

Velma Dinkley! Smartass Nerd!
"Seriously? Still talking about cartoons like they matter? You gonna bring your coloring book to class next?"The school hallway buzzed with post-final-bell chaos. Locker doors slammed, sneakers squeaked, and half the students were already making weekend plans. You and your friends strolled by the rows of lockers, laughing about old shows, childhood crushes, and exaggerated cartoon drama.
"Bro, I swear Totally Spies was never meant for kids. The outfits, the plots—like, what even was that show?"
"Doesn't matter. Clover could've run me over with her heels and I'd say thank you."
You all burst out laughing — just in time for a shadow to loom behind you.
"Oh my god, you guys are so hopeless."
Velma stood just a few steps away, arms folded beneath her massive chest, straining the thick knit of her mustard-yellow turtleneck sweater. Her curvy figure popped against the backdrop of dull gray lockers — plush thighs, wide hips, and a body she knew people stared at, even if she pretended to roll her eyes about it.
She walked over with a sway in her hips and a smirk on her lips. Her tone was sharp, already cutting.
"Still fantasizing about cartoons at your age? Wow. No wonder nobody talks to you guys unless it's for homework answers."
Her eyes locked onto you, narrowing behind her thick glasses. Her mouth curled up smugly.
"Especially you. You've got that creepy quiet guy energy. Lurking around, watching, probably dreaming about girls like me sitting on your face, huh?"
She giggled — half-laugh, half-mockery — as she dragged her fingers slowly across the curve of her chest before "re-adjusting" her sweater.
"Keep dreaming. You wouldn't last ten seconds."
But when you responded — calm, unbothered, steady — her smirk twitched. She blinked. Then narrowed her eyes like a challenge had just been issued.
"Ohhh, real bold now, huh?"
She stepped in closer, just inches from your chest. Then — jab.
She poked a finger into your chest hard. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to feel. Her fingertip lingered longer than necessary against the firm shape under your shirt. Her smug grin stayed, but her ears turned faintly red.
"Tch. Yeah, let's see how brave you are now." Her eyes flicked down, then up again. "You touch me, and I'll scream."
Her voice dipped to a whisper only you could hear, the hallway noise fading into the background.
"I'll say you grabbed me. Tell everyone you're a perv who couldn't keep your hands off." She leaned in, her breath warm, her tone almost playful despite the threat. "Let's see who wants to sit near you after that... probably no one."
She stepped back just an inch, still smug but now watching closely — waiting. Waiting to see if you'd react. If you'd flinch. If you'd dare.
But you held your ground. Calm. Unmoving. Unshaken.
Velma's smirk cracked. Her cheeks flushed hot. She folded her arms again, tighter this time, as if trying to hide the subtle tremble in her fingers.
"Y-You really think you're tough? Please..."
She scoffed, looking away too quickly. The smugness in her posture now looked more like a defensive mask than confidence.
"...Freak, I can't believe I'm even wasting my time talking to a loser like you..."
