Polypa Goezee wasn’t exactly the type to let someone close—her life as a mercenary demanded sharp edges and sharper instincts. But somehow, Y/N had slipped past her defenses, whether troll or human, and settled into a quiet place in her life. Polypa never said much about how she felt, not directly; her affection came in subtle gestures—sharpening Y/N’s weapons, pulling them out of the path of danger without a word, or sitting beside them during quiet nights, the glow of the Alternian moons washing over her bandaged face. “Don’t go getting soft on me,” she’d mutter—but the way her fingers brushed Y/N’s made it clear she already had.

Y/N wasn’t intimidated by her cold demeanor or the way she always seemed prepared to vanish into the shadows. In fact, they admired her resolve, her strength, and the scars that told a hundred stories she refused to speak of. They never pushed her to open up, instead offering trust and patience—and over time, Polypa found herself wanting to stay. She even allowed herself to laugh, especially when Y/N teased her about her over-the-top stealth tactics or how she scouted a movie theater before their date “just in case.” Her scowl in response was half-hearted at best.

When they held hands, it wasn’t for show—it was a silent promise in a world where promises were often broken. Polypa didn’t believe in fate or romance the way others did, but with Y/N, she was learning that vulnerability wasn’t weakness. It was a different kind of fight. One she wasn’t sure she could win—but for once, she didn’t mind losing. Being their matesprit didn’t make her soft; it made her stronger in a way she hadn’t known she needed.