Attack On Titan Pick Up Line Novels & Stories

Jace Thorne—my childhood crush—crashed a car with me. I walked away fine. He "lost his memory." Plot twist: my dead grandma's soul moved in. "Jace is faking amnesia again to mess with my sweet granddaughter. If I were alive, I'd break his legs myself!" I blinked. Hard. Grandma's voice wouldn't shut up. "In her past life, Demi was miserable. Jace left her to rot while he partied with that Stafford girl. Had a heart attack, and he was lighting birthday candles. Trash!" Then came the kicker: "Your grandpa's letting you pick your fiancé. Don't even think about Jace. Pick Leroy. That boy's actually decent." Right on cue, Grandpa strolled into the hospital with the elder squad, slapped down pics of four legacy heirs, and told me to choose. I didn't even blink. Picked Leroy Leighton—my childhood nemesis turned fiancé. Because yeah, I'm a grandma's girl to the core. If she said Jace Thorne didn't love me, then I was so done.

On my fifteenth birthday, I begged my mom to teach me how to make a cream cake from scratch. We only had cream at home. No flour. So we went out to buy some. When we came back, we didn't walk into a birthday surprise. We walked in on my father pressing a strange she-wolf down onto the dining table. Cream was smeared all over her bare body. That night ended with my parents signing the Mating Dissolution Agreement. From that day on, cake became my nightmare, a taboo I could never touch. The night I mated with Alpha Kaelen of the Shadow Pack, amidst the pain and pleasure of his marking bite, I whispered in his ear. "Honey, if you ever want to end our mating, just bring me a cake." He frowned, his eyes burning with possessiveness, and kissed the words away. "Don't talk nonsense, Seraphina. You are my fated mate. How could I ever let you go?" Later, on his birthday, his intern secretary Elena ordered a three-tier luxury cake. Kaelen went into a rage, throwing both the cake and the intern out the front door. Back then, I was moved, even telling him not to be so harsh on a low-ranking wolf for my sake. But six months later, Elena had been promoted to Kaelen's personal assistant. On my birthday, she walked into my laboratory, swinging her hips, holding a burnt, homemade cake. I called Kaelen, asking him to remove the provocative item. On the other end of the line,his tone was casual. "Elena put her heart into making that for you. It would be cruel to throw it away. Be a good girl, don't be so sensitive. Have the grace of a Luna." The phone slipped from my hand. It turned out my mother wasn't wrong. Cake really is best served with a side of rejection papers.

Noah Lloyd has long since gotten sick of me—we dated for three years and have been married for another three. He uses divorce to threaten me. He wants me to give up the racing championship title I risked my life to win to please his new lover. He's caught off guard when I sign the divorce papers without hesitation and kick him to the curb. Later, he comes to me with a bouquet and the ring I've discarded. He also rents massive billboards to beg me to remarry him. Asher Princeton has someone turn off all the billboards. Then, he wraps an arm around my waist and whisks me away. "Haven't you asked around about me? How dare you propose to my wife?"

The day Jessica Smith and I went to pick out our wedding rings, her long-lost first love unexpectedly returned to town. When we went to pick him up from the airport, she introduced me to him, saying, "This is Sebastian Grant, a friend." Jessica made it clear that I wasn't her fiancé. She even went a step further and called off our engagement party scheduled for the next day. Just when she thought I would fight and insist on marrying her, I suddenly said in relief, "Your best friend previously wanted to hook up with me, you know? And honestly, I was kind of interested."

In the third year of my engagement to Jack, he found himself a pureblooded, sharp-fanged huntress up in the Northern Territory. The night before my birthday, he brought her to me—just to call off the bond. He looked at me, cold and distant. “Bethel and I both live for the thrill of the night hunt. You're just a greenhouse wolf—soft and sheltered. You’ll never get what makes it all so addictive.” I asked, holding back the hurt, “Did it really have to be today?” He chuckled, “Did breaking a bond require a date on the calendar?” I nodded without arguing. But the next month, we ended up in the same Blood Moon Trial up north. What he didn’t know was—I tasted the rush of the hunt, the heat of blood, and got the champion long before he even came of age. Later, on his birthday, I sealed a life bond with another powerful wolf. He looked at me, red-eyed and hoarse, voice barely his, “Did it have to be today?” I smiled back, “Life bonds need good omens. The moon’s just right tonight.”

My sister, Bella, had a baby in a back-alley shithole. Then she disappeared. A midwife tracked me down using an address Bella left behind. She shoved the newborn at me like a sack of garbage. My parents fell to their knees. Crying. Begging me to take her bastard. Just like that, my future as a promising artist was gone. The neighbors, the priest, my landlord… they all called me a whore. A sinner who had disgraced God. They ran me out of the neighborhood . My life was over. Eighteen years later, Bella waltzed back into my life. A cheap thug with a fake Rolex dangled from her arm. She held my son, crocodile tears streaming down her face. She called me jealous. Accused me of stealing her flesh and blood. Of keeping a mother from her child. And my son? The one I bled myself dry for? The son I poured every last cent into, turning him into a brilliant painter? The son I starved for, so much that I ended up in a hospital bed? The moment he saw his "real" mother, he cast me aside without a second thought. "You pathetic, broke bitch!" he spat. "You stole everything from us! All the happiness that was supposed to be ours!" My parents threw me out like a dog. Bella's thug husband had his men corner me in the red-light district. They pinned me against a wall, their threats vile and clear: Never come back. I had no way out. I threw myself off the Brooklyn Bridge. Then, I opened my eyes. I was back. Eighteen years in the past. Then came the knock. Hell had found my door. I wasn’t going to be the fool who gave everything and got nothing. This time, I took control.

I got a car straight from the Lycan Chairman himself—a ride costs more than tens of millions and can turn every traffic light green. I got it because the Lycan Chairman once fell on the battlefield, his heart torn open. And me? I'm the one bound to him by a blood-sealed contract, the only secret healer who could save his life. To win me golden hour for surgeries, I was awarded with such an honored ride. I treated it like sacred ground, kept it hidden in my mate Yorick's underground garage, polished and guarded, ready for the day the Lycan Chairman might need me again. That day came. The summons burned in my hand, urgent and sharp. I rushed to the garage, ready to drive, and the second I approached the garage, a strange woman slid into the back seat. "Take me to the Nighty Bar," she ordered, flipping her hair. "Yorick had waited for me minutes. If he's mad at me being late, I'll make you regret it." My hands froze on the wheel. "This is my car," I told her, calm but firm. "I have urgent business. You need to get out. Now." She sneered. "What a joke. A chauffeur pretending to be the owner? You must have a death wish." Her soldiers glanced at me sideways, voice dripping with disdain. "Everyone in the pack knows that this car is Alpha's exclusive for picking up Selene! You're just a little healer. Do yourself a favor and listen to her." Their words cut sharper than any blade. The car that carried the highest secret of the werewolf race, the car tied to the Chairman's very heartbeat, in their mouths, it was nothing more than a toy. A plaything my mate used to please another she-wolf. They wanted me to bow. To surrender. To sit there, silent, while they spat on me. But what they didn't know, the Lycan Chairman's soldiers were already on their way.

When my family was at its poorest, a wealthy family found me and claimed that I was their real daughter. The school heartthrob I crushed on? He was my fiancé all along! Still reeling from all these surprises, a mysterious message suddenly popped up in front of me. "This is where everything changes. The cannon fodder is taken home by the female lead's parents, forced to drop out of school, and then gets pregnant by her fiancé. In the end, everyone thinks she's a harbringer of misfortune, and she's beaten to death." My hand froze as I held the paternity test results. My mom's eyes filled with tears as she took the report from me. "My poor child, you've suffered enough all these years! Don't worry. Just come home with us and rest. You're our daughter now. The family business is enough for you to live comfortably forever. You don't even need to take the SAT if you don't want to." The school heartthrob lowered his head and whispered sensually into my ear, "Listen to me, Lucia. Studying is hard. I'll take care of you from now on."

On the day the zombie outbreak occurs, I tell my boyfriend, Valerio Petrucci, to come over and hide in my apartment, where my front door is already reinforced. Soon, sounds of the door being knocked can be heard. I'm about to get up when transparent comment bubbles appear in front of my eyes. "Don't open the door! Valerio isn't the only one out there—there are a bunch of loan sharks with him as well!" "One of them is already infected with the zombie virus and is about to turn into a zombie!" "You'll die if you let them in!" Someone knocks on the door once again at that moment.

It's 11:30 pm. Home alone, I decide to order some takeout. When the map shows the delivery guy is zero miles away, I receive a call from him. I pick up, only to hear unsettling silence from the other end. I hang up, annoyed. The next moment, the guy texts me, "Sorry, I'm hearing-impaired and unable to speak. I called to notify you to pick up your food as soon as possible. I can't explain things over the phone, and I apologize for that." Then comes another text. "You must've been waiting for a long time. I've left your order at your door, so please pick it up as soon as you can." Just as I prepare to open the door, I see bars of live comments—reminiscent of livestream chats—floating right before my eyes. "Don't open the door! That dude isn't a delivery guy at all! He's a murderer!" "He called you to check if you're a woman living alone!" "Seriously, why are all thriller story protagonists always so dumb? The delivery guy is obviously suspicious, yet she still wants to open the door."