It's actually really fun ngl

not being a vampire is severely holding me back

his premature death and 20 seconds of screen time have bewitched me body and soul

mutuals to experience mass hysteria with

"Can't wait to see where you take this story" well I can't wait to see where this story takes me either

୧ ‧₊ SOONER OR LATER.

geto recalls sticky summers and billy joel scrawled on golden flesh.

f!reader ⊹ no curses au ⊹ fluff. established relationship ⊹ 1.8k ⊹ footnote. in honor of my new user, adding geto to my mlist!

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ───────୨ৎ───────

꒰ 𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈 ! ꒱

nineteen.

geto is unbearably nervous, sauntering around on the cusp of vertigo. he can’t recall the last time he had to swipe sweaty palms on itchy fabric just to strike up the nerve to ask a simple question. the only real conundrum seems to lie in the fact that nothing about this feels simple. it feels like the greatest challenge he might ever face, asking you out on a date. it feels like a massive feat to drag his feet across cement to end up at your door. it’s you, after all.

from the scent of saffron and jasmine to the variety of styles you rotate through with ease, everything about you seems to always make him breathless. you consistently steal all of his attention and lingering gazes even without meaning to. enchanted, wrapped around your finger, a siren whose song lures him straight to your shore. he’ll happily feed you his fragility if it means you’ll take all of him. you always wear your hair in ways he’s never seen, each style somehow surpassing the previous in cuteness. you make him playlists to listen to while the two of you are apart, playlists he diligently plays as he aimlessly roams around day-by-day. he’s spent the better part of a year wandering around just as listlessly with you, ending up anywhere and calling it nowhere. it started with sticky sweat, tall grass, paper fans, and iced drinks; it was the height of summer when you met. working as counselors at a local camp, the two of you only managed to find solace in each other. all the others in your position were obnoxious baby teenagers who stared too much and tried too hard. neither you nor geto had a single thing in common with them but everything with each other. he remembers that was the summer his skin was as golden as the sunset you routinely rested your head on his shoulder to lovingly gaze at. ah, of course, he remembers the heat pouring into the room where you both always accidentally slept, beads of discomfort gathered on his head upon waking each morning and yet, it didn’t deter you from curling up alongside him. it didn’t deter him from letting you stay. he remembers that was the summer of discovering billy joel and scrawling lyrics on forearms like love notes. it was origami cranes made of the cultivated and collective boredom you both shared, songs you scribbled onto his flesh while he was distracted or wasn’t looking. 

but sooner or later it comes down to fate. i might as well be the one.

he always stumbled upon your markings while he showered. he always ran slow fingers over the evidence that your friendship was possibly budding into more, memories in the form of ink seeping into skin, but he never scrubbed them clean. no, he watched them fade over an aching week with a fond smile. he grew to see your writings along his bloodless body as a kiss from your supple lips pressed to your fingers and laid along him. now, he stands here, only mere inches of space between himself and the door. his knock is full of hesitance — one thump sporadically hitting the surface and another following much the same. your father opens the door with a look of surprise that slowly forms into pleasantry. “geto!” he greets him happily, always cheerful and trusting of him. “it’s good to see you again. here for y/n, i presume?” “uh, y-yes.” he sputters nervously. “could she come out for a moment? i know it’s a little late, but i promise it won’t be long.” your father waves an uncaring hand, ever the mellow man with few concerns. perhaps, geto’s presence is now so consistent that he doesn’t bother caring. “nonsense, do you want to come in?” he asks.

geto shakes his head with a grateful smile. “i deeply appreciate it, but it’ll only take a minute and then i’ll be on my way home.” without any remaining hesitation, your father disappears from the door, leaving it ajar. geto hears your name being sweetly called; he hears his presence announced, his name echoing through the domain. after a short moment of silence, your feet come padding toward the door with fervor. he can hear your trail of calamitous steps. it draws a lazy but adoring grin across his lips. he feels a painful level of fondness for everything about you, about anything you do, any word you speak, any laugh that comes tumbling from your lips, any distant gaze or direct eye contact. he can hardly stand another day of total proximity to you but not once pressing his mouth to someplace on your body to taste your warmth, not once honoring the way he wants to adorn your lips in all his ardency. no, he can’t stand another day. and when you stand before him in the doorway with that sweet smile of yours on your face at the sight of him, it solidifies the intolerance he has for letting you slip by him for another moment longer.

you might as well be the one.

“geto,” you say, honey coating the way you breathe his name. “you’re here late. not that i’m not happy to see you, but is everything okay?” he nods.

yes, everything is perfectly fine as long as you say yes.

and what he does next is truly unorthodox. at its core, it’s a combination of anxiety and impatience. he’s scared to hear you say no, but he’s both unable to and unwilling to hold it in any longer, so it comes sputtering out of in a long, seemingly endless stream. “i was driving around, thinking to myself that i love moving through the city in the near dead of night and it reminded me of all our aimlessness back at the camp, and then billy joel came on shuffle, and it felt like fate because it also made me think of you because it always does, and then i realized that happens a lot these days, things making me think of you, so i thought about how billy joel said that sooner or later it comes down to fate, and at that moment, it felt like that, so i booked it over here to try to catch you before you went to sleep to ask if maybe you feel what i do between us, and if so, do you want to try going on an actual date or something because i’ve been wanting to kiss you for almost a year now and if that’s okay, i’d really, really like to do that.” that night, your answer comes in the form of the fabric of his jumper gripped in your fists and geto pulled down to capture his lips with your own, a wide-eyed boy staring at a smirking girl.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ───────୨ৎ───────

twenty-nine.

it’s the same nervousness that consumed him the last time he found himself at the front door of your parent’s home with a question on his tongue he can’t hold in anymore.

it’s both nerve-wracking and heartwarming. he’s loved you for so long, for approximately 120 moons, and yet it doesn’t stop his hands from shaking as he raises a gentle fist to knock on the door: once, twice, thrice. it all feels so familiar but he knows it’s much different now, much more at stake than when you were kids whose eyes were still too busy gawking at novelties to truly understand the sacrifices and consequences that accompany any sustained love. ten entire years of shifting before the other’s eyes, becoming and becoming and becoming again, only to carry the same urgency in your hands when the other reintroduced themselves. ten years of elated beginnings and, at times, bitter ends.

what the two of you have means everything to both of you and as such, a decade has been spent in a tender cycle of ‘hello, welcome home i love yous’ and ‘goodbye, i’ll miss who you weres’ and ‘i’ll still love who you are when you come home agains’. there’s quite literally no one else in this world he can picture an eternity of being and becoming with. once again, your father smiles in the doorway. “geto,” he greets with a knowing smile. “i’ll get y/n.” ah, the parallels feel so familiar and the nostalgia flooding his heart feels nearly sickening when he hears your name called, the tone of a father who loves his daughter but knows. he hears his presence announced, the sweetness of a father who acknowledges the man he approves to love you even more. that same shortness of silence precedes your clumsy feet barreling towards the door, singing out your confusion. and as you stand before him, not a smile but a perplexed gaze and a tilted head, he thinks to himself that he loves it all the same. he loves you all the same.

yes, you might as well be the one.

“huh? geto? why did you knock? just come in, baby.” he takes a deep breath. “i can’t. i, uh, i need to talk to you.” “geto,” you start, the same sweet nectar layering your voice when you say his name. “are you okay?” the same lilt of concern for why he stands here like this. all he can do is smile and gulp hard to keep his own tears at bay, but the choking in his voice as he speaks betrays him. all of it is intentional. he wants you to look back on these moments and see all the similarities that overlap, all the small signs of contrast that show how you’ve both changed. it all comes out in one long string — this time, he means for it to. although, his nervousness is eating the stability of his voice alive. “i was wandering around the store for us, thinking to myself that i love living like this with you, slow and languid and happily mundane, and it reminded me of all our youth and all the summers we shared, and then billy joel came on shuffle, and it felt like fate because it also made me think of you because it always does, and then i realized that’s all it’s been for the last decade, everything making me think of you, everything making me love you so much more, so i thought about how billy joel said that sooner or later it comes down to fate, and at that moment, it felt like that, so i booked it back over here to try to catch you before you went to make dinner to ask if maybe you feel what i do between us, like we’re one of the ones that’ll last a lifetime, and if so, do you want to try forever or something because i’ve been wanting to marry you for almost ten years now and if that’s okay, i’d really, really like to do that.” that night, your answer comes in the form of streaming tears and an all-consuming embrace, a smirking boy staring at a wide-eyed girl.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ───────୨ৎ───────

tagging geto babes: @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat @dollsuguru @avatarofstars ෆ

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ───────୨ৎ───────

© 2024 venusiansilk. all rights reserved.

haha okay thanks so much for responding i was hoping that it didn’t come off rude, i just genuinely wanted to know cause that was good af

you’re welcome ໒꒰ྀི∗ɞ̴̶̷ ·̮ ɞ̴̶̷∗꒱ྀིა and no you def didn’t come off as rude at all! my inbox is always open for curious questions 💕💕💕

hey jw are you planning on witting more of the gojo squid games fic or no? i just found it and you ateeee and i saw you said you might update a while ago but idk if you changed your mind since then cause i don’t see anything new

hellooo & ty omg 💕(◍•ᴗ•◍) yes i am planning part two, i’m still outlining the next part (lots of stuff happening, betrayals n whatnot 👀👀👀) but it’ll happen don’t worry, stay tuned 😎💕

Hello??? This is such a great Usopp bday present omg. Jacob is literally the perfect Usopp. Give this man a raise.

my Usopp tiktok star theory is alive & thriving!!

"A Shirt Made of Fire", Vardges Petrosyan (translated by metamorphesque)

I think the funniest dynamic for arranged-marriage royalty would be a queen who came here 100% prepared to murder her future husband and rule as a widow queen in her own right, only to discover that the king is autistic as hell and responds to her wish to rule with "oh thank god please do, I don't want to be bothered by these people. I can just tell them to go bother you instead, if you really want that. I've got beetles I wanted to study."

Anthony Bourdain, from Les Halles Cookbook