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sundropflowerr · 6 months ago

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‘Twas the Night Before Christmas | Steve Harrington

★ Warnings: dad!steve, mom!reader, husband!steve, fem!reader, no use of y/n, established marriage, domestic fluff, mentions of parenting and child behavior, playful family banter, holiday traditions, mild chaos caused by kids, Steve being the ultimate dad, tender family moments, sweet kisses, references to Home Alone, soft nostalgia, and an abundance of Christmas warmth.

★ Summary: It’s Christmas Eve, 1995, and the Harrington family is in full holiday mode. Between their six-year-old son Ethan’s endless questions, their four-year-old daughter Sadie’s knack for causing adorable mischief, and Steve’s playful dad jokes, the night is full of warmth and laughter. 3k

★ Pairings: steve harrington x fem!reader

★ Fic Inspiration: “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” - Frank Sinatra (again)

★ Dividers: thank you to @bernardsbendystraws for the adorable divider, it’s greatly appreciated!

★ Author’s Note: husband and dad steve harrington. goodness. anyways this should be the last Christmas and overall fic of the year (be on the look out for new year’s day) unless i get inspiration again. this is horribly messy and terribly written but nonetheless enjoy!

Snow fell steadily outside the Harrington home, muffling the usual sounds of Hawkins under a thick, sparkling blanket.

The rooftops were capped in white, the snowdrifts shimmering under the glow of streetlamps. Icicles hung from the edges of the roof, catching the twinkle of the colorful Christmas lights that Steve had painstakingly strung up a week ago, with the help of 6 year old Ethan’s enthusiastic, yet, chaotic help.

Each light blinked in perfect rhythm, painting the snow below in shifting hues of red, green, and gold. Through the fogged-up windows, the warm golden light of the Christmas tree spilled onto the lawn, offering a glimpse of the cozy world within.

Inside, the kitchen was a war zone of holiday cheer. Flour clung to nearly every surface—the countertops, the floor, and even the stool where little 4 year old Sadie stood, perched like a determined little artist. It dusted the tip of her nose and her wild curls, making her look like a miniature mad scientist as she meticulously squeezed green frosting onto a gingerbread man.

Her tongue poked out in focused concentration, her small hands gripping the frosting tube as if her life depended on it. Beside her, an array of cookies lay half-finished on the counter, buried under uneven layers of sprinkles and frosting swirls. Each one was a testament to her boundless creativity, if not her precision.

“Santa loves sprinkles,” Sadie declared with absolute certainty, her little face scrunched in concentration as she scooped a generous handful of the colorful confetti-like decorations from the nearest bowl.

The sprinkles scattered across the gingerbread man with wild abandon, tumbling off the edges and onto the counter, onto the floor, and even into the air, as if they were little bursts of festive confetti.

“Santa doesn’t want to eat cookies that are all sprinkles,” Ethan countered from across the counter, his voice dripping with the kind of exasperation only a six-year-old with a perfectionist streak could muster.

He was working on a star-shaped cookie, his movements precise, deliberate. The tiny silver balls he was placing on the edges of the cookie were perfectly symmetrical, each one spaced exactly the same distance apart, as though he were an engineer and this cookie was his blueprint.

Sadie, undeterred, shot her brother a sideways glance, her lips twisting into a defiant pout. “Santa loves all cookies!” she shot back, her voice high and firm, as if daring him to challenge her further. She grabbed another handful of sprinkles, her tiny fingers clumsily but lovingly adding them to her gingerbread creation with a look of pure determination in her eyes.

Steve, who had been quietly observing the sibling exchange from his spot leaning against the fridge, let out a low chuckle, his arms crossed loosely across his chest. His eyes sparkled with amusement as he watched his children, clearly entertained by the growing battle of wills between his two little ones. “You know, Sadie,” he said, his voice dripping with playful sarcasm, “I think Ethan might have a point. That gingerbread guy looks like he just survived an explosion at a sprinkle factory.”

Sadie gasped dramatically, clutching the cookie to her chest as if Steve had just insulted her entire artistic vision. “He’s festive, Daddy!” she protested, her eyes wide with faux horror. “Santa will think he’s beautiful!”

Steve raised his hands in mock surrender, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Alright, alright. Festive, got it. You win, kiddo,” he said, backing off, but his smile never faded.

You glanced up from where you were carefully transferring a fresh batch of cookies onto the cooling rack. You’d been absorbed in your task, the warm scent of cinnamon and vanilla filling the room, but the sounds of your kids’ banter had been too amusing to ignore. You shot a smirk over at Steve, catching the tail end of his playful exchange with Sadie. “Don’t encourage them, Steve,” you said, your voice a mix of amusement and mock exasperation. “This kitchen already looks like a bomb went off in a bakery.”

Steve turned to you with that familiar, mischievous grin that always seemed to pull at your heartstrings. He pushed off the counter and sauntered over, his presence a comforting warmth that seemed to fill the space between you. As he reached you, he slipped his arms around your waist, pulling you close, his chin resting on your shoulder as he kissed the side of your neck, his lips soft against your skin.

“Oh, come on," he said, his voice a playful murmur, "It's Christmas. A little chaos is good for the soul."

The warmth of his touch and the affection in his kiss made your heart flutter, but before you could respond, you heard a chorus of groans from behind you.

"Eww, Daddy, gross!" Ethan wrinkled his nose, his six-year-old voice full of dramatic disapproval. Sadie was standing beside him, her eyes wide as she tugged at his sleeve, mimicking his disgust.

"Yeah, gross!" she added, her voice just as playful, though her face was scrunched in exaggerated annoyance. "Get a room!"

Steve pulled back slightly, his smile widening as he laughed. "Hey, you two can't appreciate true love yet," he teased, raising an eyebrow at them. "When you're older, you'll understand."

You chuckled, shaking your head as you met Ethan’s wide-eyed gaze, his expression a mix of surprise and genuine concern.

"They're right, Daddy," you teased. "We'll have to save the romance for later."

"Yeah, later!" Sadie agreed with a dramatic sigh, making a show of fanning herself with one hand, as if the display of affection had been too much to handle.

Steve gave a mock sigh of defeat, but his arms tightened around you, pulling you closer for another kiss, this time to the top of your head. "Guess we'll have to keep it PG for a little while, huh?" he murmured with a playful grin, his voice soft but full of affection.

As you hold onto his arms that wrap around you, the warmth of his embrace grounding you, you couldn't help but smile at the chaotic love that surrounded you. The kids' teasing, the laughter, and the warmth in the room-all of it felt like exactly what you needed. It was chaotic, but it was perfect.

The kitchen was, indeed, a disaster—sprinkles everywhere, frosting streaked across the table, and flour footprints leading from the counter to the floor. And yet, in the midst of the mess, there was something so perfectly Christmas about it all. You couldn’t help but shake your head fondly at the sight of your two children, Sadie with her chaotic artistic flair and Ethan with his precision, both creating their own little pieces of holiday magic in their own ways.

You let out a soft sigh, your heart swelling with a mix of warmth and contentment. This was your life now—messy, loud, and filled to the brim with joy. The kind of joy that came from every moment spent together, it was imperfect, but it was yours. And you wouldn’t change a thing.

“I suppose a little chaos is good for the soul,” you muttered, leaning into Steve’s embrace, your back resting against his torso. “But we’ll have to clean it all up before Santa comes.”

Steve’s grin widened as he kissed the top of your head. “Deal,” he said softly, his voice warm, full of affection. “But for now, let’s just enjoy it.”

And in that moment, amidst the mess, the laughter of your kids, and the hum of Christmas music playing softly in the background, you truly did. You couldn’t imagine a better way to spend Christmas Eve.

By the time the last batch of cookies had cooled, the kids had moved on to decorating with gusto. Sadie was a whirlwind of frosting and sprinkles, her hands sticky but her smile wide. Ethan’s creations, on the other hand, could have been featured in a magazine—each one neat, symmetrical, and perfect in its own way.

“Do you think Santa will like mine better?” Ethan asked as he placed a gingerbread snowman carefully on the plate.

“Santa loves everything,” you replied diplomatically, shooting Steve a look that warned him not to stir the pot.

“He’ll love Sadie’s too,” Steve added, crouching down to examine one of her creations. “Especially this one. It’s, uh… very colorful.”

Sadie beamed, clearly taking this as the highest of compliments.

Once the cookies were arranged on a plate, along with a glass of milk, the four of you moved into the living room. Ethan darted ahead to claim the best spot on the couch, while Sadie grabbed her stuffed reindeer and curled up in Steve’s lap.

Steve held up a VHS tape like it was a trophy. “Tonight’s pick: Home Alone.”

Ethan pumped a fist in the air. “Yes!”

Sadie giggled, clutching her reindeer tightly. “Kevin’s so funny!”

You settled onto the couch next to Ethan, draping a blanket over your lap as Steve popped the tape into the VCR. The kids quieted as the familiar opening music began, their eyes glued to the screen.

The living room was warm and cozy, the fire crackling softly in the hearth. The Christmas tree lights cast colorful patterns across the walls, and the faint scent of pine mingled with the sugary sweetness lingering from the kitchen.

As Kevin McCallister navigated his hijinks, Sadie giggled uncontrollably at the Wet Bandits’ antics, her laughter ringing through the room. Ethan, meanwhile, provided a running commentary.

“They’re so silly,” he said, shaking his head as Harry slipped on the icy stairs for the third time. “Why don’t they just give up?”

“That’s not the point, buddy,” Steve replied, chuckling. “They’re supposed to be silly. It’s funny.”

“Kevin’s really brave,” Sadie whispered, clutching her reindeer as Kevin faced off against the burglars. “He’s all alone, but he’s not scared.”

You smoothed her curls with a gentle hand. “He’s smart too, just like you.”

Steve caught your eye, his expression softening as he smiled at you. These moments—the quiet, ordinary ones—were the ones he cherished most.

By the time the credits rolled, Sadie was fast asleep in Steve’s lap, her tiny hand clutching the fabric of his sweater. Ethan was valiantly trying to stay awake, but his head kept nodding forward, his stubbornness no match for his exhaustion.

Steve glanced down at Sadie, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Looks like it’s bedtime for these two.”

You nodded, sharing a glance with Steve as you both made your way toward the kids. Without a word, you reached down to gently lift Ethan into your arms. He squirmed slightly, grumbling under his breath, but didn’t protest as you settled him against your chest, his head resting on your shoulder. Steve, in turn, scooped up Sadie with ease, her small body curling instinctively into his hold. She mumbled something incoherent, her voice muffled by sleep, but didn’t wake as he cradled her against him.

The two of you made your way upstairs in comfortable silence, each step echoing softly through the house. It felt like a peaceful rhythm, this simple act of carrying your kids to bed, a reminder of how much you both cherished these little moments.

You reached Ethan’s room first, carefully lowering him into his bed. He groggily shifted under the covers, his sleepy eyes flicking up at you with a mix of curiosity and exhaustion. You helped him into his pajamas, smoothing out the fabric with a practiced hand before tucking him under the covers.

“Do you think Santa’s gonna like the cookies?” he asked, his voice thick with sleep but still filled with that unmistakable childlike wonder.

Steve, who had followed you into the room, chuckled softly as he leaned against the doorframe. “He’s gonna love them. Especially that one with all the sprinkles,” he said, grinning.

Ethan let out a small giggle, his eyes already fluttering closed. “Good,” he mumbled, his face relaxing into sleep as he drifted off, his soft breathing the only sound in the room.

Meanwhile, Steve took Sadie to her room. As soon as he placed her on her bed, she curled up into her blankets, her little reindeer toy tucked under her arm. She sighed contentedly as he adjusted the covers around her, kissing her forehead gently.

“Goodnight, lovebug,” you whispered from the doorway, watching the tender moment unfold.

Sadie mumbled something sleepy and incoherent, her eyes fluttering closed as she snuggled deeper into her pillow. “Goodnight,” she whispered back, her voice already soft with sleep.

As you and Steve stood in the doorway for a moment, watching your kids drift off into peaceful slumber, a sense of quiet satisfaction settled over you both. The house was still, the Christmas lights outside casting a gentle glow through the windows. Everything felt right. You turned to Steve, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “They’re going to be so excited when they wake up tomorrow.”

He nodded, his arm naturally finding its way around your waist as you both quietly left the room. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure they’ll be up before the sun is,” he said, his voice a mixture of amusement and fondness.

You smiled up at him, leaning into his side as the two of you headed back downstairs, the soft hum of Christmas music filling the air around you. It was a quiet night, just the two of you, in the calm after the chaos. And as the two of you settled back into the warmth of the living room, the love and laughter of the night still lingering in the air, you couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of contentment. Christmas was here, and your family was exactly where they belonged.

“Think they’ll notice if we eat one?” Steve asked, breaking off a corner of a gingerbread man with a playful grin. He popped it into his mouth, chewing slowly as if savoring the moment.

You looked at him over the top of the cookie jar, raising an eyebrow. “Not unless you want to explain why there are bites taken out of the cookies they spent hours decorating.”

Steve shrugged, his eyes glinting with mischief as he reached for another cookie. “Eh, they’ll never know. Besides, Santa can always come up with his own cookies.”

You smirked, swatting his hand away as you grabbed one for yourself. “I’m pretty sure Santa’s going to have a sugar high with how much we’ve put out for him.”

He laughed, popping a piece of cookie into his mouth. “I’m sure he’ll appreciate it. I mean, we’ve done all the hard work, haven’t we?”

You took a bite of your own cookie, sighing in contentment. “True. These are way better than store-bought.”

Steve’s grin widened as he leaned in to kiss your cheek. “I think we’ve officially earned it. We’re doing all the Christmas magic around here.”

You laughed as Steve pulled you into his arms as the fire crackled softly behind you. The glow of the Christmas tree bathed the room in warmth, and Frank Sinatra’s “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” played faintly in the background.

As you leaned against him, the quiet of the moment settled over you like a blanket.

"This is it, you know," Steve said suddenly, his voice low and serious. His eyes were soft, distant in a way, as if he were taking in the entire scene-the glowing lights, the quiet of the house, the warmth of it all.

You looked up at him, your eyebrows furrowing slightly. "What is?" you asked, curious but not entirely sure what he meant.

"This," he said again, his gaze sweeping across the room, lingering for a moment on the kids' cookies on the counter, the half-empty mugs of hot chocolate, the soft Christmas lights casting a warm glow over the space. Then, his gaze landed back on you, his expression tender.

“The kids, the house, you. Everything I ever wanted. It's right here."

The way he said it-so genuine, so full of admiration-caught you off guard. Your chest tightened with emotion, and for a moment, you couldn't find the right words.

You reached up instinctively, cupping his cheek, feeling the stubble there beneath your palm, the warmth of him as you held him close.

"You deserve it, Steve," you said softly, your voice thick with emotion. "Every bit of it." You didn't need to elaborate. You knew what he meant.

Steve's gaze softened even further, a look in his eyes you could only describe as reverent.

Slowly, he leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a moment as if savoring the feeling of being with you in this quiet, perfect moment. When he pulled back, he looked at you, his eyes filled with something deeper, something that made your heart swell.

"I don't know how I got so lucky," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

"But I don't think I'll ever be able to thank you enough for this. For us." His hand slid down to your waist, pulling you gently against him. He didn't rush it, just held you there, his lips grazing against yours in a kiss that was soft, slow-like he was trying to memorize the feeling of being close to you.

You smiled, your chest tight with affection. "I love you.”

There was a quiet stillness between you both, a peacefulness that wrapped around you like the softest blanket. The house was quiet, save for the faint hum of Christmas music drifting from the speakers and the distant sound of snow falling outside. But in this moment, nothing else mattered.

You were together. The life you had, the love you shared-it was everything, and it was yours.

Steve's hand gently brushed the back of your neck, and he kissed you again, his lips soft, lingering. It was a kiss that said more than words ever could-more than any ‘thank you' or 'I love you' could ever express.

You had everything. And you wouldn't change a single thing.

thank you so much for reading! please like/reblog or comment if you did, it would be greatly appreciated. have a great day and a happy holidays!!

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hevvxx2 · 13 days ago

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Title: Loud Thoughts, Hot Coffee- Part 5: "You Thought I Was a Mind Reader? Prove It, Sherlock."

Characters: Joaquin Torres x Reader

(Sam and Bucky mentioned)

Warnings: uhhh none i think

Blue Words: Inner Thoughts

Pink words: Translation

Summary: A full entire.. week of hell for the reader. SEVEN DAYS, A full seven days she had to endure Joaquin's mind. Unfortunately for him.. she had enough and snapped

Joaquin had officially entered Delulu Detective Mode.

After a full week of increasingly ridiculous "mental experiments" — including the Lemon Incident, the Eyebrow Admiration Debacle, and the now-infamous Internal Scream Test — he was sure she was reading his mind.

And now?

He just had to prove it.

Unfortunately for him, she’d had enough.

They were in the training room. She was stretching, getting ready to spar with Bucky. Joaquin was lingering suspiciously by the weights, pretending to text.

"Okay, this time I’ll think of something she couldn’t possibly ignore. Something wild. Something confusing. Something—"

"Joaquin." she said flatly, without turning around. "if you think the phrase ‘unicycle penguin parade’ one more time, I’m throwing a dumbbell at your head."

His eyes snapped up. "WHAT?"

She turned. Slowly. Calmly. Dangerously.

"I gave you a week to stop being weird." she said, crossing her arms. "A whole week. But nooo, you had to make it a brain game."

"¡lo sabía!" he blurted, A finger pointing at her.

Translation: “¡lo sabía!” (I knew it!)

"Oh my God." She sighed, turning to Bucky. "He’s proud. Like a toddler who figured out where the snacks are hidden."

Bucky smirked, arms crossed. "You kind of walked into this one, kid."

She stalked toward Joaquin, mock-serious. "So let me get this straight. You thought I was a mind reader and your brilliant strategy… was lemons?"

Joaquin looked guilty. "I panicked."

"You mentally screamed at me. Multiple times."

"I needed a control group!"

"You thought Bucky’s eyebrows would trip me up."

He mumbled. "They’re very symmetrical."

She narrowed her eyes, circling him now like a shark. "And THEN you had the audacity to start imagining me in situations that would’ve made a sailor blush. The trash bag thought was absolutely feral!"

He turned bright red. "I—I didn’t—"

"Oh, you did. Full soundtrack and everything..."

Sam walked in halfway through and paused, blinking. "What did I miss?"

"She’s roasting Torres for thinking he could outwit a telepath." Bucky said his arms crossed over his chest

"Oh damn." Sam grinned. "Keep going then, this is better than cable."

She turned back to Joaquin, smug. "You really thought you were subtle? You mentally yelled ‘IF YOU CAN HEAR THIS TOUCH YOUR NOSE’ like a lunatic."

"I thought it was clever." he muttered.

"I thought it was sad."

She leaned in, low and dangerous, and whispered:

"Next time you want to test me, Torres… just ask me on a date like a normal person."

His brain exploded.

Sam, from across the room, practically cackled. "Daaaaamn."

Bucky clapped. "Finish him."

But she just patted Joaquin’s cheek once, sweetly, and walked away, sipping her water like nothing happened.

Torres stood frozen, internally combusting, ears pink, pride shattered.

Bucky came up next to him, amused. "That was hard to watch."

Sam added. "I told you not to poke the psychic bear."

Joaquin, still shell-shocked:

"She wants me to ask her out?"

Bucky shrugged. "She said like a normal person."

Sam laughed. "So not with a penguin parade in your head next time."

Joaquin nodded. "Copy that."

Pause.

"…Do you think it’s too late to pretend I have amnesia?"

Like my work? Here's my Masterlist!

A/N: I was listening to this while writing this! Sorry this one is short! I'll make up for it next part!

taglist: @mochminnie

#marvel #joaquin torres fanfiction #joaquin x you #joaquin x reader #joaquin torres #joaquín torres fic #joaquin torres x reader #sam wilson #bucky barnes #Spotify

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cosmiclily · 18 hours ago

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hihihi

would you pretty please write vi x fem reader in a high school au with the slowest slow burn ever? like i want a GUT WRETCHING slow burn that will make me be so impatient like istg GET TOGETHER

anyways thanks 😛

teenage dream - vi x f!reader

wc: 13.8k

notes: this kinda feels like a romcom lol, idk if i like it 100% but i gave it my best 🫡 hope you enjoy it !!!

Senior year was supposed to feel like a clean slate—a final era. Your last shot. You’d promised yourself that this year, everything would be different. Not just different from any other year—different from the last three. You were done wasting weekends locked in your room, scrolling through your phone, or playing board games with Ekko while the rest of the world seemed to actually be living.

No more hiding. No more being the background characters of your own lives.

Ekko had made you swear to it. Sitting on the curb outside the corner store, sharing a bag of chips, legs stretched out into the street like the world could wait for you. He nudged your shoulder and said, “We’re not doing that again. No more hermit mode. No more wasting time. Senior year, we actually live.”

You knew it was corny, but it felt necessary.

So you woke up two hours early.

Yeah, ridiculous. But you needed the time. You stood in front of the mirror longer than you’d ever admit—curling the pieces of hair that refused to behave, wiping and redoing your eyeliner until the wings were almost symmetrical. You cycled through at least four outfits, standing there like your closet held the keys to the future, before settling on something that said—I’ve changed. I’m different now.

By 7:30 a.m., you were sitting at the dining table, chewing toast on autopilot while your parents flipped through their phones and sipped coffee like this was just another monday.

“So,” your dad said, lowering his paper just enough to peek at you, “you ready for your last first day?”

“Yeah!” you said—too fast, too bright. “I mean... it’s still the same people, but... I don’t know. I just don’t want this year to be like the last three, y’know? No more spending every weekend locked in my room or playing board games with Ekko like we’re retired.”

Your parents exchanged the look. That classic ‘Ah, youth’ meets ‘You’ll learn’ kind of glance. Equal parts nostalgia and amusement, probably betting how long your sudden burst of optimism would last.

“Well,” your mom said, pouring coffee into her mug without looking up, “just remember—no recreational drugs, and protection is non-negotiable.”

“MOM.” You nearly launched your toast across the table. “Oh my God.”

Your dad choked on his coffee, sputtering into his mug. “Honey... maybe... maybe don’t start with that.”

“What? I’m being realistic.”

“Oh my God.”

Before either of them could permanently scar your psyche, a car horn beeped twice outside. Your head snapped up—Ekko. Right on time.

You shoved back your chair, snatching your backpack like it was a parachute. “Gotta go! Love you, BYE!”

“Make good choices!” your mom called.

“Text me if you need bail money!” your dad added.

“STOP!!”

The front door slammed behind you.

Ekko was already waiting in his dad’s ancient death-trap of a car, elbow slung over the steering wheel, passenger door popped open for you like always.

“Damn,” he said as you climbed in, giving you a once-over. “Look at you. All grown up.”

“Ugh, thanks. Took me forever. I redid my eyeliner, like... four times.”

“Worth it.” He pulled out of the driveway, throwing you a reckless grin. “This is it. Senior year. We actually live this time.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, half to him, half to yourself. “We live.”

And you believed it.

Right up until the second you walked into homeroom... and saw her.

Slouched in the back row, furthest from the teacher’s desk. One leg kicked lazily over the other. Leather jacket half-zipped over her uniform like the rules were more of a suggestion. Scuffed boots tapping against the chair leg. Her hair tied back just enough to stay out of her face but messy enough to scream I don’t care.

Sharp jaw. Bruised knuckles. That cocky grin—the kind that could ruin a life without even trying.

You didn’t know her. Definitely not. No way. You’d remember someone like her. No one forgot someone like her. But somehow, despite being new, she already had half the class orbiting her like gravity itself bent toward her.

And she didn’t even seem to care. She looked at them like she was doing them a favor just by existing.

She seemed exactly like the kind of girl your parents would warn you about.

And yet...

Your fingers twitched, shoving deep into your pockets.

Nope. Nope. Not doing this. Not today. This is supposed to be my year. My fresh start. I’m not getting distracted by reckless, dangerous, beautiful—

“Hey.”

The voice was low. Lazy. Too close.

You blinked.

She was looking directly at you. Head tilted. One brow arched. A knowing smirk tugging at her mouth—like she’d caught you staring (which, fine, you were) and was absolutely waiting to see what you were gonna do about it.

And just like that—boom.

Your brain blue-screened. Fully fried. Your heart cartwheeled straight into your ribs, then backflipped again for good measure. Your mouth opened. Nothing came out.

Her smirk widened, sharp as a blade. “You gonna stand there all day, or...?”

Panic. Full-body panic. You fumbled for words—any words—but your brain handed you nothing.

“Uh—I mean—yeah—no—I just—uh.”

Real smooth. Stunning work. A masterclass.

Behind you, Ekko let out the loudest, most audible snort, barely covering it behind his hand.

Her eyes dragged down your body, then back up. Quick. Calculating. Like she was deciding whether you were worth her time... or just another face in the crowd.

Then, just as fast as she locked on, she leaned back in her chair. Kicked her foot up on the desk. Looked away.

Ignoring you.

Like you were nothing.

Like you hadn’t just suffered a full cardiac event because of a girl who looked like she belonged on the cover of some underground punk magazine.

Ekko elbowed you so hard you nearly tipped over. “Oh, dude,” he wheezed, “you are so screwed.”

And you knew.

This... this was gonna be a problem.

A massive problem.

──────────────────────

By third period, you already knew her name — Violet Lane, Vi. And by lunchtime, there were already rumors swirling. Not just about her, but about her entire family.

Because, of course, this was high school. New kid? Instant investigation. Gossip was practically its own elective.

Ekko — obviously — had wasted no time collecting intel. By the time you sat down at your usual lunch spot, he was practically vibrating with how much he’d dug up.

“She’s got three siblings,” he started, leaning in like this was classified information. “One girl, two boys. She’s the oldest.”

You raised a brow, poking half-heartedly at your mystery meat masquerading as lunch. “Okay... and?”

“And,” he said, eyes lighting up like he was about to drop the most dramatic plot twist of the century, “they all live with their dad? I didn’t get the full story. And apparently—get this—she’s already been arrested.”

Your head snapped up. “Seriously?”

He nodded, grinning like a cat who just stole an entire rotisserie chicken. “Dead serious. Some kid from bio said his cousin’s neighbor’s sister saw it go down. Or something like that.”

You groaned, half laughing, half horrified. “Oh my God, Ekko. You’ve known about her for — what? — a couple of hours? And you already have her whole life story? Get a hobby. Touch grass. Something.”

“This is my hobby,” he shot back, smirking as he popped a fry into his mouth. “Besides, it’s not like she’s making it hard. You saw her. It’s like she’s asking to be talked about.”

You hated that he wasn’t wrong.

Your eyes involuntarily drifted across the cafeteria to where Vi was sitting — or more like sprawled. She was laughing at something one of the guys next to her said — head tossed back, grin sharp enough to cut glass. Every time someone passed her table, they either tried too hard not to look... or flat-out stared.

You shoved a piece of bread in your mouth and chewed like it was the only thing tethering you to earth.

“Yeah,” you muttered, half to yourself. “Problem. Huge problem.”

──────────────────────

You really weren’t trying to get into Vi’s line of sight. You weren’t trying to befriend her. You weren’t trying anything.

But it didn’t matter.

Because it felt like she was everywhere.

Chemistry. English. Biology. Even your stupid electives. No matter where you went, there she was — like the universe itself had decided to make her impossible to avoid.

You tried. You really, truly tried not to sit anywhere near her. You mastered the art of strategic seat selection, ducking behind taller classmates, pretending to be busy tying your shoe while everyone else picked their spots. But deep down, you knew it was only a matter of time before the odds turned against you.

Apparently... today was that day.

You’d spent the entire week pretending — and failing — not to think about her. Yes, she was pretty. Fine. Yes, she had the kind of magnetic, ice-blue eyes that made your stomach drop and your brain misfire. Whatever. But you’d promised yourself you wouldn’t go there. You couldn’t go there. This was supposed to be your year. Your fresh start. Your last shot before graduation.

And yet...

Friday. Last period. You were itching to go home, to put this cursed week behind you. Of course — because life hated you — you were running late. You half-jogged down the hallway, backpack slamming against your spine, rounding the corner just as the bell shrieked its last warning.

And when you slid into the doorway — panting, flustered — you instantly saw it.

The only empty seat.

Right next to her.

You froze. Completely. Feet planted, backpack straps clenched in white-knuckled fists.

Mr. Heimerdinger’s head snapped toward you, those huge, unsettlingly round glasses magnifying his already too-large eyes until it felt like you were being X-rayed.

“Ms. Y/N,” he said, blinking slowly, voice overly polite in that ‘I’m two seconds away from losing my patience’ way. “Would you please join us?”

You swallowed hard. Loudly.

Your eyes flicked to Vi, who was already leaned back in her chair like she owned the whole back row. One brow raised. A knowing smirk tugging at her lips. She didn't say anything — but her eyes followed you, like she was already guessing exactly how uncomfortable this was making you.

You forced your feet to move. One step. Then another. Backpack thudding as you crossed the room, each step heavier than the last.

Don’t trip. Don’t trip. Don’t trip.

You slid into the seat beside her, trying to make yourself as small as possible, pulling your stuff onto your desk with a shaky sigh.

“Hey, princess” Vi murmured under her breath, voice low enough that only you could hear it.

You whipped your head toward her, wide-eyed. “What?” you squeaked.

She shrugged, looking far too pleased with herself. “Nothin’. Just... didn’t think I’d get to annoy you again so soon.”

Your heart slammed so hard against your ribs you were genuinely concerned the entire class could hear it.

This is fine, you told yourself, staring straight ahead, willing your face not to burst into flames. This is perfectly fine. Totally normal. Absolutely not a complete disaster.

──────────────────────

It was not fine. Actually, it was the complete opposite of fine. It was catastrophic.

You couldn’t hear a single word Mr. Heimerdinger was saying. Not one. You were so focused on pretending Vi didn’t exist that all your brain managed to do was... obsessively catalog everything about her.

Like how, halfway through the class, she started bouncing her leg under the desk. Restless. How the silver ring on her middle finger clicked rhythmically against her pen as she tapped it — over and over and over. How she scribbled messy, half-legible notes on her notebook, pausing every so often like she couldn’t decide whether to care or not.

And then there was... her smell.

Sweet. Soft. Something vaguely warm, like vanilla mixed with something sharper — citrusy, maybe? Definitely not what you expected. Not that you had ever sat around imagining what she smelled like — except apparently you had, because some dumb part of your brain was half-expecting punching bags, cigarette smoke, and... prison cells? Which wasn’t even a real smell. What were you thinking??

You squeezed your eyes shut. Stop. Stop thinking. Stop existing.

“Ms. Y/N?”

A voice. Distant.

“Ms. Y/N.”

“Ms. Y/N!”

You practically launched out of your chair, heart slamming against your ribs. “Huh — what — I mean — yes?”

Half the class turned to look at you. Vi included — brows raised, very obviously trying not to laugh.

Mr. Heimerdinger frowned, adjusting his comically huge glasses. “I asked you a question.”

You blinked. “...Could you maybe repeat it?”

His sigh was long. Painfully long. “What is the molar mass of sodium chloride?”

Your brain completely stalled.

Sodium chloride... sodium... salt. Salt. SALT. Your neurons were firing blanks.

“Fifty-eight point four” Vi whispered from next to you, her voice low, lazy — like she wasn’t even trying, like it cost her nothing to know this.

You blinked. That... that couldn’t be right. Could it?

Was she actually smart?

No way. No way. She didn’t look like someone who paid attention. But then again, neither did you right now.

Still, at this rate, you had no other choice. You swallowed hard. “...Fifty-eight point four?” you repeated, voice way more unsure than you wanted it to be.

For a split second, you braced for impact — expecting disappointment, maybe even an exasperated lecture.

But Mr. Heimerdinger just adjusted his glasses, nodded once, and offered a pleased smile. “Excellent, young child. You were paying more attention than I thought, after all.”

Your jaw nearly hit the floor.

As he turned back to the board, rambling about how beautiful, fragile, and ridiculously expensive the universe was, you slowly turned toward Vi. She was leaning back in her chair, arms crossed, looking way too pleased with herself.

That smug little grin tugging at her lips like she’d just won something.

“Thanks” you muttered, trying — and failing — to sound cool about it.

She tipped her head, all faux innocence. “Anytime.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Didn’t think you were... you know. Someone who paid attention.”

Her grin curved sharper. “Yeah? Didn’t think you were someone who spaced out so bad they forgot what salt was.”

Your face burned. “I did not forget what salt was.”

She raised a brow, clearly fighting a laugh. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

You huffed, turning back toward the board, pretending to care deeply about Heimerdinger’s tangent about molecular bonds, but it was useless — you were hyper-aware of Vi. Of her presence. Of the way her knee barely brushed against yours when she shifted. Of how even that tiny contact had your heart acting like it had no idea how to do its job.

──────────────────────

After that little interaction in chemistry, it was like Vi had made it her personal mission to embarrass you at every possible opportunity.

Anytime she could squeeze in a snarky comment, a teasing remark, or an infuriating smirk—she absolutely did.

Caught you rambling to yourself in the library while rewriting your notes for the third time?

“Didn’t realize you were giving a TED Talk” she’d quip, leaning against the bookshelf like she had nowhere else in the world to be.

Used the wrong pronunciation in French?

There she was, right next to you, snorting quietly, whispering through a giggle, “It’s ‘voilà,’ not ‘voilaay,’ genius.”

Oh—and another thing? She now sat next to you. In. Every. Single. Class.

Even when Ekko was supposed to be your buffer, your safe space, your emotional support best friend—Vi somehow managed to kick him out of his seat just to take his place.

No warning. No shame. Just a lazy, “Scoot, dude,” and Ekko would sigh dramatically but move anyway, like this was some sitcom he’d willingly subscribed to.

“Seriously,” you groaned one morning as Ekko drove you to school, arms crossed tight over your chest. “You have to stop letting her do that. I thought you were my friend.”

“I am your friend,” he grinned, fiddling with the radio until he found some indie playlist that sounded just pretentious enough. “But I also think it’s the funniest thing in the world how red she makes you.”

You smacked his arm. “Traitor.”

“Look,” he said, laughing, “she’s obviously messing with you because you give her the best reactions. You go full tomato mode, and she eats that up. If you acted like you didn’t care, she’d probably get bored.”

“Yeah. Except I do care. And I can’t act cool. Have you met me?”

“Valid point.” Ekko flicked on his blinker. “But also... maybe you secretly like it.”

Your mouth dropped open. “I do not.”

He just grinned wider. “Sure.”

You wanted to argue. You really did. But the fact that your face was heating up again kind of ruined any defense you could’ve possibly made.

And when Ekko pulled into the parking lot and you saw Vi leaning against the wall near the entrance—jacket slung over her shoulder, pink hair catching in the breeze, grinning the second she spotted you—you realized...

Yeah.

This was going to be the slowest, most painful emotional death known to mankind.

──────────────────────

By the time Friday was over, you were fully, completely, and emotionally destroyed.

You’d barely survived an entire week of Vi relentlessly tormenting you with her stupid smirks, her shameless teasing, her... existence. It was exhausting—being hyper-aware of someone’s every move, every glance, every brush of their knee against yours. You felt like you’d been holding your breath since Monday.

And yet, apparently, the universe wasn’t done torturing you.

Because besides Vi... there was a whole lot of nothing going on in your life.

You didn’t know what you expected senior year to feel like, but it definitely wasn’t this.

You expected freedom, maybe. Some kind of movie-magic glow. The year where you’d finally be that girl—the one who had it together. Carrie Bradshaw voiceovers narrating your life while you strutted through the hallways in fabulous outfits, balancing friendships, a thriving social life, and the occasional romantic entanglement. (You probably should stop binge watching Sex and The City.)

But no.

It was just... essays.

Essays. Group projects. Labs. Quizzes. College applications breathing down your neck. Stress acne appearing in places you didn’t even know could get acne. And a very unglamorous amount of existential dread.

There was no whimsical montage. No soulful jazz in the background. Just the sound of your laptop fan threatening to explode as you stared at a blank Google Doc titled “The Impact of Industrialization on Modern Society.”

“This is not what the movies promised me,” you grumbled, slamming your forehead onto your desk. “Carrie Bradshaw never had to write a five-page analysis on the French Revolution.”

Ekko, sprawled out on your bed flipping through a textbook, snorted. “Yeah, well, she also never had to figure out the square root of disappointment, but here we are.”

You groaned louder, pushing your chair back and pacing your room like moving would somehow convince your brain to start functioning. “I thought this year was supposed to be... different. You know? Last year. Bucket list. Memories. Parties. Something. Anything. Instead, it’s just me drowning in homework, applying to colleges I can’t afford, and—”

You caught yourself. Cut the sentence off before her name could tumble out.

But Ekko caught it anyway. His eyes flicked toward you, one brow lifting, waiting.

“Nope,” you said quickly, pointing a finger at him. “Don’t. Not doing this.”

“I didn’t say anything,” he said, deadpan. But the shit-eating grin tugging at the corner of his mouth said otherwise.

“Didn’t have to.” You groaned and flopped dramatically onto the floor, staring up at the ceiling like maybe—just maybe—the meaning of life was written there. “This year is actually trying to kill me.”

“Same,” Ekko sighed, sliding off the bed to lie next to you on the floor. “But hey... at least you’re not totally alone in the dumpster fire.”

“Yeah,” you muttered. “Nothing says ‘senior year memories’ like joint academic suffering.”

For a moment, the two of you just laid there in silence. But no matter how hard you tried to focus on the French Revolution, college deadlines, or literally anything else... your mind kept drifting. Right back to a certain pink-haired menace. And how, somehow, she was the only part of this year that didn’t fit the script.

You eventually sat up, dragging yourself back to your desk, fingers hovering over the keyboard, pretending to care about how the French revolutionized—whatever—a million years ago. But your brain was having none of it.

A groan ripped from your throat. “The semester’s halfway over, and we haven’t been to a single party.” You turned to Ekko, dead serious. “Do you know how much of a loser you have to be to not get invited to anything?”

Ekko flipped another page of the massive history book he’d borrowed from the library and shrugged. “Well... you’re a loser, and I’m always with you, so that just makes me a loser by association.”

You gasped, grabbing the nearest pillow and hurling it at his face. “I’m not the physics nerd here, nerd!”

He caught the pillow with one hand, deadpan. “Wow. Riveting. Such clever insults.” He tossed it back at you. “Inspirational, really.”

“Shut up.” You laughed, shaking your head.

Ekko shut the book with a dramatic thud and leaned back. “Y’know what? No. We’re not doing this. I’m gonna find us a party. I don’t care how. It’s happening.”

You blinked. “You’re serious?”

“As a heart attack.” He pulled out his phone, already scrolling. “We are not ending senior year as the weird shut-ins who spent every Friday night crying over AP assignments and eating instant noodles.”

A grin tugged at your lips despite the gloom. “Godspeed, soldier.”

“You’ll thank me later.” He shot you a finger gun without looking up. “Or blame me. Either way, it’ll be entertaining.”

──────────────────────

After spending the rest of your weekend (trying to) finish your schoolwork, Monday hit you like a truck.

The second Ekko left your house, you dove headfirst into the mountain of projects still waiting for you—which, unsurprisingly, consumed the rest of your weekend... and then some.

By the time you dragged yourself to school, you looked like a complete disaster. So much for “looking your best” this year. Your gray hoodie had a suspicious stain you couldn’t remember getting, your coffee was roughly 80% espresso, and your backpack felt like it contained the entire French Revolution itself.

By second period, you were one minor inconvenience away from crumbling into dust. You flopped into your usual seat, pulled out your laptop, and pretended to care about whatever class this was—chemistry? Geometry? Who even knew anymore—while your mind spiraled through the same exhausting loop:

Deadlines. Stress. Coffee.

Deadlines. Stress. Vi.

Deadlines. Stress. Vi, Vi, Vi.

Because, of course, there she was again—sliding into the seat next to you like she belonged there, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Vi.

Wearing a red hoodie, pink hair perfectly disheveled in that “I don’t care, but somehow I still look stupidly good” kind of way.

“Morning, princess,” she greeted, her voice lower than usual, a little scratchy like she hadn’t fully woken up yet. She stretched her arms above her head, and just enough of her hoodie lifted for you to catch a glimpse of the tattoo inked along her back—

You yanked your gaze back to your screen like it had personally wronged you. “Don’t call me that.”

“Relax,” she chuckled, nudging your shoe with hers under the desk. “You look tense. Didn’t get your beauty sleep?”

“Not everyone spends their weekend drinking and flirting.” You shot her a glare, pushing your glasses up the bridge of your nose. “Some of us were actually being responsible.”

“Mhm.” Vi rested her chin in her palm, her smirk lazy and far too self-satisfied. “You mean rewriting your French Revolution essay three times... while binge-watching Sex and the City?”

Your jaw dropped. “How the hell do you know that?”

She tapped the side of her head, all smug. “I’ve got my ways.”

You groaned, sinking lower into your seat, already mentally drafting Ekko’s obituary. It was definitely him. It had to be him. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” Her grin widened, the kind that could ruin a person if they weren’t careful. “Face it, sunshine... you’d be bored without me.”

The worst part? She was probably right.

The class dragged on forever—an endless stream of equations or chemical reactions or maybe both; you weren’t sure—but eventually, finally, the bell rang.

As students shuffled out, Vi leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. “Hey... wanna grab coffee after school? I promise I won’t make you write any essays.”

For a second, you hesitated. You really shouldn’t. Not with the avalanche of homework waiting for you and your mental stability hanging by a thread.

But then again... maybe a break wouldn’t hurt. Maybe dealing with Vi was slightly less exhausting than dealing with your own brain.

“Fine,” you blurted before your common sense could stop you.

Her grin stretched instantly—cocky, victorious, like she’d just won some invisible game you didn’t even know you were playing. “That’s the spirit.”

As you shoved your laptop back into your bag, a creeping realization settled over you like a bad omen. Was getting coffee with Vi actually a good idea? Probably not.

Maybe it was dangerous. Maybe this—whatever this was—wasn’t just casual teasing anymore. Maybe it was something bigger. Something scarier. Something with the potential to pull you under so fast there’d be no crawling back out.

Not that you were thinking about that, of course. Definitely not. Totally fine. Totally normal.

Absolutely. Totally. Fine.

──────────────────────

By lunch, your internal panic spiral hadn’t stopped.

Ekko sat across from you, rambling about something—maybe a new indie album, maybe a game update—but truth be told, you weren’t hearing a word. Your brain was too busy catastrophizing:

What did Vi even mean by coffee? Was it just coffee? Was it a peace treaty? A trap? Would it be weird? Would it be—

“...and then I pulled out a gun and shot myself in the head.”

Your head snapped up. “What?!”

Ekko deadpanned, holding his fork mid-air. “Oh, so now you’re listening. Cool. Just making sure you hadn’t actually flatlined.”

You blinked. “Sorry. I... zoned out.”

“Zoned out?” Ekko blinked at you. “You’ve been staring into space like a Victorian ghost for the last ten minutes. What’s going on?” His eyes narrowed, suspicious. “Wait... let me guess. Vi?”

You groaned, dropping your head into your hands. “I hate that you know me this well.”

“Oh my God. What did she do now?”

“I...” You sighed, sinking further into the table. “I accidentally agreed to get coffee with her after school.”

Ekko blinked. “...Accidentally?”

“Yes. Shut up.”

A grin spread across his face like wildfire. “So let me get this straight. You got a date with Ms. Criminal Record herself?”

“It’s not a date.”

“Sure. Totally. Not a date.” He wiggled his eyebrows like he was physically incapable of controlling himself.

You groaned louder, shoving a french fry into your mouth just to avoid having to answer.

──────────────────────

You stood outside the little coffee shop two blocks from school, hands shoved deep into your hoodie pocket, already questioning every decision that had led you to this exact moment.

You could still back out. Just make up some excuse tomorrow. Maybe something tragic. Like... your poor dog suddenly died. (Not that anyone would believe that. You didn’t even have a dog. But... she didn’t know that.)

Before you could spiral any further, a familiar voice snapped you out of it.

“Well, look who showed.

You turned—and there she was.

Leaning against the wall like she was posing for some effortlessly cool magazine cover. Pink hair windswept and messier than usual, a few loose strands falling over her face. Her red hoodie hanging a little loose on her frame, but that stupid, infuriating smirk? Oh, that was very much still there—the one that made it impossible to tell whether she was about to flirt with you or ruin your entire life. Probably both.

“You actually came” she added, pushing off the wall with her boot.

“I said I would” you muttered, trying—failing—to sound casual.

She grinned, holding the door open with an exaggerated bow. “After you, sunshine.”

“Stop calling me that” you grumbled, stepping inside.

The place was small but cozy—dim string lights hanging along the ceiling, the faint smell of roasted coffee beans mixing with cinnamon, and some random indie song playing softly in the background. Mismatched chairs, hand-painted tables, and customers pretending to study while actually scrolling through their phones completed the aesthetic.

Vi ordered an iced coffee with two extra espresso shots (because of course she did), while you went with something safer, something warm and without any caffeine. You were already anxious enough without turbo-charging (more) your nervous system.

As you waited, the silence between you felt... weird. Not awkward, exactly. More like... charged. Heavy in a way that made your skin buzz.

When you sat down, she stretched her legs out under the table, and her boot knocked against yours. You weren’t sure if it was an accident. (It wasn’t.)

Vi drummed her fingers against the table. “Didn’t think you’d actually say yes.”

“Yeah, well,” you muttered, stirring your drink unnecessarily. “Didn’t think you’d actually ask.”

Vi laughed, head tipping back slightly, a few strands of pink falling over her eyes. “Fair.”

For a moment, neither of you said anything. You stared at your drink like it might offer you answers. She stared at you like you were the answer.

“So...” you started, voice coming out a little tighter than you intended. “What is this? Some new form of torture?”

Vi tilted her head, smirk softening just slightly. “Nah. Just... wanted to hang out. You’re fun.”

You blinked. “You have a really weird definition of fun.”

She grinned wider. “Maybe. Or maybe you just don’t know how to loosen up.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms. “Oh yeah? And you’re gonna teach me how to... what? Break the law? Get arrested?”

Vi actually laughed at that. A real one. Loud, full, and genuine—like you’d just told her the funniest joke in the world. It caught you off guard. The corners of her eyes crinkled in a way that made your stupid heart squeeze in your chest.

“You know that’s not actually true, right?” she said between chuckles.

“It’s not?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No!” she snorted, shaking her head. “Where the hell do you people get this stuff from?”

“Oh, I don’t know...” You gestured vaguely, feigning deep thought. “The seventeen detentions... the rumors... the fact that you’ve been in a fistfight like, what? Twice this semester?”

“Pfft.” Vi waved a hand dismissively. “Okay, first off, one of those wasn’t my fault. That guy walked into my fist. Totally different situation.”

You blinked. “Right. Sure. Completely believable.” You crossed your arms, leaning back in your chair. “Besides, someone’s friend’s cousin’s neighbor —or something, saw it happen.”

Vi raised a brow, her grin sharpening. “Oh yeah? And does someone’s friend’s cousin’s neighbor have a name?”

You squinted at her. “What? Why? What are you gonna do—beat them up too?”

She laughed, taking a sip of her iced coffee like she hadn’t just casually confessed to semi-accidental assault ten seconds ago. “Relax, sunshine. I’m not that bad. I just... have a reputation. Doesn’t mean it’s all true.”

You rested your chin in your palm, narrowing your eyes like you were studying her under a microscope. “So what you’re telling me is... you’re secretly... what? Misunderstood?”

Vi tilted her head, smile softening around the edges. “Maybe.” She shrugged, leaning back in her chair. “Guess you’ll have to figure that one out for yourself.”

The air between you shifted—just slightly. Less banter, more... something else. Something heavier. Something that made your heart do that annoying stutter thing it had absolutely no right doing.

And that was terrifying. Because you realized—maybe for the first time—that under all the teasing, the cocky grins, and the reckless energy... there was an actual person sitting in front of you. Someone complicated. Someone interesting. Someone who was starting to feel even more like a bad idea.

“Yeah...” you muttered, taking a sip of your drink. “Not sure if that’s a good thing or a terrible thing.”

Vi smirked, tapping her boot against yours again. “Guess we’ll find out.”

──────────────────────

The second you stepped out of the coffee shop you fumbled your phone out of your hoodie pocket with shaking hands.

Your thumbs moved before your brain could catch up.

YOU: 🆘🆘🆘 EMERGENCY. CALL 911.

EKKO: what now 💀

YOU: I JUST GOT OUT OF THE COFFEE SHOP WITH VI. SHE WAS. NICE???

EKKO: hold on nice??? vi? pink-haired menace vi?

YOU: YES. SHE WAS ACTUALLY NICE. OR LIKE... FAKE NICE?? IDK. SHE SMILED. NOT THE "IM GONNA BULLY YOU" SMILE. THE OTHER ONE. THE... SOFT ONE.

EKKO: oh no. ur doomed. rip.

YOU: THIS IS NOT FUNNY. IM PANICKING. WHAT IF I LIKE HER. 😭😭😭

EKKO: lmao u’ve BEEN liked her. ur just now realizing?

YOU: SHUT UP. IM SERIOUS. WHAT DO I DO????

EKKO: idk. maybe stop fighting it?? 🤷🏽‍♂️ get ur little enemies-to-something arc going.

YOU: NOT HELPING.

EKKO: ok fine. step 1: breathe. step 2: admit u wanna kiss her. step 3: idk figure it out.

YOU: IM BLOCKING YOU.

EKKO: no u won’t. ur too busy spiraling over vi

You groaned, aggressively locking your phone and shoving it back into your hoodie pocket like that would somehow mute your own brain—and more specifically, your heart—that was now screaming in seventeen different languages.

Nope. Not dealing with this right now.

You decided to power through it. Focus. You had enough problems as it was. Adding "possibly liking Vi" to the pile? Yeah, no. Not happening.

You tugged your hoodie tighter around you as you walked home, headphones in, trying to drown out your own thoughts with music. But it didn’t work. Your brain kept spiraling back to the same stupid question:

What happens now?

Would she treat you the same? Were things going to be weird? Did she think it was weird? Was this a one-time thing, or…?

By the time you unlocked your front door, your head hurt more than your overstuffed backpack. You threw it onto your bed with a dramatic sigh, flopped next to it, and buried your face in the pillow.

Bzzzt.

Your phone lit up. A text from an unknown number.

Unknown Number: got home safe?

You blinked. Sat up. Stared at it.

You: ??

You: who is this?

Unknown Number: the love of your life, sunshine.

Your stomach dropped—and flipped—and caught fire all at once.

You: vi??

Unknown Number: ding ding ding 🏆

You stared at the screen, jaw slack, brain buffering.

How the hell did she even get your number??

Another text popped up before you could even process:

Vi: relax. i bribed ekko with gummy worms. not my proudest moment.

Vi: worth it tho.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, completely useless. No thoughts. Head empty. Just static and panic and... butterflies.

You: you’re unbelievable.

Vi: yeah yeah. but admit it... you missed me already.

You flopped back onto the bed, phone to your chest, letting out the loudest, most dramatic groan the universe had ever heard.

It was pathetic, but the actual truth was that you kinda did.

──────────────────────

By the time morning rolled around, you were running on approximately three hours of sleep, sheer panic, and the lingering chaos of that text conversation. You had stared at your phone way longer than you should’ve last night, reading and rereading her messages, debating whether each one was a joke, flirting, or some strange Vi-brand mix of both.

Needless to say, you looked like death. Again.

Slam.

Your locker door shut louder than intended, making you jump. And of course—because the universe loved making your life worse—there she was.

Vi.

Leaning casually against the locker next to yours like she lived there now. Hands stuffed into her red jacket pocket, head tilted.

“Morning, sunshine.” The smirk was back in full force. “Sleep well?”

You deadpanned. “Absolutely not.”

She chuckled. “Weird. Wonder why.”

“Oh, gee, yeah, I wonder,” you shot back, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “It’s almost like someone decided to text me stupid stuff until midnight.”

Vi grinned, walking in step with you down the hallway. “Midnight? Weak. I could’ve gone longer.”

“God, you’re exhausting.”

“And yet,” she bumped your shoulder lightly with hers, “here you are. Still showing up.”

You side-eyed her, heat creeping up your neck despite your best efforts. “Yeah, well. Someone’s gotta supervise you before you get arrested for... I don’t know... breathing wrong.”

Vi laughed. That warm, genuine kind of laugh that made something in your chest tangle into a knot.

As you rounded the corner toward class, a familiar voice cut through—

“Well, well, well,” Ekko drawled, leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed. “Look who’s become... inseparable.”

Your face practically caught fire. “Shut up.”

Vi just raised a brow, grinning. “What, jealous?”

Ekko scoffed. “Please. I don’t have the emotional energy to handle two of you.”

You shoved past both of them. “If anyone needs me, I’ll be throwing myself into the nearest garbage can.”

“Oh, we know,” Ekko called after you. “We absolutely know.”

Vi just laughed again, falling into step beside you. Like she belonged there. Like this was... normal now.

And the scary part? You kinda wanted it to be.

Then days turned into a week. Then two.

And somehow... Vi didn’t go away.

She started showing up more. Sliding into the seat next to you like it was her God-given right. Stealing your fries at lunch without asking. Sending you dumb texts late at night—things like, “Are sandwiches technically tacos?” followed by, “No, but seriously, I have evidence. Prepare yourself.”

She was... just there now. In your space. In your routine. In your head.

And God help you... you liked it. Way more than you should.

But the more time passed, the more this uncomfortable little thought started gnawing at your brain like a rat in the walls:

Maybe that coffee “date” wasn’t actually a date.

You were the one who read it wrong. Of course you were. It was Vi. Vi flirted like she breathed—effortless, constant, automatic. With everyone.

This was probably just... a game to her. A joke. Maybe she liked seeing you flustered. Maybe you were just something fun to mess with—a puzzle, a toy, a distraction from her own boredom.

So you didn’t say anything. You shoved it down. Bit your tongue every time she called you sunshine, or princess, or sweetheart with that infuriating, devastating little grin.

Because what if you asked—“What is this? What are we?”—and she laughed? What if she said, “Relax. Don’t take it so seriously.”? What if you ruined everything?

Because as exhausting as it was, as much as your brain scrambled every time her knee brushed yours under the cafeteria table, or she slung her arm around your shoulder like it meant nothing... you didn’t want her to go away.

You liked this.

You liked her.

Even if it hurt a little.

Even if it meant pretending you were totally fine with being “just friends.”

Even if it meant ignoring the fact that every time she smiled at you, your heart felt like it was trying to jailbreak out of your ribs.

And as you lay sprawled out on your bedroom rug—half-heartedly scrolling through social media, half-staring at the ceiling—you found yourself thinking:

What would Carrie Bradshaw do?

Probably something chaotic and self-destructive. Probably humiliate herself so Big would stay with her... and then cry about it to her friends over overpriced brunch.

Unfortunately, you weren’t a successful writer in your mid-thirties with a nicotine addiction and a talent for making terrible life decisions look glamorous.

Before you could spiral any further, a voice interrupted from your doorway.

“God, you look awful.”

You sat up to see Ekko leaning against the doorframe, a box of pizza on his hands.

“Thanks,” you deadpanned, dragging yourself off the floor. “Nice to see you too.”

“Who died?”

“My dignity.”

Ekko snorted, kicking the door shut behind him. “Again? Damn. How many lives does that thing have left?” He put the box on your bed and sat down on your desk chair. “Brought you pizza. Though honestly, I figured you were dead since I didn’t hear from you.”

You opened the box with a groan. “You weren’t wrong.”

“About?”

“She doesn’t actually like me,” you mumbled around a bite of pizza. “She’s just... being Vi. Y’know. Flirts with everyone. Makes stupid jokes. Drives me insane.”

Ekko gave you a long, unimpressed look. “I don’t know if this helps, but... she doesn’t flirt with everyone. She’s actually kinda rude most of the time.”

You snorted, nearly choking. “Wow. Thanks, I feel so much better now.”

Grabbing a slice for himself, Ekko leaned back against the chair. “But the real question is... do you actually like her?”

Your silence was deafening.

“Right,” he sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “Okay, well, if you’re gonna keep wallowing like a sad Victorian ghost, I’m officially dragging you out of this pit before you start writing love letters by candlelight or—God forbid—buying a typewriter for aesthetic purposes.”

You squinted at him. “...What?”

“If you actually read the texts I sent you, you’d know I found us a party.” He gave you a look that screamed “Yes, I’m awesome. Worship me.” “It’s next Saturday.”

You groaned, flopping back onto your bed like the dramatic mess you were.

Because somewhere between promising yourself you’d actually live this year—and whatever the hell living even meant—came the inevitable downside: socializing.

A thing you categorically hated.

“I have plans next Saturday,” you tried, weakly.

“You’re going to the party. Not up for debate,” Ekko shot back, already calling you out with zero mercy. “And no, rewatching Sex and the City for the hundredth time does not count as plans.”

You scowled, hugging a throw pillow to your chest. “I’m not in the mood to socialize, okay? I’m one hundred percent sure Vi’s gonna be there, and I am not emotionally prepared to watch her flirt with other girls.”

“God, I hate her,” you muttered.

“Sure you do,” Ekko snorted, spinning lazily in your desk chair. “You hate her so much that you’ve memorized the exact shade of her stupid eyes.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

You groaned. “Seriously, Ekko, I cannot deal with her right now. I just... I need a break. A Vi detox.”

“Tough luck,” he shrugged, propping his feet up on your desk. “Last week you were practically begging me to find us a party, and guess what? I delivered. So you’re coming.”

You sighed dramatically. “Why does the universe hate me?”

“It doesn’t. You just have a crush.” He grinned like the menace he was. “And if you don’t go, it’s like... letting her win.”

You blinked. “Win what?”

“Your sanity. Your dignity. Your spot in the food chain. I don’t know. Something important.”

You buried your face in your hands. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

And annoyingly… he was right.

That’s how you found yourself being dragged into a house you didn’t even know the owner of on Saturday night.

The second you stepped through the door, the overwhelming smell hit you like a brick wall—a chaotic cocktail of cheap beer, weed, sweat, and the unmistakable stench of too many underage boys crammed into one place. Whoever’s house this was clearly had no concept of fire codes, personal space, or carpet maintenance.

Music blared from a speaker that was definitely not designed to handle bass that heavy. The floor vibrated under your shoes. Bodies were everywhere—crammed into corners, perched on countertops, lounging on beat-up couches, or tangled together on the stairs. Half of them you’d never even seen before in your life.

Were these people even from your school? Where did they come from? Did someone open a portal to the next town over?

You tugged your sleeves down over your hands, already regretting every life decision that led to this moment.

“I feel like I’ve walked straight into hell,” you muttered, glaring as someone stumbled past holding a bottle of something that was absolutely not soda.

“C’mon,” Ekko grinned, annoyingly chipper about all of this. “Let’s get something to drink.” Without waiting for your consent, he hooked his arm around yours and practically dragged you toward the kitchen.

You wove through the crowd, sidestepping sweaty bodies, dodging two girls aggressively making out against a wall, and narrowly avoiding being collateral damage in an increasingly hostile beer pong argument.

The kitchen wasn’t much better—just slightly less packed. The counters were a crime scene of half-empty bottles, red Solo cups, discarded bags of chips, and mysterious sticky puddles you decided not to investigate.

Ekko let go of your arm long enough to rummage through the chaos. “Alright, what’s your poison? Mystery punch that’ll probably kill us, or…” He picked up a bottle, sniffed it, and immediately recoiled. “...something that smells like nail polish remover.”

You wrinkled your nose. “Tempting.”

“Yeah, we love a choice between food poisoning and gasoline.”

Still, you grabbed a cup—more to have something to fidget with than any real desire to drink it—pointedly ignoring the suspicious floating things in the punch. “Remind me why I let you talk me into this?”

“Character development,” Ekko smirked. “Also... senior year. We’re supposed to make bad decisions. It’s, like, a rule.”

You sighed, leaning against the counter, tapping your cup but not drinking yet. Your eyes scanned the crowd—half on autopilot, half on edge—until, like clockwork…

There she was.

Leaning against the doorway to the living room, one boot casually kicked back against the frame. Vi’s signature leather jacket was—surprisingly—nowhere in sight, abandoned for the night. Pink hair pulled back just enough to show off the sharp undercut, with a few loose strands falling perfectly (and infuriatingly) over her forehead.

A half-empty beer bottle dangled lazily from her fingertips as she laughed at something the girl next to her said—a pretty brunette with a red streak in her hair and a hand resting just a little too comfortably on Vi’s arm.

Like gravity itself had shifted, every nerve in your body zeroed in on her. Of course she was here. Of course she looked stupidly, unfairly cool. Of course she had that cocky, heartbreaker grin tugging at the corner of her mouth like she owned the house.

Ekko followed your gaze, groaned, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Oh no. Don’t do it. Don’t even start.”

“I’m not doing anything,” you shot back, defensive. “I’m literally just standing here.”

“Mmhmm. Sure.”

Then, because betrayal runs deep, Ekko mumbled something about “blue hair” and promptly vanished into the crowd. So much for ‘Yeah, I won’t leave your side. I’m your emotional support human.’

“Traitor” you muttered under your breath.

With a sigh, you glanced back toward the doorway—because you were weak and apparently a glutton for pain—but... she was gone.

Vi was no longer there.

The brunette she’d been talking to was still standing there, frowning and glancing around like she hadn’t expected her conversation partner to ghost her either.

For one brief, ridiculous moment, you actually wondered if you’d hallucinated her. Maybe the combination of party fumes and emotional damage had finally fried your brain.

“Cool. Awesome. I’m officially losing it,” you muttered, pressing your palm to your face.

“Miss me, sunshine?”

Her voice—low, smug, dangerously close—purred into your ear.

You jolted so hard you nearly flung your drink. Whipping around, you came face-to-face with her.

She was standing way too close. Hands shoved into the back pockets of her ripped jeans like she hadn’t just scared you half to death. Her cropped tank showed off toned arms and tattoos that curled out from beneath the fabric.

“Not really,” you shot back, trying—and failing—to sound casual.

Vi grinned, tilting her head. “Liar.” Her eyes flicked over you, softer now, almost fond. “Didn’t know you were coming tonight.”

“Didn’t know you’d be here either,” you mumbled, instantly hating how breathless you sounded.

“Oh please.” She bumped your shoulder lightly with hers. “It’s me. Of course I’m here.” Her grin softened just a fraction. “Glad you showed up though.”

You blinked. “Wait... really?”

“Yeah.” Her smile was lazy but genuine. “Parties are boring without you.”

And before you could even begin to figure out what the hell that meant, a voice from the living room yelled over the music, “SPIN THE BOTTLE! LIVING ROOM. NOW.”

Vi’s eyes lit up instantly. “Wanna play?”

You looked between her excited face and the drink going warm in your cup. “Screw it.”

You tipped the cup back, downing the whole thing in one go. It didn’t taste as bad as you expected—but it wasn’t good either. Wincing, you wiped your mouth. “Let’s play.”

Vi grinned wide, her fingers curling gently around your wrist. With a playful tug, she pulled you toward the living room. “That’s what I’m talking about.”

You knew—you just knew—you were gonna regret this. But with her looking at you like that, and the growing crowd surging in the same direction, any resistance felt... pointless.

Senior year was made for bad choices, wasn’t it?

A circle had already formed on the floor—red solo cups, empty bottles, and shoes scattered around like landmines. Someone shoved an empty beer bottle into the center, laying out the rules with a drunken grin: spin the bottle, kiss whoever it lands on. No chicken-outs. No take-backs.

Hovering awkwardly at the edge, you felt whatever flimsy bravado you’d gathered start to crumble. But Vi didn’t let go of your wrist. Instead, she tugged you down next to her, thigh pressed firmly against yours, anchoring you to the spot.

She nudged your shoulder, smirking. “Relax. It’s just a dumb game.” Her voice softened, losing some of that usual cocky edge. “If it lands on someone weird, we can just pretend it was rigged. I’ve got your back, sunshine.”

...God, why was she being nice? Friendly. Sweet, even. This wasn’t fair. She wasn’t allowed to be hot and considerate. It was emotional terrorism.

The bottle spun a few times—cheers, groans, awkward laughter as strangers kissed. Your nerves shot through the roof every time it started slowing down.

Then someone nudged the bottle toward Vi. “Your turn, Pinky.”

Vi rolled her eyes but smirked, leaning forward and giving the bottle a lazy flick of her wrist. It spun wildly, clattering against the floor as the whole circle leaned in to watch.

Your stomach dropped.

The bottle slowed... slowed... then—

It landed on you.

A stunned beat of silence. Then someone let out a sharp whistle. Another voice gasped, “No freaking way.”

Your entire face went up in flames. You swore you could feel the heat radiating off your skin.

Vi blinked, like she hadn’t expected it either. But then her grin stretched wider—less cocky, more... mischievous. A softness tugged at the corners of her mouth.

She scooted in closer, her voice low enough that only you could hear. “Wanna skip? Or...” Her gaze flickered to your lips, then back to your eyes, softer now. “...Or do you want me to kiss you?”

You swallowed. “It’s... it’s the game, isn’t it?” you mumbled, trying—failing—to hide how badly you wanted to say yesjust because it was her.

Vi didn’t say anything. Instead, her hand slid up, fingers finding the side of your neck, warm and gentle. Her nose brushed yours as she leaned in, close enough that you could feel her breath, hot and uneven against your mouth.

Then she kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed, or rough, or showy like you expected. Neither of you fought for dominance. None of the dumb clichés. It was... soft. Warm. Her lips moved against yours like it was the most natural thing in the world—like you were something delicate, something meant to be held like this.

It made your head spin. Your fingers twitched uselessly against the fabric of your jeans, torn between gripping onto her or pushing her away before you fell any deeper into whatever trap this was.

When she pulled back—just barely—her forehead lingered against yours, her breath mingling with yours. Her thumb brushed lightly at your cheek, absent, casual... like muscle memory. Like this wasn’t a big deal to her. Like it was nothing.

And that’s when the crack split straight through your chest.

Because as much as you wanted to believe—God, you wanted to believe—that this meant something, you knew better.

This was just Vi being Vi. Flirty. Charming. Sweet when it suited her. A kiss for the sake of a game. A moment that meant absolutely nothing to her while it meant way too much to you.

You weren’t special. You were just the person the bottle landed on.

Of course she didn’t really want you. Not like that. Not really.

“Excuse me” you muttered, barely able to get the words out before the lump in your throat suffocated you.

You scrambled to your feet, ignoring the laughter and the teasing whistles from the crowd. Your chest felt too tight. The walls too close. The air thick like smoke.

“Hey—wait—” you heard Vi start, but you were already pushing through the bodies, practically shoving your way toward the front door.

The cold air outside hit you like a slap the second you stepped out. You gulped it down like you’d been drowning, wrapping your arms around yourself as you paced toward the curb, trying to make the knot in your chest unclench.

“Damn it,” you hissed under your breath. “Damn it, damn it, damn it.”

“Hey. Hey—wait.”

The door creaked open behind you, and heavy boots clattered down the porch steps.

You didn’t have to turn around to know who it was.

“Sunshine, what the hell?” Her voice was a mix of confusion and something—something almost guilty. “Why’d you run off?”

You clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to keep your back to her. “Go back inside, Vi.”

“What? No.” Her boots crunched against the gravel as she stepped closer. “Are you—what’s wrong?” Her voice softened, worried now. “Did I… did I do something wrong?”

You shook your head quickly, biting the inside of your cheek until it hurt. Because talking to her—hearing her voice that soft, that close, that worried—when you knew it was probably just more of the same sweet nothings would break you.

“It’s… It’s nothing,” you managed, voice shaking. You wiped at your eyes with your long sleeves, trying—failing—to stop the sting of tears. “I’m just… I’m being stupid. You didn’t do anything.”

Vi huffed, trying to laugh it off, like it might fix something. “Was the kiss that bad?” she joked, a crooked smile tugging at her lips. “C’mon, sunshine... I didn’t think I was that bad.”

Your stomach twisted.

It’s a joke to her.

God. Of course it was.

“Jesus, Violet.” You spun around, not caring that your eyelashes were wet or that your voice was barely holding steady. “Is this all a joke to you? Is that what this is?”

Her smirk faltered, confusion knitting her brows. “What?”

“You—” Your hands flew up, gesturing wildly between the two of you. “You tease me. You flirt with me. You ask me to get coffee. You make me—” your voice cracked, sharp and bitter, “—you make me like you. You make me think maybe... maybe this means something.”

You shoved your hands into your hair, tugging at the strands like it might ground you. “And for what? For a laugh? For fun? Some experiment? Am I just—what—a game to you, Vi?”

Her face fell, eyes widening. “What? No. No—no.” She stepped forward, hands half-raised like she wanted to reach for you but didn’t know if she was allowed. “That’s not—God, that’s not what this is. I didn’t mean—”

“Didn’t mean what, exactly?” Your voice was sharp now, brittle and trembling. “Didn’t mean to lead me on? Didn’t mean to kiss me like I was—like I was something more than just another one of the girls you flirt with?”

“I never—” Vi’s breath caught. Her jaw clenched, and for a second, her eyes softened like she was about to say something real—something honest. But the words got stuck. “It wasn’t supposed to—Shit.”

Before she could untangle herself, another voice cut through the tense silence.

“Hey.”

You turned, breath still ragged, to see Ekko jogging up from down the sidewalk. His eyes scanned the scene—your tear-streaked face, Vi standing frozen, guilt and frustration painted across her features.

“The hell happened?” Ekko asked, glancing between the two of you, then settling his gaze on you. His entire face softened. “You good?”

“I’m fine,” you lied, wiping at your face again. “Can you—can you just take me home?”

“Yeah. Yeah, c’mere.” Without waiting for permission, Ekko shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over your shoulders like a shield. He shot a glare at Vi, jaw tight. “You seriously upset her this bad? What the hell, Vi?”

“I didn’t—” Vi started, reaching out, but you flinched away before she could touch you. Her hand froze midair, hovering like even she didn’t know what to do with it anymore. “It’s not what it looks like, I just—”

You stepped back, hugging Ekko’s jacket tighter around yourself. You looked her dead in the eyes, knowing exactly how exhausted, hurt, and done you must have looked—hating how your voice trembled, but pushing through it anyway.

“I just… need some time.”

Vi’s lips parted like she wanted to argue—wanted to explain, to fight for whatever this was—but no words came out. Her hands balled into fists, then relaxed, then balled again, as if even her own body couldn’t decide whether to hold on or let go. She just stood there, helpless, watching as you finally turned your back on her.

Ekko’s arm slipped around your shoulders, firm and grounding. “C’mon,” he murmured. “Let’s get you home.”

You let him lead you away—away from the party, from Vi, from the chaos. And not once did you look back.

If you did…

You were afraid you might break completely.

──────────────────────

The drive was quiet. The only sounds were your soft sniffles and the low, rattling hum of the old engine in Ekko’s beat-up car.

He didn’t say anything at first—just drove, hands steady on the wheel, eyes fixed on the road like he knew you needed the silence.

Eventually, he broke it. “You wanna talk about it?” His tone was gentle. Careful. He didn’t push—you could either dump everything out or let it stay bottled. Your choice.

You let out a shaky breath, staring out the window like the night sky might have answers. “I’m so stupid, Ekko.” Your voice cracked, raw. “I don’t know what I was thinking. We were talking and... she was being so nice. Saying she was glad I came. Acting like... like she actually cared.” Your fingers curled tighter around the fabric of his jacket. “And then suddenly, we’re sitting in a spin the bottle circle—like, seriously, what are we, fifteen?”

You scrubbed at your face aggressively, frustrated with yourself for crying, for feeling. “And because the universe hates me, it was her turn. And the bottle just—of course—had to stop on me.”

Ekko’s hands tightened slightly on the steering wheel. “Did she… do something you didn’t want?” His voice was careful now. Protective. Ready to fight if he needed to.

“No,” you blurted out quickly. “No. Nothing like that. She... she kissed me. And it was... God, it was good. It was soft, and warm, and... she was being so... careful. Like she actually cared.” Your throat tightened. “And that’s exactly why I had to get out of there.”

Ekko glanced over, brow furrowed. “Okay… but I still don’t get how it went from that to... you crying in the middle of the street.”

You sighed hard, leaning your head back against the seat. “She made a joke. A stupid, dumbass joke about not thinking the kiss was that bad. Like—like it was just... funny. Like it was nothing to her. And I just—” You let out a bitter laugh that didn’t sound like you. “I realized I’m a joke. I’m the joke.”

“I don’t—” Ekko started, but you cut him off, voice rising.

“She flirts, she teases, she calls herself ‘the love of my life’ like it’s some punchline. And then what? Nothing. Nothing ever comes of it. Who the hell does she think she is?” You threw your hands up in frustration. “She kisses me like it means something, like it’s real, like—like I’m not just the idiot who watched her flirt with some random girl the second I walked into that party.”

Ekko pulled into your driveway, shifting the car into park. He leaned back, raising an eyebrow as he looked over at you. “Okay, so... do you want my opinion? Or should I just sit here and nod like an enabler?”

You sniffed, wiping your face with the sleeve of his jacket. “Go ahead. Let’s hear it.”

He pointed a finger at you. “First off... I think this? This is more about you than her.” You opened your mouth to argue, but he held a hand up. “No. Uh-uh. Let me finish.”

“She’s single. She can flirt with whoever the hell she wants.” He gave you a look—firm but not unkind. “And also... she doesn’t know you like her.” His head tilted. “Like, actually like her. Until a month ago, you would’ve rather eaten glass than admit you didn’t hate her. Hell, you probably still wouldn’t admit it.”

He gestured between the two of you. “You think everyone’s a mind reader? Not everyone’s mentally connected to you like I am.”

You opened your mouth to fire something back... but nothing came out. Because he wasn’t wrong. Not even a little bit.

Ekko sighed, softer this time. “And look... I’m not saying you don’t have a right to be upset. You do. If she really likes you—like likes you—she could’ve been clearer. She could’ve handled this way better.” His hands tapped the wheel absently. “But you both? You’ve been dancing around each other for months. Pretending. Poking. Flirting. Fighting. And neither of you wants to admit it’s real unless the other says it first.”

You swallowed hard, throat tight, heart heavier than before—but not in the same way.

“I think,” Ekko continued, glancing over, “you both need some time. To figure your shit out. And then you need to sit down, talk it over... and actually talk.” He nudged your arm with his elbow. “Without yelling. Without storming out. Like actual functioning humans.”

You stared at the dashboard, then sighed. “I hate feelings.”

Ekko grinned. “Yeah. I know.”

──────────────────────

The week that followed the absolute disaster of that party was, without a doubt, one of the weirdest weeks of your life.

Vi gave you the time you’d asked for. Completely. No texts. No teasing. No dumb flirty comments. Not even that annoying smirk she always threw your way when she passed you in the hall. Nothing. It was radio silence.

And God... it felt awful.

You felt empty.

How could someone who’d only been in your life for a few months leave a void this massive? It didn’t make sense. It shouldn’t make sense. But it did.

Everywhere you went, there were things that reminded you of her. A song playing in someone’s car that you knew was on her playlist. A broken vending machine that still had the dent she put in it after punching it last month. Even stupid little things—like seeing strawberry gum at the corner store and immediately thinking of her.

More times than you wanted to admit, your thumb hovered over her name in your contacts. Ready to text. To send a dumb picture. Or ask if she still wanted her hoodie back. Or say... something. Anything.

And every single time... you locked your phone, shoved it back into your pocket, and told yourself you needed to get your head on straight. That if you were going to talk to her, it needed to be for real. Not another half-baked argument. Not another awkward almost-conversation.

You didn’t see her at lunch. You didn’t catch her between classes. It was like she was a ghost—everywhere and nowhere all at once. You couldn’t tell if she was actively avoiding you or if the universe was just being cruel.

“Can you not look for her every five seconds?” Ekko’s voice dragged you out of your thoughts. He was halfway through annihilating the saddest excuse for a cafeteria chicken sandwich you’d ever seen. “Seriously. Either do something... or stop torturing yourself.”

You sighed, slumping forward, poking half-heartedly at the fries on your tray. “I’m not—”

“You are.” He pointed at you with a fry. “You keep pretending you’re not, but every time someone walks past that door, you flinch like it’s her.” He chewed, swallowed, then added, “It’s getting sad, dude.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “I know... I know. I just... I don’t know what to say to her.”

“Try ‘hey.’ Or ‘can we talk?’ Or, I don’t know, literally any words that exist in the English language.” He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Look, I get it. You don’t wanna screw it up. You wanna do this the right way.” He paused, looking at you seriously. “But avoiding her isn’t the right way either.”

“I’m not avoiding her,” you muttered, though you knew it was a lie.

Ekko snorted. “Yeah. Sure. That’s why you nearly dove behind the vending machine this morning when you saw her coming.”

You winced. “That was... situational.”

“Sure, bro.” He popped the last bite of his sandwich into his mouth. “Totally situational.”

You sighed, letting your head thunk against the table.

You were miserable. And this wasn’t fixing anything.

You missed her.

God, you missed her so bad it physically hurt.

And maybe... maybe it was time to stop running from that.

For the rest of lunch, you sat in silence, pretending to care about Ekko’s ongoing rant about how cafeteria pizza should be a crime against humanity. But your mind wasn’t really there.

It circled the same thought, over and over like a broken record:

“Talk to her. Just… talk to her.”

Easier said than done.

Your knee bounced under the table as the anxiety built. You were so deep in your own head that you didn’t even realize lunch had ended until Ekko snapped his fingers in front of your face.

“Earth to emotionally constipated lesbian.” He stood, slinging his bag over one shoulder. “You good?”

You nodded. Sort of. “Yeah... yeah. I’m gonna do it.”

Ekko’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah. I mean... I have to.” You shoved your tray aside, gripping the strap of your bag like it was some kind of life preserver. “I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep pretending like it didn’t happen. Like none of it meant anything.” You swallowed hard. “Even if it’s just to get closure... I need to know.”

“Okay, yeah!” Ekko grinned, clapping you hard on the back. “Now we’re talking! So... what’s the plan?”

You stared at him blankly. “I have... absolutely no fucking idea.”

He groaned, scrubbing a hand down his face like this was somehow his problem too. “Damn. Why do I always gotta do everything around here?”

You snorted. “Tragic, really.”

Rubbing his eyes like you were physically exhausting him, he muttered, “Alright, first of all—you cannot ask me how I know this.”

You squinted. “That’s... very suspicious.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He waved you off. “Look, I’ll text you her address. You still have her hoodie, right?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

“Cool. Use that as your excuse. Tell her it’s her favorite hoodie and she’ll literally die without it. I don’t know. Be creative. Improvise. Lie a little.”

You blinked at him. “...I don’t know how you got her address, and I don’t think I wanna know. But you’re a lifesaver.”

“Damn right I am.”

The rest of the school day was a blur—an endless loop of your brain spiraling between panic and regret. You barely heard anything your teachers said, your leg bouncing under your desk the entire time as you worked yourself into a mental breakdown over:

How the hell were you going to explain knowing where she lived without sounding like a stalker?

What the hell were you even going to say when you got there?

“Hey, sorry I accused you of using me in front of half the party.”

“Hey, my bad for melting down after you kissed me in front of everyone.”

“Hey, I think I might actually be in love with you and it scares the absolute shit out of me.”

No. Nope. Absolutely not that last one. Not even under threat of death.

By the time school ended, you had worked yourself up so badly that your hands were actually shaking as you punched the address into your phone.

The walk there felt longer than it probably was. Every step sounded like a countdown to your own execution. You stopped a few houses away, took a deep breath, and before you chickened out completely, you fired a quick text to Ekko:

You: just got here. if i die tell my mom it was self-inflicted.

Ekko: 🫡 soldier’s death. respect.

You stared at the door. You could still back out. Run. Pretend you got lost. Fake a kidnapping. Anything.

But no. You were here. You owed it to yourself to face this.

You raised your fist and knocked.

A few seconds later, the door swung open, revealing a girl with long blue hair and sharp eyes. She looked vaguely familiar, but you couldn’t quite place where you’d seen her before.

“Uh... hi.” You tried your best not to sound like you were about to have a stroke. “Is Vi home?”

The girl blinked at you, unimpressed. “Yeah? Who’s asking?”

“It’s... uh... Y/N. I’m one of her classmates.” Your voice was way too shaky for your liking.

The moment your name left your mouth, her bored expression morphed into something far more interested. Her eyebrows shot up. “Ohhhh. You’re Y/N?” Her lips curled into a mischievous grin. “Damn. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Your stomach flipped. “...Is that... good?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms. “Fat Hands is upstairs. Second door on the left.” She jerked her thumb toward the stairway behind her. “You can go up.”

“...Fat Hands?” you echoed, confused.

“Yeah.” The girl smirked. “It’s a long story. You should ask her about it sometime.”

You didn’t know whether to be concerned or amused. Probably both.

Clutching Vi’s hoodie to your chest like it was some kind of emotional shield, you nodded. “Uh... thanks.”

“Good luck,” she added, a little too cheerfully. “You’re gonna need it.”

You gulped and stepped inside, every nerve in your body screaming.

Each step up the stairs felt like climbing a mountain. Second door on the left. Second door on the left. You hovered in front of it, fist raised but frozen midair. Your heart was hammering so hard you could feel it in your teeth.

This is so stupid. This is so stupid. Why am I like this?

But before you could talk yourself out of it... you knocked.

From the other side, her voice came through—groggy, surprised, and a little confused.

“Yeah? What—?”

The door creaked open.

Vi stood there, in an oversized t-shirt, hair messier than you'd ever seen it, one eyebrow raised the second her eyes landed on you. Her lips parted slightly, caught somewhere between confusion and disbelief.

“...Y/N?”

You swallowed, throat dry. “...Hey.”

Her expression shifted—surprise first, then caution, then something softer that she quickly tried to mask behind a casual lean against the doorframe. Her arms crossed, like she was bracing herself.

“I brought you this.” You held out the hoodie—hers—the one you'd conveniently “forgotten” to return. Every speech and rehearsed line you’d come up with vanished from your head like smoke.

“...Okay...” Vi took the hoodie slowly, like she wasn’t sure if it was a gift, a trap, or both. “Why are you... I mean... what are you doing here?”

You shifted awkwardly on your feet. “Can I... come in?”

For a second, she didn’t answer. Her mouth opened like she was about to say something, then closed again. Then quietly, almost hesitant—

“...Yeah. Yeah, okay. C’mon in.”

She stepped back, letting you into her room.

It was... surprisingly clean. Organized chaos. Posters covered the walls—bands, old boxing matches, graffiti art. A few half-built mechanical things sat scattered across her desk, alongside a screwdriver and a pair of welding goggles. The air smelled faintly of citrus, metal... and Vi.

You stood there awkwardly, not sure whether to sit, stand, or bolt out the door. The silence between you was suffocating.

“Uh, I...” you tried, but nothing made sense anymore. “I had this whole speech, about how this is your favorite hoodie and you really needed it back, and how I’m an idiot for not returning it sooner and—”

Vi sighed, dragging both hands over her face. “Look... if you’re here to yell at me again, just get it over with. I swear, I still have no idea what the hell I did that night.”

You inhaled sharply. “That’s... that’s the thing.” Your gaze dropped to the floor, then back up to meet hers. “You didn’t really do anything. Not... not technically.”

Her brow furrowed. “Then why...?”

“Because...” You squeezed your eyes shut, forcing the words out. “Because you drive me insane, Vi.” Your voice cracked. “You flirt. You joke. You act like it’s all fun and games. You kiss me like it means something, and then... the second I walked into that party, you were flirting with someone else.” Your throat tightened. “And I didn’t want to care. I really didn’t. But I do. I care way more than I should. And it scared the hell out of me because... because I thought it was just a game to you.”

Vi’s face softened instantly. “Hey... no. No, Y/N...” She stepped toward you, then paused like she wasn’t sure if getting closer was allowed. “It wasn’t a game. Not to me. Not... not with you.”

“Then why do you act like it is?” your voice broke—thick with frustration and something dangerously close to heartbreak. “Why do you call me every pet name in the book and keep proclaiming you’re the love of my life like it’s some kind of joke? Like I’m supposed to just laugh it off and pretend it doesn’t mean anything?”

Vi flinched, like the words physically hit her. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out for a second. Then finally—

“Because that’s... that’s how I am, Y/N. That’s how I’ve always been. Joking’s easier. Safer. I didn’t think you’d... I didn’t think you’d ever actually... care.” Her voice softened, breaking. “I didn’t think I was allowed to hope you would.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

You blinked, stunned. “...Wait. What?”

Vi dragged a hand through her hair, pacing a few steps like she couldn’t sit still with everything bubbling out of her. “Yeah. Yeah. Look, you think I was messing around? God, Y/N, I’ve been terrified. You’re...” she shook her head, laughing bitterly. “You’re smart, you’re gorgeous, you’ve got your shit together... I never thought I had a chance. So yeah, I flirt. I joke. That’s what I do. But that kiss?” Her voice dropped, raw, trembling. “That wasn’t a joke. That wasn’t a bit. That was... real. And I’ve been losing my mind ever since.”

She stopped pacing, turning to face you fully, breathing like it physically hurt. “I wanted to kiss you. I wanted it so bad. And then you ran, and I... I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to make it worse.”

Your breath caught. The tension between you was like a live wire—crackling, fragile, dangerous.

Vi bit her bottom lip, then let out a shaky laugh, almost self-deprecating. “...I really fucked this up, huh?”

You stared at her. “...You kinda did.” You crossed your arms. “But it’s okay... because I kinda fucked this up too.”

She winced, then smiled—soft, lopsided, and so Vi it hurt. “Yeah. Fair.”

And God... seeing Vi— reckless, cocky, unbothered Vi—standing there looking vulnerable, nervous, uncertain... it tugged at something deep in your chest.

You exhaled a shaky breath. “...So what the hell do we do now?”

Vi blinked at you, surprised for a second, then grinned—tentative but real. “I don’t know. But... maybe we stop running from it.”

Her voice was barely above a whisper when she added, “From... this. From us.”

Your heart stuttered. “...Yeah. Maybe we do.”

Vi stared at you like she was waiting for permission. Like if she even breathed wrong, you might vanish. Her fingers twitched at her sides—like she wanted to reach for you but wasn’t sure if she was allowed to.

And you were tired. Tired of pretending. Tired of fighting it. Tired of holding yourself together like you weren’t seconds from falling apart every time she looked at you like that.

“Vi...” you started, but the words barely made it past your lips.

Her gaze dropped to your mouth. Her tongue darted out, nervously wetting her bottom lip, and that—God, that—snapped something inside of you.

“Screw it,” you whispered.

You stepped forward at the same time she did, like gravity itself finally gave up pretending you two weren’t being pulled together. Her hands cupped your face, tentative at first, but the second she felt you lean into her touch—like you needed it—her grip tightened.

And then she kissed you.

Not like the playful teasing at the party. Not like something for show, or a joke, or a dare. This was different. This was desperate, and clumsy, and real. Her lips were soft but firm against yours, a little shaky, a little frantic, like she’d been thinking about this every second since the last time and had no idea if she’d ever get to do it again.

Your hands fisted in the front of her shirt, pulling her closer, like you could physically make up for all the distance and the hurt and the confusion that had built between you. Her arms wrapped around your waist, holding you like something precious—like she was terrified of letting go.

When you finally broke apart, breathless, both of you were gasping like you’d just surfaced from underwater.

“...Okay,” Vi rasped, smiling so softly it hurt. “Okay. Yeah. We’re really doing this, huh?”

A laugh bubbled out of you, watery and real. “Yeah... I think we are.”

Her thumb brushed your cheek, gentler than you’d ever thought Vi could be. “I meant it, you know... what I said. None of this was ever a joke. Not you. Not... us.”

Your hands slid up, cupping her jaw, your thumbs tracing the line of her cheekbone. “I know. I... I didn’t want to believe it at first. But... I do now.”

Vi grinned, but it was softer than her usual cocky smile—almost shy. “Guess that means you’re stuck with me now, huh?”

You pretended to think. “Hmm... yeah. Guess I am. What a nightmare.”

She chuckled, dipping her head to kiss you again—softer this time, slower, like she wasn’t in a rush anymore. Like she had all the time in the world now that you weren’t running from each other.

──────────────────────

The next morning felt... weird. But the good kind of weird. The kind that made your stomach flutter every time you remembered how Vi had kissed you, how her hand fit perfectly in yours, how the two of you had talked until way too late—about everything. About the party, about the feelings neither of you had been brave enough to say out loud until now. About you. About her.

So when your phone buzzed with a text from Vi that read:

“Get ready. I’m picking you up for school. No arguments.”

—you couldn’t even pretend to be annoyed.

And true to her word, ten minutes before you were supposed to leave, a loud, familiar motorcycle engine rumbled outside your house. You peeked through the window to see Vi leaning against her bike, looking all cocky like she wasn’t absolutely whipped.

Your heart did a stupid little flip.

By the time you grabbed your bag and stepped outside, she was grinning. “Mornin’, princess.”

“Morning,” you said, trying not to smile like an idiot.

She handed you a helmet, waiting for you to strap it on before sliding onto the bike. The second you wrapped your arms around her waist, she squeezed your hand against her stomach like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Ready?”

“Yeah.”

The ride to school was a blur of wind, adrenaline, and the kind of giddy happiness you hadn’t felt in a long time.

Meanwhile Ekko who had stood on your front porch, and knocked for longer than he had to, was calling you like no tomorrow. His brows furrowed. “Hello? You alive? Where the fuck are you?”

He was ready to call your parents when the distant sound of a motorcycle made him glance toward the street.

His eyes squinted. “No. No way.”

Sure enough, he watched as a very familiar red motorcycle pulled into the school parking lot... with you sitting on the back of it. Arms around Vi. Laughing.

And then—oh.

Vi parked, kicked the stand down, and helped you off like it was the most normal thing in the world. And when you slid your helmet off, she took it from you, casually threading her fingers through yours as the two of you started walking toward the school entrance.

Hand in hand.

Ekko blinked. Stared. Looked down at his phone like it might be lying to him. Looked back up and shook his head, snorting under his breath as he shoved his phone back in his pocket. “About damn time.”

As he caught up to you two, he didn’t even bother hiding his smirk. “Wow. Look who finally figured it out.”

Vi shot him a grin. “Took some elbow grease, but yeah. We got there.”

You rolled your eyes, blushing. “Don’t start.”

“Oh, I’m absolutely starting.” Ekko wiggled his eyebrows. “I’m milking this for weeks.”

Vi threw an arm around your shoulders. “Let him. He earned it.”

And for once, walking into school didn’t feel heavy. It didn’t feel complicated. It felt... kinda perfect.

──────────────────────

masterlist

#vi x reader #vi arcane #vi x y/n #vi x you #arcane x female reader #arcane #arcane x y/n #arcane x reader #arcane x you #lily writes #request ♡

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moonbiscuitsims · 9 months ago

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CP 2077 Rogue Conversions set + extras (TS4)

This set took me so long but it's finally here! It isn't perfect but I'm happy enough with it. I've probably spent over a month doing these conversions, trying to fix the textures to make them better, trying to make it all the best I can. I hope any cyberpunk fans will appreciate this. 🙈 A lot of the items are Rogue's but a lot are just V's garments from the game plus things I added. All items are (I think) disallowed for random. Includes: 💛SWEATER (3 Versions) Converted by me from CP2077

- Rogue Survive sweater conversion + all rainbow colours, 28 swatches. Edit: I just reuploaded, there was a hole in the bottom, you couldn't see it unless you looked from under but it is fixed now 😄 - Plain Sweater without survive label all colours. 28 swatches. - Sweater with V garment/CP materials conversions, 16 swatches. -12K polygons (I tried to lower it but this was the best I could do) - Has specular and normal maps - Sweater category 💛PANTS (4 Versions) Converted by me from CP 2077

They clip with some shoes but can be tucked in boots with cuts and work well with short shoes or chunky ones that cover them. You an see the shine more in game and in live mode. - Rogue's pants + all colours, Very Shiny (includes her young version). 28 swatches. - Rogue's pants + all colours, Matte (slight shine to give synthetic appearance but not much, includes her young version) - Same pants mesh in all CP materials conversions + random experiments, 27 swatches. I also made some swatches match the CP gangs, others just made up. Shiny and Matte versions (regardless of whether it made sense for the fabric, e.g. there are shiny jeans lol I imagine in cyberpunk some jeans are plastic 😅 Some swatches could pass for leather or synthetic etc so I just added both. It was just easier to have all the swatches and less packages. - 14K Polygons - Has specular and normal maps - Sorted by colour swatches - Skinny/pants/jeans category 💛KIROSHI OPTICS EYES WITH LIGHT EMISSION (3 Versions)

I copied Rogue's eyes and made them in all colours. Hers are a bit different in each eye but sims doesn't allow that so they're symmetrical. They have four little light emitters and you can make out the word "Kiroshi" to the side of the pupil. They work with any eye. These are much better to see in live mode in darker places, in CAS it can be hard to see the light emission on some as it's the same colour as the textures. The light emission flashes. - REQUIRES Android Eyes MESH by @lady-moriel for emission to function - Found in face paint category. - All colours of the rainbow with white light emission, all in one package/CAS thumbnail, including white, grey and black texture colours, 19 swatches. - All colours of the rainbow with separate matching light emissions (i.e. red swatch with red light etc). These are in separate CAS thumbnails cause I didn't know how to put more than one emission in the package or know if it was possible. Doesn't include black grey and white as these have white emission and are in the previous package. As they're all separate I have merged them into one package. - Rogue Kiroshi separate (hers were a slightly pale red, with matching emission) In the GIF it looks a little worse than in game. 💛ROGUE HAIR RECOLOURS (NEED MESHES) These are just simple recolours of @aniraklova rogue hair, and qicc Synergy hair to match rogue's teal colour, young and old versions. Make sure to install these hairs too or the recolours won't appear. 💛ROGUE'S BOOTS Converted by me from CP2077

They only have one cut, when I tried making two cuts they were too short compared to maxis boots and the leg was missing and I couldn't be doing with it lol, they work with skinny pants or shorts and such, but some baggy pants might clip. - 8,7K Polygons - 6 Swatches (light grey, medium grey and black, each with silver and bronze detail versions) - Has specular and normal maps - Boots category 💛ROGUE'S CYBERWARE BODY AND FACE

@skaterboisims has awesome rogue face cyberware but I only made my own to match my body one better. Textures were just baked from the extracted CP2077 mesh. Has a shiny specular map but not super strong.

💛Disclaimers/info: - These are not my first but some of my first conversions and work with 3d models, I hope they're ok, I know there may be imperfections in the mesh or textures. - I don't play with HQ mod nor did I make these HQ, they're maxis sizes, so of course the textures can sometimes be a bit blurrier than in Cyberpunk which is a higher poly & quality game. Sorry for any HQ fans. If I used it my computer wouldn't be able to even fit my CC + game on hard-drive lol. -Meshes are slightly high poly compared to maxis items, but not too much, tried to reduce as much as I could where it was possible. I didn't do the pants cause I didn't know how to do that yet when I made them. - When you apply these items to custom body presets they sometimes distort a bit in certain areas, it works completely fine on maxis bodies. - If anything goes wrong or isn't showing up please don't hesitate to ask me or get in touch so I can inspect it. 😄

💛Thanks to the creators that helped me on S4S forum, thanks to @stamsim for helping with my earlier conversions and in general, and thanks @pinkydude for helping me find the decals and textures in wolvenkit and explaining how to use them! 💛

💛This took me a lot of time and effort so RESPECT MY TERMS OF USE. They are not my meshes but converting them and making everything else is still work. All my cc is free and I have no support in making it so: - PLEASE DO NOT REUPLOAD - PLEASE DO NOT PUT BEHIND PAYWALL OF ANY KIND - PLEASE DO NOT INCLUDE CC IN ANY DOWNLOADS - PLEASE DO NOT INCLUDE MESHES IN RECOLOURS - PLEASE DONT CLAIM YOU MADE IT - If you use my cc in a post or recolour or something please link to my post/mesh or tag me 😄 - For any inquiries about modifying one of the meshes you can ask so I know what you want to do. See this link for more info about conversions etc

💛💛If you wish to help me out with this content and support my work I now have PATREON💛💛

💛DOWNLOAD (PATREON) 💛 DOWNLOAD (GOOGLE DRIVE)

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kaialone · 1 year ago

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Double-Edged (?)

I got distracted by this while I was thinking about something else, but-

When you look the shapes Paracelsus takes in Strive when A.B.A's Jealous Rage is active, obviously it seems like the "blade" part of his body is reverting to a more ax-like shape and all:

(there's a lot to talk bout here, but for now let me just focus on the thing that distracted me)

What caught my interest is that when you look at the blade part, it definitely looks like there was half of it broken off, like it's supposed to actually be a symmetrical, double-bladed battle ax:

Now, since Paracelsus' shape is constantly changing, obviously this might not be representative of any physical damage that literally happened, and could instead be a symbolic representation of something, but

I kinda like the idea now that Flament Nagel started out as a double-bladed ax, and half of it was broken off at some point over the course of his history, like maybe all the way back when he was still an actual lifeless ax, or maybe as late as during his first battle with Slayer?

I dunno, that's just one possibility, of course.

Just kinda continuing from that train of thought while I'm at it, I'm sure a lot of folks already know that "Moroha", (the name of the berserk state that A.B.A and Paracelsus would enter in the past games,) actually translates to "double-edged".

When Testament says this during A.B.A's Strive arcade mode, they actually use that same "moroha" wording in Japanese, making a fun little reference to the mechanic:

Obviously that name, "double-edged" is also like, alluding to the "high risk, high reward" nature of the mode back in the day, since the resources to use it were limited, and it actually drained A.B.A's HP (which could only be replenished if you knew how to play it well)-

but with what I talked about above in mind, it's also kinda interesting to think about how that name is applied to fighting with an ax that's actually single-bladed.

This is now going into full "just my own thoughts" territory, but looking at it from this additional angle, I kinda like to think that, metaphorically, it's like A.B.A herself is now the second blade, so to speak-

Both in the sense that she provides an extra means of attack and defense, and has a certain restoring/healing influence on Paracelsus, but also in the sense that she introduces another risky, potentially self-destructive element to the balance again.

#guilty gear #guilty gear strive #guilty gear strive spoilers #paracelsus guilty gear #a.b.a guilty gear #aba guilty gear #just talking #long post #cw blood #I suppose #maybe I can get around to writing about the thing I was actually thinking about too

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typical-fundie-fridays-fan · 1 year ago

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Growing Large Family Pose (4-31 Sims)

Download Below Cut

Hey all!

Thank you for voting for this pose and for your patience! I hope you all enjoy :)) I'll be taking another break from posting, but as always, please feel free to send in requests.

This pose was made with Fundie gameplay in mind, but I hope legacy players, and anybody else who needs a big family pose finds it useful!!

This pose includes:

Center Group (4-12 Sims):

This is the main part of the pose. It starts off with a Mom, a Dad, a toddler, and an infant and then you can add on the other 8 as needed.

Right Addition (2-11 Sims):

The true "Growing" part of this pose. Once you run out of spots in the Center Group, you can start adding Sims to this group.

There are two options for the Mom in this part of the pose; one with the Mom holding the baby, and one with her just standing beside the Dad.

There's also two options for the Dad; one where he is holding the Mom's shoulder, and one where he's just standing beside her. This makes the pose more customizable, as it can be made either platonic, familial, or romantic.

Left Addition (2-8 Sims):

Same thing as the Right Addition but on the left.

Less customizable.

INSTRUCTIONS (please read before use)

Download Andrew’s Pose Player and Teleport Any Sim

2. Place 4-12 Teleporters in the center of a Build Mode grid square, depending on how many people you want in the Center Pose.

3. If you plan to include the additions (these are used on each side of the Center Group to add more family members), place them a square and a half away from the center teleporters, as seen below. Left Addition can have 2-8 Sims and Right Addition can have 2-11.

4. Make sure that you have Sims perform the poses labeled as "Core Pose". These are the poses that each of the other poses are based around, and will make the group look weird if not used. But it's also your game and if that's how you roll, more power to ya!

5. I suggest you utilize both the Right and Left Additions once you run out of space in the Center Group, just to make it symmetrical.

6. Enjoy!

I'll be honest y'all, IDK if my laptop could handle posing all these Sims at once- otherwise I would post a picture of all three groups at once.

I DID test each group with a few adjacent Sims from the other poses, just to make sure they all aligned properly so it should be okay.

Please let me know if there are any glaring issues!

♡ Download ♡

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jo3ydr3w · 3 months ago

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Stobotnik Week Day 7

Prompt 1: Haircutting

“You’re fidgeting.”

“I’m not fidgeting.”

“You are. You’re brushing your bangs out of your face every six seconds. I counted.”

Stone sighed and lowered his tablet. “It’s just getting a little long. I’ll cut it later.”

Robotnik spun in his chair like a gremlin overlord. “No need. I’ll do it.”

Stone blinked. “You’ll… cut my hair?”

“Yes,” Robotnik said, already storming across the lab, coat flaring. “It’s a distraction. An aerodynamic flaw. A hazard to precision. I will not be defeated by rogue follicles.”

Stone hesitated. “Do you… know how to cut hair?”

“Stone.” Robotnik grabbed the lab scissors off the workbench. “I once built a fully functional robotic barber drone with emotional regulation issues. Of course I know how to cut hair.”

“That drone tried to give a police officer cornrows,” Stone reminded him.

Robotnik grinned. “Exactly. Flawless craftsmanship. Now sit down.”

Stone sat on an overturned crate with a towel draped around his shoulders, trying not to laugh as Robotnik made incredibly intense faces behind him, scissors flashing like he was defusing a bomb.

“Hold still,” Robotnik muttered. “This side is rebelling.”

“It’s just hair.”

“It’s not just hair. It’s part of your silhouette. Your whole presentation. Your face is too symmetrical to be hidden behind this mop. I am liberating your bone structure.”

“You’re really passionate about this,” Stone said, amused.

“I’m passionate about efficiency. Also, you’re hot and it’s annoying.”

Stone choked.

Robotnik paused mid-snip. “That was a joke,” he said, absolutely lying.

The final result was… surprisingly decent. Shorter on the sides, still a little tousled on top. Clean. Sharp. A bit softer than Stone had expected.

Robotnik handed him a mirror like he was presenting a war medal. “There. No more tactical weaknesses.”

Stone tilted his head, then smiled. “Thanks, Doc.”

Robotnik sniffed. “I accept your praise.”

He turned away, already grabbing a broom—but paused just long enough to glance back and say, far too casually:

“…If it grows out again, I’ll cut it for you. Just say the word.”

Stone grinned. “Deal.”

Prompt 2: Breakfast

It started with eggs.

Robotnik hated mornings. They were a reminder that time still moved forward and that he hadn’t managed to control that yet. But today, something smelled suspiciously like… breakfast.

He shuffled into the lab’s kitchenette in bare feet and an oversized robe stolen from a defunct general. His hair was already in chaos mode. He looked like a war crime in progress.

And there was Stone.

Stone, standing at the stovetop in a soft black t-shirt and slacks, flipping something in a pan with practiced ease. Coffee brewed nearby. The lights were low and warm.

Robotnik narrowed his eyes. “What are you doing.”

“Making breakfast,” Stone said, unfazed. “You didn’t eat yesterday, Doctor.”

“I consumed seventeen energy drinks and an entire bag of pistachios.”

“Which is not breakfast.”

“I invented breakfast. Once. During the mushroom period.”

Stone plated something onto a dish and turned around.

It was eggs. Two perfectly cooked sunny-side-up eggs, yolks gleaming, arranged very deliberately to resemble a familiar shape.

A shape Robotnik knew all too well.

“…Are you mocking me?” Robotnik asked, stepping closer. “Because if this is about my mech designs—”

“Not at all,” Stone said smoothly, sliding the plate toward him. “I thought you might appreciate the theme. A personal touch.”

Robotnik stared at the plate. Then at Stone. Then back at the plate.

“They do look like my Egg-Bots.”

“Mmhmm.”

“They’re even positioned like—like the primary sensor domes on the Mark 5 hover drones.”

Stone just sipped his coffee.

Robotnik sat down without another word and picked up a fork. He took one bite. Then two. Then all of it.

He didn’t say thank you.

But when Stone turned around to rinse the pan, he noticed Robotnik had carefully arranged the two empty eggshells on the counter.

In the shape of a heart.

Prompt 3: Dancing

The lab was quiet. For once.

The screens had dimmed into standby mode, drones docked and recharging, metal arms folded neatly against the walls. The overhead lights were low, casting everything in soft blues and warm shadows.

Stone was at his workstation, going over a diagnostic report for one of the crab mech’s stabilizers. His world was clean numbers and calm silence until—

A flicker of music.

He looked up.

Robotnik was across the room, standing like a question mark with a tablet in one hand and the other awkwardly behind his back. A speaker near the ceiling was playing a quiet instrumental—a vinyl-record crackle in the background, something vintage, slow, and rich.

“…You dancing, Stone?” Robotnik asked, like it was a code phrase.

Stone blinked. “What?”

“Do you want to dance.” His voice was clipped. Hesitant. Defensive. “You know. The thing. With music. And movement. Like sentient mammals sometimes do.”

Stone just stared at him, gently lowering his stylus. “You’re inviting me to dance. You. Doctor I-only-dance-alone Robotnik.”

Robotnik twitched. “Don’t get smug.”

“I’m not.” Stone stood, already walking toward him. “I’m just making sure I’m not hallucinating.”

“You’re not. I already tested the air filters.” He swallowed. “I just thought… if I’m going to share the floor with anyone—”

“You’d want it to be me.”

Robotnik scoffed. “Don’t make it weird.”

Stone smiled and held out his hand.

Robotnik took it.

They danced in awkward silence at first. Just a shuffle, a slow sway, their feet unsure. But then Robotnik placed one hand carefully on Stone’s back, the other holding his hand in a surprisingly firm grip, and moved with slow purpose.

He wasn’t graceful. But he was intense. Deliberate. He leaned in, letting the music loop and fill the space like gravity.

“This used to be sacred,” Robotnik murmured. “I didn’t let anyone in. Ever.”

“I know.”

“But you’re not anyone.”

Stone looked up at him. “I know.”

Prompt 4: Laundry

It started with a sock.

Robotnik had been tearing apart the upper level of the lab looking for a specific blueprint when he opened a maintenance closet and found—oddly—warm air.

And a sock. A folded sock, sitting neatly on a shelf.

“…What,” he muttered.

Following the heat and the sound of soft splashing, he descended the stairs into the under-lab storage room that was supposed to be used for spare drone parts and leftover crab mech shells.

Instead, he found Stone. Kneeling on the floor. Hands submerged in a plastic tub, rhythmically wringing out one of Robotnik’s black turtlenecks. His sleeves were rolled up. A faint trail of lavender-scented steam drifted from a kettle-powered rig nearby.

“Stone.”

Stone jolted, splashing suds on the floor. “Doctor!”

Robotnik stared.

Stone stared back.

Silence.

“Explain.”

Stone tried to wipe his hands on a towel. “I was doing your laundry.”

“By hand?”

Stone gave a sheepish smile. “Yes.”

“We have a washing machine.”

“It stretches out the collars,” Stone said quickly.

“There are settings for that.”

“You hate the dryer sheets.”

Robotnik’s nose twitched. “They smell like despair.”

Stone stood and started wringing out a pair of pants with militaristic precision. “I don’t mind doing it. It gives me something to focus on. Meditative.”

Robotnik looked around. There was a little line strung across the ceiling with socks clipped on it. A perfectly folded stack of his clothes sat on a crate, neatly organized by level of wearability. Everything smelled clean and familiar.

He blinked. “We can just… hire someone. GUN has enough overpaid ‘handlers.’”

“I don’t want anyone else touching your stuff,” Stone said simply.

Robotnik stared.

“And besides,” Stone added, tucking a damp sleeve just right, “I’m the only one who knows how to fold the sleeves so they don’t crease your shoulder seams.”

Robotnik continued to stare.

Then—awkwardly—he reached into the tub, plucked out a sock, and held it up. “What detergent do you use?”

Stone smiled. “The one that doesn’t smell like despair.”

Prompt 5: Morning Coffee

Stone’s eyes fluttered open to a… presence.

Not sunlight. Not birdsong.

A looming, caffeinated presence.

Robotnik was sitting at the edge of the bed, legs crossed unnaturally, perched like a goblin on a throne. In his gloved hands: a mug.

Stone blinked a few times.

“…Doctor?” he croaked, voice still gravelly from sleep.

Robotnik beamed like a feral cat. “Ah. There you are.”

Stone sat up, squinting. “What are you…doing?”

“Observing the miracle of your unconscious twitching habits.”

“…What.”

“You kicked in your sleep precisely eleven times. Once every three minutes. Fascinating stuff. Possibly neurological.” Robotnik leaned forward, pressing the mug into Stone’s hands with unnerving gentleness. “Also, I made coffee.”

Stone stared at the mug. Then at him. “…You made coffee.”

“Yes. For you.”

Suspiciously, Stone sniffed it. Real beans. The roast he liked. A perfect splash of oat milk.

Robotnik, somehow sensing the hesitation, raised a brow. “You think I’d poison you. With coffee.”

“No. I think you’d poison me on principle, and accidentally make perfect coffee while doing it.”

“Tch. Please. I only poison government agents I don’t like.”

Stone took a sip.

It was perfect. Smooth, warm, a little earthy, just the way he always made it for Robotnik.

“You watched me sleep for—how long?” he asked, still waking up, brain slowly catching up to the situation.

“Forty-three minutes,” Robotnik replied without missing a beat. “You drool slightly to the left.”

Stone rubbed a hand down his face. “Why…why would you—?”

“I wanted to see your face when you woke up to something good,” Robotnik muttered, suddenly fiddling with the seam of his glove. “You always make it for me. I thought maybe… I don’t know. You deserved a moment.”

Stone blinked again. He wanted to say something, something charming, something coherent—but instead he just took another sip of the coffee, hiding his face behind the mug.

Robotnik stood up, striding toward the lab door. “Don’t get sentimental. I’m still going to scream at the blender today.”

“Understood,” Stone called after him, voice warm.

Robotnik paused in the doorway. “…Let me know if you want a second cup.”

Stone smiled into his coffee. “Always.”

Prompt 6: Sleeping

The lab was quiet, humming only with the low static of monitors left on standby.

Stone was curled on the old couch tucked in the corner, a blanket barely pulled over his shoulder, but his body was taut—shoulders rigid, fingers clenched, breath uneven. Even asleep, he looked like a man waiting for impact.

Robotnik paused at the threshold. He had come down to scavenge a charging cable but instead found Stone mid-nightmare, face twisted in some silent memory, brows drawn like he was still in the field, still waiting for an order or a gunshot.

Robotnik hovered, unsure.

Then—

Stone startled awake with a sharp gasp. Sat up too fast. Looked around like he forgot where he was.

Robotnik didn’t say a word.

Stone ran a hand down his face, trying to steady his breathing. “…Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I wasn’t sleeping.”

Stone glanced up, and Robotnik could see the hesitation before he asked, barely audible, “Will you… stay?”

Robotnik tilted his head.

“Not with me,” Stone added quickly, like he regretted it already. “Just… in the lab. So it’s not—empty.”

There was silence.

Then, Robotnik stepped forward, dramatic as ever, and flopped onto the couch beside him with zero grace. He grabbed the edge of the blanket and pulled it over both of them.

Stone blinked.

“I meant—”

Robotnik huffed. “I know what you meant, Agent. But I’m staying like this.”

Then his arms wrapped around Stone, tugging him in without fanfare, and before Stone could resist, his head was resting over Robotnik’s chest, catching the rhythm of his heartbeat, steady and real.

Stone’s voice was hoarse. “Doctor…”

“Hush,” Robotnik muttered. “You can sleep. I’ll… guard the perimeter or whatever it is you think I do.”

Stone exhaled, a shaky sound that was almost a laugh. He didn’t move. Didn’t pull away. His hand lightly gripped Robotnik’s coat.

After a moment, Robotnik added, quieter, “You can wake me up if you need to.”

“I thought you weren’t sleeping.”

“Well, if you’re going to be needy, I may as well recharge.”

Stone finally smiled, breath evening out, eyelids heavier now.

“…Thank you,” he whispered.

Robotnik didn’t reply.

But his hand stayed resting on the back of Stone’s head, steady, warm, and not letting go anytime soon.

Prompt: Shopping

Stone didn’t exactly ask for company when he headed out to the store. He was used to doing it alone—shopping, grabbing the essentials, maybe picking up a few snacks to munch on while he worked in the lab. It was simple. Routine. A necessity.

But apparently, Robotnik had other plans.

“Why,” Robotnik grumbled, trailing behind Stone like a disgruntled shadow, “do you insist on performing this… this menial task so often?”

Stone glanced back at him as they entered the store. “I’m just picking up groceries. You know, food. To survive.”

“Survive? Pfft. I could survive perfectly fine without ever seeing another loaf of bread.” Robotnik adjusted his gloves, which weren’t exactly ideal for pushing a cart, but he made it work, somehow.

Stone raised an eyebrow. “You’ve never been to the store?”

Robotnik scoffed, his nose wrinkling as if the thought of the place was offensive. “I’ve had drones for that. I can’t fathom why you, a government agent of all people, would spend hours of your valuable time here… in the produce section. You’re literally picking out fruits.”

Stone snorted. “You could just stay in the car, you know.”

“Ah! That’s the problem! There is no intellectual stimulation in waiting! No problem solving!” Robotnik gestured dramatically to the rows of cans on the shelf. “Who decided that peas should be in the green section? Preposterous.”

Stone picked up a bag of flour, mildly entertained by Robotnik’s apparent existential crisis over the organization of the grocery store. “Well, it’s kind of simple, right? Pick what you need, pay, and go home.”

“Simple? You call this simple? This is chaos, Stone! These items have no purpose out of context! I need a reason to choose the right variety of tomato! This is a waste of time!”

Stone placed the flour in the cart, trying to hide his grin. “It’s a little more relaxing than breaking into military bases and stealing experimental tech.”

Robotnik scowled, but it was more of a reflex than actual offense. “Hmph. I suppose even an agent like you needs something so basic to pass the time.” He paused, eyeing the fresh produce. “Why do you need to pick out bananas? It’s… it’s just… a banana.”

“I like them fresh,” Stone said simply, tossing a bunch into the cart.

“Fresh? You realize they’re just going to rot on your counter, don’t you?”

Stone threw him a look over his shoulder. “I’ll eat them before that happens.”

“Hmph.” Robotnik sighed dramatically. “You’re a mess. I could never understand how you can do something so… mind-numbing on repeat.”

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it,” Stone said, holding up a bag of chips. “You could get in some basic practice here. Maybe… learn to blend in with the human world.”

“Blend in?!” Robotnik barked, his voice carrying slightly over the aisles. “I’ll have you know I’m an individual, Stone! I do not conform to the norm of ‘shopping,’ nor will I!”

Stone snickered and placed the chips in the cart. “Sure, sure. But you’ll get it eventually. You just need to spend more time in the… basic world.”

“I don’t need to understand basic people. I am a genius.”

"Right," Stone said, tone dry. "A genius who's picking out spaghetti sauce because it ‘looks promising.’”

“Do not mock my decision-making!” Robotnik snapped, holding up a jar of tomato sauce as if it were an ancient relic. “This is precision! I am utilizing this shopping experience for intellectual exploration!”

Stone smiled to himself and pushed the cart forward. “Sure, Doctor. Sure.”

Stone plucked a box of oat milk from the refrigerated shelf, the way he always did. Like it was just another item on the list. Another piece of daily life sliding neatly into place.

Robotnik, standing beside the cart like it personally offended him, narrowed his eyes at the packaging.

“I don’t understand. Milk, but from oats? Just admit you’re milking dirt.”

“You drank mushroom sludge for over a year, Doctor,” Stone replied, keeping his tone mild. “You can’t judge.”

“I can and I will.”

Stone raised an eyebrow and tossed the oat milk in the cart anyway. They walked in silence for a beat, passing down an aisle lined with chips and pretzels. Stone grabbed a bag without thinking.

Then, casually, without looking at him: “So why did you even come?”

Robotnik froze like Stone had lobbed a wrench at his head.

Why did he come?

There were at least fifteen answers a brilliant mind like his could give.

He opened his mouth. “To observe the degradation of human society via… processed snacks.”

No. Too obvious.

“To examine the flawed systems of supply chains and capitalist infrastructure up close.”

Ugh. Too Marxist.

“To test how long it takes before I commit acts of unspeakable violence in a Target.”

Okay, technically true, but… still no.

Stone glanced at him, one brow arched. Waiting.

Robotnik’s brain, which could calculate gravitational anomalies and create artificial intelligence with a handful of scrap metal, was drawing a complete, mortifying blank.

I wanted to be domestic with you.

He couldn’t say that. He couldn’t think that. And yet there it was, screaming in his head louder than a klaxon alarm. It echoed through his skull like a confession caught in a tin can.

He stared blankly at the snack shelf. Something… something with peanuts.

Stone took a step closer, standing just near enough that their sleeves brushed.

“I mean, you didn’t have to,” he added lightly, but there was a flicker of something underneath it. A quiet curiosity.

Robotnik finally managed: “I had…a hypothesis.”

Stone blinked. “A hypothesis.”

“Yes.” Robotnik nodded, gesturing with a jar of peanut butter like it was a sacred object. “A scientific hypothesis about… your shopping methods. I thought I could improve them.”

Stone looked him over. “You didn’t even bring a clipboard.”

Robotnik’s eye twitched. “It’s…a mental clipboard.”

“Mhm.”

Stone’s smile grew smug. The kind that meant he knew exactly what Robotnik wasn’t saying. But he didn’t press it. Instead, he just turned and pushed the cart forward again.

“Well, keep observing, then,” Stone said over his shoulder. “But if your ‘hypothesis’ involves replacing everything with powdered mushroom supplements, I’m leaving you in the parking lot.”

Robotnik followed, glaring at a bag of cheddar puffs like it insulted his lineage. He grumbled under his breath. “Domesticity is a myth perpetuated by sitcoms and Hallmark cards.”

But he didn’t leave.

Not even when they passed the home goods aisle and Stone casually stopped to look at dish towels.

#🍷 Actor #stobotnik week 2025 #stobotnik week #stobotnik #eggs and rocks #agent stone #dr robotnik

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