, toward Vi’s retreating figure, and you can see how she slowly comes to a stop. Vi turns around, brows knitting together as she walks back toward you, eyes moving between Caitlyn and you.
Oh, she knows this conversation isn’t going to be easy.
“What’s up?”
“I need you to give me a quick report on (Y/N)’s performance during the self-defense program.”
The words make your stomach drop. You feel suddenly too visible. Heat crawls up your neck and settles behind your ears, and you resist the urge to fold in on yourself or stare at the ground. Your fingers curl against the strap of your bag, knuckles pressing into worn fabric like it might anchor you in place.
You hadn’t realized what you were asking for.
“A report?” Vi echoes, genuinely surprised. “Why?”
“You were in charge of her squad,” Caitlyn replies, gesturing between the two of you. “You led Project Unity and you’re the Commander of Enforcement Division. Your assessment matters when we discuss a potential Enforcer enlistment.”
Vi goes quiet.
This is exactly what she didn’t want. She’d spent weeks watching you struggle, get back up, push through bruises and frustration with stubborn resolve. She knows where you fall short —hell, she’s been biting back comments about it for the last couple of weeks—, but she also knows how hard you tried. And now, Caitlyn is asking her to put it into official words right in front of you.
Vi crosses her arms, a familiar posture now, but you notice the hesitation before she speaks. Her eyes are fixed somewhere over your shoulder instead of on you.
“Took hits, but she learned from them,” she starts, exhaling slowly. “Good instincts when she wasn’t second-guessing herself. Didn’t freeze under pressure, if anything it only pushed her further. I’d say she improved… a lot, actually.”
A smile threatens to creep onto your face, and you quickly force it down.
“But it doesn’t mean she’s ready.”
You bite your lower lip, forcing yourself to stay where you are and not jump at Vi’s throat immediately. Caitlyn’s presence is enough to help both of you to remain as calm and professional as you can.
“She doesn’t know how to use firearms,” Vi continues, voice steady but careful. “No live-combat experience. Hand-to-hand fundamentals are there, but not solid enough to hold during a real fight. No tactical training, no field strategy… that sort of stuff isn’t optional.”
There’s no malice in her words, and it only makes them sting more than you expect.
You swallow, heat creeping up your neck. “I—I could learn.”
“I’m sure you could,” Caitlyn says kindly, folding her hands in front of her. “But Enforcer enlistment and training isn’t something we rush.”
Vi’s eyes finally flick to you, and something unreadable flashes across her gaze. The sharp anger you’re used to is gone, replaced by an expression you can’t quite decipher.
She takes a deep breath, and you don’t miss the way her fists clench at her sides. “The situation with the Undercity is tense, we can’t afford the risk right now.”
You nod slowly, even though a tight ache has settled in your chest.
“Right,” you mumble, readjusting the strap of your bag over your shoulder. “I get it. Thank you for your time.”
You turn to leave, already halfway through convincing yourself that this was the right outcome. It had been naive to think you could walk away with anything other than polite dismissal.
“Wait.”
You glance over your shoulder and see Vi standing a few steps behind you, hands planted on her hips. Caitlyn is already walking towards the other side of the courtyard, the flow of people thinning as the yard clears out.
“Come with me.”
It doesn’t sound like a request, and your first instinct is to refuse. Pride flares within you, hot and immediate, but curiosity edges in just as fast.
You hesitate only a second before nodding. “Fine.”
Vi turns without another word, already moving toward the stone archway that leads back into the Council Hall. You follow a step behind, the echo of her boots against the floor setting a pace you struggle to match. A faint numbness lingers in your left forearm, but it’s the dull ache in your torso that’s starting to wear on you.
Inside of the building, the halls are cooler and quieter. Light filters in through tall windows, and you can’t ignore the way it makes Vi’s hair look brighter. She doesn’t slow until she reaches a door set off from the main corridor. She opens it and steps inside, holding it just long enough for you to follow before letting it swing shut behind you.
The room is small, with no decorations or personal touches. A desk is pushed against the farthest wall, papers stacked on top of it in uneven piles, and a coat slung over the back of a chair. A pair of worn bandages are tossed near the edge of the desk, like they’ve been dropped there without a second thought.
Vi exhales as soon as the door clicks shut, the tension in her shoulders easing just a little. She scrubs a hand over the back of her neck and finally turns to face you.
“I didn’t mean to put you on the spot back there,” she says, voice softer now, stripped of the edge she uses in front of others. “That wasn’t my intention.”
You shift your weight, fingers curling around the strap of your bag. “Didn’t come across like it.”
Vi winces. “Yeah. Fair.”
Silence stretches between you, thick and awkward. You’re suddenly very aware of how small the room feels, how there’s nowhere to look that doesn’t land on her— on the crease between her brows, the scar cutting through her left brow, the faint blush along her cheeks, the scar on the left side of her upper lip. Has she always had those scars, or are you just paying attention now?
Vi clears her throat, snapping your focus back into place. “Caitlyn shouldn’t have asked me like that, but she wasn’t wrong either. If you’re serious about this… I needed to be honest.”
“I know,” you reply, even though the words still sting. “That doesn’t make it easier to hear. I just thought… well, it’s just, my training partner said—"
“Maddie Nolen?” Vi cuts in, nodding softly as she now understands where your line of thought is coming from. “She told you she’s enlisted.”
“Yeah… made me think it was worth to ask, you know?”
Vi huffs out a breath, something caught between frustration and something closer to guilt.
“You did better than you think,” she admits. “You worked hard, you didn’t quit. That counts for more than most people realize.”
Your chest tightens at the fact that her words sound so sincere. You weren’t expecting praise, you thought she had led you into her office just so she could reprimand you for even considering joining the Enforcement Division.
Vi’s mouth twists as she carefully thinks of her next words. “But wanting something doesn’t make it safe, and I don’t get to ignore that just because…” she trails off.
“Because what?” you ask, the question slipping out before you can stop it.
You glance back up to her figure. Vi shifts her weight, boots scraping against the tiles. When she speaks again, her tone is gentler.
“I know what it’s like to think wanting it badly is enough. That if you just care more than everyone else, you’ll make it work.”
You let out a shaky breath, folding your arms over your chest as if it could give you a sense of security. “We’ve… fought about this over and over before. I get it, I don’t have what it takes, but why are you telling me all this?”
“Because I was reckless, too,” Vi admits, and a humorless smirk tugs at her mouth. “I rushed in without thinking— No, worse. I used to think I could take anything head on. It only got people hurt and…”
She cuts herself off and her gaze drops to the floor. It’s like everything comes back to her in an instant— her life in the Undercity, her family, all the losses she went through. She doesn’t even know why she’s telling you all of it, but she can’t stop now that she begun.
Your arms tighten across your chest, a thin line of anger cutting through the ache.
“This isn’t fair,” you mumble.
Her head snaps up. “What?”
“This isn’t fair,” you repeat, louder now. The heat in your chest rises, sharp and unwelcome. “You’re talking like I’m some mirror, like I’m just a reminder of everything you regret.”
“That’s not what I’m doing,” Vi argues, but there’s less conviction in it now.
You shake your head. “It sure feels like it. You keep telling me what I don’t understand, what I can’t handle, like I haven’t thought this through at all.”
“Have you?” she shoots back. “You think I woke up one day and decided to throw myself into danger without knowing the cost?”
“No.”
Vi stills. She hadn’t expected the calm and certainty with which you’re speaking right now. The retort dies on her tongue, having nowhere to land. She’s used to you getting defensive, raising your voice and folding under pressure. But you didn’t this time.
“I think you decided it was worth it,” you continue, meeting her gaze. There’s no anger in your eyes now. “You weighed the risk and chose to step forward anyway. And now you’re telling me I’m not allowed to do the same.”
For a moment, Vi can’t tell if she’s angry because you’re wrong or because you’re not. The conviction in your voice sounds a lot like the one she used to carry, back when consequences felt distant and survivable.
She exhales sharply, looking away as if it would help her hold herself back better.
“You don’t know what it costs,” she mutters.
“Neither did you.”
She looks back at you, at the way you’re standing your ground, at the tension in your shoulders, at how much this matters to you. And that scares her the most.
Vi’s jaw tightens. “That’s different.”
“Why? It worked out for you.”
“You call this working out?”
The room feels smaller with every word, the air thickening until it’s hard to breathe. You take a step forward without meaning to, frustration buzzing under your skin.
“Vi, I’m only asking you to see me.”
She laughs softly, but there’s no humor in it. “You think I don’t?”
“Only as a liability,” you snap, so you take a deep breath to keep yourself calm. “I’m so much more than that. You have to stop deciding what I can and can’t survive.”
Vi opens her mouth, then closes it again. Her hands curl at her sides, knuckles whitening, and her head starts to throb. Why is speaking to you such a complicated task?
“You don’t know what survival looks like out there,” she says finally, voice rough and tired. “This isn’t a game. The streets, the Undercity… they won’t care how motivated you are.”
“Funny,” you mutter, bitterness slipping through before you can stop it. “Jinx seems to think I can handle myself just fine.”
Vi freezes.
“What did you just say?”
Oh, shit, you think to yourself. It’s too late to take it back now.
“I said Jinx,” you repeat, heart pounding with anger and something dangerously close to regret.
Vi takes a step toward you, slow and deliberate. The scrape of her boot against the tile is so loud in the quiet room it sends a shiver up your spine.
“Is Jinx the friend you’ve been visiting in Zaun?” she asks, her voice low and roughened around the edges. You nod in response, and she lets out a frustrated sigh. “You shouldn’t be talking to her… you shouldn’t even be fucking near her.”
The words vibrate through the small space between you, and your chest tightens at them.
“You don’t even know her.”
“I’ve heard enough about her,” Vi’s jaw clenches, the muscle jumping beneath her skin.
Heat rushes to your face, your pulse pounding hard enough that you can feel it in your throat. You step closer without realizing you’ve moved.
“You’ve decided what she is without listening or taking a real look,” your voice falters for half a second before steadying again. “Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?”
“That—This is not the same thing,” Vi snaps, gesturing between the two of you. “Jinx, whoever she is, isn’t someone you admire. She’s the type of person you stay the hell away from.”
“Why? Because she doesn’t wear the uniform or follows your rules?” your hands tingle uselessly at your sides, fingers flexing as if they need somewhere to land.
“That’s not what this is about.”
“Then what is it about?” your voice drops, quieter but sharper, threading straight into the space between you. “Because right now, it feels like you don’t trust me to make my own choices.”
Vi drags a hand through her hair, fingers catching briefly before sliding free. She exhales hard through her nose, trying to bleed off pressure before it overwhelms her.
“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” she mumbles. “I just don’t trust anyone who makes you think this is simple.”
“I never said it was simple. I said she didn’t make me feel small.”
That stops her.
For a long, suspended moment, she just stares at you. Her eyes flick involuntarily to your lips, and her breath hitches. You notice the way her chest rises a little too fast before she forces it steady again.
Vi knows exactly what you think of her, she has read about it more times than she can bring herself to admit. But it’s nothing compared to hearing it out loud, to having you say it to her face, even comparing her to an Undercity criminal she knows only through blood-soaked rumors and secondhand warnings.
The fact that you admire and trust this so-called Jinx and lands like a punch she never saw coming. It’s not just anger that flares in her chest, but something uglier and tighter. Whatever version of Jinx you’ve decided to believe in, Vi knows what people like her leave behind: bodies, ruins and ghosts.
The idea that you might look at all that and still choose to defend her does something awful to Vi’s self-control. It makes her feel she’s already losing ground she didn’t realize she cared about.
She clenches her fists, nails biting into her palms, grounding herself in the sting. This isn’t about pride or reputation. It’s about the sudden, unbearable thought that someone else —someone dangerous and reckless— has already managed to reach you in a way she hasn’t.
“You have no idea what you’re stepping into,” her voice is quieter now, almost hoarse.
“And you do?”
Her lips part, but no words come out.
The silence presses down, loud and brittle. You’re standing far too close now, close enough to feel the warmth radiating off her, to catch the faint scent of sweat and leather. Your heart is racing, every beat echoing in your ears.
“I’m not asking you to save me,” you say, your voice barely above a breath. “I’m asking you to stop pushing me away.”
The words hand between you, fragile and exposed. Vi doesn’t answer right away. Her gaze drops, searching for something solid to hold onto. Her shoulders are tight, breath shallow, every line of her body pulled back as if she’s bracing for impact.
You can see it now, clearer than ever. All this time, you thought every dismissal and snarky remark came from a place of apathy and indifference. But seeing her fidget with her hands, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, you finally understand: she’s pushing you away because she cares.
Your heart aches at the realization.
“Vi,” you murmur, taking a small step in her direction before doubt takes over you. The movement is almost hesitant, but it closes what little space remains between you. “You don’t have to shut me out.”
She lifts her head at that, eyes dark and conflicted, and for a moment it feels like the world has narrowed down to the two of you.
“Don’t,” she whispers weakly. It’s not an order, but more of a plead to you and a warning to herself.
Your hand lifts, hovering near her arm, not quite touching. You’re suddenly aware of how close you are, the way her attention feels like a physical weight.
“I’m not afraid of you,” you speak softly, and Vi’s hands start trembling at the way you’re staring at her. “Or of wanting this.”
Something breaks in her expression. Her breath stutters, and when her eyes flick down to your lips again, she doesn’t look away this time.
That’s all it takes for you to close the distance.
You lean in, slow enough that she could stop you, but she doesn’t. When your lips meet hers, it’s tentative at first, almost unsure, like you’re both testing whether this is real. For a heartbeat, Vi is completely still beneath the touch, and she doesn’t know how her hand ended up curled into the fabric of your sleeve.
Then, she exhales into the kiss, a shaky sound she doesn’t bother to hide, and everything shifts.
Her hand slides from your sleeve to your waist, anchoring you there as if she’s afraid you might vanish into thin air. The kiss deepens, full of everything she hasn’t said and everything you’ve been trying to reach.
Your fingers brush her arm gently, and the touch snaps Vi out of her stupor. She pulls back abruptly, hard enough that the sudden absence of her warmth leaves the air between you cold.
“Wait,” Vi says, breath uneven. She takes a step back, forcing herself to obey her head instead of her body. She lifts her hand, palm out as if she’s putting distance back where it belonged.
Her jaw tightens, eyes darting away before snapping back to your face. When she drags a hand down her face, her fingers linger over her mouth like she’s trying to erase the memory of your lips there.
“I—” Her voice breaks off and she exhaled hard, trying to shove the moment back into her chest and lock it there. “This is a mistake.”
The words land heavier than a shout. You don’t try to reach out, instead you opt to watch her, heart hammering, giving her the space she’s clearly fighting for. How could something that felt so real turn wrong so fast?
“Vi…”
Her name is barely more than a breath, but it still makes her flinch.
“No,” she says sharply, finally meeting your eyes. There’s panic there. “Don’t make this into something it’s not.”
“What was it then?” you ask, hurt creeping into your voice despite your best efforts to keep it steady. “You kissed me back… I thought it meant something.”
Her mouth twists as a bitter huff of air leaves her lips. “It didn’t. I screw up.”
Tears prickle at your eyes, but you refuse to let her see you cry. God, what were you thinking? It’s Vi, the girl you have despised ever since you first met. She’s always found the way to get under your skin, of making you feel too much and say too little.
“Look,” Vi says, voice flattening and slipping back into her colder, more familiar demeanor. “You don’t want this. You think you do, because you’re frustrated and angry cause you can’t find your soulmate and you’re looking for something solid to grab onto.” Her eyes flick over you, sharp and assessing. “I’m not it.”
“Wow,” a short, humorless laugh slips out of you before you can stop it. “You really are a dick who doesn’t waste her time, aren’t you?”
“If that’s how you want to put it. I’m just telling you the truth.”
The truth. No, she’s trying to keep you safe. Anyone who gets close to her ends up hurt, and she doesn’t want to hurt you. It’s ironic, because she’s breaking your heart by trying to protect you from herself. But she can’t let you know that.
“And what truth is that?” you demand.
“You’re reading into things,” she says, harsher now, because she needs the words to hurt in order to believe them herself. “You always do. That kiss? It was just the heat of the moment. Nothing more.”
Your chest aches tightly, and you swallow hard, blinking back the tears until the sting dulls into something manageable.
“That’s bullshit. You didn’t pull away because you didn’t want to.”
You can still feel her lips on yours, the way she held you like she was afraid to let go. Now, she’s standing there, looking at you like you’re a problem to be solved.
“I’m not trying to tell you what to feel. I’m telling you it didn’t mean anything to me.”
That one lands clean. The silence that follows is heavy and suffocating.
You don’t argue. You just stand there, staring at her. Something inside your chest has finally cracked. It’s stupid, you think. You should have known better, should have remembered who she is to you: no one.
You tell yourself this ache is nothing more than wounded pride, that it will fade if you give it time. Still, your throat burns, and it takes everything in you not to beg her to take it all back.
Vi feels like she’s just struck herself instead. The words are still ringing in her ears, she can feel the way they left her mouth like a weapon she didn’t want to use but couldn’t drop. She doesn’t miss the way your eyes go glassy with hurt.
That’s the worst part. Because it meant everything to her, but she can’t tell you. She crossed a line she had been drawing for weeks. Everything she carefully folded away every time she opened that damn journal and saw your handwriting staring back at her had been thrown out the window.
Kissing you felt like confirmation, like surrender. And she can’t afford that. If Vi lets herself want you, she’ll drag you into everything she’s running from. The danger, the mess… it terrifies her.
“Fine,” you say at last, clearing your throat. “This never happened.”
Vi stiffens at that, like the idea of pretending there’s nothing between you costs her more than before.
“Good,” she replies, too quickly.
You straighten, pulling yourself together piece by piece. “I promise not to make the same mistake twice.”
Guilt and fear flickers across Vi’s face, but she doesn’t stop you when you turn away.
Your steps are steady as you head for the door, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of seeing you hesitate. But the moment you’re no longer facing her, the tight control you’ve been clinging to slips. A single tear breaks free, sliding quietly down your cheek.
You wipe it away quickly, almost angrily, just as the door opens.
“Ah, sorry,” a familiar voice says.
You nearly collide with Viktor as he steps into the office, a tablet tucked under his arm. He freezes when he sees you, concern flashing across his face almost instantly. His gaze flicks to your eyes, then to Vi behind you, and his expression sharpens with understanding.
“I was just leaving,” you blurt out before your voice can betray you.
Viktor hesitates. “Are you—”
“I’m fine,” you cut in gently but firmly, already moving past him. “Excuse me.”
He steps aside without argument, watching you go. The door closes softly behind you, the sound echoing far louder than it should. Vi doesn’t move, she’s staring at the door like it might open again if she just waits long enough.
Viktor turns to her slowly.
“What did you do?” he asks.
Vi exhales, scrubbing a hand over her face. “What I had to.”
“That’s not an answer.”
She laughs under her breath, sharp and humorless. Viktor studies her as she drips into the chair behind the desk and lets her head fall back in quiet exasperation. He doesn’t miss the way her hands shake, or the hollow, defeated look that settles over her face.
“You should have never given her authorization to cross the bridge.”
Vi’s head snaps forward. The edge is back in her voice now, sharp and defensive. Viktor doesn’t flinch, knowing Vi is just looking for somewhere or someone to direct her anger.
“She was going to cross anyway,” he replies calmly.
“That wasn’t your call to make,” Vi shoots back, pushing herself up from her chair. Her body is buzzing and she needs to walk the feeling off. “You don’t get to decide how much risk she takes.”
“Neither do you,” Viktor says evenly. “I didn’t decide. She did.”
“You enabled her.”
“No,” he corrects gently. “I mitigated the damage.”
Vi stops pacing, hands placed tightly against her hips. She knows it’s wrong to take her frustration out on Viktor, but she can’t stop now. “By what? Handing her a pass and wishing her luck?”
By now, Viktor’s patience has thinned just enough to let annoyance creep into his voice.
“By giving her a communicator.”
“A what?” Vi looks at him stunned.
“A short-range encrypted channel,” Viktor continues. “Emergency use only. If something goes wrong, she can reach someone immediately.”
Vi shakes her head, looking up to the ceiling. Ever since she discovered Viktor was the one who authorized your ‘investigation’, as you called it, she had wanted to speak to him. Of course, she would have preferred it if it happened under different circumstances— on a less chaotic day.
“And you thought that giving her access to the Enforcers’ channel was a good idea?”
“I know it was, because I restricted the signal.”
Her eyes narrow, looking back at him. “Restricted how?”
Viktor sighs, taking a few steps forward until he reaches a chair. He sits down slowly, hesitating for a second, but soon realizes there’s no point in beating around the bush now.
“In only connects to two endpoints.”
“Which are?” Vi asks slowly, sitting down on the chair across from Viktor.
He meets her gaze. “Mine… and yours.”
Fear makes her chest twist, hot and immediate. An unwelcomed image crosses her mind: you alone in the middle of a soiled alleyway, danger closing in, your hand hovering over a device that would summon her.
“You had no right,” Vi says quietly.
“I trust you, Vi. So does (Y/N), whether you like it or not.”
Vi turns away sharply, her gaze snapping back to the door. To the empty space where you stood just moments ago.
The universe seems to enjoy seeing her suffering. No matter how hard she has tried to stay away from you, everything else keeps pushing you closer—being assigned to her squad during Project Unity, Viktor tying your frequency to hers, the devastating revelation of you being her soulmate.
The image won’t leave her head now. Your face set with quiet resolve, the way you looked at her having already made up your mind long before you spoke. The softness of your lips and how easily they fit against hers. The way your body felt under her hands, warm and real and wanted.
And then inevitably comes the part she can’t escape.
The way your eyes welled with tears you tried to hold back. The vacant look you gave her just before you turned away. The way your voice cracked, only for a second.
Vi presses her palm against the desk, grounding herself in the solid weight of it. She did that. She told herself that pushing you away now was better than watching you get hurt later, that this was what protecting someone looked like. It was necessary, or so does she repeat over and over in order to convince herself.
“If anything happens to her…” Vi stops herself, the rest of the sentence lodging painfully in her throat.
“That is precisely why I did this,” Viktor lets out a tired sigh, leaning back against the chair. “Pretending she will stay safe if we deny her agency is a comforting lie. One I am no longer willing to indulge.”
She exhales sharply through her nose, her fingers coming up to press firmly against her closed eyes. “We’re putting her in the middle of this.”
The first time she learned you had gone to Zaun, she should have stopped it immediately. Put your face on every Enforcer notice, denied you access to the Undercity, kept better track of you, made sure you understood how much bigger the picture is.
“She put herself there,” Viktor corrects, interrupting her train of thought. “I simply made sure she has a way out.”
Silence stretches between them.
Vi’s gaze drifts, unbidden, to her desk drawer where her journal is hidden. She had just started bringing it with her everywhere, it became a bad habit she couldn’t break. Like if she kept it close enough, she could keep the truth contained between its pages.
“That means, if (Y/N) presses that button…”
“You’ll be able to find her,” Viktor finishes. “Yes.”
Her throat tightens.
“And if I don’t answer?”
Viktor’s voice softens, a knowing smile settling on his lips. “You will.”
Vi doesn’t respond. Her hand lingers near the drawer, fingers twitching as she considers opening it. She has no need to reread the pages, for she knows the words by heart now.
i kissed her
i kissed vi
i try to tell myself it doesn’t matter because she’s not you
but my heart won’t listen
if you’re really out there… i’m sorry
i don’t know how or when or why
it just happened
i don’t know what i’m doing anymore
it felt right in a way that scares me
You stare at the last line until the words start to blur. The page feels heavier than it should, like it’s accusing you of something you can’t even defend yourself from.
There’s a tight, aching pressure behind your eyes, the kind that makes your chest feel too small to hold everything you’re trying to keep contained. Vi’s face keeps intruding your mind anyway. The way she looked at you right before you turned away, the way her hands had held you like she didn’t know how to let go.
You’re about to close the journal when you see it. A dragged pen line that stops short as if someone pressed down and then thought better of it. Your stomach drops.
You run your fingers over the mark, heart stuttering. I didn’t do this, you think to yourself. You would remember if your pen had slipped or if you had ruined the page.
For one stupid, reckless second, your chest lifts at the thought of your soulmate writing back to you. Then, it sinks in. There’s no message, no words, just proof of their existence. They put the pen to the paper and then decided not to say anything.
The realization hurts in a quieter way than anything Vi had said to your face earlier. There’s no anger, just the hollow certainty that this isn’t absence— this is a choice.
You close the journal, pressing it shut like you can trap the feeling inside. You don’t know what hurts more: that your soulmate is real, or that they’ve decided you’re not worth the words.
The broadcast cuts through the room without warning.
You weren’t really listening at first, it was just background noise while you pretended not to think about anything. But the word fatalities made you turn immediately toward the screen.
Smoke still curls from broken stone and twisted metal, Piltover’s skyline fractured by scorch marks. The anchor’s voice is careful, restrained in that way that means the situation is worse than they’re saying.
“—confirmed civilian deaths following the attack. Authorities believe the device originated from the Undercity—”
Images flash by: shattered glass, Enforcers pulling people from rubble, a glimpse of blue graffiti half-burned into a wall. You feel cold all over, noticing it’s shape: it’s a monkey drawing.
Watch out for the monkeys, Jinx had told you the first time you met.
You thought it was just another one of her strange warnings, half-joke and half-threat, delivered with that crooked grin like she was letting you in on a secret no one else could hear. Now, your stomach twists.
You lower yourself slowly onto the edge of the couch, knees weak. The thought hits harder than anything else. You try to breath through the tightness in your chest, pressing your lips together. There has to be another explanation, the symbol can’t mean what you think it does. You wish for it to be a simple coincidence.
The broadcast continues, moving on to officials, to “next steps, to words like accountability and security measures. You barely hear it, all you can think about is Jinx. Did she do this? Is she okay? Has she always been behind it all?
For the first time since meeting her, since defending her, since insisting there was more to Jinx than what others believe, you’re scared of what the answer might be.
Later at night, there had been another broadcast announcing a public address from the Council. An update, as they had called it. It’s the kind of phrasing that pretends to keep things calm while promising consequences.
By morning, the streets are packed with people, voices overlapping in a restless hum that crawls under your skin.
You stand near the back, close enough to see the raised platform in the middle of the square, but far enough to slip away if things turn ugly. Enforcers line the perimeter, uniforms stiff and polished, hands never straying far from their weapons.
The platform finally fills, and you fold your arms across your chest, nails pressing into your sleeves, grounding yourself in the small sting.
Councilors step into view one by one, their presence is enough to hush the crowd. Jayce stands in front of the podium, his posture rigid in a way you’ve never seen before. Beside him, Mel is composed as ever, but her eyes are sharp as she scans the crowd. Viktor takes a seat behind them. He looks more tired than usual, and the disappointment is clear in his expression.
Caitlyn stands a couple of feet back, hands clasped behind her, face carefully neutral. Vi appears alongside her with her arms crossed and shoulders squared. She stares straight ahead, her expression closed off in that familiar way that reads as confidence to everyone else and restraint to you.
You force your gaze away from her figure as your chest tightens.
Jayce clears his throat, and the murmuring dies down to a brittle quiet.
“Yesterday’s attack resulted in the loss of civilian lives,” he begins. “This is not an incident we can afford to dismiss or downplay.”
Around you, people shift, some even nodding. The air is tense, everyone is holding back their breath as Jayce speaks again.
“Evidence strongly suggests the weapon and the attackers come from Zaun.”
The square erupts.
Shouts cut through the air, overlapping and sharp. Someone near you curses under their breath, another voice yells that it was about damn time. Your stomach twists as if the ground beneath you has tilted.
Jayce raises a hand, waiting for the crowd to quiet down before continuing.
“This does not mean we condemn the Undercity as a whole,” he says carefully. “We are not declaring war. But we will be taking action against those responsible.”
Behind him, Viktor shifts in his seat, his gaze dropping for a moment before lifting again. He looks conflicted, like he already knows where this leads and hates himself for being unable to stop it.
You glance at Vi despite yourself. The way she goes rigid is almost imperceptible, how her shoulders tense and her jaw locks even harder.
Jayce keeps talking about increased patrols, investigations, targeted operations, and cooperation between Piltover and Zaun— which sounds an awful lot like pressure and force wrapped in pretty language.
Your thoughts spiral, and your fingers curl tighter into your sleeves. You think of smoke and rubble and that half-burned monkey painted into stone. You think of Vi’s words yesterday, about how you don’t know the whole story.
And somewhere beneath the fear, beneath the dread clawing it’s way up your throat, one thought keeps repeating, sharp and relentless: if they go looking for someone to blame, they’re going to find Jinx.
By the time you reach the bridge, you already know you won’t be able to cross.
The checkpoint is heavier than usual— more Enforcers, closer together, rifles slung where they can be lifted in a heartbeat. There are no gaps, no blind spots and no patience.
Vi had given you clearance at the gates before, but considering the situation, you didn’t want to risk getting questioned or for her to get called again. You turn before anyone can notice you hesitating, blending back into the crowd with your head down and your hood pulled tight. Your pulse doesn’t slow until you’re two streets away.
So, this is how it starts.
Zaun doesn’t only exist below Piltover. It clings to its edges, running through the spaces the city forgot to seal.
You cut through backstreets, then climb. The first ladder rattles under your weight, bolted to the side of an old warehouse. You climb fast and awkwardly, ignoring the way your calves burn, pulling yourself up onto a narrow ledge just as a patrol passes below.
From there, it’s rooftops. You move low and quick, boots scraping against gravel and rusted sheet metal. The wind up there is sharp, tugging at your jacket. You jump your first gap without thinking.
The second takes more convincing. You back up two steps, heart pounding, then run and leap. Your hands slap against the opposite ledge, and for a terrifying second you think you won’t make it— but then you’re hauling yourself up, chest heaving as you roll onto the roof.
You don’t stop. It’s too late for that.
Down a fire escape. Across a narrow beam. Over a broken skylight you avoid at the last second. You follow instinct more than precaution, letting it carry you forward because stopping means doubt. That’s when you misjudge a landing.
Your foot slips on damp metal, heel slipping out from under you. You crash hard, shoulder and forearm slamming against the edge of a lower roof before you hit the ground in a breathless sprawl.
You clamp a hand over your mouth to keep quiet, curling in on yourself as the ache sets in deep and throbbing. For a long moment, you just lie there, staring up at the underside of the roof you fell from.
This is stupid. You could turn back. You absolutely should.
Instead, you force yourself up, teeth clenched, and test your arm. It hurts when you move it, but you can live with that. You pull your hood lower and drop the rest of the way down into Zaun.
The air changes immediately. It’s thicker, sour with chemicals and smoke. You blend into the crowd, favoring your injured arm, adrenaline still buzzing through your veins.
Any other day, you would have waited for Jinx to come around and look for you. But now, you had no idea how to get to the bridge and no patience for standing still until she arrived.
As you disappear deeper into the Undercity, one thought keeps you moving forward despite the pain and the fear.
If Jinx won’t come to the bridge, I’ll go to her.
Zaun had never welcomed you, but today the hostility is sharper. People linger in doorways, conversations stop the moment you pass, eyes track you longer than necessary.
Jinx had said it was dangerous for you without her by your side, but you decide to keep your head down and walk anyway.
Posters have gone up overnight, warning notices slapped onto rusted walls and cracked pillars. They’re half-ripped already, but you can make out words like curfew, cooperation, inspection. The Enforcers acted rather quickly.
You turn a corner and slow. That’s when you notice the footsteps.
They’re too light to be Jinx’s and too deliberate to be coincidence. When you stop, they stop too.
You glance sideways at a shop window, catching the reflection just barely. A small figure tucked a few steps back, half-hidden behind a stack of crates. A kid.
Your chest loosens a bit, then tightens again when recognition hits. You’ve seen her before. Not often, and never close, but enough times to know. Always perched somewhere nearby when Jinx was around, watching and following her. You used to think of her as Jinx’s shadow.
You start walking again, slower this time to test her. The footsteps follow, and you turn suddenly.
The girl freezes mid-step, eyes wide like she’s been caught stealing. She can’t be more than twelve, maybe younger. Her dark hair is pulled back messily, clothes patched and repatched, hands stained with grease and paint.
When your gaze meets hers, she doesn’t look away. Instead, she lifts one hand and makes a small motion— two fingers flicking, then pointing down an alley.
“You’ve seen her, haven’t you?” you ask softly.
The girl doesn’t answer. She just tilts her head, studying your face like she’s trying to match you to something she already knows. Then she taps her own chest once, points at you and gives a quick, sharp nod.
“You know me,” you murmur, more to yourself than to her.
Her eyes flick briefly to your hands, your stance, and you know she’s checking for weapons. Before you can hesitate, you take a small step toward her.
“Can you take me to her?” you keep your voice low, careful of not being overheard. “I need to see Jinx.”
The girl glances over her shoulder, then back at you, eyes narrowing in warning. She raises one finger to her lips and nods.
She turns immediately, already moving, and you’re forced to hurry after her. She slips through gaps you wouldn’t notice, ducking under pipes, pausing just long enough to listen before darting ahead again.
Your injured arm brushes against a rusted railing trying to keep up, pain blooming sharp and hot. You bite back a hiss, not wanting to slow the girl down.
She notices anyway. She glances back, eyes dragging over your scraped sleeve and the way you’re holding your arm a little too stiff. Her expression hardens, clearly not worried, but annoyed at the unnecessary mistake.
She taps her own forearm, then points to yours and raises her brows.
“I’m fine,” you whisper.
She studies you for another second, shaking her head as she exhales through her nose. Then she turns away, clearly done arguing.
Footsteps echo somewhere above you. Voices, they’re close enough. Enforcers, maybe. Or worse, people who’d sell you out faster.
The girl waits until the sound fades, then reaches out and grips your wrist, tugging you forward faster this time. Her hand is small but strong, grip unyielding.
You realize she’s making sure you don’t turn back.
And as you stumble after her, heart hammering and arm aching, you reach for your communicator without fully realizing it. Your fingers brush its edge, pressing down.
The two of you keep moving for a while, deeper into the Undercity than you had ever been before. The air grows warmer and thicker. The girl slows down once she’s sure you’re both out of danger and guides you toward a narrow stairwell cut into the side of a building, half-hidden behind hanging cables and torn banners.
She stops there, peering down, before looking back at you. Two fingers to her eyes, then she points down. Look.
You step carefully to the edge.
Below, the space opens into a wide, circular pit carved out of old industrial foundations. Scrap metal platforms and welded catwalks are crowded with people. Zaunite workers, smugglers, teens and kids are packed shoulder to shoulder, staring at the same thing— the center platform that crackles with blue light.
Graffiti coats every visible surface, Jinx’s mark is everywhere. Jagged symbols, laughing faces, monkey drawings. Makeshift speakers hang from chains overhead, blasting noise that rattles your ribs.
And then, she steps into view.
Jinx climbs onto the platform like she owns the air itself, boots ringing against metal as the crowd erupts. Her eyes glim as she lifts her arms, soaking in the noise like it’s oxygen. She shouts something you can’t quite hear over the crowd, but the response is immediate. Fists punch the air and voices roar back in approval.
This isn’t chaos. It’s devotion.
Your stomach twists. You’ve waited for her at the bridge, watched the hours slip by, wondering if she was hurt, lost, or dead. And here she is— center stage, alive and glowing, feeding off a crowd that looks at her like she’s a savior.
The crowd eventually disperses, energy buzzing low and dangerous as people peel away. Someone slaps a friend on the back, a few kids scramble for dropped bits of scrap, and the speakers sputter before cutting out entirely.
The pit empties slowly, but Jinx stays where she is. She paces the platform, kicking a loose bolt over the edge, humming to herself as she fiddles with something sparking in her hands.
Out of a sudden, her head snaps up and her gaze meets yours. Her mouth curves into a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.
“Well,” she calls, voice carrying easily through the thinning space. “Look what crawled down from up top.”
Jinx hops down from the platform, landing lightly, and starts walking toward you with that loose, bouncing stride you know too well. She climbs the stairwell, ignoring the curious glances some of her followers give her before they drift away.
The little girl stiffens beside you. She steps half in front of you, small hands clenched, shaking her head sharply.
Jinx’s expression flickers. Surprise, then irritation.
“Isha,” she says sharply. “What’d I tell you about playin’ tour guide?”
The girl stays planted, staring into her eyes without moving even a centimeter.
“I asked her to,” your voice sounds too loud in the sudden quiet. “I needed to see you.”
Jinx looks back up to you. Up close, the energy rolls off her in waves. There’s a faint smear of grease on her cheek, a new cut on her knuckles.
“You needed to see me,” she repeats slowly.
Her eyes flick to your arm, eyes furrowing before settling back to your face.
“Well, you’ve seen me,” she laughs, light and hollow. “You proud?”
Isha makes a frustrated sound in her throat, tugging on Jinx’s sleeve. Jinx shrugs her off gently but firmly.
“Go on,” she mutters without looking. “I’ll catch up.”
The girl hesitates, eyes flicking between the two of you. She offers you one last look, a combination of an apology and a warning, before she steps away.
Now, it’s just you and Jinx. The pit feels too big without the crowd, every sound echoing loudly.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Jinx says at last. “Told you it’s dangerous for you.”
“You didn’t come,” you shake your head. “I waited for days and… well, you never came to the bridge.”
She tilts her head. “Yeah. Got busy.”
“People are dead,” the words stumble out before you can soften them. “Piltover’s talking about retaliation, Enforcers, raids.”
Her smile tightens, and she leans back against the wall.
“Means they noticed. Fucking finally!”
You gesture helplessly at the walls, the symbols, the scraps scattered on the floor. “This isn’t a message, Jinx. There’s blood on your hands now.”
“Oh, is it?” she snaps. “Didn’t hear you crying when it was our blood in the gutters.”
“Don’t do that,” you say quietly. “Don’t act like I didn’t care. You know damn well I do.”
Jinx’s eyes flick to yours and she straightens slowly, pushing off the wall.
“Why are you here?”
You swallow, throat tight. For a moment, you stay silent, for saying it out loud would make everything real in a way you can’t undo.
“I was scared,” you admit, voice cracking for a second before you regain composure. “Up there… it’s a mess. And you just vanished without a warning.”
Jinx scoffs. “I disappear all the time.”
“People are getting hurt. Enforcers are going to come down here looking for someone to blame,” you continue.
Something flashes across her face then, too fast to fully catch. Hurt. Fear. Conviction. Maybe all three.
“So what?” she shrugs. “You come to give me a warning? A boring lecture?”
“I came because I needed to know if this was really all you.”
“Congrats, you found me,” she gives you a lopsided smile before she gestures around you, at the pit and the remnants of the rally. “This? This is the first time your city is listening to us.”
“They’re listening because they’re afraid,” you mumble, taking a step forward. “Fear doesn’t fix anything, it will only make it worse.”
Jinx steps closer too, invading your space, eyes bright and unblinking.
“Fear gets results,” she clarifies, staring straight into your eyes. “Fear will get us food, medicine, fucking clean air. It will keep Pilties from stepping on us like bugs.”
“How many more people will have to suffer before it’s enough?”
Her mouth twists and the silence stretches, heavy and aching. She lets out an exasperated sigh, shaking her head.
“I didn’t want you to see this part,” Jinx admits, quieter now.
You can almost see the wheels on her head turn as she thinks of her next words.
“You could stay,” she says suddenly. Her voice sharpens. “You don’t have to go back up there, to them. They’ll never pick you.”
Your chest tightens as the words hit too close to home.
“You don’t belong in Piltover,” Jinx continues. “You belong here. With us.”
“No, I just—” you falter, frustration bleeding into your voice. “This isn’t okay, Jinx. You need to stop.”
Jinx’s eyes narrow, something sharp and wounded cutting through the brightness.
“Stop?” she echoes. “You think I can just tell them to stop? That if I play nice enough, Piltover will suddenly grow a conscience?”
“I’m saying this isn’t saving anyone,” you insist, emotion cracking through. “It’s just trading lives. I can’t do that.”
“You don’t have to do anything. You just have to stay.”
She reaches out, fingers brushing your sleeve almost unsure. You hiss at the pang of pain that spreads through your arm, but she leaves her hand there anyway.
“You know what it’s like to be unwanted up there. They look at you and they see a problem, a risk,” her voice lowers, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Down here, you’d matter. If you bleed, we bleed… we’ll pick you and fight for you if you do the same for us.”
The offer is tempting. Not because you agree, but because you’re so tired of feeling unwanted. You think of the Council Chambers, of Vi’s closed-off stare, of being talked around instead of listened to.
But you remember the little girl at the bridge from months ago, the scared civilians who joined Project Unity, the broadcast that announced fatalities at the latest attack.
“I can’t,” your voice comes out broken. “I won’t. Not like this.”
Her hand drops.
“So that’s it,” Jinx says, a brittle laugh slipping out of her mouth. “You draw the line where things get ugly.”
“No,” you shake your head. “I draw it where people die.”
“Wake up, sweetheart,” she says coldly. “People are dying up there? Good. People have been dying down here forever, and no one gave a shit. You’re no better than them— all morals until it costs you comfort.”
“You know that isn’t true… this isn’t fair,” you murmur, your body buzzing with fear. You had never seen this manic side of Jinx.
“Neither is the Undercity,” she fires back. “And I thought—” she stops herself, jaw clenching. “I thought you were different.”
A faint, almost imperceptible beep cuts through the air.
Jinx freezes. Her gaze drops to your figure, eyes narrowing. “What’s that?”
Before you can answer, she rips the communicator off its holster. She inspects it for a moment, and the air goes still around you.
“Oh,” she says after a beat, voice eerily calm. “You brought a leash.”
“No— Jinx, listen—”
Her disappointment is worse than her anger. Jinx’s face goes still in a way you’ve never seen before. There’s no smirk, no laugh, nothing. Her mouth presses into a thin line, her gaze empty as if something vital has shut off behind her eyes.
“So that’s it,” she lets out a humorless laugh. “All this time…”
She looks at the communicator again, then back at you, like she’s reassessing every word you’ve ever said. Everything was a lie, she says to herself.
“You brought them here,” she says quietly.
“No, I— It was just for emergencies. I never used it.”
“You used it now,” she cuts in sharply.
Her fingers tighten around the device, and the plastic creaks under the pressure.
“You know what this makes you?” she asks, sighing in disappointment. “A risk.”
“I didn’t come to hurt you,” you say desperately. “I came because I was worried… because I care for you.”
Jinx laughs once. “Yeah. And look where caring gets us.”
In one swift motion, she hurls the communicator against the wall. It shatters on impact, sparks skittering across the floor. Your stomach drops and you take one step backwards.
“Jinx—”
Her hand snaps out, grabbing you by the collar and slamming you back against the metal support beam behind you. The impact knocks the air from your lungs, and shots a pang of pain through your injured arm. Her grip tightens, fingers wrapping around your neck and squeezing just enough to make you panic.
She’s stronger than she looks, adrenaline sharp and unforgiving.
“You don’t get to play us,” she snarls, face inches away from yours. “Not anymore.”
Your vision blurs, heart hammering against your chest. “Please.”
For a second, doubt flickers in her eyes. A ghost of the girl who warned you about the Undercity, who took you under her wing and laughed like the world hadn’t already taken everything from her.
Then, it’s gone.
“If you’re not with me, you’re in the way.”
She raises her hand and you close your eyes, bracing for the impact.
“Hey!”
The shout cracks through the space like a gunshot.
Jinx spins, startled, grip loosening just enough for you to gasp in a breath. Heavy footsteps pound against concrete, and a familiar figure barrels into the room. All force and fury and barely contained panic.
Vi doesn’t hesitate.
She slams into Jinx, knocking her sideways, metal clanging as bodies collide. The impact sends Jinx stumbling back a few steps, boots scraping against the concrete before she regains her balance with a sharp twist of her body.
Her eyes flick to you and she laughs, wiping at the corner of her mouth. “Wow. You really collect strays, huh?”
You suck in a shaky breath, lungs finally remembering how to work. Your body slides down the beam just enough to steady yourself, fingers digging into the cold metal behind you.
Vi barely has time to brace before Jinx crashes into her, the two of them colliding hard enough to rattle the room. Metal shrieks somewhere above as Vi slams Jinx into a wall, and the blue-haired girl laughs as she takes the hit, feral and breathless.
“Is that all you got?” she asks, and then she knees Vi in the ribs.
Vi grunts, staggers back half a step, then comes back harder. They move like opposites. Jinx fights like chaos given a body, unpredictable and fast, slipping through Vi’s guard with infuriating ease.
Vi counters with brute force and discipline. She drives Jinx back and down, pinning her hard against the floor. The metal groans beneath her weight as Vi plants a knee at her side, one hand braced at her shoulder while the other grips Jinx’s wrist to keep her still.
“Stay down,” Vi snaps, breath coming fast.
Jinx struggles once, sharp and violent, then stills. Her eyes flash with feral irritation.
“You done?” she scoffs.
Vi doesn’t answer.
For the first time since the fight begun, she notices Jinx’s electric blue hair, wild and uneven. The eyes are too bright, burning with the same unhinged spark Vi has spent years struggling to remember.
Her gaze drifts to the room around them. Makeshift bombs in various stages of assembly, wires twisted together with almost obsessive care, half-finished devices scattered across the floor. They’re built smarter and deadlier, but the logic behind them is the same.
Like the toys she used to make.
Vi’s grip falters, fingers loosening before she realizes she’s letting go. Her chest tightens, breath catching painfully in her throat.
Jinx feels it immediately. She shoves Vi off her and scrambles back to her feet, boots skidding as she takes a few steps back.
She doesn’t attack. Not yet. Instead, she tilts her head, eyes narrowing, studying Vi like she’s the unpredictable variable now. Suspicion flickers across her face, sharp and calculating.
Vi’s heart is pounding so loud it drowns out everything else. The memory hits her hard and fast: scraped knees, the same reckless confidence and refusal to slow down, a voice insisting I can do it, I can, just watch.
Jinx’s gaze flicks briefly to you, then back to Vi. Her shoulders roll back as she raises her hands again, fists clenched, braced for the next hit.
Vi swallows. When she speaks, her voice comes out rough and uncertain.
“…Powder?”
NEXT PART: coming soon...
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Loser!Ellie just so happens to host radioactive spider powers. You just so happen to be her girl of interest.
Chpt. 11 | Spider-Girl...?
Ellie didn’t have many friends in Queens. In fact, she didn’t have any. Freshman year of high school was bland, boring. The girl didn’t care much for social gatherings or homecomings. The want to be included sat in the back of her chest, but it always seemed out of reach when she didn’t have anyone to go with—that, and it wasn’t her crowd, nobody seemed to be.
She’d come home after school, say hi to Joel, and trudge into her room with a hunch to her back and a hoodie on her head.
Ellie wasn’t a bad student. In fact, she passed all of her classes with flying colors. It was almost boring, really. When the work was finished—much ahead of other students, a mere twenty minutes into the class—she would get in trouble for fiddling with her pencil, drawing mindlessly with sheer boredom.
“Not attentive to lessons,” her report card would complain, which resulted in Joel pestering her at the kitchen counter when he ripped it open, earning a “What’s this all about?”
So no, Ellie wasn’t a bad student, in her terms. And if you asked her, she was smarter than the teachers.
Autumn was her favorite. School had more breaks in between, and she was able to spend more time at home. Joel would never say it out loud, but he enjoyed it too when Ellie had time off to spend at home with him, watching action movie classics and debating on whether or not Die Hard was a Christmas movie. Ellie didn’t feel alone during breaks more than how alone she felt at school, because at home, Joel was there.
Thanksgiving break was one of the things she looked forward to all year—November and December were her months. The bus ride home on the Friday she got off for her two-week break was pure gold. The trees (a scarcity in New York) were nearly bare, the sidewalks glistened with fresh mist, and she was listening to music—a god tier combination, in her opinion.
The walk home from the bus stop was short, but even better than the ride. A soft chill in the breeze, petrichor carrying through it, the soft hustle of other people.
But Ellie paused near her house.
A cop car sat parked in front of the curb. Never once had a cop parked there. She climbed the steps, her Converse scuffing the wet pavement.
And when the door opened, the sound of Tess, an old friend, Ellie was always pestering Joel about. “Just take her out already,” she was sitting at the kitchen counter with two officers, answering questions with a tissue clutched in her grasp, others balled up on the counter in haste. And when her eyes met Ellie’s, she froze, red-rimmed eyes widening with uncertainty.
And when the news came, Ellie felt her knees wobble, the floor collapse from below.
Joel was shot. Joel was dead.
Ellie didn’t lash out often, yet her initial reaction was anger. Yelling, cursing, and shouting at the cops for not doing anything. She didn’t even know who shot him, what happened. All she heard was death. Joel was dead.
Ellie spent her Thanksgiving break alone.
In fact, she hadn’t left her room once. She had lain in her bed for such long periods at a time that her body no longer knew the feeling of being upright. Ellie didn’t watch any movies, Ellie didn’t eat, Ellie didn’t speak.
Tess would force her to eat, but once she left the room, the food went untouched. Cold on the plate set gingerly on her bedside.
A week into her break, Tess approached her. This time without food or water.
“Ellie?” A soft knock at her door made her lift her eyes. She was hidden under the covers, her duvet a lump of limbs and warmth that no longer knew movement. Tess peeked through the door as though she were a ticking bomb.
Her eyes were a response; Ellie kept Tess’s gaze as she waited for her to speak up for what she needed. The woman in the doorway took a breath and stepped into the room, pausing to decide whether or not to shut the door behind her. She fiddled with something in her hand, paper.
“I wanted to talk to you about something…” She took a seat at the edge of Ellie’s mattress; the girl under the covers stayed still; she had no energy to do much else, “to pick your brain.” Her voice was slow and even, like Ellie was a scared animal that needed soothing. Ellie didn’t need soothing; Ellie needed Joel.
“Okay.” It was the first word she had spoken out loud in a week. And it came out hoarse and dry. She didn’t bother sitting up or pushing her bangs from her face. Her hoodie stayed over her head, making no move to get rid of it.
“You’re smart, kid.” She took a breath. “You’ve got 4.0 as a freshman.”
Ellie’s brow furrowed. Was this the topic Tess chose? Out of all of the things that needed to be spoken about? Everyone had a 4.0 if they tried hard enough. But that was the thing. Ellie didn't have to try at all.
“I heard a little while back that you weren’t paying attention, or—from what your report card said.”
“How’d you get that?” Ellie croaked. Tess’s gaze fell, face going a little softer.
“…Joel showed me a little while back, complaining about the notes teachers left.” His name from her mouth was tender. Having not spoken about him since his name was uttered at the kitchen counter a week ago. “He knew you were a good kid, so he was flustered about how they portrayed you.”
“You’re bored, aren’t you?” Her voice came out softer, like she already knew the answer. Ellie felt silly—it seemed egotistical to say Yeah, I’m smart as fuck, and regular class is boring.
“Yeah.” But she said it anyway.
Tess simply nodded, eyes searching her face for anything of use. Anything she could read. Ellie’s eyes weren’t done, they weren’t cold, they weren’t even sad. They were vacant.
“There’s a ton of science and math schools in Manhattan—or tech, I’m not sure which you prefer, but I think you might like them…” She spoke, a hushed, careful tone, presenting the idea. Her eyes flicked to the paper still in her clutch.
Ellie paused at the thought; a new school didn’t seem bad; she didn’t have a social life to leave behind, but that wasn’t the issue.
Manhattan was an hour away.
An hour away from her home, from where she grew up, an hour away from where he used to live. Used to.
As though Tess could read her mind, she spoke again.
“It would be a move…But I think it would be good for you.” The paper was suddenly held out to Ellie, small writing columns and images of students—a pamphlet. “Just...take a look? You don’t need to make a decision right now, but I’d like for you to be open to the idea.”
The girl took it, filling the tense room with a small rustle of paper.
Tess left without another word, leaving Ellie with her thoughts. Her grief. And that damn paper.
And all of a sudden, Ellie was moving to Manhattan.
Grief, wounds, and old memories were packed into boxes. Tess packed Joel's things after Ellie had tired and failed. She was found in the living room, hands cradling his favorite acoustic guitar. Shoulders hunched over herself like she tried to shrink into her own body. Ellie didn’t speak a word for the rest of the day while Tess picked up the pieces.
Moving in the middle of freshman year was a hassle, boxes still piled in her new room—a room that was a little smaller, but not something to complain about—her schedule was something thrown together last minute by the poor school counselor, a small, meek woman who had way too many tabs open and hundreds of papers scattered across her desk,
And Ellie had no friends. Not much of a change there, but the unfamiliar environment added a little more to it. A little more shake to her hand when she handed in papers or a little more dread when she sat alone at lunch, hunched in the corner like it would make her seem smaller. Make the time pass by quickly.
Then, Ellie met Jesse. She hated to admit it, but Tess was right. Classes actually had a challenge to them. Ellie almost looked forward to her upper mathematics each time the bell rang for second period. But one morning, the seating chart had been jumbled. Changed without notice.
When Ellie slumped into her new chair—thankfully in the back of the class, a corner—a tall guy sat in the seat next to her with an equal huff and a plop to his bag. His hair was a dark, grown-out, mullet-like shag, ruffled. She couldn’t tell if it was intentional or a general bed head.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the guy giving Ellie a once-over, then a double-take.
“pssst.” Ellie tried to ignore him. He most likely was looking for someone to kick at, and this teacher talked fast. Her pencil couldn’t keep up.
The boy’s chair creaked, leaning to the side a bit closer towards Ellie. He didn’t get the damn hint. “Hey.”
She finally looked up from her paper, an expectant, but reclusive gaze. Her pencil creaked between her fingers; she gripped it like it might prevent any form of psychological—or physical—warfare from happening.
The guy took a quick glance at the whiteboard, making sure the teacher was busy looking at something else, before turning back to Ellie.
“You new?” He whispered, eyes a doe brown. His brow stayed furrowed, like Ellie was a puzzle.
The girl hesitated, almost weighing her options.
“Yeah…” She murmured back, irises flickering around the boy for any hint of trouble.
He opened his mouth to respond—
“Jesse.” The teacher called out, his head whipped forward to the board.
“Could you answer number twelve for me, please?” The teacher cocked a brow, folding her hands in front of her hips.
“Uh…” Jesse sputtered, flipping through his packet—which he hadn’t touched—“Question A?”
“Yes,” The teacher let out an exasperated sigh.
Ellie took a glance down at her work; she had answers—the entire first paper. And when she slid them to Jesse with quiet reluctance, she could see a small breath leave his body. Relief.
“Twenty-four?” His gaze flicked up to the board, eyes squinted like he was about to be hit.
The teacher was unfazed, but let his answer slide. She turned back to the board, continuing the lesson with an occupied tone.
Jesse later introduced Ellie to Dina, his charming girlfriend. Dina welcomed Ellie like an old friend—with her, she didn’t feel new. Lunch became a habit, something she looked forward to.
She got texts from them, they remembered things like how she would forget her headphones—Dina would remind her in the morning with a quick message—Jesse knew the window of opportunity Ellie saw to make a punny joke. Dina would bring Ellie an extra orange because she would constantly steal slices from her.
Ellie suddenly had friends. Two good ones.
Joel still hung in the back of her mind, like the frayed edges of polyester, or when you stare at a light for too long and it leaves a mark on your eyes once it goes out. She kept his coat in her closet—swiped it when Tess had been going through boxes—and she would never admit it out loud, much less be caught doing it, but the nights when she felt that extra grief, the heavy kind that you can’t shake off with a shower or consuming media, she would put it on. Ellie would lie down in bed with the jacket larger than her frame and inhale what was left of his smell. His musky cologne and soft tang of a Marlboro Red. Tess took up more clients—Manhattan had more legal cases, and she quickly became recognized for her damn good lawyer skills. Ellie would wake up from a nightmare, force herself downstairs for a glass of water, and find her awake. at the kitchen counter. The computer illuminated her face as she worked on cases and files. Tess was strong, but Ellie knew the only way for her to stay like that, to hold herself up for the people around her, was to become so engrossed in work that she didn’t have time to think, to let her grief or poor thoughts catch up with her.
The end of freshman year was starting to roll around, and she walked to math class with her music blasting—The Cure—in her headphones. Her shoulder collided with another student, hard.
“Oh—my bad—“ The girl froze, and so did Ellie at the sound of that familiar voice. The voice that had grated on her nerves since middle school.
Abby’s jaw was slackened, paired with a small twitch to her brow if she couldn’t believe Ellie had appeared mid-year. Out of all of the damn high schools in Manhattan, she showed up at this school.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Her voice was laced with spite. Venom. Her lip curled, and Ellie’s guard locked right up.
“…going to my next class? That’s school, I fear.” Her tone remained stagnant, unamused. One of the many ways Ellie learned to tick Abby off.
The blonde didn’t say another word; she simply turned on her heel and stormed down the hall, away from where Ellie stood, who was slightly dumbfounded. The universe was picking on her, she was sure of it.
And then, sophomore year, Ellie was bitten.
At first, it looked like a red, swollen mosquito bite—itchy, annoying, nothing special. She didn’t even notice how bad it was until the bathroom mirror caught it one morning. She was brushing her teeth when she realized that damn bump hadn’t gone away. Still scratching at it, she leaned closer.
And—oh, fuck. That was not a mosquito bite.
Over the next few weeks, things started to change. Subtly, at first. She was stronger. Faster. Her pencil could keep up with her teachers now, and she didn’t need to think before reacting. Once, when Tess dropped a glass across the kitchen, Ellie lunged forward and caught it halfway through the air—both of them staring, wide-eyed.
Then came the morning that broke her brain.
It wasn’t because she was late for class—it was Saturday. Ellie lost her shit because she woke up horizontally…on her ceiling.
She opened her eyes, feeling a weird, floaty lightness in her head that vanished the second she realized where she was. Gravity returned with a snap; she dropped onto her bed with a heavy thud. What the fuck was happening to her?
Eventually, she learned to live with it. As bizarre as it was, she couldn’t exactly file a complaint. And if she told Tess, she was pretty sure a lobotomy would be scheduled before dinner. So she kept it quiet.
Becoming Spider-Girl wasn’t some cinematic transformation—it was slow, awkward, trial and error. She experimented, discovering she could stick to walls, ceilings, pretty much anything. Then came the strength. One morning, she went to grab her backpack, expecting the usual heave—and launched it across the room instead.
From there, she started testing limits: her desk, her bed, anything she could get her hands on.
And for a while, that was it. Weird party trick. Secret circus act. Ellie figured she’d just… coexist with it.
Until one night, walking home from being sent to the store by Tess, she heard a scream.
It came from the alley across the street—a short, sharp sound. Ellie froze. She told herself not to get involved, that it was probably nothing, but her body didn’t listen. Before she could think, she was running.
A guy had a woman pinned against a wall, his hand around her bag strap, another with a knife to her throat.
She shouted first, instinctively, and when the guy turned—
The world slowed down. His punch came at her like a lazy wave, and she dodged it easily. She didn’t mean to hit back, but her arm moved before her brain caught up—and he flew. Not stumbled, not tripped—the fucker flew.
He hit the ground hard, groaning, and scrambled away without a bite of hesitation.
Ellie stood there shaking, breath heavy, adrenaline rushing. The woman ran off without a word. Sirens echoed in the distance.
That was the moment it hit her—not just what she could do, but what it meant. It wasn’t all that freaky or weird anymore, because she realized she could help people.
Her first “suit” was a hoodie—black, oversized—and a cheap ski mask she found at a convenience store. She cut holes for the eyes, tied her hair back, and hoped no one would notice how ridiculous she looked.
It worked…mostly.
The web-shooters came next.
The girl was fast, but bingeing spider documentaries—trying to figure herself out—made her realize she was missing something. Webs.
And if there was one thing Ellie Williams knew, it was tech. Old laptops, controllers, busted drones—she’d been taking them apart since middle school.
So she raided old boxes. Scrap metal. Wires. Bits of old hard drives. The result looked like something between a smartwatch and a flamethrower, but when she finally pressed the trigger and a line of web shot out—real, elastic, functional—she laughed so hard she almost fell out of her chair.
The web fluid was the hardest part. Chemistry wasn’t her strong suit, but she knew enough from online rabbit holes to figure out the basics. Elastic polymers. Solvent mix ratios. Late nights spent in her kitchen, goggles on, trying not to blow shit up. Eventually, she nailed the formula: stretchy, durable, dissolving after a few hours. Perfect for swings. And once she saw it all come together—the shooters, the webs, the hoodie and mask—she felt it for the first time.
The weight of it. The potential.
Word spread. A masked vigilante swinging from the buildings of New York (clumsily). She made the news more than once, in fact, a couple of times a month. And when a reporter stopped her mid-getaway one time, she was asked for her name.
Ellie froze, she didn’t have a superhero—if that’s what she was, way to toot your own horn, Williams—name. She had to go; Police radio chatter in her earbud indicated another break-in. So she spat something out, the first thing that came to mind.
“Uh—Spider-Girl…?” The answer came out like a question, but it stuck.
Ellie was getting good at this.
Better than good.
Three months of late-night patrols, half the city’s rooftops memorized, and she’d learned to swing without face-planting into brick. And she could travel faster than ever; she’d swing from the Bronx to Queens and back to New York City. Progress. Lots of it. Her hoodie was torn at the sleeve, and December began to peek through with cold nights, so she had to double-layer. Her mask still smelled faintly of duct tape, but she was doing it.
That night, she’d stopped a mugging outside a bodega in Queens. Two guys, a gun—easy fix. She tied them up with webbing and left before the cops arrived. Classic Spider-Girl exit.
She ducked into an alley, pulling the ski mask halfway up her face to breathe. Her web-shooters clicked softly as she reset the cartridges. Streetlights hummed. The city buzzed.
Then a car pulled up.
Not just any car—a long, sleek black limo that did not belong in this part of Queens. It purred to a stop at the mouth of the alley, far too quiet.
The door opened before she could move.
Tony Stark stepped out. No cameras. Just him, in a dark suit, sunglasses even though it was past midnight, and an expression that didn’t have an ounce of guessing. Tony. Stark.
“Ellie Williams,” he said simply.
Her stomach dropped. “...Who?”
He didn’t smile. “The mask helps, but not enough. We’ll work on that.”
Ellie shifted her weight, glancing toward the fire escape near her side. “You stalking high schoolers now?”
“I’m recruiting them.” His tone was dry, almost flat. “You’ve been swinging around the boroughs for about six weeks. Makeshift gear. Homemade webs. Which, by the way, dissolve in approximately ninety minutes. Smart design.”
He stepped closer, just enough to make her still.
“You’ve got talent,” he continued. “And zero strategy. You’re gonna get yourself killed, or someone else.”
Ellie swallowed. “So you came to threaten me?”
“If I wanted to threaten you, you’d know.” Tony’s voice was quiet, factual. “I’m offering something else. Guidance. Resources. A chance to stop doing this like it’s an after-school activity.”
She didn’t answer. Her hand flexed near her web-shooter, reflex more than intent.
Tony glanced at it. Then looked her over once more—efficient, calculating. He reached into his coat, and Ellie flinched. She felt silly after he pulled out a business card, holding it out to her between his index and middle fingers.
“So,” Tony readjusted his suit, “You can keep hiding behind a ski mask and duct tape, or you can do something useful with it.”
He turned back toward the limo, opening the door. “Think about it.”
The door shut, and the car slipped away like it had never been on the curb.
Ellie stood there for a long moment, the city noise creeping back in. Her hands were still shaking—just slightly.
“Do something useful with it.”
She hated how much that stuck.
Jesse wasn’t supposed to figure it out. But Ellie also wasn’t supposed to have her suit—shiny, new, something Stark gave her a few months after training with him—just hung in the back of her closet. Stupid? Yes. Very.
Jesse wasn’t naturally snoopy. Usually, he minded his business.
But Ellie had been buried in her tech homework, half-listening while he rummaged around her room looking for a jacket. When he asked if he could grab one, she just hummed—a distracted, noncommittal sound that apparently translated to go ahead, ruin my life.
He took it as permission.
By the time she looked up, Jesse was already rummaging through her closet. Ellie shot up so fast her chair screeched across the floor. “Wait—don’t—”
Too late.
His hand slipped past Joel’s old work jacket and landed on something smooth. Elastic. Different.
Spandex.
Jesse froze. His fingers pinched the fabric, brow furrowed as realization slowly dawned. He pulled it out—red and dark navy, faintly webbed under the light.
Ellie’s mouth opened, then closed again. Her brain scrambled for an excuse. Any excuse. “It’s, uh—it’s a cosplay thing,” she blurted out. “You know, big fan. Comic-con and—yeah, no, I dress up sometimes.”
Silence.
Jesse just stared at her, unreadable. And for a solid five seconds, she thought maybe—just maybe—he’d buy it.
Then that grin broke.
Wide, disbelieving, way too happy. Ellie groaned.
“Oh my god,” he breathed, running both hands through his hair. “You’re Spider-Girl.”
“Jesse—”
“You’re actually Spider-Girl!” His laugh came out somewhere between a yell and a gasp. “This is insane—this is amazing—you have to let me be your guy in the chair.”
Ellie dropped her face into her hands. “You’re not my guy in the chair.”
“Oh, I’m so your guy in the chair,” he said, pacing her room like he was already drafting blueprints. “Tech support, comms, moral support—I’ve been training for this my entire life.”
Ellie groaned again, but the corner of her mouth twitched despite herself. She was doomed.
Synopsis ; Ellies need for revenge is killing you both, a slow, grueling cycle that is just as dangerous as she is. How far are you willing to go for her?
Warnings/contents ; ANGST. im serious, not a single drop of fluff, mentions of cannon typical violence, Ellie Williams x reader, no use of y/n, complicated love, not much else i don't think..
Now playing.... ; 4 morant (Better luck next time)
Notes; I've had this in my draft for a bit and decided to finish it!! Just a quick oneshot 🖤
Wc; 1.3k
The change you noticed in Ellie wasn't subtle. It was all teeth and bones. It was raw. Scary. Grief masked with anger and hands that twitched for revenge, her movements were no longer human. She was cold, calculated like she was running on instinct. Sure, Ellie was alive in the flesh, but her insides, what made Ellie, Ellie, were stripped and buried back in that mansion.
She was running off fumes, joints aching and her body was painted with wounds, her need for revenge was sickening. Sunburnt shoulders that have seen better days, and eyes that have been awake so long they twitch and flicker. Ellie Williams was gone. She had been for months. Arms once so warm and inviting, were filled with bruises and battle wounds, blood staining her skin, so much it was hard to tell where hers started and others faded. She was an animal. She bore teeth that ripped people apart, she stood on her toes and didn't hesitate when shooting. Ellie was a force to reckon. Shoot first, think later, or never.
You could only do so much. You were the one who insisted you come with her, insisted you help. You were the one who begged, begged to come with her. She caved, agreeing. How couldn't she? You watched as she packed her bag to Seattle with urgency, hands already shaking with anticipation. She needed your help if she wanted to find Abby, right? You told yourself to justify the fact you just couldn't leave her. You would feel better if she didn't go alone, it wasn't about helping her, it was about monitoring. Maybe you'll feel better about yourself then. This was about revenge. Right?..
Of course it is. It was always about revenge. Ellie's need to rip Abby apart, to hurt her like she hurt Joel, the want for justice, and revenge tip toed on the thin line of insanity. Her line of right and wrong blurred, and it was only getting worse. Maybe this was a project too big to handle. Maybe you should've thought this through. Ellie was jumping straight into the deep end, with no knowledge on how to swim. And she's dragging you down with her.
But this is what love is about, right? Staying together no matter what? You loved Ellie. You loved her sweet smile, her emerald green eyes, freckles that looked like the constellations she was obsessed with.
But how far were you willing to go? You loved Ellie from the moment she showed you around Jackson. You had watched how her hands, calloused from years of guitar playing, hands you used to hold and kiss every bruise on her knuckles, now grip her pistol and switchblade like it's her lifeline. You were hundreds, if not thousands of miles away from home, and between the miles of riding on horseback, and walking, the idea of why you were here, of why you were all doing this in the first place, blurred. Was it your undivided loyalty to the girl you loved? Maybe you needed some sort of revenge too. Maybe you felt some sick sort of gratification from doing this with her. Your head throbbed, spinning with nausea. You had watched her change, watched the women you love slowly get stripped down. You saw how her morals slowly but surely faded, sliding down her wrists like it was just another drop of blood.
You trailed behind her slowly, your chest felt heavy from exhaustion. You didn't know how long you'd been walking, or how far, but you kept following. You felt like a dog, obligated to follow her lead. You drank the drops of affection she gave with an almost starving greed, it was like a drug, She was like a drug. And God was she addictive.
You watched her from ahead, her pace slow but determined. She held her gun by her side, her hands stained with dried blood. You had seen her tear herself apart, she was ruthless. Her bullets were just as unpredictable as she was, and you felt you had no choice but to follow. The sun shined too bright, the heat beating down against your shoulders. Sand clung to your pants, hugging against the patches of dried blood and whatever parts that were still wet from the previous rain.
You needed a break, you couldn't handle much more. You were drowning in the guilt of self sabotage, each mile you walked you lost your reasoning for agreeing to come. Ellie was set on her plan. She ignored the ache in her legs, the starving pain in her stomach. She needed to find Abby, and rip her apart. She needed to ruin her like she ruined Joel.
``Ellie please.`
You croaked, legs shaking as you stumbled. Your voice trembled, throat drying with each pathetic whine. You hadn't eaten in days, you were exhausted, running off whatever dwindling loyalty that tied you to Ellie.
Ellie paused in her tracks, glancing over her shoulder. She frowned, hesitating. She turned to face you, squinting from the bright light of the sun, her freckled kissed cheeks now hollow.
``What's the matter now?``
She said, almost sharply. You barely flinched, eyes shifting around to avoid her gaze. You felt almost embarrassed, embarrassed because you didn't have the endurance she did.
``Ellie I'm tired.``
You whined softly, stepping forward as you looked around. The sun had just started to set, just enough for the beach you stood on to have an orange hue. She scoffed, looking away and shuffling anxiously, like she was incapable of standing still.
``We haven't been walking that long-``
``ellie.``
You cut her off, slumping down against a tree. You took a shaky breath, holding your head in your hands. Her hands twitched with anger as she watched you. Her face twisted with a mixture of guilt and frustration.
``We can stop soon.``
``No. I need to stop now.``
Ellie stared at you, anger starting to bubble in her stomach. She had grown too reactive, too snappy. She didn't sleep, didn't eat, she was like a machine. Her face faltered and she narrowed her eyes.
``get up.``
She mumbled slowly, and you let out a small huff. You looked up at her, eyes prickling with tears, shaking your head.
``I just need a minute-``
``We don't have a minute.``
Ellie snapped, and you paused. You tried your hardest to stop your bottom lip from trembling.
``I'm fucking tired too, but im not whining and slacking off, so get up.``
She said, a lot harsher this time. You were shocked, eyes widening in hurt. You had expected her to snap at you one day, for the violence she held for other people to one day turn and rip through you like it had done so many others. You just didn't expect it to be today.
``I'm not like you, I just need a small break.``
You pleaded, but Ellie wasn't having it.
``Then you shouldn't have fucking come.``
She snarled, stepping forward just a bit. You stared, jaw agape just enough to show your shock. You felt a tear slide down your sweat ridden face, and you scrambled up, ignoring how your vision blackened and your limbs buzzed with dizziness.
``I had to-``
``I didn't ask you to do anything.``
It hurt, watching her snap at you so harshly. You wondered if she felt any remorse, or felt anything at all.
``I should've just left you at home.``
She scoffed, mumbling under her breath. Your heart clenched, and you watched as she turned on her heels and started to walk again, storming off.
You let out a quiet sob, before starting to walk again. You were trying so hard to pick up the pieces, to help her, give her something to lean on. And all she was doing was pushing you away.
Ellie needed to find Abby, and her dedication to destruction was killing you both.
summary: Moving back to Jackson for your final year of university and joining the soccer team was supposed to be the highlight of your final year, especially after a grueling Summer. But being back has only seem to stir up past grievances and fuel new found feuds - O' captain, my captain follows reader in her final year of university when she moves back to her home town and joins Ellie's rival soccer team. Her attempts at rekindling their friendship is halted by their inability to escape the rules of their world.
Think 10 things i hate about you mixed with To all the boys.
A'/N: I've really gotten into the rhythm of yearning for female athletes i will never have so whats better than exploring it in a universe i absolutely adore. this series will be hosting angst, a pretty grumpy Ellie, some slow burn, and eventual smut. This takes places an au. I got my dividers from @chrisssiren, you saved me.
There was a charm about starting over that always sat right with you. Knowing that a new beginning was always peeking around the corner made the process of enduring whatever all the more easier and this time was no different. This time around a new year meant for a new school in an old neighbourhood and like always, you were preening at the idea of change. But this change meant potentially peeling at the past and attempting to start a new life despite what may come up.
When your father first threw the idea of moving back to Jackson around one evening after dinner, you paused your wiping of the dishes and stared at him. He had always mused about going back to Jackson and retiring there. That had always been the plan and while you understood why he would have wanted change after all that had happened the past year, it still stunned you to hear him bring the idea up again. Maybe because not only was he speaking with a level of certainty he never usually did when discussing it but he was also floating the idea of moving soon. He had thought about this, that much was apparent but what wasn't apparent to you was the long nights your father had spent mauling over the idea with your mother. Trying to determine if the decision would be best for your mother, yes, but you especially.
During the final stages of packing up the house, you had sat in your old room and watched the neighbourhood kids ride by on their bikes and it had dawned on you that despite what you had thought, you would never grow old there. Call it a debilitating need to always romanticise everything but it still hurt you to know that you were leaving it all behind.
When you pull up to the house it's pretty dark out. The streetlights in your new neighbourhood have all come on and they cast a warm glow on the dark tar. It's quiet too, only distant barking and the occasional laughter can be heard somewhere from down the street. Despite the lights, it is still pretty hard to be sure of the details that adorn the house; like the string lights surrounding the patio posts in front of the door or the flower indents painted into the glass of the front door that only your parents had ever seen. Your parents had been the ones to make the trips down here to prepare the house. You couldn't make it because of school. Either way, you wouldn't have noticed these details now with how tired you are. You throw open your car door, much to your father's dismay, and stretch your legs before hoping onto the pavement and eying the house.
It's a pretty solid home. Four bedrooms and two baths. The excitement really was the wrap around porch that was spotting a swing seat. Your heart picked up at the thought of all the late nights you would get to spend there with a book in hand or scrolling on your phone knowing the stars were just over the glare of your screen. It was truly better than what your mother had described.
‘Alright ladies. Let's unload the essentials, everything else we will see in the morning. Yeah?’ Your father starts while rubbing his hands and looking between you and your mother. You both stand side by side, hoods pulled up to cover your faces and leaning against the car.
Your groan is stopped short when your mother responds for the two of you, ‘Got it!’ she returns enthusiastically, trying very hard to match your fathers energy, only for it to come out sarcastic. This was her favourite bit- whenever your father said something serious with an inflection in his voice, your mother would mock him. It tickled her every time. Even now without how tired she was, she wore a tiny smirk on her face. She was so cute, you thought.
‘No, no honey. Not you. No heavy lifting for you, remember?’ Your father looked nervous now. Behind the glare of the streetlights on his glasses you could see the nervous tick in his eyebrow. He developed it sometime in the past couple of months. If you had to guess it was after your mothers diagnosis last year. He was now always jumpy when your mother mentioned so much as driving herself anywhere not to mention doing hard labour. You couldn't be mad at him. Despite your mother's chirpier attitude throughout her treatment, her diagnosis took a toll on all of you and your father was still, unfortunately, stuck in that place. It was hard on him- having to be a present husband and a present father while dealing with the possibility of losing the love of his life. He managed though. Another reason why you were eager to get to Jackson was the potential of what it would mean for your father to be back home: easing back into enjoying life again. That meant everything to you.
You offered a gentle laugh and squeezed your mother's shoulder as you made a move for the bags in the backseat. ‘Next time She-hulk.’ you joked.
As much as your father insisted that you help with getting everything out of the car, he hauled majority of your stuff into the house: the bags, the cooler with your ‘on the road’ drinks, your laptop bag that got squeezed under your seat and the groceries you picked up on your way to the house. You didn't complain; as much as you didn't do much of anything, you were drained. Sitting idle in the car for over eight hours with no music had taken its toll on you. Once your bags were set by the stairs that were just to the right of the front door, you walked to the kitchen to find your mom already unloading the groceries and your father somewhere in the house doing whatever.
She turned to you as you sat on the counter to watch her, ‘Would you eat this?’
She was holding a papaya she picked up on your trip to the grocery store. She insisted she would eat it when your father questioned her. Your mother had a habit of getting things she swore she would use but never did. You were used to it by now. But you knew even then she wouldn't eat it, neither would you. Your dad would though.
You kicked your legs out and shook your head while scrunching your nose. She nodded her head and went to put it in the refrigerator.
‘Same. Your dad will eat it.’ you laughed because of course she said that. You looked at the watch on your wrist, it was getting late. Only an hour left until the next day. You needed to be up early to do some last minute shopping for school and usually late nights made for slow mornings with you, excitement of a new town be damned.
‘Are we going to pack those up tonight’ you motioned to the bags by the door ‘or are we waiting till daylight?’
‘I don't know. I mean, you can if you want to. I figured we'd sort through everything together when we came back home tomorrow.’ She shoved two bottles of juice into the fridge.
‘Right.’ you muttered. You watched her packing up the groceries for a bit before speaking up. ‘Speaking of tomorrow, what time are you meeting up with Maria?’
Maria was Tommy's wife and she was kind enough to offer to show your mother around town despite your mother not really being a newcomer. Your mom was always happy to speak to someone new so of course she said yes. They had met on one of the trips your parents had made to Jackson to sort out the house. Joel had called to invite your parents to dinner and they took a liking to each other. They texted and called non-stop over the months and though you were happy your mother had already made a new friend, you were worried she wasn't pacing herself.
‘After I finish with you.’
‘I'm not a chore mom.’ you teased. She grinned at you and flicked her hand dismissively.
‘Of course not. Having a nearly twenty two year old daughter who still can't drive herself around is absolutely not a choir.’ You went to swat at her. She yelped and jumped out the way even though she was too far for you to make any contact with her.
‘Why can't I come with you? Two birds, one stone sort of thing.’
‘I thought that too, but I figured she wanted some girl time. I didn't want to ambush her so soon with my baggage.’ she went on still smiling as she shot you a teasing look, ‘Besides,she's showing me around town, it might take long.’ You shot her a look, ‘What? She offered. It would've been so rude to pass up on the opportunity to make a new friend.’ She dragged out the last word. You rolled your eyes at her, even biting your inner cheeks to stop from smiling but she saw it anyway.
‘That logic is so off mom but I’ll let it slide.’
One of the things that made the move back to Jackson was the people. Specifically a person. Back when you were about twelve, a new girl had moved into the neighbourhood and being the noisy person you were, you made it a point to find out who she was. You had only heard your parents talking about her in lazy conversation-nothing really solid to hold onto but when you learnt she was Joel's adopted daughter, you knew you were a shoo in to befriend her. It took all of a week before you got to set eyes on her because your parents insisted she needed time settling in, and you would just overwhelm her. When you finally did lay eyes on her, under the summer light of your sterile white bathroom, all you could think about was how tiny she was. You told her so, she didn't take too kindly to your remark, telling you off for your bad manners. And that is how your friendship with Ellie Williams started.
In what seemed like the short years you spent together, Ellie had been everything and nothing you had expected in a friend. She was raunchy and rude and stubborn and kind, and deeply sensitive. You would spend nights under the forts she built in her room talking about the late night shows you two were too young to be watching, or somewhat forcing Ellie to help you with your math homework. There were times she would come over in the middle of the night and she would make her way into your bed after climbing the balcony just outside the fresh doors in your bedroom. She only ever did this on days her and Joel struggled to understand each other- when they raised their voices and their words stalled. They both tried their best really but their situation, the entire thing really, was hard. You were just happy to offer comfort to her.
Joel would always call in the early mornings when it first happened to make sure she was really over there, an extension of his care for her you figured. After a while she just came over for the heck of it and Joel just let her.
You smiled thinking about her. About then.
One of the things that made the move back to Jackson was the people. Specifically a person. Back when you were about twelve, a new girl had moved into the neighbourhood and being the noisy person you were, you made it a point to find out who she was. You had only heard your parents talking about her in lazy conversation-nothing really solid to hold onto but when you learnt she was Joel's adopted daughter, you knew you were a shoo in to befriend her. It took all of a week before you got to set eyes on her because your parents insisted she needed time settling in, and you would just overwhelm her. When you finally did lay eyes on her, under the summer light of your sterile white bathroom, all you could think about was how tiny she was. You told her so, she didn't take too kindly to your remark, telling you off for your bad manners. And that is how your friendship with Ellie Williams started.
In what seemed like the short years you spent together, Ellie had been everything and nothing you had expected in a friend. She was raunchy and rude and stubborn and kind, and deeply sensitive. You would spend nights under the forts she built in her room talking about the late night shows you two were too young to be watching, or somewhat forcing Ellie to help you with your math homework. There were times she would come over in the middle of the night and she would make her way into your bed after climbing the balcony just outside the fresh doors in your bedroom. She only ever did this on days her and Joel struggled to understand each other- when they raised their voices and their words stalled. They both tried their best really but their situation, the entire thing really, was hard. You were just happy to offer comfort to her.
Joel would always call in the early mornings when it first happened to make sure she was really over there, an extension of his care for her you figured. After a while she just came over for the heck of it and Joel just let her.
You smiled thinking about her. About then.
One of the things that made the move back to Jackson was the people. Specifically a person. Back when you were about twelve, a new girl had moved into the neighbourhood and being the noisy person you were, you made it a point to find out who she was. You had only heard your parents talking about her in lazy conversation-nothing really solid to hold onto but when you learnt she was Joel's adopted daughter, you knew you were a shoo in to befriend her. It took all of a week before you got to set eyes on her because your parents insisted she needed time settling in, and you would just overwhelm her. When you finally did lay eyes on her, under the summer light of your sterile white bathroom, all you could think about was how tiny she was. You told her so, she didn't take too kindly to your remark, telling you off for your bad manners. And that is how your friendship with Ellie Williams started.
In what seemed like the short years you spent together, Ellie had been everything and nothing you had expected in a friend. She was raunchy and rude and stubborn and kind, and deeply sensitive. You would spend nights under the forts she built in her room talking about the late night shows you two were too young to be watching, or somewhat forcing Ellie to help you with your math homework. There were times she would come over in the middle of the night and she would make her way into your bed after climbing the balcony just outside the fresh doors in your bedroom. She only ever did this on days her and Joel struggled to understand each other- when they raised their voices and their words stalled. They both tried their best really but their situation, the entire thing really, was hard. You were just happy to offer comfort to her.
Joel would always call in the early mornings when it first happened to make sure she was really over there, an extension of his care for her you figured. After a while she just came over for the heck of it and Joel just let her.
You smiled thinking about her. About then.
In the months leading up the move, especially the past one, your mother had been insistent you reach out to Ellie. That you get ahead of the discomfort of being the new girl so late into the academic journey and rekindle your friendship. You argued it was pointless since you went to different schools. Sure it was about a thirty minute walk and you could see her if you wanted to but still. What she didn't know is that you thought about doing that more than you cared to admit. You pictured calling her up or even driving down with your parents to see her. Joel and even offered to collect you but you said no. You wanted to do it your way.
‘Also,you need to let that go.’ You hopped off the counter and made a point to avoid looking her in the eye. You walked over to the bags and grabbed your laptop and overnight bag and made your way up the stairs before yelling ‘for your sake.’ In all honesty, it was for your sake. Ellie could be a different person by now, it had been nearly a decade since you last saw her. For all you knew, she had forgotten about you. You swallowed the idea.
You heard her laughing as you shut your door. You dropped your bags onto the bed and made your way over to the window and watched the trees and the empty street for a bit, sighing contentedly when your eyes started to droop. Throwing yourself onto the bed, you closed your eyes. You were home. For real this time. The final year of university was going to be something to remember. One for the books as they say.
The swivel chair creaked as Ellie stretched her arms over her head. She had been there about six hours waiting for Joel to make the drive back from the new sight. It was unnecessary to have him come all the way back for a misunderstanding but given her track record, her voice fell of deaf ears. She had arrived when it was still dark out and given the state's preparations for the annual cancer marathon, the station had officers bustling in and out at all hours. The station had gotten a few upgrades since the last time she was here: a new coffee machine was positioned on a new table placed against the corner wall near the captains office and they added swivel chairs and new computers for the general area. Outside of that the place still had the same lifeless feel it always had. Grey walls to match the grey floors and black office tables. Though she never had a particular colour she favoured, she couldn't say she ever really enjoyed the look of a colorless room, much less this one.
They had her ‘locked’ in the debrief room that still had mugshots pasted across the black board that stood leaning in the corner. The one positioned in front of her was a dozen or so pictures that Captain Gregson had printed out of Abby’s black eye and the cut on her lip. He was adamant that if he did this, some sort of shame would find its way into her heart and force her to submit to ‘better’ ways but instead the images caused her to smile lazily when she looked at them.
It wasn't intentional of course, but it seemed a sort of Pavlov effect was taking place and who was she to deny science?
If she had to be honest, Abby had done much worse to her. Her lip had split down the middle and though she had only seen it briefly when she went to the bathroom to wash her face, she knew her eyebrow was split. The cut so deep It would leave a scar. Most of the damage was on her abdomen, the bruising was forming, which wasn't helped by the hunched position she slept in the entirety of the night.
From where she sat at the head of the table in the middle of the room, she could see the elevator as it opened. It revealed a tired looking Joel with his large brown suede jacket hanging over his arm and his flannel sleeves rolled up. Her heart lurched at the sight of the bags under his eyes. Six months ago when she first found herself handcuffed to captain Gregson's office table, pouting in her chair as Joel asked her what he could to make it better, she promised nothing and that she would behave on her own because it was all a big misunderstanding and yet, here they were again.
The intention was never to punish Joel, at least not at first. It seemed stupid, he had taken her in when her mother died and cared for her as his own daughter. The issue was how long it took him to come get her. She was at the orphanage back in Boston and had all but assumed she would remain there until she aged out. She understood how lucky she had been that he cared to come get her at all but finding out how long it took him to make his way to her just worked her up so ugly. She just lost it. The couple of months after her third year holidays had been rough. She spent the majority of the time cooped up in her room. That's if she wasn't slouching on Jesse's floor eating his food. Joel had tried, naturally, to explain himself to her but she wouldn't hear it.
It took awhile to even get them to this point where she let Joel show up for her again. He was her father as much a father to her as the next kid's dad was but it was different. So him showing up after such a long drive, especially looking the way he did. She had to look away. Guess Captain Gregson was right, shame would find her after all. She swallowed as she looked away from him, tears swelling up quickly.
He pushed past a delivery man huddling around a stack of boxes just outside the elevator and rounded the corner to make his way to Gregson’s office. When he passed the breakroom, he spotted her through the open blinds. It caused a halt in his step which he quickly recovered from as he jerked open the Captain's door and shut it before she could see in. Usually, the Captain left his blinds open, or they were drawn up completely. Today though, they were completely shut, like he knew Joel would be making his way to the station.
She leaned over and rested her elbows to her knees and she covered her face groaning. The clock on the wall was frozen, it ran out of batteries sometime between the last time she was in the station and now so she couldn't tell how long she had been sitting there with her face buried in her hands before the door opened, the hinge groaning with the force. Joel was standing there, hair mushed as he looked her over. She stood and faced him, her hands trembling. She wet her lips waiting for him to speak. His chest was rising and falling the way it usually did when he exerted himself.
‘You good?’ His voice was rough but searching. Like if she said she wasn't he would turn the station on its head for its hand in her discomfort.
She nodded. He nodded back at her slowly, turning her words over until he was sure she was being honest then jerked his head toward the exit and she stepped around the chair so she could place it back under the table but changed her mind at the last minute and left it out and shuffled over to him. She walked past him and walked slowly toward the elevator, straining to look over at him as he came up behind her. The Captain stood in the threshold of his door, his own eyebags emphasised under the florescents.
‘On a leash, Miller.’ He said, his voice raised. That caught the attention of people in the common area who looked between the Captain and Joel.
Joel turned and pointed a finger at the captain, ‘Watch it with my kid, Thomas.’ His voice was sharp and final. And with that, he placed a directing hand on Ellie's shoulder and walked them to the elevator.
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