#so there is a 50/50 chance it's going to be good

[gojougf]

convergence theory — teaser

pairing ⸺ tutor nerdjo! x student! reader

summary ⸺ desperate to pass your maths subject required for you to pass your psych major, you reluctantly accept satoru gojo's help after a botched tutoring request. what starts as a mutually beneficial arrangement—he needs your uncle's influence for an event, and you need help with calculus—quickly turns into something more complicated.

teaser word count ⸺ 1.5k

expected word count ⸺ 15-20k (the banter alone has taken up about 8-9k so...)

release date ⸺ not sure yet, hopefully in the next few days or by the end of next week bc i wanna finish it before uni starts

warnings ⸺ smut, p in v sex, virgin!gojo (he acts like a total arrogant, cocky and conceited asshole in this but he's actually a virgin HSHSHGS), oral (both m and f receiving), you basically give him his first blowjob and teach him how 2 be a munch :3, college AU (except i'm australian so my perception of college in american dominated college au's in fanfic is quite limited), nerd!gojo, gojo is like really fucking annoying, switch gojo!, will probably continue to update the warnings the more i write but it'll be so good... trust...

“This is simply not enough, (name). If you want to pass, you need at least 50 percent. I’ll let you retake the required modules and assessments, but I strongly suggest hiring a tutor.”

Your professor sighs, rubbing his temple as you grimace in displeasure.

College math.

The bane of your existence.

Why you needed to pass a math module just to earn extra credit for your psychology major was beyond ridiculous. You had never been particularly good at math, always gravitating toward English or science-related subjects. Nothing too sciency, though. Psychology made sense—it was theory-based, more about understanding people than crunching numbers. It wasn’t the kind of science that required you to calculate how many moles of carbon were left after a reaction or figure out what would happen if a car crashed into a wall at 60 km/h. 

“I can personally recommend last year’s top student—full marks in every assessment and module. He might be available, assuming he doesn’t already have a full roster of students. If you can wait a little longer, he’ll be here soon to pick up last week’s student projects. He’s my TA this semester.”

Your professor’s voice takes on a rare note of approval as he talks about this so-called star student—someone impressive enough to earn the admiration of a man who had docked half your marks over the method rather than the answer.

You nod stiffly, setting your bag down beside you before sinking into the chair across from his desk. You could wait—had to wait, if you wanted even the slightest chance of scraping a pass in this godforsaken breadth subject. The measly 40% scrawled across your paper seemed to mock you, glaring up at you as if it, too, had given up on your ability to solve for x.

Tuning out the professor’s ongoing praise of this so-called star student, you try to focus on anything else. Honestly, how much more could he go on about this guy? It was getting exhausting. You weren’t here to listen to a TED Talk about some math genius—you were here because your GPA was hanging by a thread, and apparently, this person was your last hope of saving it.

Now, by no means were you dumb. Far from it. Some people just weren’t built for numbers, and unfortunately, you happened to be one of them. But when it came to the subjects you were good at? You thrived—aced every exam, topped your classes, excelled in ways that made professors take notice. Just… not in math. Never in math.

And yet, here you were. Waiting.

At least your waiting was cut short when he walked in.

White hair gleamed under the harsh fluorescent lighting of the professor’s office, strands falling effortlessly over cerulean eyes framed by almost impossibly pale lashes. He was tall—really tall—with an easy, unshaken confidence that made it clear he was fully aware of the attention his presence commanded. A navy-blue sweater hung loosely over his broad frame, the soft fabric contrasting against the sharp tailoring of his crisp black slacks. And—were those dress shoes?

Yeah. Okay. You could admit it—this guy was hot. But it wasn’t just his face (which, to be fair, looked like it belonged on a magazine cover). It was the way he carried himself, the unbothered ease in his posture, the quiet yet unmistakable I-know-I’m-better-than-you energy that radiated off of him.

And suddenly, you understood why your professor held him in such high regard. He didn’t just look like the type of person who aced every exam—he looked like the president of some elite quantum mechanics club, the kind of person who thrived on things like advanced calculus and theoretical physics for fun.

Great. Just great.

���(Name), this is Satoru Gojo. Satoru, this is (Name) (Last name).. She’s struggling with the content this semester and needs extra help if she wants to pass alongside her major. I was just telling her how brilliant you are and hoping you might have the time to tutor her—of course, only if your schedule isn’t already full.”

You try not to visibly flinch at the way your professor phrases it, as if you’re some hopeless case in dire need of salvation from this so-called prodigy. Seriously? He could’ve at least sugarcoated it a little in front of Satoru.

But as your professor speaks, his voice takes on a warmth that’s… weirdly affectionate. And when you glance over, you’re met with the absolute worst thing you could have imagined—your professor, practically beaming at Satoru, eyes practically glittering with admiration.

What the hell is this? Why does he look at him like that? Is this normal?

You barely manage to mask the horrified expression on your face, but it doesn’t matter—because Gojo sees it. And worse, he revels in it. His smirk stretches just a little wider, his cerulean eyes twinkling with amusement as he watches your silent suffering.

You think you’re gonna implode.

And then, with an exaggeratedly pitiful look, he turns back to the professor. “Sir, you know I’d love to help,” he says, voice practically dripping with faux sincerity. “But I’ve recently been asked to assist the research team for the theoretical physics paper. It’s a big opportunity—could really help with my master’s application—so I’m going to have to politely decline.”

Ah. So your hunch about him being some physics nerd was right.

He casts what might’ve been intended as a respectful bow in your direction, though it comes off more like a lazy spasm. You don’t even think he realizes how condescending it looks.

Yeah. He definitely doesn’t give a fuck.

“Oh. Well, (Name), it looks like you’re going to have to figure things out on your own,” your professor sighs, rubbing his temple. “Satoru was the best option—probably the only person who could actually help you pass. But maybe check out some tutors outside of campus? I’m sure there are professionals willing to help.”

Oh hell no.

Your heart plummets. Does he hear himself? Like it’s just that easy to hire a tutor? You’re a broke college student, barely surviving on instant noodles and coffee, and now you’re supposed to drop a fortune on private tutoring? Absolutely not.

Campus tutors were your only shot—they charged significantly less since the experience boosted their academic records, helped them secure internships, and all that nonsense. You were counting on that.

And now?

Your only remaining option was the physics nerd with the condescending smirk and ridiculous dress shoes.

You sigh internally, steeling yourself. If this guy is your last resort, then fine. You’ll grovel if you have to. Because there’s no way in hell you’re letting this godforsaken subject be the reason you don’t graduate.

“Please. Is there… um, any way you can fit me into your schedule?” You finally break the silence, your voice betraying a hint of pleading that makes you cringe internally. You hate that you’re begging. You can already hear your female ancestors rolling in their graves, disappointed that their descendant is down on her knees—metaphorically—asking a man to help her pass a stupid class.

You try not to let the thought sting too much, but it’s hard to ignore the gap in experience and expectations that separates you from him.

Curse this subject. Curse these grades. Curse my professor. Curse Satoru Gojo.

Satoru, meanwhile, looks mildly entertained by your discomfort. You stand, your bag hanging across your shoulder, trying your best to meet his eyes with a mixture of irritation and a clear, no-nonsense look that says, I see right through you.

But can you really blame him? He’s Satoru Gojo—head of the Physics Society, on the verge of completing his master’s, practically guaranteed a spot in the university’s elite PhD program thanks to his perfect grades and the top-tier references from his research. Of course he doesn’t have time for a tutor request from a girl who, from his perspective, probably couldn’t even define a limit, let alone solve one. Yeah, no.

“Sorry, no can do! As I said, I’m extremely busy right now—” Satoru starts, his tone dripping with smugness, but you cut him off before he can finish, not even caring that your professor is witnessing this desperate spectacle unfold.

“Please. I don’t think you understand—I need to pass this unit to fulfill the requirements for my major. Please consider my request…” You bow slightly in his direction, one hand fiddling with the hem of your dress, a trickle of sweat rolling down the back of your neck.

For a moment, he just stares. Then, with an exaggerated sigh, he leans back, crossing his arms. “Fine. I’ll see if I can make time. But you’ll have to wait at least a week for my response—I’m extremely busy.”

Your eye twitches. What a dick. But this is your last shot, so you grit your teeth and let it slide.

“I appreciate it,” you say stiffly. “Well—I'll get going now.” You give a polite nod to both Satoru and your professor, already itching to leave.As you turn to go, you briefly catch his gaze raking over your form. It’s quick—so quick you might’ve imagined it—but something about the way his eyes linger sends a small, unfamiliar twinge through your body. You shake it off, more focused on willing this pretentious motherfucker to actually make space in his schedule for you.

God, you really fucking hate math.

a/n: i hope you guys liked the teaser!!!! this fic is lowkey eating my ass, i literally had to pull out my old battered copy of my advanced math textbook from highschool to write about some of the calculus concepts satoru explains, which was so funny to me because i never got higher than a 40 percent on an assessment during hs and i dropped math halfway through my final year, but here we are!

if you'd like to be tagged in the full fic once it comes out, you can comment down below, since i think my ask box doesn't work.. (*≧ω≦*)

[nomie-11]

Lover Girl

masterlist!

synopsis: vi was a loser, a lover girl, and head over heels for you

pairings: vi x reader (no use of y/n)

Vi was a loser. 

She was always reminded of her pitiful stance as a random masc lesbian on campus when she passed by you on her way to her afternoon lab. She would watch you walk by, curls bouncing, heeled boots clicking against the pavement as you laughed along to whatever the gorgeous Kiramman girl on your side was saying. 

Vi didn’t stand a chance, not against the Kiramman and not against every other gay within a 50 kilometer radius of you that so desperately wanted to get between your beautifully toned thighs. 

But Vi had a plan. It wasn’t a good plan, but it was a plan nonetheless. Step one: casually run into you at the campus coffee shop. Step two: say something cool. Step three: make you fall madly in love with her, or at the very least, get you to remember her face. 

Simple, right?

Wrong. 

Because the moment Vi stepped into the coffee shop and spotted you at the counter—hair tossed over your shoulder, Caitlyn leaning in to say something that made you grin—her brain short-circuited. her heart pounded like she’d just run sprints, and suddenly, she forgot how to be a normal, functioning human being. 

Ellie, ever the devil on her shoulder, nudged her forward. “Go on, lover girl. Say something smooth.” 

Vi swallowed hard, adjusted her jacket, and sauntered up beside you, trying her best to look effortlessly cool. Instead, she tripped over absolutely nothing and lurched forward, her group on her coffee slipping. Time slowed as the cup tilted, then tumbled, and in an instant—

SPLASH. 

A flood of piping hot coffee cascaded down the front of your pristine white shirt. 

You gasped, eyes wide as the liquid soaked into the fabric, turning it completely see-through. Vi’s own traitorous eyes followed the path of destruction, trailing powder, until—

Oh. Oh no. 

Your bra, lacy and delicate, clung to your skin in a way that should be illegal. 

Vi’s brain short-circuited. Every neuron in her dumb, gay little head misfired at once. She was looking—she shouldn’t be looking—but she was looking, and oh god, she had to stop before you noticed—

“Vi!” Ellie hissed under her breath, jabbing an elbow into her ribs. 

Vi snapped out of it so fast she nearly gave herself whiplash. 

“Shit! Shit, I—oh, fuck—I am so sorry!” Her hands hovered uselessly in the air, unsure whether to help, to flee, or to simply melt into the crack in between the ratty coffee shop tiles and hoped you forgot about her. 

Your lips parted, eyes flicking down to assess the damage. “Well,” you said, voice amused despite the mess, “that’s one way to see my tits.” 

Vi wanted to die. Just perish right there in the middle of the coffee shop floor. 

Instead, she sprang into action. “Here—uh—take my jacket!” She shrugged off the worn leather in record time and practically threw it around your shoulders before anyone else could get an eyeful. “Just—yeah, cover up—uh, not that you have to! I mean, you look great—not like I was looking! Or, like, not in a creepy way—oh my god, I need to shut up—”

You laughed, warm and bright, as you pulled the jacket tighter around yourself. “Relax, Vi. It’s just coffee.” 

Vi, who had gone stiff as a board at hearing you say her name, blinked. “You know my name?” 

“You sit behind me in human physiology,” you said, smiling. “And you’re kind of hard to miss.” 

Vi’s brain fully melted. She really, really thought she would just die. 

Ellie snorted, clapping a hand on her shoulder. “Congrats, lover girl. You’re unforgettable now.”

Vi was malfunctioning. 

It had been a full five minutes since she’d doused you in coffee and humiliated herself in front of the entire campus, and yet—somehow—you were still talking to her. 

She didn’t know how or why. Maybe the universe had finally decided to cut her some slack. Maybe she’d actually died of embarrassment, and what is was the afterlife. Whatever the case, she wasn’t about to question it. 

“So,” you said, adjusting Vi’s jacket around your shoulders. It was comically broad on you, the sleeves dangling past your hands, the scent of worn leather and something undeniably her wrapping around you like a hug. “I think this means you owe me a coffee.” 

Vi blinked. “I—yeah! Yeah, totally. Whatever you want.” 

You smiled. “Cool. I’ll take a caramel macchiato. Medium.” 

Vi scrambled to order, fumbling with her wallet as Ellie watched in barely concealed amusement. When the barista called your name, you plucked the cup from the counter and took a slow, deliberate sip, eyes locked on Vi the entire time. 

“Thanks, Vi,” you said, licking a bit of coffee foam from your lip. 

Vi’s soul left her body. 

“Y-yeah, no problem,” she stammered, gripping the edge of the counter to keep herself from toppling over. “Sorry again about, y’know, ruining your shirt and, uh, your day—”

“You didn’t ruin my day,” you cut in smoothly, taking another sip of your drink. “Just my shirt. And honestly? If this is your way of flirting, keep it up. I like it.”

Vi forgot how to breathe. Ellie choked on her own drink. 

“You should do it again sometime,” you added, winking before turning toward the door. 

Vi watched you leave, slipping your arm into Caitlyn’s as you giggled, the coffee shop suddenly feeling a lot warmer. 

Ellie whistled. “Holy shit, lover girl. You might actually have a shot.”

Vi, still reeling, stared at her with wide eyes. “I need to lie down.”

————————

Vi didn’t expect to see you again so soon, but campus had a funny way of throwing her into awkward situations. 

The next morning, she was rushing across the quad, still half-asleep, when she heard someone calling her name. 

“Vi!”

She skidded to a stop, heart already hammering. She turned to find you walking toward her, wearing her jacket. 

Her poor, gay heart couldn’t handle it. 

“Oh, hey,” she said, trying to sound casual. “Uh, how’s your shirt situation?”

You laughed. “Better. But I figured I’d keep this for a bit longer. Hope you don’t mind?”

“Mind?” Vi said, as if the thought of you wearing her clothes wasn’t currently rewriting her entire brain chemistry. “Nope. Not at all. Keep it forever, if you want.”

You raised a brow. “Forever, huh? You sure about that?”

Vi’s mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again, before she managed, “I mean—you look good in it, so—yeah?”

Your lips curled into a slow, knowing smile. 

“Good,” you said, stepping a little closer. “Because I was thinking… if you wanted your jacket back, you might have to take me out to dinner first.”

Vi stared. You smiled. Ellie, watching from Vi and her dorm window, fist-pumped the air. 

“I—uh—” Vi cleared her throat. “Dinner. Yeah. I can do that. Totally. Absolutely. When—uh—when were you thinking?”

You pretended to think, tilting your head. “Tonight?”

“Tonight,” Vi repeated, still buffering. “Yep. Cool. Great. I’ll—uh—I’ll text you?”

“Looking forward to it, lover girl,” you teased, before turning on your heel and strolling away, Vi’s jacket still draped over your shoulders. 

Vi stood there for a solid minute, staring at where you’d been. 

Then she pulled out her phone and texted Ellie:

Vi: I think I just agreed to a date???

Ellie: YOU WHAT!!!!

——————————

Vi was sweating. 

Which was ridiculous, because it was cold outside, and she was currently standing in front of your dorm, hands stuffed in her pockets, trying not to hyperventilate. 

She’d spent way too long getting ready—changing shirts three times, debating whether her other leather jacket was too much (Ellie convinced her it was ‘peak masc lesbian energy,’ and Dina agreed so she must have been right), and trying not to puke from nerves. 

And now, she was here. About to take you on a date. 

You swung the door open before she could knock. “Vi!”

Oh. Oh. 

You were in a black dress, snug in all the right places, and Vi swore she momentarily lost all motor function. 

“You good?” You asked, smirking. 

“Yeah,” Vi said, voice cracking like a teenage boy. She cleared her throat. “Yeah. Totally. You look—uh—wow.”  

You laughed, locking your dorm behind you. “You’re cute when you’re nervous.”

Vi absolutely wasn’t blushing. Definitely not. “I’m not nervous.”

“Mhm,” you said, linking your arm through hers as you started down the hallway. “So, where are you taking me, lover girl?”

————————

Vi had racked her brain for the perfect place and eventually settled on a nice, cozy little restaurant near campus. It wasn’t fancy, but it was real—warm lighting, a killer burger menu, and a jukebox playing old rock songs in the corner. 

You slid into the booth across from her, propping your chin on your hand as you watched her. 

“So, Vi,” You said, eyes twinkling. “You gonna tell me why it took spilling coffee on me to finally make a move?”

Vi groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “Can we not talk about my tragic lack of game?”

You grinned. “I think it’s cute.”

“You think everything is cute.”

“Not everything,” you teased, leaning forward. “Just you.”

Vi choked on her water. 

The rest of the date was… perfect. 

You talked, you laughed, you stole a few of her fries like it was the most natural thing in the world. Hi was completely gone for you, and by the time you both stepped outside into the crisp night air, she was wondering how the hell she’d gotten so lucky. 

You walked side by side, the streetlights casting a soft glow around you. 

“This was fun,” you said, tugging Vi’s jacket around you a little tighter. 

“Yeah,” Vi agreed, shoving her hands in her pockets. “I mean, aside from me embarrassing myself every five seconds.”

You stopped walking, turning to face her. “You didn’t embarrass yourself.”

Vi huffed. “I literally poured coffee on you, made an idiot out of myself, and nearly passed out when I saw you in that dress.”

You tilted your head. “Oh, so you liked the dress?”

Vi blinked. “Uh—yes? Obviously? Have you seen yourself?”

You stepped closer. “I have,” you said, voice soft. “But I like seeing myself through your eyes.”

Vi forgot how to breathe. 

Then, before she could process what was happening, you reached to her, gently tugging her up by the collar of her jacket—

And kissed her. 

It was soft at first, hesitant, like you were waiting for her to freak out—but Vi wasn’t that much of a loser. 

She kissed you back. Harder. 

Her hands found your waist, pulling you in, and you sighed into her mouth like you’d been waiting for this just as much as she had. 

When you finally pulled away, Vi was dazed. 

You smiled, brushing a thumb over her cheek. “Took you long enough, lover girl.” 

Vi let out a breathless laugh. “With the wait?”

You grinned. “Definitely.”

And then you kissed her again, just because you could. 

If you enjoyed this one shot, please check out my other series!

[mistyresolve]

| Valentines Day - Simon “Ghost” Riley X Reader

Word Count - 1.7K

Summary - What a valentines with Simon might look like.

Tags/Warnings - Established relations, Mentions of the narsty and some heavy petting, interrupted

A/N - welp...it was supposed to be a valentines post but uhhh...I got busy

Masterlist  ❤︎ 

You and Simon had a routine for the mornings. There was an unspoken agreement that the first person to get out of bed was to make breakfast. Since you were both early risers, it was usually a 50/50 chance that you’d be the one making breakfast. Although, you liked it more when Simon cooked. He would die if you told the rest of the 141, but he was a good cook. It was never anything fancy or over the top, but everything he made was delicious. His go-to was the regular bacon, eggs, and toast. He made your eggs just how you liked them—Crispy around the edges and the yolk runny enough to dip your toast into it.    

The clock on your bedside table read 07:17. It was later than you usually woke up, but you and Simon were up late the night before. An “early Valentine's gift,” he had said, before he took you into the bedroom and worshiped your body. Made you a quivering mess beneath him.  

Looking at his sleeping form, you could tell he put his all into it. Into you. 

You couldn’t help the soft smile from your mouth as you brushed his hair back from his face. It was the longest you’d ever seen it, curling at the tips of his ears and furling down his neck. There was no real reason for him to follow the mandatory military cut since no one ever saw it. Although, he claimed he preferred it short because it was more comfortable underneath the mask. 

He looked so calm when he was asleep. Younger even. The worries and stresses that drew lines between his brows didn’t follow him into sleep. Not tonight, anyway. However, no amount of rest would ever be able to erase the dark shadows under his eyes, a permanent mark of exhaustion.        

You slid out from his embrace with utmost care to not stir him awake. He huffed a sigh and shoved his now-empty hand underneath the pillow, subconsciously searching for a new source of warmth, but he didn't wake. You tip-toed into the ensuite, clicking the door shut behind you to quiet the noises of you getting ready for the day. You had a quick shower, washing away the remnants of last night, albeit reluctantly. 

By the time you entered the room again, Simon was sitting over the edge of the bed. Still half asleep and only managing to keep one eye open. He must have opened the curtains at some point because the room was now basking in the morning light. The sunlight climbed up the bed and warmed the sheets. 

“Good morning,” you said as you made your way to stand in front of him. He immediately reached out for you, pulling you between his legs and letting his face rest on your chest. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and cradled his head into you. With nimble fingers, you combed into his hair. He breathed deeply, groaning, inhaling your fresh, clean scent. 

You stayed like that for a while. Long enough to think he fell back asleep like this, with his arms wrapped around you. You scratched playfully at his scalp to get his attention, “What are you wanting for breakfast?”   

He looked up at you with bleary eyes and shook his head, “I’ll cook this morning. It’s valentines.”      

You leaned back to get a better look at him. “I got up first, and you’ve already given me my gift.”

“Mhm,” he straightened and came to life at the hint of a dispute, “That wasn’t all I was intending to give you.” 

You rolled your eyes at him, “I’m serious–” 

He stood and put a hand over your mouth to keep you from arguing further, “I’m serious.”

You pulled your head from his grasp. “Okay,” you said, searching for a compromise he would accept. “What if you make the food and I make the coffee?” 

He played with the still-wet strands of your hair, twirling it around his finger and letting it fall into a curl, “Hmm, sure.” 

You padded after him into the kitchen, oogling his bare, muscled back all the way. Noting the symmetrical red lines that were etched into his back. Something akin to pride burned in your chest, and you bit your lip to keep a smile from spreading across your face. 

You press a single button on the coffee machine and let it run. Then, you sit at the island and watch as Simon starts breakfast. 

He moved with the same grace he did with everything. Every move was thoughtful and calculated, even for something as simple as cracking an egg. 

A devious idea popped into your head. You weren’t that hungry for food.       

“I love it when you moan,” you sighed, pretending the statement was innocent. 

He froze at the stove before spinning on a heel to look at you. His eyes were wide with shock and confusion, “Pardon me?” he said incredulously. 

“You know when my legs are wrapped around your waist, and you're pounding into me,” you slid off the chair and walked around the island, his dark eyes following you, “When you say the dirtiest thing to me, and I tighten around you.”

His graze flashed from you to the stove, then back to you, and narrowed, “What are you doing?”

You took a step forward, locked your fingers behind your back, and pushed your chest up towards him. “I can stop,” you said, tilting your head up to him. He was so tall, and you loved it. If you could climb this man like a tree, you would. 

You could practically see his resolve disintegrating, and he fought to keep his eyes drifting from yours. 

With fingers chilled from the morning air, you slid them up this barren skin. The corded muscle of his abs tightened under your touch, and he tried to cover up his surprise with a chuckle. Only it came out more nervous than he had intended it to. 

He responded to your advances with an enthusiasm that knocked your breath from your lungs. He had his fingers wrapped around the back of your knees, making a noise to signal you to jump up. He gracefully placed you on the island and nestled his hips between yours. With an experimental roll of your hips, you felt his arousal.  

His mouth slanted over yours, and he pulled the hair at the base of your neck to maneuver your head how he needed to. He nipped at your bottom lip before working his way down your neck. You sighed in bliss at the feel of him.   

Behind him, a familiar smell of char wafted from the pan. You were so engrossed in each other that you missed the first few signs of burning food. At the same time, you looked over his shoulder as flames from the propane stove started to lick up the side of the pan. 

Faster than you’d ever seen him move, he was flicking on the fan above the stove and pulling the pan from the heat. You were jumping off the counter and rushing to open the patio door for him. Without a doubt, you were going to brag to everyone who would listen, the scary calm demeanour with which he placed the pan on the concrete stairs.  

He straightened and stared down at the pan. His face was unreadable, and his hands resting on his waist was a comedic scene. He was still shirtless, and his shorts sat low enough on his hips that you could see the waistband of his briefs underneath. 

“Baby,” you said slowly, trying to hide the humour. You walk to stand in front of him and obscure the view on the pan.  “It’s okay. I didn’t really want eggs anyway.”  

The pan had followed you and been by your side throughout your college days. It had been the only pan you had for years after. A go-to. It made perfectly crispy chicken and the most incredible sauces. 

“It’s okay,” you patted his chest and pressed a chaste kiss to one of the myriad scars that scattered across his skin. “We’ve got leftovers." You couldn’t help but smile at him. 

As you reach the fridge, the tips of his ears turn bright red—a telltale sign of embarrassment, rare as it is. You pause, your suspicions rising at his reaction. “What?” 

He just shook his head and pursed his mouth, gesturing with his hand for you to open the fridge. 

Confused, you slowly opened the door, the light from inside flipping on. 

A bouquet. A very large bouquet that took up half of the bottom shelf. You noticed he must have had to shift the shelves above it to fit it in there without damaging any stems or petals. It was a breathtaking arrangement of white and light purple flowers and an assortment of greenery.

”Simon,” you whispered in awe, reaching for the vase.

”I-uhh,” he shifted uncomfortably on his feet, “Yesterday was the only time I could pick it up. But I wanted to have something to give you today, so the florist told me to find a fridge to put them in to keep them as fresh as possible. I was going to give them to you after breakfast was done. " He jerked his chin to the patio. Well, it is done. I done it to death, actually.” 

You set them out on the island, and the sun crawling across the marble made the colours pop. You clamped your mouth shut, realizing you were gapping. You had never received such a large bouquet before. Spinning the vase to fully examine the flowers, you found the card nestled into the greenery.  

A little card, and all he had written on it was ‘Simon’

Not ‘Love, Simon’ or ‘Happy Valentin’s’. 

Just ‘Simon’

You turned back to him and grabbed his face before diving in for one last kiss, “My god, I love you.” 

Masterlist

A/N - Happy late valentines

[newtonsheffield]

Wait! Poppy and Granny Sharma are in Surprise Neddy?! One of my absolute favorite scenes you've written is when Lavender Haze Anthony goes to meet Kate's grandparents. 😂😂😂. What was it like for them to meet in Surprise Neddy? Is Poppy Sharma protective? What's his relationship with Neddy like? How does he bond with Anthony?

They sure are!

I think Kate was probably even more scared to tell her grandparents she was pregnant than she was to tell Mary. She probably shouldn’t have been given that Edwina had only been sixteen when Granny Sharma had sighed.

“Well, because Edwina’s a lesbian-“

“Woah! Woah!” Edwina gaped, “How do you know that?”

Granny rolled her eyes, “Darling. Let’s not pretend.” She patted Edwina’s cheek. “You’re so pretty. Girls are going to love you. Very proud.”

They truthfully, didn’t care. Poppy had stood in the hotel room with tears in his eyes and Edmund in his arms.

“He’s a good boy, Katie. He’s a strong boy. Strong name.”

Poppy has been Neddy’s main father figure up to this point, really. Tapping Neddy on the chin with his knuckles while Granny fusses around him.

“Such a handsome young man.”

“You’re a good boy hey?” Poppy says, “let’s do a picture for your Amma.”

It’s hard for Kate to tell her grandparents that she’s found Neddy’s Dad, even. Not that she really gets the chance.

“My Anthony came to see me, Poppy!”

Kate’s heart stopped and she watched her grandfather’s brow furrowed as he looked up to her, “Who’s Anthony, Katie?”

Kate swallowed, “Anthony is Neddy’s Dad. They’ve been spending time together.”

Poppy’s eyes widened, “His father.” He patted Neddy on the shoulder, “Go bother Granny and Granny Mary for some sweeties.”

“He’s nice, Poppy.” Kate said quietly when Neddy ran down the corridor. “Anthony wants to be a dad.”

Poppy put his hands in his hips, “I want to meet him. Make sure he’s a good man.”

“You will, Poppy.” Kate wrapped her arms around him. “Neddy looks like him.”

Poppy huffed, “Must have some good qualities then.”

Kate pulled back, reaching first her phone to show him a picture of the three of them. “He’s a good guy, actually.”

To her surprise Poppy laughed, “Your granny owes me £50.”

“What?! Why?!”

“I knew Neddy’s Dad would be a fancy white man.”

“What?!”

“Neddy peruses a cheese board with way too much interest. That’s coming from money, Katie.”

[pinkyshy10]

Hey, I'm writing a fanfiction in which stan(he's trans in this AU this is important) is the twins Dipper and Mabel's dad and he was actually pregnant with them(I haven't decided if he didn't know or just didn't tell Ford because he wasn't showing) during the portal incident, so basically it's going to be a rewriting of the show but if the events took place in 1995 and I'm thinking about making Jimmy snakes dipper and Mabel's other parent but I also really want to make jimmy Snakes a vampire so I'm wondering should I make the twins vampires

I'm going to be mainly borrowing vampire lore from my Gravity Falls Octonauts AU @octofalls-au mainly that as long as the pregnant person is not the vampire parents there's a 50/50 chance that the baby's not going to be a vampire so because Stan's human there is a 50/50 chance that the twins could be human

Okay this is rilly bothering me but I can't change it because it's a part of the pole and you can't edit polls once the post is posted but that's supposed to say twin not trans i can't believe I did not catch that

Also, Jimmy Snakes is a good guy and once he finds out that he's a father he's a very very active and present father(he doesn't find out about them until they're 12 almost 13 but that's the fault of Stans shitty shitty circumstances, it's not really stance or Jimmy's fault. once Stan took over as the grieving brother to the missing scientist in the woods[he's not stealing ford's identity in this] for both his and his children's safety he cannot contact anyone from his old life not even the father of his kids)

[mini-assassin-osiris]

*Osiris does a slow blink. Not aware he has a 50/50 chance at pissing off Commodus again and getting punted*

Oh dang. Well I wanna be a good dad when I’m older! Never met one yet but still. Imma be better than da rest of da ones I know. But first I should probably go to school so I can be smart enough to have a kid…

you need to be up on your vaccinations,flu season is here... probably your health records too

my point is you're coming to the doctor with me

@the-great-emperor-commodus

NO. I DONT WANNA GO TO DA DOCTOR. Last time they tried to give me a rabies shot! So I bit ‘em and ran away

*Osiris is afraid of needles*

[alteredphoenix]

Lv2 kara Cheat datta Motoyuusha Kouho no Mattari Isekai Life...

I remember reading a few chapters of the manga on r/manga about three-four years back, and my memory of it is hazy, so I'm practically going into this blind.

It's a good first episode, other than the last six-seven minutes where the ladies immediately accuse and label Flio of being a predator for simply offering to take Fenrys on an escort quest to the Delaveza Forest via Teleportation, only to play take-backsies not even two minutes later and tell him no can do they're gonna wipe her out because she's actually a demon.

Like, if the accusation was done in a way that hinted to the viewer they were trying not tip the kid off that they were onto her, then the show did a poor job of it and it clearly doesn't go in that direction.

Which is a shame, because you could've had the next episode be about Flio having cute bonding moments with Fenrys, only to get pulled aside by Balirossa and the girls halfway through and be told they're keeping tabs on her because she's soliciting help at a guild she's not registered to and all but signaling she's Dark Army, they know she's lying through her teeth, so that could've added some much-needed tension to the plot. But that's not the story the anime wants to tell, so instead you don't get to know these adventurers that accuse Flio right off the bat (for something they're proven wrong about) and rush from Point A to Point B without any time to let the plot breathe whatsoever.

Here's hoping it recovers from that little stumble, because as an isekai story featuring a God Mode MC there is some potential to it.

[rowanisawriter]

i liek how lucanis follows the playbook and recites the perfect lines right up until the almost kiss—saying a cup of coffee tastes like a kiss, “you don’t know how much trouble i can handle yet”, “you like to walk close to the edge”—and then a switch is flicked and he stops the theatrics. bakes a cake to lock a romance, leaves his own party early just to have a cup of coffee in the quiet dark, gets on his knees with tears in his eyes. i like that very much

[archivebottles]

to the person in the notes that was like 'i need to play this game' you should play signalis. to anyone else looking for a horror game. hey. you should play signalis. hey. please

[lloydfrontera]

btw when i call asterion a bad parent it's not like. a complaint. i love that he's like that. i love that he's such a terrible father i love that he completely sucks when it comes to parenting i love that even when he's trying to do better he still fucks up.

i love that the first time we see him he's basically telling rakiel to give up his birthright and die quietly without making a fuss so it won't cause issues to the royal family in the long run. i love that when theo is almost begging him to change his mind so his brother won't be humiliated in front of hundreds of people he basically tells him to stop caring for something stupid like family and feelings. i love that when rakiel does an amazing feat and almost dies doing it the only thing he does is reprimand him and tell him how much of an idiot he was. i love that when theo has a breakdown after he failed at achieving the one thing he was raised for asterion did absolutely nothing and completely left him on his own. i love that even when he's proud and wants to do something for rakiel he completely ignores what rakiel actually wants and makes him prove himself again just for the right of his wishes not being ignored.

i love that he acknowledges how terrible of him it is to care for his child only now that he's doing incredible things and proving himself and tries to be a better father... while still completely ignoring the other child he has.

he just. he sucks so fucking bad. he's not even trying to be malicious he genuinely thinks he's doing the right thing and that it's for the well being of his sons but he's so awful at being a father it just makes things worse.

it's very funny. and also so fucking good. for me <3 not his kids tho they're having a terrible time someone help them pls

[astronomodome]

‘Hopefully this neighborly conflict will not further escalate 😁’ doc says after further escalating the neighborly conflict

[martyrbat]

habeas corpus – detective comics #1086

(ID in alt!)

[tsuchinokoroyale]

Was soooooo happy with this phase 1 which is what made it so much funnier that I was immediately clapped by his phase 2 😂

[yoshifawful64]

YOOOOOOOOOOO I BEAT BOWSER X

[qeyond]

I strongly support all of these "Death Note characters as animals" posts and they're so well done!! but the lack of bobtail representation is very u_u

Making B an American Bobtail so he can go crazy stupid, yell forever, be incredibly hardy, built like a tower, and be completely bone-less on the floor at any given point.

[rolandkaros]

i think the thing that’s silliest about the mandatory 0 rule is how it replaces your worst result- so since iga didn’t lose r1 in any tournaments she did play, she’s losing more points than aryna who lost her first match in dubai. obviously it’s not “unfair” because the players know, it is what it is, but i just think that if the rule rewards or incentivizes (for lack of a better word) tanking… it’s not a good rule. i hope next year they make the requirement 3 or 4 500s because 6 is just absurd for top players who go deep in 1000s and slams lol

I don't think it incentivizes tanking though because the ideal is to not drop any of the 1000 tournaments...if a player doesn't get any mandatory zeros then they hypothetically get to include all of their 1000 results, where it's a lot easier to earn more points than in the 500s. Plus, if Iga had tanked in Miami for example and only gotten 10 points, she still would have lost those 10 points, and ended up at the same point total she's at now – it only seems like she's lost more than Aryna because they've only just now decided to apply the mandatory zeros.

I also think we're not taking into account the fact that these calculations are all made in hindsight. No high-level player is going to roll up to a 1000 tournament and decide to tank for the purpose of having a smaller point total to drop, because a) they're probably not aiming to have any mandatory zeros anyway, and b) they'd much rather replace their current lowest point gain. Aryna was only able to drop Dubai because she performed better in later 1000s. If she had lost first round of Wuhan, for example, she would have had to count one of those +10 values. So, I understand the thought process but I don't think that's actually an issue in practice. The players who actually need to worry about mandatory zeros are never going to settle for early exits anyway.

But I 100% agree, 6 500s is too many, especially considering the 1000s are all mandatory now. Even just the placement of the 500s in the schedule makes it difficult to fit 6 in – players are being forced to commit themselves to long stretches of back to back to back to back tournaments. I think it's also even harder for Iga because it was an Olympic year, so no chance of making DC (and ended up missing Canada as well).

But on a much more serious level I think it's just the scheduling issues, again and again and again. The season is too long, 10 mandatory 1000s and 6 mandatory 500s is ridiculous, the way that the mandatory zeros were applied was weird.