#they are connected across the universes...

[girlyrafe]

──── ꜱᴛᴀʀɢᴀᴢɪɴɢ .ᐟ

ᡣ𐭩 ❝ ꜰᴀʀᴍᴇʀꜱ¡ᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ ⟡ ݁₊ ❞ 

⌗ with rafe cameron .ᐟ.ᐟ

ᝰ summary .ᐟ Beneath the summer stars, your forbidden connection with Rafe, the farmhand with a rugged charm and reluctant gaze, ignites a quiet rebellion against your father’s rules. Every stolen glance and charged encounter teeters on the edge of irresistible temptation.

₊ ⊹ ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

You’ve always been captivated by the stars—their distant beauty, their silent permanence against the vast, inky sky. They make you feel both infinitesimal and immense, a paradox that draws you out onto the roof when the farmhouse grows too still to bear. It has become a ritual: bare feet brushing against cool shingles, hair unbound, and the universe sprawling above, vast and endless.

Tonight, the summer heat lingers, dense and heavy, the cicadas’ hum an unrelenting backdrop. The faint scent of honeysuckle wafts up from the garden, mingling with the night air. Your cotton pyjamas cling to your skin as you stretch out, eyes tracing constellations you can name but don’t truly understand. The Big Dipper, Orion, and that faint cluster you always forget the name of—they’re all there, eternal witnesses to your quiet rebellion. Your thoughts wander, as they often do, to Rafe.

Rafe, the farmhand your father hired last spring. His hands are rough with work, his demeanour an intriguing mix of quiet reserve and easygoing charm. There’s a toughness about him, but it’s his rare, shy smiles that unsettle you the most—small, fleeting gestures that make your chest tighten. You’ve noticed how his gaze lingers when he thinks no one is watching, though he always pulls back before it lasts too long. Sometimes, you wonder if he even realises he’s doing it, or if it’s as involuntary as your own fascination with him.

Your father’s rules are clear. “No fraternising with boys,” he’d said, his tone as unyielding as his grip on this farm, and you guess that also means one who works for him and is much older. It’s an ironclad decree, one that Rafe seems to respect… even if his eyes betray him. The very existence of this rule makes your fleeting encounters with him feel illicit, a forbidden edge sharpening the connection you can’t quite define.

The first time you caught him watching you sneak out, you nearly lost your footing. He’d been leaning against the cabin’s doorway, shirtless, a cigarette glowing faintly in his hand. His eyes had widened, guilt flashing across his face before he turned away. And yet, he’d continued to watch, the tension palpable even across the distance. There was something in his gaze, a mixture of worry and something else you couldn’t quite place. It made your stomach flip in a way you weren’t prepared for.

Now, it’s an unspoken ritual. You climb out each night, fully aware he’s there, his cabin positioned perfectly to catch you in the act. It’s not deliberate—at least, that’s what you tell yourself. But you know he sees you, and some part of you finds comfort, even exhilaration, in his silent vigilance. You wonder what he’s thinking as he watches. Is he amused? Annoyed? Or is he just as drawn to you as you are to him?

Tonight, you hear it again—the faint crunch of gravel beneath his boots. You sit up and squint to look at him in the cabin doorway across the field and find him as expected, leaning casually against the cabin wall. The faint glow of his cigarette cuts through the darkness, his silhouette relaxed yet tense. His broad shoulders are illuminated faintly by the moonlight, and you wonder if he knows just how much space he takes up in your thoughts.

“You know that’s not safe,” he calls out pretty loudly, but you both know your father would be passed out by now, his voice soft but firm, carrying across the humid night. It’s the first time he’s spoken to you during one of these encounters.

You sit up, startled but intrigued. “I’m fine,” you reply, your voice light. “I’ve done this plenty of times.”

He shakes his head, exhaling smoke that swirls in the moonlight. “Doesn’t mean it’s not reckless. You’re braver than you look.”

“Or maybe just foolish,” you counter, your tone teasing. You want to push him, to see where the limits of his restraint lie.

He huffs out a quiet laugh, the sound warm despite its brevity. “Yeah, maybe.”

The silence that follows is heavy with meaning, charged in a way that makes your skin prickle. His eyes trace you, lingering on the curve of your bare legs and the line of your shoulders, though he tries to mask it. You feel your cheeks flush under his scrutiny, but you don’t look away.

“Why do you watch me?” The question escapes before you’ve had time to consider it, your voice softer than you intended.

His movements still, the cigarette frozen halfway to his lips. For a moment, you think he might ignore you. But then he sighs, running a hand through his already messy hair.

“Because you’re hard not to watch,” he admits, his voice low and tinged with something vulnerable. “But your dad… he’d kill me if he knew.”

Your lips curve into a smile, emboldened by his honesty. “He doesn’t have to know.”

Rafe’s head tilts slightly, his gaze darkening as he studies you. “You’re trouble,” he says finally, but there’s no malice in his words—only a resigned sort of fondness.

“Maybe,” you reply, leaning forward slightly, your hair falling around your face. “But you like trouble, don’t you?”

For a fleeting moment, you think he might close the distance, his hesitation slipping as he steps toward the line neither of you are supposed to cross. But then he shakes his head, the cigarette falling to the ground as he crushes it beneath his boot.

“Goodnight, trouble,” he says, his voice softer now, almost wistful.

You watch as he retreats to his cabin, the door clicking shut behind him. Your pulse races, the imprint of his gaze lingering long after he’s gone. Above you, the stars shimmer brighter than ever, as if they’ve borne witness to this moment and approved. You lie back down, the night stretching before you, endless and full of possibility.

As you stare up at the heavens, a thought occurs to you: this isn’t just a passing infatuation. It’s something deeper, something that makes your chest ache with its intensity. And despite Rafe’s reluctance, you know he feels it too. The stars, silent and eternal, seem to echo your certainty. This is only the beginning.

Not even close.

©GIRLYRAFE

[cloudyluun]

Office Hours (p.3) | professor!harry

Summary: The morning after brings new complications as boundaries are tested, feelings deepen, and secrecy becomes harder to maintain. As the reality of their forbidden relationship sets in, tensions rise—both in and out of the classroom. When an unexpected encounter at the university forces them to confront the risks they’re taking, you’re left wondering if desire is worth the cost.

A/N: Back with part 3 of Office Hours! Thank you so much for all the love on the last chapter—your support means everything to me. This part raises the stakes even higher, blending tension, passion, and the ever-growing risk of their dangerous connection. Let me know your thoughts, and as always, if you want to be on the taglist, click here!

Word Count: 3,7k

Warnings: Smut (morning-after sex, desk sex, possessiveness, power dynamic, praise kink, slight jealousy), forbidden romance, angst, emotional tension, secrecy.

[Part 1] [Part 2]

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

The morning light filters through the blinds, soft and golden, casting long streaks across the room. The warmth of the sheets, the steady rise and fall of the chest beneath your cheek, the scent of skin and faded cologne—it’s all grounding and disorienting at once. For a moment, reality is distant, replaced by the slow hum of contentment curling through your limbs.

Then, it settles in. Where you are. Who you’re with. What happened last night.

Your breath hitches as you shift slightly, your bare legs tangling further with his. The movement stirs him, and before you can pull away, a strong arm tightens around your waist, holding you in place. A deep sigh rumbles through his chest, followed by the husky rasp of his voice against your temple.

“Morning, love.”

Your body betrays you before your mind can catch up, warmth blooming across your skin at the endearment, at the way his lips brush lazily against your hair. You tilt your head just enough to meet his gaze, and the tenderness there makes your chest tighten. This is dangerous. This is something you shouldn’t be allowing yourself to enjoy.

But in this moment, wrapped up in him, it’s impossible to care.

“Morning,” you whisper, voice laced with sleep.

His fingers trace slow circles against your back, absentminded and soothing. “Sleep well?”

You nod, but the words stay lodged in your throat. How are you supposed to respond when last night is still imprinted on your skin, when your body still remembers the way he held you, touched you, ruined you in ways you didn’t know you needed?

He watches you closely, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes before he shifts, rolling onto his side so you’re facing each other. A hand tucks beneath his head, the other still resting low on your back. The intimacy of it all is overwhelming, but you can’t bring yourself to pull away.

“What happens now?” you ask softly, barely brave enough to voice the thought.

His jaw tightens slightly, like he’s considering his words carefully. “We figure it out.”

It’s not a real answer, but it’s something.

The silence stretches, filled only by the rustling of sheets and the quiet rhythm of your breaths. Then, Harry exhales sharply, rolling onto his back and running a hand through his hair. “You hungry?”

The shift in conversation is abrupt, but not unwelcome. You nod, and that’s all it takes for him to slide out of bed, stretching his arms above his head before reaching for a pair of sweatpants. Your gaze flickers downward, betraying you, and he smirks when he catches you staring.

“Like what you see?”

You huff, throwing a pillow at him. He dodges it with ease, laughing as he pulls the sweats over his hips. “Come on, I make a mean omelet.”

You hesitate, suddenly aware of your lack of clothing. Before you can ask, he’s already tossing a hoodie your way—his hoodie, soft and oversized. The sight of you in it does something to him, you can tell by the way his throat bobs as he swallows, the way his fingers flex at his sides before he clenches them into fists.

“Looks better on you,” he mutters, almost to himself, before turning toward the kitchen.

Breakfast is… oddly normal. Domestic. The kind of thing couples do on lazy Sunday mornings. He stands at the stove, spatula in hand, while you sit on the counter, legs swinging idly. The scent of coffee fills the air, mingling with the warmth of the kitchen and the quiet hum of conversation. It’s easy, natural, like slipping into a life you shouldn’t be indulging in.

And yet, as he slides a plate in front of you, his fingers brushing yours, you can’t help but think—

Maybe this doesn’t have to end.

After breakfast, the sight of you in his hoodie is too much Harry pulls you onto his lap at the kitchen table. His hands settle on your thighs, fingers tracing slow, teasing circles against your bare skin beneath the fabric. The breath you take is sharp, shaky, his touch leaving goosebumps in its wake.

“Do you know how fucking good you looked last night?” he murmurs, lips brushing against the shell of your ear.

Your hands brace against his shoulders, trying to steady yourself as his grip tightens around your waist. Heat coils low in your stomach, spreading like wildfire when he tilts his head to press a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the column of your throat.

“Harry,” you whisper, a soft plea that only seems to spur him on.

He shifts, standing effortlessly with you wrapped around him, your legs locking around his waist. He walks you back until your spine meets the cool edge of the kitchen counter, his body pressing flush against yours. His mouth moves hungrily against your jaw, your pulse, your lips, until you’re gasping his name like a prayer.

His hands slide beneath the hem of his hoodie, pushing it up and over your head, baring you completely to him. His gaze darkens, eyes raking over you like you’re something to be worshipped. “So fucking perfect for me, love.”

There’s nothing slow about it—he tugs his sweats low enough to free himself, lifting you onto the counter in the same breath. He doesn’t waste time, sliding inside you in one slow, deep thrust that has you arching into him, your fingers clutching his biceps.

His pace is steady but firm, each thrust pulling a broken moan from your lips. His hands grip your waist, holding you in place as he fills you over and over, his breath hot against your ear.

“Mine,” he mutters, his fingers digging into your skin. “You’re fucking mine.”

You can’t do anything but nod, whimpering as his lips claim yours again, swallowing every sound you make. The tension builds too fast, too overwhelming, and when he presses his forehead to yours, whispering how good you feel, how perfect you are, you shatter around him.

He follows moments later, his release sending another wave of pleasure through you as he buries himself to the hilt, groaning into your mouth. He doesn’t pull out immediately, keeping you close, his arms caging you against him as you both come down from the high.

His lips ghost over your temple, his breathing still uneven. “Fuck, love…”

Reality crashes down like a cold wave. The warmth of the morning, the intimacy, the way his arms still cage you against him—it all feels like a fragile illusion as your eyes flicker to the clock on the wall.

“Shit,” you breathe, jolting upright. “I’m late.”

Harry barely has time to react before you’re scrambling off the counter, your legs still wobbly as you rush to find your clothes. He watches, half amused, half conflicted, leaning against the counter as you pull his hoodie back over your head, smoothing the fabric down over your thighs.

“You could just stay,” he offers, voice laced with something unreadable.

You shoot him a look. “And let everyone figure out exactly where I was all night? Not happening.”

A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, but there’s something else in his expression, something quieter. As you move past him, he catches your wrist, thumb brushing over your pulse. The air shifts.

“Be careful,” he murmurs, his gaze searching yours.

Your breath catches, but you nod, squeezing his hand briefly before pulling away.

The ride to campus is filled with static energy, your nerves thrumming beneath your skin. Every shadow feels like a threat, every passing glance a question you don’t want to answer. Your mind replays the morning in his apartment, the heat of his body against yours, the way he called you his. The thought sends another rush of adrenaline through you, but not in the way it did before.

What if someone notices? What if they already know?

By the time you step into the lecture hall, your heart is pounding for all the wrong reasons. Olivia spots you immediately, her eyes narrowing as she leans in, a knowing smirk tugging at her lips.

“Well, well,” she teases, crossing her arms. “Someone had a busy night.”

You force a casual laugh, dropping into the seat beside her. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

She raises a brow. “Oh, please. You disappeared, didn’t answer my texts, and now you’re showing up late looking—” Her eyes flick over you, taking in the oversized hoodie, the flushed cheeks, the slight daze still lingering in your expression. “—thoroughly wrecked.”

Your stomach flips. You roll your eyes, nudging her with your elbow. “I was working on my essay. You know, the thing that’s actually due today?”

“Mhm,” she hums, unconvinced, but thankfully, she doesn’t push.

As class begins, you try to focus, but your mind keeps drifting—back to the morning, back to the way Harry looked at you when he told you to be careful.

Like he already knew this wasn’t going to be easy.

The rest of the day drags, every moment stretched thin with tension. Your last class is with Harry, and by the time you step into the lecture hall, exhaustion clings to you. He’s already there, sitting at his desk, composed and unreadable as ever. There’s no flicker of recognition, no lingering glance to betray what had happened that morning. Just Professor Styles, collected and indifferent.

You take your usual seat, trying not to let disappointment sink too deep.

The class passes in a blur. You take notes, nod at the appropriate moments, but your focus splinters under the weight of unspoken words. It isn’t until after class, when you linger to gather your things, that something shifts.

Another professor, someone you vaguely recognize from the faculty meetings you’ve overheard Harry mention, approaches. He’s older, charming in an effortless way, and the way he leans in slightly as he speaks sends a spark of unease through you.

“So,” he says, his voice warm, easy, “how’s the semester treating you?”

You offer a polite smile. “Busy, but good.”

“Styles keeping you on your toes?” he teases, chuckling. “He has a reputation for being… demanding.”

Your pulse jumps, but you force a laugh. “Something like that.”

The professor’s smile lingers, his gaze flicking over you in a way that feels a little too knowing. “Well, if you ever need a second opinion on anything—academic or otherwise—my office is always open.”

You don’t get the chance to respond.

From across the room, a sharp click echoes, Harry’s pen snapping between his fingers. Your breath catches as you glance toward his desk. His jaw is tight, his knuckles white where they grip the remnants of the pen. His expression is carefully blank, but you can see the storm brewing in his eyes.

The moment the other professor steps away, you grab your bag, prepared to make a quick exit, but Harry’s voice cuts through the air.

“A word, please.”

It’s not a request.

The classroom is nearly empty now, only a few stragglers lingering near the exit. You swallow hard, nodding once before trailing after him. His office door shuts with a firm click, the silence between you stretching thick and taut.

He leans against the desk, arms crossed, studying you with a gaze so intense it makes your skin prickle. “Didn’t realize you were so friendly with Dr. Calloway.”

Your brows furrow. “I wouldn’t call it friendly. He was just—”

“Flirting,” Harry interjects, his voice dangerously low.

You blink. “I…he was just being nice.”

Harry exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “You don’t know him like I do.”

Something in his tone makes you hesitate. “Harry, it was nothing.”

His jaw tenses. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

Your heart pounds as he pushes off the desk, closing the space between you. His hands come to rest on your hips, fingers pressing in just enough to make you shiver.

“You’re mine,” he murmurs against your mouth, voice rough with possession. His hands slide down, gripping your waist as he presses you against the desk. “Don’t forget that.”

Your breath stutters as you place your hands on his chest. “I won’t. But you can’t—”

His lips crash against yours before you can finish, stealing whatever protest you were about to make. It’s all-consuming, the heat between you reigniting in an instant. He kisses you like he’s proving a point, like he’s branding the words onto your skin.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, breath ragged. “I don’t share.”

A slow smirk tugs at the corner of your lips. “Jealousy looks good on you.”

His fingers flex against your hips, and his next kiss is slower, more deliberate. “Careful, love. You might enjoy it too much.”

Something in the way he says it makes your stomach twist, heat pooling low as his lips move to your jaw, your throat. Your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, desperate for more.

The tension is unbearable, the weight of unsaid words pressing down on both of you. He exhales sharply against your skin before stepping back, his gaze dark and heavy.

“Get on the desk.”

You don’t hesitate. Papers scatter as he lifts you onto the polished wood, stepping between your thighs, hands sliding beneath your skirt to grip your thighs. His kisses grow hungrier, teeth grazing your bottom lip, his control unraveling by the second.

“This is a bad idea,” you murmur, even as you tilt your head to give him better access.

“The worst,” he agrees, dragging his mouth down your throat. “But I don’t care.”

Neither do you.

His hands push your skirt higher, fingers sliding beneath the waistband of your underwear, yanking them down in one swift movement. Your breath catches as he spreads your thighs wider, his touch firm, possessive.

“You’re soaked,” he mutters, voice thick with desire. “Did that little conversation out there get you worked up?”

You don’t answer—can’t answer—because he’s already pushing inside you, stretching you open with a single, deliberate thrust that knocks the air from your lungs.

“Fuck, Harry—”

He grips your hips tighter, pulling you flush against him as he sets a punishing pace, the edge of the desk digging into your skin. The risk of getting caught only fuels the fire burning between you, the sharp slap of skin against skin filling the room.

His hand finds the back of your neck, pressing you down against the desk, his body crowding yours as he thrusts harder, deeper.

“So fucking reckless,” he growls, his voice strained with effort, with need. “Letting me have you here, like this.”

You whimper, nails clawing at the desk as pleasure coils tight in your stomach.

“Anyone could walk in,” he continues, his grip tightening. “They could hear you, see how fucking good you take me.”

The thought sends you spiraling, your release barreling toward you at a dizzying pace. Harry feels it, too, he reaches between you, his fingers finding your clit, circling in time with his thrusts.

“Come for me,” he demands, and it’s not a request.

You shatter around him, a strangled moan escaping your lips as pleasure crashes through you. He follows seconds later, burying himself deep with a guttural groan, his fingers digging into your hips as he spills inside you.

The only sound left in the room is your uneven breathing, the ticking of the clock on the wall reminding you both of the risk you just took.

Harry presses a lingering kiss to your shoulder before pulling back, his hands smoothing over your thighs, as if grounding himself.

“This,” you whisper, still breathless. “It’s dangerous.”

He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his gaze dark, unreadable. “I know.”

The risk is undeniable. But neither of you are willing to stop.

Just as you fix your clothes, smoothing down your skirt with shaky hands, a sharp knock at the door shatters the silence.

Your heart stops.

Harry’s head snaps up, his body instantly rigid, eyes flickering between you and the door. His jaw tightens, the afterglow of your moment already dissolving into something else entirely—urgency, fear, the sharp sting of reality crashing back in.

Another knock, firmer this time.

“Professor Styles?” A voice. Female. Familiar.

Harry doesn’t hesitate. He steps forward, grasping your wrist with a grip just shy of bruising, his voice low and urgent. “You need to go. Now.”

Your pulse spikes. “Who—”

He doesn’t let you finish. He moves swiftly, guiding you toward the side door that leads to the back hallway. His fingers press into your lower back as he all but pushes you through, barely giving you a moment to catch your breath.

“Don’t look back,” he murmurs, and then the door is closing behind you, sealing you off from him, from whatever is about to unfold on the other side.

You don’t wait around to see who’s waiting for him. You can’t. Your legs carry you forward on autopilot, your breath coming in short, uneven bursts as you weave through the empty corridor, toward the nearest exit.

Your skin is still burning from his touch.

The cold air outside does little to ground you. Your mind is racing, spiraling. The thrill of what just happened still lingers in your veins, but beneath it, something else begins to creep in.

Doubt.

Fear.

Paranoia.

Who was at that door? How much had they heard? How much did they know?

You shove the thoughts aside and keep walking, forcing your breathing to slow, forcing yourself to look normal, to act normal. But your fingers are trembling as you pull out your phone, as you glance at your reflection in the dark screen—flushed cheeks, swollen lips, eyes that look far too wild.

You can still feel him.

By the time you make it back to your apartment, your stomach is in knots. Olivia is there, sprawled on the couch, but you barely register her presence as you drop your bag onto the floor and collapse onto your bed, your head spinning.

Your phone buzzes.

You jolt, heart hammering as you grab it.

A message.

From him.

Harry: We need to talk. This is getting dangerous.

You stare at the screen, a thousand thoughts colliding in your mind at once.

Dangerous.

Your stomach twists. He’s right. This was never going to be simple, never going to be easy. But now it feels like something else entirely.

Something you might not be able to control.

Something that might destroy you both.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate any support so remember to comment, reblog, & like ❤️‍🔥

taglist: @oscahpastry @mema10 @angelbabyyy99 @iloveharrystyles04 @cinemharry @drwho06 @donutsandpalmtrees @panini @mads3502 @imgonnadreamaboutthewayyoutaaaa @one-sweet-gubler @rizosrizos26 @ciriceimpera @everyscarisahealingplace @hello-heyhi @sexymfharriet @lizsogolden @hannah9921 @chicabonitasblog @huhidontknowstuff @berrywoods1245 @jennovaaa

[xlettex]

Wandered, now home || yuu nishinoya Surfer AU - Oneshot

Yuu Nishinoya, a free-spirited traveler and surfer, settles down in Hawaii, where his journey takes a new turn. There, he meets a marine biology student, a connection forms between them. As their relationship deepens, they bond over shared experiences and unspoken vulnerabilities, finding something real in each other’s presence.

pairing - yuu nishinoya x reader genre - romance word count - 3.8k rating - 13+

Authors Note - This fanfic is inspired by the phenomenal and breathtaking fanart of timeskip Nishinoya. Artist is @freaka_loonyz on tiktok, pinterest, twitter, and instagram!

Yuu Nishinoya had always considered the ocean a part of himself. It wasn’t just the adrenaline of the waves that called to him—it was the rhythm, the pulse of the sea. The highs and lows, the unpredictable swells that could take him soaring or pull him under. It was life in its most raw and honest form. And Hawaii? Hawaii was where he found his sanctuary, his place where the surf, the breeze, and the sun embraced him like an old friend.

He wasn’t born here. No, he’d come to the islands after traveling through half the world. He left behind his hometown, driven by the pull of something far greater. From Australia’s sunburnt beaches to the bustling, neon-lit streets of Thailand, Nishinoya collected memories and tattoos from each place—tokens of the adventures that shaped him. Each tattoo on his body was a story, etched into his skin like a living map of his life.

A giant wave engulfed his left arm, curling with intricate detail. Its crest is a jarring contrast of deep blues and whites. It was the first wave he had ever surfed in Australia making him realize he was born for this life. 

Below it, a shark outline, bold and simple, a reminder of his time diving off the coast of Thailand—an encounter with a creature that had both terrified and mesmerized him. 

Across his ribs, just below his heart, a small compass, its needle pointing north, symbolizing how he had always been drawn forward, seeking, never staying in one place for too long.

A phoenix rested on his right shoulder, its wings unfurled in a blaze of red and orange, rising as if reborn from the flames. It was a tribute to the day he nearly drowned in a particularly violent wave, only to emerge from the ocean stronger, with a deeper respect for its power. It was a reminder that even in the most brutal of challenges, there was always rebirth.

And then, there was the small, delicate dragon on his wrist, hidden from most eyes but always present—a symbol of protection and a quiet nod to his roots. He had gotten it inked during a return trip to Japan, not as a visitor, but as someone searching for a piece of himself he hadn’t realized he’d lost. Amidst the chaos of his wandering life, he had found an unexpected sense of peace there—a reminder that no matter how far he traveled, some parts of him would always belong to where he came from.

He was a man without borders, with a soul as vast as the ocean he adored. Each tattoo was a part of him, a piece of his story, and a reminder of the countless lives he had touched and the ones that had touched him in return.

For years, he’d been bouncing from place to place, finding solace in the rhythm of the waves, but it was only after he arrived in Hawaii that he finally felt like he could breathe again. The ocean here was different—warm, vast, endless. It felt like the last piece of the puzzle he'd been searching for, a sense of home amidst the ever-shifting world around him.

He had explored many countries, but no place had ever felt like home the way Hawaii did.

The University of Hawaii was just another stop along his journey, not a destination. It wasn’t where his heart was—it was just where he happened to be when the surf wasn’t calling. He’d enrolled in a few courses, something to fill the gaps when the waves weren’t up and he had time to kill. But truthfully, he never cared much about academics. The ocean was his true focus, his only real obsession was the thrill of the ride. Relationships had come and gone, fleeting as the waves themselves. No one had ever made him pause—no one.

That was until he met you.

It wasn’t dramatic or earth-shattering—nothing like the way movies depicted love at first sight. No, it was casual, a small moment that set something into motion deep inside him. It happened at a café on the edge of campus, a place that served overpriced coffee and cheap pastries, the kind of place you went to because you didn’t know where else to study.

“Yo, Noya! Come on, we’re getting coffee!” Tanaka’s voice boomed as he clapped a hand on Nishinoya’s shoulder, snapping him out of his daydreams. The two were practically inseparable, always together like a pair of magnets, always the loudest duo in any room.

“Alright, alright,” Nishinoya replied, ruffling his hair as he grabbed his backpack and slung it over his shoulder. He followed Tanaka, both of them weaving through the bustling campus, the sound of their voices and laughter drawing the attention of everyone they passed.

The moment they stepped into the café, the usual hum of background noise dimmed in Nishinoya’s mind. He noticed you sitting at one of the tables, hunched over a notebook, scribbling furiously in it. The sunlight coming through the window framed you perfectly—your wild hair bouncing lightly with every movement, your face lit by the soft glow as you chewed the tip of your pencil in thought. It was the kind of sight that made Nishinoya pause, something about it grounded him in a way he couldn’t explain.

Tanaka’s voice broke through the moment. “Yachi!” He waved, and the girl sitting across from you at the table looked up. Her expression was a mixture of surprise and recognition, and Nishinoya followed Tanaka to the table.

“Hey Yachi!” Tanaka greeted, plopping down by her without waiting for an invitation. Yachi smiled warmly but seemed slightly frazzled like she’d been in the middle of something important.

Nishinoya stood by the table awkwardly for a second before Tanaka gestured for him to sit. And that’s when he saw you more clearly.

Your eyes met his for a fleeting second, a moment of quiet recognition. The kind of gaze that made him feel like you saw him, not just the loud, goofy guy everyone else saw. He flashed you a grin, the same boisterous one he gave to everyone else, but this time it felt different.

“This is Nishinoya. He’s a bit of a legend around here,” Tanaka said with a grin, proud of his friend’s reputation.

You looked at him curiously, clearly skeptical. “A legend?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Nishinoya laughed and tossed his hair back. “Yup, that’s me! Surfer, traveler, all-around amazing guy,” he said with a wink.

You smiled at his energy, but there was something more restrained about your response, a subtle flicker behind your eyes—like you knew more than you were letting on. “Nice to meet you,” you said, your voice soft yet confident but with an undertone of something unspoken. You had your notebook open in front of you, the pages filled with carefully scribbled notes and diagrams of coral reefs and aquatic life.

Nishinoya, always perceptive to detail, couldn’t help but glance at your work, the complex sketches of marine life standing out on the page. He felt a flicker of curiosity. “Whoa, that’s some serious homework.” He leaned in a bit closer, his interest piqued. “What’s all this?”

You followed his gaze, then chuckled softly, a hint of embarrassment coloring your cheeks. “Oh, just some of my work. I’m studying… well, stuff about the oceans. Marine ecosystems. Not exactly the most exciting topic for a lot of people, but it’s my thing.”

Nishinoya’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. There was something about the way you said it that made him stop and reconsider. It didn’t sound like a typical academic subject—it sounded like something deeper, something you genuinely cared about. 

He straightened up, his grin widening as the realization hit him. “Marine ecosystems? That’s amazing! I’ve seen some of the most incredible reefs while traveling. I mean, I’ve surfed in Australia, Thailand, Bali... but there’s so much more to see, right? There’s something about the ocean that just calls to you.”

Your eyes widened, and you seemed to soften at his words. There was a quiet shift in your gaze, as though you were seeing him anew—not just as the surfer, but as someone who might understand the ocean pull in the way you did.  “What got you into traveling so much?” you asked, the curiosity in your voice unmistakable.

Nishinoya scratched the back of his head, his expression thoughtful. “I guess it started with the waves. It’s like… the ocean pulls you in, no matter where you are. Once I felt that, I just had to keep chasing it, you know? Every place has a unique beauty. Its own rhythm. I’ve always felt like there’s more out there waiting for me to experience.”

Your eyes softened as you listened, and for a moment, he thought he could see something in you—an understanding, something deeper than what you let on. “That’s... beautiful,” you murmured, almost to yourself.

A surge of pride rose in his chest, but it wasn’t the boastful kind. It was the quiet, personal pride of someone who had found something that resonated deeply with them. “Yeah, I’ve seen a lot. Surfed places most people only dream about. But there’s nothing like being in the water—watching the reef come alive beneath you. The coral, the fish, the way the ocean shifts... It’s breathtaking.”

Your eyes lit up at his words. It felt like you were on the same wavelength, sharing that same awe of the ocean. Your gaze held something—something warm, something that matched his excitement. “That sounds incredible,” you said softly. “I’ve only seen a fraction of the world—mostly just what I’ve read about in books or researched for school. But I dream of seeing those places. I want to experience the reefs like you have. To understand them.”

Nishinoya smiled, his tone softening, a little less boisterous than usual. “You’ve got time. And when you’re ready, I’ll show you a reef or two. No rush. When the day comes... I’ll be your guide.”

His words hung in the air; it wasn’t just what he said—it was how you responded. There was something in your eyes, something unspoken. A promise. An invitation not just to explore the ocean, but to share it. That feeling stirred something inside him, something warm and unexpected. For the first time in a while, it felt like he was seeing the ocean through someone else’s eyes—eyes that weren’t just searching the surface, but diving deep into its soul.

The spark of interest that had ignited in him earlier only grew stronger, and for reasons he couldn’t explain, he suddenly found himself wanting to know everything about you—not just your studies, but the way you thought about the world. The way you saw the vastness of the oceans, the creatures within them, and how it all connected to your heart.

A Week Later

The afternoon stretched lazily, the golden sun casting a shimmering glow across the water. The ocean waves were primed for surfing, curling perfectly as they rushed toward the shore, eager and full of promise.

But today, Nishinoya's mind wasn’t focused on surfing. In the back of his mind, you lingered—a quiet thought, persistent and constant.

When he’d asked you to join him today, it wasn’t about trying to impress you with his skill or boast about his adventures. He wanted to share something with you, something beyond the usual laughter and loudness. He wanted to show you a side of himself that no one else saw.

And so, when the moment came, he didn’t take you straight into the surf.

Instead, he led you to a different kind of adventure.

The sand was cool beneath your feet, the gentle breeze carrying the scent of salt and ocean as you walked beside him. The sun hung low in the sky, painting everything in amber light. Nishinoya led you away from the busy beach, down a quiet path toward a secluded cove, a place where the world seemed to pause, quieter, more private.

“Most people don’t know about this spot,” he said, his voice softer than usual, carrying a quiet reverence. “It’s where I come when I need to think.”

As the distance between you and the crowd grew, he reached over, his fingers brushing lightly against yours before he gently grasped your hand. The touch was unexpected, warm, and somehow more intimate than anything you’d ever felt before. It felt like a promise, something unspoken, a silent invitation to step further into this quiet world he was showing you.

When his hand grasped yours, it was like a spark—a soft, deliberate touch, but one that made something inside you stir. The heat of his palm against yours lingered, and you felt it in the way your heartbeat quickened, a small ripple in the quiet tension between you.

Without thinking, your fingers curled into his, and for a fleeting moment, everything around you seemed to disappear. The ocean, the sound of the waves crashing against the shore—it all felt distant, as though you were in a world of your own, held together by the connection between your hands.

When you arrived at the cove, you could feel it immediately—the peaceful rhythm of this place. The waves here kissed the shore gently, not crashing with force like in the more crowded spots. Everything felt still and natural, a perfect reflection of who he was underneath the boisterous exterior. He sat down on a large rock and patted the space beside him, his grin still there, but it was softer now, like a side of him he rarely showed.

You sat next to him, the warmth of his presence next to you making the silence feel more like an invitation than a void. It wasn’t uncomfortable—it was the kind of silence that allowed you to just be, no expectations, no need for words. In that quiet, it felt like you understood each other more than you ever could through conversation.

“Thanks for coming out here with me,” Nishinoya said, his voice unusually serious, almost like he was letting down a wall. “Most people don’t get to see this side of me.”

You glanced at him, studying the sincerity in his gaze. “Because of your persona?” you asked softly. “The surfer, the adventurer?”

“Yeah,” he murmured, his eyes drifting out toward the horizon. “People see the loud guy, the guy always up for the next thrill. But there’s more to me than that. Sometimes... I just want to be alone with my thoughts. Not be the guy everyone expects me to be.”

His honesty struck a chord with you. For a moment, you found yourself wondering if he saw something in you that you didn’t always show others.

The breeze shifted, and for a heartbeat, everything seemed to slow. You turned toward him, the words rising in your chest before you could stop them. “I’ve... been watching you for a while now,” you said, your voice soft but steady. “I spend a lot of time near the water for class, studying the marine life. But, sometimes, I’d find myself just sitting there, watching you. There was something about the way you moved with the waves... like you were part of it. I couldn’t help but be drawn to that.”

There was a pause, a shift in the air between you both. His gaze softened, and in that moment, you realized you’d let something slip that had been hidden in the quiet corners of your mind for so long.

Nishinoya’s eyes flickered with surprise, his brow furrowing slightly. “Watching me?”

You felt a rush of heat flood your face. You hadn’t meant to say it so bluntly, but now that it was out, it was impossible to take back. “I—I’d sketch you sometimes,” you admitted quietly, your voice catching just slightly. “When I saw you out there on the waves, you looked... different. Like you were in your own world. I never really told anyone this, but... I’ve always thought there was more to you than what people see.”

Nishinoya’s expression softened, and there was a pause, an unspoken understanding passing between you. He gave a small, almost bashful smile. “I didn’t know you were an artist.” he said, his voice warmer than usual.“It’s... a side of you I didn’t expect. “I guess there’s a lot about me I’ve never let people see either.”

You tilted your head, curiosity flickering in your gaze. “Like what?”

He hesitated, his eyes drifting out toward the horizon. He was gathering the courage to share something he’d kept locked away. “I’ve never really told anyone this, but... I get tired sometimes,” he murmured, his voice quieter now. “Tired of always being the loud one, the guy people expect me to be. It’s hard letting people see me, you know? To let them see past the bravado. I’ve always felt like if they did, they wouldn’t like what they saw.”

The vulnerability in his voice hit you like a wave, deeper than you’d anticipated. You had always seen him as this fearless, larger-than-life figure, but now, hearing this part of him, you were seeing him in a way you never had before—like the ocean was finally revealing its depths.

Without thinking, you leaned in a little closer, drawn in by the rawness of his confession. The air between you thickened, heavy with the weight of everything unspoken. And in that moment, you felt the pulse of something that had been quietly building since you first met.

Nishinoya shifted slightly, his fingers brushing his sleeve. As he did, you caught sight of the tattoos on his arm again, and he followed your gaze. “These... they’re not just for the pain," he said quietly, his voice almost reflective. "Each one... tells a story. One I needed to remember, even when I tried to forget." He traced the dragon on his arm with his finger, the edges still sharp despite the years. "I used to think they were just about surviving. But now... they remind me that I’m more than just the guy who keeps everyone’s spirits up." He paused, giving you a small, vulnerable smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ve been hiding parts of myself, for too long.”

You leaned in just a little more, the raw honesty between you both pulling you closer. “I don’t know if I could ever show people all of me, either,” you murmured, your voice softer now, mirroring the weight of his confession. “But maybe... that’s the part we’re meant to let out. The parts we’re afraid to show.”

Nishinoya’s gaze met yours, and in his eyes, you saw that same quiet understanding, the kind that didn’t need words. It was the kind of connection that spoke louder than anything you’d said out loud.

Then, his lips curved into something more familiar—a mischievous smirk creeping back in. “So... about these sketches,” he said, tilting his head at you. “Are they, like, super serious? Or do I look stupid in them?”

The shift in tone made you huff a quiet laugh, the heaviness between you both lifting just a little. “You don’t look stupid,” you admitted, shaking your head.

“That wasn’t a no,” he teased, nudging you lightly with his shoulder. “I gotta see them now. I need to know if you made me look cool or if I’ve been unknowingly starring in a collection of dumb surfer doodles.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the smile tugging at your lips. “They’re not dumb,” you muttered.

“So, they’re good?”

You groaned, and he laughed, the sound bright and easy. But when he looked at you again, there was something softer in his gaze. “I mean it, though. I wanna see them,” he said, voice quieter now. “I like the idea of seeing myself through your eyes.”

Something about the way he said it sent warmth flooding through your chest.

Nishinoya’s lips hovered near yours, the quiet between you two now charged with something unspoken. He’d just laid bare the weight of his past, his tattoos, and the silent battles they represented. His usual confident air faltered for a split second, and the briefest flicker of doubt passed through his eyes. He wasn’t used to being so exposed, so raw. His heart pounded just a little harder, but the moment was fleeting. Before he could mask it with his usual bravado, you met his gaze.

Your eyes held his, steady and unwavering. No judgment. No fear. Just an understanding that spoke louder than words. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, his breath steadied, his shoulders relaxing. The weight he’d been carrying, even if just for a moment, seemed to lighten. The vulnerability didn’t vanish—it was still there, just tucked away behind that soft, lingering connection between you.

With a deep exhale, he closed the distance, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that was gentle and slow, like the ocean itself—building gradually, yet overwhelming in its quiet intensity. It wasn’t a kiss of passion, but one of connection—a silent exchange that spoke volumes, letting everything that had been left unspoken rise to the surface. The world around you faded, the noise and chaos slipping away as the kiss deepened, each movement a slow wave of reassurance. The weight of the moment lingered, soft but undeniable, like the rhythm of the sea—a constant presence that spoke more than words ever could.

When you pulled away, your foreheads rested together, and for a short moment, the outside world felt distant. Neither of you spoke. The quiet wrapped around you like a soft blanket, the only sound was the steady rhythm of your breath and the gentle lapping of the waves against the shore.

Then, Nishinoya broke the silence with a soft chuckle, his lips brushing lightly against yours again—a kiss that was teasing, full of warmth, and something unspoken. “You know,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and sincere, “you’ve got this way of making me feel like I’m not just the guy on the board.”

You smiled, warmth spreading through you that had nothing to do with the sun. “I think that’s the best part about you,” you replied, your voice as soft as the breeze. “That you’re more than meets the eye.”

He grinned, his fingers brushing playfully against your wrist. “Still wanna see those sketches, though.”

You rolled your eyes, but a small part of you knew you’d let him. Because, maybe, just maybe, you wanted him to see himself the way you did—just a little more than the guy on the board.

And in that moment, with the world fading around you, everything felt right. The ocean, vast and timeless, was your only witness, the waves were endless and unknowable—just like whatever came next. But for now, this moment was enough.

[sixeyescurseuser]

《a quiet place》

Growing up deaf was as difficult as one could imagine, considering Geto’s parents weren’t aware of or had access to the resources to accommodate his disability.

Hearing people - the teachers or kids his age - didn’t have the most patience either. They treated him like he was dumb when he's actually so incredibly bright, just as smart as anyone else! Bullies would sneak up and scare the shit out of him. Others simply pretended he didn’t exist. 

It was hard making connections when no one communicated like Geto did.

After time, Geto made peace with his situation. He mostly kept to himself, nose buried in his books or playing outside, befriending nature’s little creatures instead. Geto’s parents thought speaking quickly would prevent him from reading their lips, but he still knew they had wished for a normal child who didn’t have his “issues.”

Thus, Geto was used to people approaching him at first sight. He was also used to them leaving him alone after realizing he couldn’t hear. After graduating from high school, it was an easy decision to leave his small hometown and attend university in the big city. 

Here, Geto has managed to make a total of two friends, Haibara and Yuki, who always invite him to do normal college kid things!

Presently, Geto finds himself dancing in the club with his friends, moving along to the pulsing vibrations of the music. They stop at the bar for more drinks or water, and that's when the bartender places a drink in front of Geto despite him not ordering anything?

It's a pink drink with a little umbrella, and Geto can only make out the "mocktail" and "guy over there" from reading the bartender's lips. Geto looks over to see a head full of striking white hair and a face adorning obsidian-black shades.

/Good evening/, the stranger casually signs.

(Geto inside: "HUH??")

Geto is too shocked to sign anything back. He’s stuck looking between the drink and the stranger whose gaze is entirely too piercing, even from behind the shades.

The stranger frowns, points at the drink he ordered for Geto.

/Not to your taste? I can drink it instead. It's raspberry-flavored./ The white-haired man signs with minimal pauses, eyebrows furrowed as if he's actually concerned about the flavor choice for Geto.

Here we introduce Gojo Satoru, physics and engineering double major, who picks up random skills like they’re digimon, and sign language happened to be one of them.

Thank heavens he did because Geto Suguru has been on his radar for a few months now. They share a social science course together and Gojo has always taken aback by how articulate Geto was. It certainly helped that Geto was stunning with his silky, jet-black locks and sly, amber-colored eyes. 

And, well, Geto's always in the same spot in the library. Gojo was bound to notice how majestic he looked studying with his hair pulled back into a bun, tapping away at his computer.

Gojo felt an instant pull to Geto but never worked up the nerve to approach him.

Until now, when they’re sitting across from each other at this random bar on a Sunday night. (It helps that Gojo has been planning to make a move for months. Simp.)

Geto finally processes the fact that this white-haired man is full-on signing to him. It’s too good to be true. Perhaps they can become friends, where they can talk through Geto’s language, for once!

Geto moves over to Gojo’s side of the bar, plopping down in the seat beside him. They end up spending the rest of their night together, making small but intimate talk. Geto leaves with Gojo's number in his phone and a text from him expressing how much he enjoyed the night thanks to Suguru. 

After that night, they text each other nonstop. And when they're not texting, they're doing something together: studying, going on walks, eating out. 

Geto is addicted to Gojo’s corny cat memes. Maybe to the daily selfies Gojo sends too, where Gojo says he’s “blessing Suguru’s eyes.” He has no idea how true that is for Geto. 

(Geto saves those photos for ... research purposes.)

It’s safe to say that Geto finds Gojo soooo incredibly hot - his face, his mannerisms, his mind. Gojo never fails to include Geto, whether by putting captions with his presentations or signing while he talks. He even used his connections to set up a JSL club for their university. 

Geto insistently denies his crush, but Haibara and Yuki know better. They see the way Geto’s entire face lights up when he receives messages from Gojo during their movies nights. 

It does not help that whenever Gojo and Geto’s friend groups hang out together, the pair are sooo touchy and sweet with each other. Gojo could be telling a story, and his eyes would always flicker to Suguru's, signing the important bits for emphasis. 

Geto is enthralled, shooting Gojo heart eyes that are so obvious to everyone else. They are clearly flirting. Some of it also happens to be Gojo just being himself and Geto finding himself wooed. (Again, Geto would never admit - out loud or silently.)

While Geto does prefer to sign to communicate, one of the few words he loves speaking is actually Gojo’s first name. He says it so often, it’s practically muscle memory.

Gojo is astonished to hear Suguru speak with the dialect distinct from his hometown as well as with a slight lisp. He makes Geto repeat his name three to four times until Suguru playfully flicks his forehead to get him to stop. 

Their first kiss is probably in the library, Gojo finally able to sit next to Geto while he studies. Surprisingly, it’s Geto who has given up on hopes of studying any longer. It’s easy enough to grab Satoru’s attention with a wave, casually signing an existential question of, /Do you think parallel universes exist?/

The pair calmly sign back and forth, sharing secret smiles, and thighs pressed together from how close they sit. After finishing a few games of footsies, Gojo being the sore loser, he pulls Geto against his chest and kisses the top of his head. Geto is starstruck, feels so warm and gooey inside.

That's when the casual kisses on the head, forehead, and cheek start between them.

Gojo is too hesitant to kiss Suguru directly. Doesn't want to read too much into things because he gets attached easily, and this thing with Suguru is more than he could ever ask for.

Meanwhile, Geto is going through all the ways to make Satoru break and /kiss./ him/.

Gojo sometimes sleeps over too so they end up sharing Geto's bed. Their littol hearts beat in-sync at 200 beats per minute. Geto is worried because he does not know if a heartbeat is something others can hear. Maybe if it beats too fast, it’s like a purring sound?

Unacceptable. He forces his heart to calm down because he cannot let Satoru know how crazy he is about him. Steam is gonna blow out of his ears from how hard he's concentrating and overthinking. Gojo pauses when he looks over to see how red Suguru's cheeks are.

/Hey/, Gojo signs to get Geto's attention. When Geto slowly locks eyes with him, Gojo reaches over to place the back of his hand against Geto's forehead. Using his opposite hand, Gojo signs, /Are you feeling okay? You look a little flushed./

/I'm fine! I'm fine/! Geto signs while smacking Gojo's hand away.

Stay still, my beating heart, Geto thinks frantically.

Alas, Geto fails to see that whenever Gojo enters the room, the first person he looks for is Geto. Even if there are others calling his name, Gojo's eyes search for Suguru’s warm amber ones. Geto is so happy because someone notices him first despite him not being able to call for their attention - Satoru is always looking at him.

Until the day Gojo shows up for a group hangout, a girl pulls him into conversation before he can make his way over. Geto knows by her body language and how close she gets to Satoru that she's hoping to win his affections tonight.

Geto wilts a little. Maybe... maybe Satoru wasn't coming over as soon as Geto thought he was.

Geto goes to find Haibara or Yuki, deciding to give Satoru time alone with the girl.

Not even five minutes later, Gojo appears, lightly tapping Geto's shoulder to get his attention from behind. Regardless of what conspired, Geto offers a warm smile, and happily bumps his shoulder against Gojo's chest. 

They're in the bar and restaurant section of an arcade. Their group is together now, always making sure to include Geto in their conversations. When Geto’s friends suggest going into the arcade, Gojo stands up and begins to go along.

Before Geto can stop himself, he puts a hand on Satoru's chest and signs, /What about that girl?/

Gojo blinks at him blankly. 

/What girl?/ he signs back. Geto's eyebrows knit together. Is Satoru being dumb on purpose??

/The one you were talking to before you joined us,/ Geto signs with a sigh, his movements getting lazy due to his anxiety. /Did you want to spend more time with her?/

Gojo's eyes widen in realization, and then he's rapidly shaking his head.

/What?? Why would I?/ Gojo asks. He looks bewildered, in a sense, and Geto is feeling self-conscious enough as it is because why did his stupid brain have to ask questions??

Geto shrugs helplessly, then signs, /She didn't interest you?/ 

Gojo's face breaks out into an amused smile.

/Suguru, I already have someone I'm interested in./

What...?

And that's when Geto's heart shatters into a million pieces.

/WHO?/ Geto signs with a sweeping gesture.

Gojo's hands pause mid-air, freezing upon the directness of Geto's question.

When he doesn't answer for a long moment, Geto swallows thickly, and pushes down his guilt, his yearning, and his pride.

/Never mind. It's none of my business,/ Geto signs quickly, then turns on his heel and flees.

Against his better judgement, risking one more look at the man his heart belongs to, Geto chances a look over his shoulder. Geto's met with the sight of Gojo barreling into him, arms wrapping around Geto so tightly like he never plans to let him go.

Vibrations against his skin indicate Satoru's talking, but Geto can't understand a word. An apology? An explanation?

"Sssatoru...?" Geto says, feeling the raspiness of his voice from the lack of use. 

In response, Gojo pulls back just enough so he can use one hand to point to Suguru.

"/You. It's //you.//" Gojo says and signs. Geto's still a little lost, eyes flickering between the finger jabbed towards him and Satoru's earnest expression.

/Me?/ Geto signs and mouths silently. Gojo nods once, eyes holding an intensity that Geto realizes he must have been too afraid to truly see.

Gojo sadly retracts the other hand that was on Geto's waist so he can sign, /I didn't want that girl, or any other person, because the only one I want is /you./ 

Geto audibly gasps, his heart feeling like it's ceased beating completely. Is this real life? Did Satoru really... feel the same way?

/You are my person, understand?/ Gojo finishes signing, eagerly awaiting Geto's reply. (He signs so passionately that his hands are making slapping sounds.) Along with his facial expressions, Geto gets the point instantly. 

/I feel the same,/ Geto signs back, happy tears gathering in his eyes. /You are my person too./

Geto surges up to hug Satoru close, giggling when Satoru obnoxiously rubs his face in the crook of Geto's neck. Geto's breath hitches when Satoru also peppers kisses along his skin, feeling ten times more intimate after their confessions.

Nestled in the dim hallway, where no one else lingers nearby, Geto says the two words he’s been yearning to say for a while now. 

“Kiss me,” he whispers, because Satoru cannot see his hands at the moment. Without further adieu, Gojo cups Geto's cheek and softly presses their lips together. He also gently presses Geto against the wall, leaving not a single space where their bodies are not touching. 

Geto's heart soars within his chest. He's so happy! All of Geto's senses are 100% tuned into the way Satoru kisses and holds him. Even closes his eyes because without sight and sound, Geto knows he trusts Satoru with his life. 

It's pure bliss. 

He can't hear the way Gojo is making pleased noises, or how their lips moving together have a wet sound that drive Gojo insane. But Gojo can, and he savors everything. He loves any sound Suguru unknowingly makes too. His satisfied sighs, the way he gasps or his breath hitches, even the faint moans that slip past Suguru's lips. 

Gojo swallows all of them. 

Later on, Gojo finds he loves to whisper dirty things to Geto in public. He knows his boyfriend’s shudders are just because of the sensations on his ear but it satisfies Gojo to no end. 

Plus, the couple will sign the most inappropriate things to each other in public because practically no one can understand. For example, Geto signs that he wants Satoru to fuck him against the wall when they get home.

One of Gojo's friends: "What did your boyfriend say?"

Gojo, clearing his throat: "Um, that he wants soba for dinner."

Gojo signing to Geto: /I'll do whatever you want, baby/

Geto: ☺️

A few months later, they're sharing Geto's bed cuddled like two sleepy cats together. Geto has a leg thrown over Satoru's hips, where Satoru has been tapping his thigh in a repetitive pattern over and over again. It's nowhere near the first time Satoru has done so, but Geto snaps his fingers to get Satoru's attention - who was previously scrolling on his phone.

/What does it mean?/ Geto asks. Upon Gojo's confused expression, Geto gestures to Gojo's hand on his thigh, fingers continuing their tapping motion.

/It's morse code. It means.../ Gojo pauses, tapping out the full message, slower this time. /I love you./

Geto's eyes soften, and he scoots closer until their faces are mere centimeters apart.

"Teach me," Geto breathes out against Gojo’s lips.

And so he does. 

They’ll never stop coming up with ways to say “I love you.”

***

w/ @no-one-says-hi

[nenelonomh]

overcoming mental fatigue

mental fatigue is a state of cognitive tiredness as a result of prolonged periods of demanding mental activity. it can manifest as a sense of overwhelm, difficulty concentrating, memory issues, and a general feeling of mental exhaustion.

it often co-occurs with physical exhaustion, as we run our bodies empty through exams, studyholism and constant stimulation.

how does it impact ibdp students?

-‘๑’- it can lead to decreased concentration, memory issues, and reduced cognitive function. this can negatively affect your ability to learn and perform well!

-‘๑’- the high demands of the ibdp can increase stress levels, leading to anxiety and burnout.

-‘๑’- it can disrupt sleep patterns, which can impact your ability to focus throughout the school day.

but regardless of whether you're an ibdp student or not, it is important to recognize when you're feeling mental fatigue and take proactive steps to manage it.

what can you do about mental fatigue?

-‘๑’- take regular breaks. this is essential to avoid burnout. use strategies/techniques like the pomodoro technique to ensure you're getting enough rest while working for a long time.

-‘๑’- stay active. physical activity can boost your mood and energy levels. even a short walk can make a difference.

-‘๑’- ensure you get enough quality sleep.

-‘๑’- stay hydrated and eat nutrient-dense foods. this is crucial for cognitive function! no more running off of instant ramen! try to avoid excessive caffeine and sugary snacks.

-‘๑’- manage your workload. break tasks into smaller, manageable parts. prioritize important tasks and delegate when possible.

-‘๑’- stay connected and maintain social balance. speak to friends, family, or a therapist if you're feeling overwhelmed. social support is SO IMPORTANT for mental well-being.

for further reading:

student burnout: a review on factors contributing to burnout across different student populations (mdpi)

the impact of stress on students in secondary school and higher education (monash university) (open access)

i hope this post was helpful! and don't overwork yourself!, i'm looking at you especially - overworked/studyholic blogs.

❤️nene

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[astra-ravana]

The Platonic Solids

Tetrahedron, hexahedron (cube), octahedron, dodecahedron, and icosahedron-are central to sacred geometry and spiritually embody balance and symmetry. Each solid is linked to the classical elements- Earth, Air, Fire, Water, and Ether- highlighting the interconnectedness of the Universe. These shapes represent more than mere mathematical interest; they symbolize the fundamental principals that orchestrate the Universe. There are profound meanings attributed to the Platonic solids within sacred geometry and spirituality.

History And Origins

• Ancient Greece-The birthplace of the Platonic solids: The exploration of sacred geometry can be traced back to the influential mathematician Pythagoras (570-495BC). His school of thought laid the foundations for later philosophers to build upon. However, it was the renowned Greek philosopher Plato (427-347BC) who popularized the term "Platonic solids". Although he was not the first to study these shapes, his work was pivotal in their widespread recognition. In his masterpiece 'Timaeus', Plato assigned each soldid to one of the four classical elements, Fire (tetrahedron), Earth (hexahedron), Air (Octahedron), and Water (icosahedron). In later interpretations and writings the fifth Platonic solid, the dodecahedron, was associated with the element of Ether (also called Quintessence or Spirit).

• Euclid's Elements: One cannot discuss the history of Platonic solids without mentioning Euclid (~300BC), known as the Father of Geometry. His groundbreaking work 'Elements' outlined rigorous proofs for each solid shape's properties, forever cementing their place in mathematics. These expanded our knowledge of Platonic solids and helped establish a solid foundation in mathematics for future generations.

• Archimedes' Influence: Although not directly related to Platonic solids, Archimedes (~287-212BC) expanded upon their concepts by discovering thirteen semi-regular shapes known as the Archimedean solids. These are a collection of thirteen shapes which share certain characteristics with the Platonic solids. This work demonstrated that geometric principles extended beyond the five Platonic solids, further enriching our understanding of sacred geometry.

Unique Characteristics

The five Platonic solids have distinct characteristics that define them, making them the cornerstone of sacred geometry. The key defining features are:

• All faces are congruent regular polygons (equalateral triangles, squares, or pentagons).

• Each vertex (corner) connects and equal number of edges.

• They are symmetrical structures- rotation of reflection can interchange any two vertices.

These attributes result in only five possible shapes that meet these criteria: tetrahedron, hexahedron, octahedron, dodecahedron, and icosahedron. Each solid has its unique symbolism and spiritual significance that has been recognized across various cultures and ancient traditions.

The Tetrahedron

The tetrahedron, also known as a triangular pyramid, is the simplest of the Platonic solids. It represents embodying the principles of energy, passion, and transformation and the chaos of Fire.

• Geometric properties: The tetrahedron has four vertices, six edges, and four faces, all of which are equalateral triangles. It's the only Platonic solid that does not have parallel faces, giving it a sense of directionality and movement.

• Associated element: Fire

• Associated chakra: Solar Plexus

• Spiritual meaning: The tetrahedron is associated with personal power, creativity, and the drive for change. It symbolizes the dynamic and transformative nature of fire, representing the ability to purify, illuminate and transmute.

• Uses: The tetrahedron is used for focusing intentions, manifesting desires, facilitating personal transformation. It is also employed in meditation and energy work to enhance one's inner fire and to promote balance and harmony within the self.

The Hexahedron

The hexahedron, commonly known as a cube, represents the element of Earth in the Platonic solids. It symbolizes stability, solidity, and groundedness.

• Geometric properties: The hexahedron has eight vertices, twelve edges, and six faces, all of which are squares. Its equal sides and angles provide a sense of balance and symmetry.

• Associated element: Earth

• Associated chakra: Root

• Spiritual meaning: The hexahedron symbolizes stability, reliability, and the functional aspects of life. It is associated with the material world and a strong connection to to the earth.

• Uses: The hexahedron can be used for grounding, centering, and connecting to the physical realm. It is often employed in meditation to foster a sense of security and stability.

The Octahedron

The octahedron represents the element of air. It is associated with balance, communication, and intellectual pursuits.

• Geometric properties: The octahedron has six vertices, twelve edges, and eight faces, all of which are equalateral triangles. Its a dual polyhedron to the hexahedron, reflecting a balance between the physical and the mental.

• Associated element: Air

• Associated chakra: Heart, Throat

• Spiritual meaning: The octahedron symbolizes harmony, balance, and integration. It's associated with the breath of life and the floe of energy, representing mental clarity and intellectual growth.

• Uses: The octahedron is used to enhance communication, foster understanding, and promote a sense of harmony it is used in meditation to balance emotions and thoughts.

The Icosahedron

The icosahedron represents the element of Water. It symbolizes adaptability, flow, and emotional intelligence.

• Geometric properties: The icosahedron has twelve vertices, thirty edges, and twenty faces, all of which are equalateral triangles. Its many faces and edges give it a spherical appearance, suggesting fluidity and movement.

• Associated element: Water

• Associated chakra: Sacral

• Spiritual meaning: The icosahedron is associated with the flow of emotions, adaptability, and creativity. It symbolizes thr ever-changing nature of water and the ability to navigate through life's challenges with grace.

• Uses: The icosahedron is used to enhance emotional expression, activate sexuality, facilitate change, and promote connections. It's employed in meditation to connect with the fluid aspects of the self.

The Dodecahedron

The dodecahedron represents Ether, Spirit, or the Universe. It symbolizes the interconnectedness of all things and the mystery of the cosmos.

• Geometric properties: The dodecahedron has twenty vertices, thirty edges, and twelve faces, all of which are pentagons. Its complex shape suggests a connection to the divine and the unknown.

• Associated element: Ether(Spirit)

• Associated chakra: Third Eye, Crown

• Spiritual meaning: The dodecahedron is associated with the Universe, divine creation, and the interconnectedness of all beings. It symbolizes the mystery of existence and the exploring deeper levels of consciousness.

• Uses: The dodecahedron can be used to connect with the higher realms, enhance spiritual awareness, and promote a sense of unity. It is used in meditation to explore tge mysteries of the universe and the self.

[thedorkreadstheworld]

I just came across a Facebook post about a theory called “The Last Meeting.” It suggests that once you and someone have completed your journey together and learned the lessons you needed, the universe ensures you will never meet again.

I find that thought comforting since there are definitely people who are no longer part of my life, but I’m at peace with that. It frames past relationships—whether friendships, romances, or even fleeting connections—as something purposeful, rather than just losses. And it’s really comforting to think that certain chapters are truly closed, allowing space for new ones to begin.

[just-a-carrot]

reunion 💕

[stil-lindigo]

ashes to ashes.

a short comic about the day Ash was born.

Ash's story

Red and Wolf's story

notes:

--

all my other comics

store

[ruvviks]

All That's Left follows two journalists and their friends in post-apocalyptic United States as they travel from the fallen east coast megalopolis Opportunity back to Los Angeles, crossing through a harsh wasteland overrun with zombies— only to find out that there is a lot more life left than what the protected cities want them to believe. On their journey they meet dozens of people living their lives as peaceful as possible away from military forces, corporations, and corrupt governments; and they learn that the same mutated ghouls that took down Opportunity are spreading rapidly through the country, destroying everything in their path. Will this finally be the end of the world as we know it?

taglist (opt in/out)

@shellibisshe, @florbelles, @ncytiri, @hibernationsuit, @stars-of-the-heart;

@vvanessaives, @katsigian, @radioactiveshitstorm, @estevnys, @adelaidedrubman;

@celticwoman, @rindemption, @carlosoliveiraa, @noirapocalypto, @dickytwister;

@killerspinal, @euryalex, @ri-a-rose, @velocitic, @thedeadthree

[mispatchedgreens]

drift compatible bitches bc like knows like

[raiiny-bay]

before & after :-)

[ripadolin]

just went into 7-11 to get a slurpee and saw one of the most absolutely hypnotizingly arrestingly beautiful trans women ive ever seen in my life walk up at the same time and she held the door for me on my way in. wearing a green flannel, some kind of layers, color coordinated neutrals thing going on, maybe hadn't shaved that morning. long messy hair. i said "oh thank you" in a really quiet shy voice and she was just there to check her amazon locker and then she got into her jeep and drove off (also green? favorite color maybe?) i didn't walk up to her and tell her that she was one of the most beautiful people i had ever seen because that's a fucking weird thing to say to a stranger in public. but i did think about it. and i hope she knows

[to-proudly-go]

Star Wars has Force dyads and Star Trek has t'hy'la

Both concepts make me wanna take someone by the shoulders and shake them into oblivion if only to make them understand how I feel about soulmates

[yeonbam]

the way I have every single tag about lgief muted everywhere since the evening... first because I didn't want to get spoilt before finishing... now I don't have the heart to unmute and see them again lest I go through it in a way worse than I am right now... you'd think it's a bad ending with the way I'm acting but it's BECAUSE it wasn't a bad ending. it's because it was the perfect possible ending Ever.

[bumblebeebats]

Hi, hi, okay, I've just finished watching Across the Spiderverse and I'm screaming for many reasons, one of which being:

Back in the first movie, Miles originally wants to wear a cape with his costume, but Peter B. tears if off because, quote, "Spiderman doesn't wear a cape."

Spiderman might not wear a cape. But you know who does?