#fic: jamais vu

[youremychaos]

such a bittersweet ending that matches Hades and Persephone's story so well.

Jamais Vu

◽ Genre: smut, pwp, angst, romance, fantasy, established relationship, greek god au

◽ Pairing(s): hades!min yoongi x oc (persephone)

◽ Rating: 18+

◽ Warning(s): oral (f. receiving), fingering, edging, praise kink, Yoongi is a soft dom (?), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, crying, feelings of loneliness, begging, marking, hickeys

◽ Word Count: 2.3k

◽ Credits: a big shout out to @hobiandsprite​ thank you for looking this over darling. ily

resources for banner found here ~ 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7

Keep reading

[gutsby]

Love Tap

Pairing: Dad!Joel x Reader

Summary: Old habits die hard with your husband—touching you at inappropriate times is one of them.

Warnings: 18+. Joel Miller is a MUNCH Oral (f!receiving). Unprotected p-in-v (quickie). Slice of life, domestic-style and Joel calls you ‘Mama’ a whole lot. One playful bite.

Word count: 2.4k

Note: ‘You better back the fuck up before you get smacked the fuck up’ is a line from 2Pac’s song, ‘Hit ‘Em Up.’

Joel Miller was a wonderful father.

Occasionally, he forgot how to act like one.

He had a tendency to get a little careless. Sloppy.

Letting the dignified, ever-respectful façade slip every now and again and smacking your ass when you walked past. Copping a feel when you had to squeeze by him in the kitchen. Best of all, pinching your cheek through your skirt while you were cradling the baby—his baby—and leaving you no choice but to shoot him a quick back-the-fuck-up-before-you-get-smacked-the-fuck-up look and a covert middle finger to remind him that he wasn’t supposed to be slapping your butt in front of the kids.

It was just bad practice to engage in those dumb, flirty antics, particularly when your four-year-old son had made it his mission in life to imitate everything dad did.

But again, Joel would sometimes forget that.

On a morning when he’d woken up a little too early with an erection that was a tad too stubborn to ignore, he got especially forgetful. He found himself plastered to your backside at the edge of the bathroom counter with a grin, knowing damn well you only had twenty-five minutes to get the family dressed, fed, and on the road.

“Joel, you are so—”

“Quick. I’ll be quick.”

His eyes suddenly pleading with yours in the mirror. You just might’ve had the willpower to turn his honeyed gaze away were it not for the lips that followed it. Tracing the shell of your ear and behind it, down your neck, leaving trails of soft kisses down the skin until he reached the collarbone, your sweet spot, and licked it—the bastard.

“Five. Minutes.” Your words were equal parts invitation and warning as you shimmied your PJs over your butt.

“You know I’ll have ya finished in two, sweet pea,” Joel teased—but deep down, you knew he wasn’t kidding.

Both of you had cum and were done in a record-breaking four and a half minutes, swapping pyjamas for normal clothes in less than half the time and stepping back out of the bathroom with your hair only marginally tousled.

By now you had the ‘Pre-K starts in thirty’ types of quickies down pat. You were proud. You glanced over your shoulder to see a similar glint in Joel’s eye, and as you started out the bedroom door, you felt a tap on your ass—or, with the sheer breadth of your husband’s hand, more like a WHACK, followed by the sound of a stifled laugh.

“Can Daddy get some more’a that later?” he quipped.

“More’a what?”

Aw, hell.

Your sweet, forever nosy mini-Joel was standing directly in front of you with two pinched brows and a mostly eaten dino nugget clenched tight in his tiny fist.

You opened your mouth to conjure up some half-assed excuse for the spank your son just saw, but then your husband was scooping the kid up in his arms and toting him straight down the hallway, and you heard, faintly:

“Whatcha gettin’ from Mama later?”

“None of your beeswax, bubs.”

Joel got his second helping around lunchtime.

He’d been in between calls with what felt like an endless stream of subcontractors, suppliers, architects, and project managers when he swung by the house. You were in the midst of baking cardamom buns when he blew through the kitchen like an EF5 tornado and decided he’d be feasting on something else entirely.

“Joel, my buns,” you whined as soon as he’d carried you up the stairs and tossed you onto the bed, eager as ever.

“Fuck your buns.”

“You already fucked ‘em this morning—can you relax?”

Your husband already had your pants tugged halfway down your legs. You let him, then helped him kick the fabric the rest of the way off when it got to your ankles.

“You’re a fuckin’ maniac, Miller, y’know that?”

Something in the way he smirked as he sank his face between your bare thighs told you he already knew that. You would’ve liked to try and scold him again—give him a little more grief for the baked treats that would surely be burnt to a crisp by the time he was done—but then you felt his tongue lick a stripe up your slit, and you refrained.

Even if you’d wanted to, you scarcely would’ve been able to form a single word apart from, ‘Fu-cking hell, Joel’ and ‘Right there, right thereohfuuuuuuckfuckfuck.’

That was just fine by your husband.

In fact, he seemed perfectly content to lap at your slick, glistening folds while you moaned and cursed his name; it made him proud. Appreciative. Maybe even a tad too smug for his own good, if he were being honest, because the way you fisted his hair and rutted your hips against his face made you act a little more like him. A touch more reckless, sloppy, and desperate than your daily obligations as parents would seem to allow. A bit less proper and refined and a lot more slutty—all for him.

Joel teased your clit with a few soft touches from the tip of his tongue, and you almost tore the sheets in two.

“That feel good, Mama?” he hummed.

“F-Fingers, fuck, Joel— fingers,” you begged.

Still using his tongue, Joel drew the shape of a lemniscate extra slow just to spite you. You whined and bucked your hips in protest, but the man was undeterred—he knew exactly what he was doing. The only way he could be tempted to use his fingers now would be to spread your lips apart and lick you more, which he did.

Joel licked and sucked and drove you up the fucking wall with those figure eights until you nearly couldn’t take it. In one hasty, desperate move, you tilted your hips and tried to slip a finger past Joel’s mouth, into your cunt.

He bit that finger. You yelped.

“JOEL!”

It wasn’t that the bite actually hurt—his teeth barely grazed skin—but rather the way he refused to speed up. Gauging your wants and your needs with expert precision, he massaged the hood of your clit with his tongue and took care to plant suckling kisses as he did. You moaned and squeezed the bedspread, relishing the vulgar sounds of his mouth and the need he was building inside you. You turned your head to the side and whined into the pillow, knowing from the depths of your soul you needed release, but Joel just wouldn’t oblige you…yet.

When he grinned against your wet, warm, and slippery folds, his mouth might as well have joined in and said, ‘Keep going—you’ll cum on my tongue when I say so.’

Instead, Joel opted to say ‘Mama’ again, softly.

Mama.

He always called you that when he took you extra slow. Sometimes when he took you quick, too. Like a reminder to you both that you were, in fact, the mother of his children, and if the man had had it his way he’d have given you fifty more by now, daycare bills be damned.

He was generous like that. Always giving, giving, giving.

Just not when it came to doling out orgasms sometimes.

“I have a divorce lawyer on speed dial, just so you know,” you hissed through gritted teeth, head falling back when Joel’s tongue sank forward—inside you, then, “FUCK!”

“Mhmmm,” he hummed before retracting once more. Licking the soft, fleshy rim and nearly eliciting a scream.

Joel traced a circle with his tongue. He savored the taste. While you were whining and grinding your hips against the wet spot underneath you—a puddle that would only grow larger the longer he went on—your husband was devouring you, kissing your thighs every now and then.

“Well, if we split, my tongue goes too,” Joel said. Smug.

“Texas is a community property state,” you murmured, “I taught you how to eat pussy so your mouth is a marital asset.”

Silently, Joel wondered how that argument might hold up in court, grinned, then continued licking your cunt. You squeezed his head with your thighs, dug the balls of your feet in the sheets, and let out a lewd, pornographic scream that could’ve woken half the street. Luckily, your neighbors were probably all at work, your bedroom walls insulated just well enough to mask the noise, and Joel’s resolve crumbling slowly as he kissed between your legs.

One wanton, shameless, ‘I’m gonna cum, Joel, please’ was like music to his ears. He couldn’t believe how lucky he’d gotten with a wife and mother as sweet as you, so upright and polite in your day-to-day life and then a hot, trembling mess beneath his tongue when he needed you like this the most. Surely he couldn’t treat you so mean.

Joel wedged two thick fingers in your slick, dripping heat and beckoned you to him as kindly as he possibly could. Rubbing the pads of both digits, callused as they were, against the spongy insides of your core and flicking them forward—‘C’mere, Mama, Daddy’s right here, go on’— so of course, you had no other logical choice but to cum.

It was all habit by now. A dazzling, sumptuous routine.

And Joel Miller was certain he’d never tire of seeing it.

Your spine arched off the mattress an inch or two, toes curling at the feeling, and while the sensation spanned over your body, your husband was the first to see it, sense it on his lips and tongue and fingers just as well. He squeezed your hip, told you how fucking pretty you looked when you came for him, then patiently waited out the spasms and cries and fingers lacing through his soft, dark locks like he was your last remaining tether to earth.

Then he kissed the inside of your thighs and smiled.

“All better, honey?” he hummed.

“Yeah,” you breathed back.

“Still want a divorce?”

A smirk and a response of ‘Not until you knock me up at least one more time’ was hovering somewhere over your tongue when you felt the bed shake. Buzzing. Vibrating?

Joel sat up between your legs and yanked something out from under his ass. He peered down at the thing—staring into a screen—and cocked a brow as he looked back up.

“Someone’s been naughty,” he said simply. Grinning.

He lobbed the phone your way, and you just barely managed to catch it between two trembling hands.

Incoming Call: Francisco C. Morales Elementary

You shot Joel a look and answered it instantly.

Disoriented, disheveled, and slightly foggy from climax, you half-expected to find one of your son’s disgruntled teachers on the other end of the line, reminding you that today was a noon dismissal and everyone was supposed to pick their kids up an hour ago. Your husband was the one who would always keep up with school schedules, so your gaze narrowed at him, butt scooting up the bed while he tried to dive right back between your legs.

“He-llo?”

You smacked a hand away from the front of your blouse.

“Is this Mrs. Miller?” a voice trilled through the phone.

Yes, unfortunately, it was.

You almost had to backhand Joel across the face when he tried to bite the button off your brand new top, teeth ruthless in their pursuit of getting you fully naked now.

“This is she,” you squeaked.

Someone cleared their throat on the other end of the line—as though they knew you had a broad, hulking husband with a cock as hard as sheet metal trying to tear your clothes off while you talked. You stifled a shriek and a giggle when you felt your relentless man move down.

Joel was busy working your blouse from the bottom with that feral mouth of his when the voice sounded again:

“We’d really appreciate it if you and your husband could come see us this afternoon to have a little chat about—”

Your eyes widened. You clutched your phone even tighter and this time, more seriously, shoved Joel away. When he frowned and started to pout, you raised a finger.

“A-About what? Has my— has he done something bad?” Your voice all of a sudden tight, words wavering just enough to snag your husband’s attention too.

“We can explain more when you get here, he’s just…”

‘What the fuck?’ Joel mouthed silently, leaning in.

“What? What’s he done?” You couldn’t help it.

You heard a long sigh across the line, and you knew that wasn’t good. It sounded a lot like the kind of sighs you made whenever your baby made a colossal mess all over the kitchen floor, or your husband slammed a door too loud and woke the kids from their nap, or your son just—

“—keeps slapping his classmates on the butt.”

“Wait, what?”

You blinked. Joel coughed. Together, half-naked on the bed, you sat up a little straighter and leaned even closer into the phone, hearts starting to thud in your chests.

“Your son was just…spanking other kids and asking if he could ‘get some more’a that later,’ and when his teacher asked him where he’d learned to do a thing like that—”

You turned. Joel paled. Your gaze could’ve seared a hole through the front of his skull if you stared any harder, and just as your son’s principal continued talking, Joel raised his hands in surrender, already trying to apologize.

“Honey—”

“—and he told her he saw your husband do it at home—”

You didn’t need to hear another word. You were already fishing for your pants, yanking them back up your legs and brushing aside your husband’s soft, red-faced attempts at consolation, and when you were dressed, you started straight for the door. Already babbling some half-coherent apology to the woman on the phone, dodging Joel’s impossibly large hands and arms and hugs as he tried to pull you back into his chest and tell you he was sorry. You just might’ve let him, and maybe even believed him to be sincere, if you didn’t see the tiniest smirk on his lips as he fought to wrangle you in.

You’d made it to the door and were just about to pivot to give Joel the finger, tell him this was not funny at all, and he was coming with you right now, when both of you halted at the threshold and were obliged to turn again.

You sniffed the air, and your husband made a face.

Was it—

Before you could think, a plume of smoke drifted out through the kitchen door. Your eyes widened, and right as the fire alarm let out its piercing scream, you wailed,

“My buns!”

[goodfellowe]

Everything inside of her being felt off in a way that she couldn’t exactly pinpoint, her head pounding in that same rhythmic motion as she blinked her heavy eyelids open. It was as if she’d stepped out of her body and hadn’t managed to fit all the way back in, leaving the entirety of her being to stand at an angle. Her memories were there, but the world they'd all happened in... wasn't. Something else had clearly taken its place, so where was she? When was she?

Jamais Vu (AO3)

Chapter 2: Home

Mu wakes up in Mafia Town— but it’s not Mafia Town anymore.

Art by @mebssann.

[salarymanwaka]

[calaisreno]

Bonus Chapter: Jamais Vu

Jamais Vu: Never Seen. The feeling when you meet something familiar, and don’t recognise it at all.

Some outtakes: five times Sherlock and John didn't meet. This is meant to give the feeling of drifting timelines… some hints of displacement.

At the request of @totallysilvergirl 💕

[judjira]

je ne sais quoi (preview)

AN: heyoooo i feel like ive let you guys go through a drought of me not producing good shit so here's a sneak peek of smtin im workin: drum roll pls,,,,,,,A JAMAIS VU SEQUEL YAAAAAY dont expect the full thing to come out any time soon tbh i need it to be PERFECT

pairing: datzu

jamais vu

wc: 1002

She wakes up.

Wake. Which means she’s been sleeping.

It’s a haze. Like a mist that hangs over the precipice of her mind, casting a curtain of fog over what she sees and feels, what she knows.

What does she know?

Peeking out into the inner shelves of her memories, she searches.

And searches.

And searches.

Only to find a sea of nothing. Blank and void, an overwhelming abyss of unknowing.

She doesn’t know anything. She doesn’t remember anything.

It’s confusing.

If she does not know, does not remember, how can she think like this? How can she expect to see past that curtain of fog? How is her first instinct to swim in that sea of nothing?

How does she know?

She comes to a conclusion.

She knew. At one point, she knew. But somehow, now she does not.

Her eyes are not open yet, not yet in perception of the world that surrounds her. And for a moment, she wonders if she even should try and perceive that which she does not know.

Then, she feels it.

In her closed state, she can still feel the warmth of the body in front of her, as one by one, her body parts inform her of the position they’re in.

Her arms are wrapped around a stomach, legs intertwined with legs, her face pressed into a neck, hot breath tickling this other in front of her.

She opens her eyes.

For a moment, all she sees is warmth.

Long flowing black hair, loose shirt that slides off the shoulder, revealing pale and pure white skin, all of a woman laying next to her in bed.

It is indescribable.

What she feels. How her chest surges with an unthinkable passion. How her fingers begin to tremble with an unadulterated weakness. How her lips quiver with an unspoken fervor.

Who is this woman?

She blinks at her, once. Twice.

It is a mystery that can be solved at a later time.

She takes stock of her surroundings.

A bedroom. Not too large, but not too small. It’s clean. There’s a dresser by the corner of the room, a closet on the other side, and a window with drawn curtains. She can just barely see sunlight peeking through, early blue hues of the morning just beginning to dawn.

She takes stock of her body.

Pajamas on long limbs, shoulder length brown hair, and a well proportioned face. At least, it feels like a well proportioned face. She hasn’t looked in the mirror yet.

There is more to this mystery, yet there is nothing else in this room that may clue her in to what it is she is searching for.

There is no sign of her identity.

The only thing that may answer who she is, she fears, is the woman lying in bed next to her.

Slowly, carefully, she lays a hand on the woman’s shoulder, taking note of her soft, soft skin, and gently rolling her over onto her back.

And when she does, her breath stops.

Those closed eyes, those pale cheeks, those soft lips.

There is nothing that comes close to describing how the world has stopped for her. Her breath is short, her chest is tight, her ears are ringing.

This woman is the answer.

Somehow, she knows. She does not know how she knows. But there is no other possibility.

Then, the woman opens her eyes.

She smiles.

“Hey, you.”

And somewhere in her own mind, it’s as if a threshold breaks, and the world she barely knows seems to solidify itself around this woman she barely even knows.

Tzuyu does not know why it makes sense. It just does.

“M-Me?”

It is an odd feeling, to not recognize the sound of your own voice, softly pitched and almost warbling in uncertainty. She almost balks at the sound of it. What if the woman doesn’t like her voice?

“Is there anyone else I’m in bed with?”

The woman raises an eyebrow. She swallows, the sound of the woman’s voice ringing in her ears, only chained into laughter that tingles at her soul.

None of this should make sense. But it does, somehow. She just doesn’t have the words for any of it.

“W-where…um, who—? What…what happened?”

The woman giggles once more.

“Well, Tzu…when two people love each other very much…”

Tzu.

It shouldn’t mean anything.

But it does.

Because somewhere, sometime, it’s been said before.

“T-Tzu?”

The woman actually stiffens at that, before palming her face as she sighs.

“Gosh, I—oh, I’m sorry…I forgot to follow your protocol…I’m sorry, I’m still trying to get the hang of this…”

The woman actually looks almost distraught, and she holds back every conceivable urge to take this random woman she found in a bed into her arms.

“Um…that’s—that’s okay? I don’t—I don’t really…understand.”

The woman peers up at her, and the smile twinkles itself back up to her face.

“My gosh, you are just the cutest in the mornings, huh?”

She feels the warmth rush up to her cheeks, and she’s barely able to hide her face before the woman giggles.

“Okay, that’s enough procrastinating on my part.”

The woman sits up, revealing her slim body, overshadowed by the large white t-shirt that covers up to her thighs. Her hair is a mess, and she tries to fix it by running her hands through it, but to no avail.

Everything about this woman is strange, odd, unexpected.

But somehow, she likes it.

Then, the woman clears her throat.

“Your name is Chou Tzuyu.”

Chou Tzuyu.

The name rings, and resonates in her mind, as if dropping a rock into a still body of water, the ripples echoing throughout the surface.

Tzu.

“I-I see. And…and you are?”

The woman smiles.

And in that smile, it’s as if Tzuyu can dream a thousand distant dreams of what she knows she’s lost, twinkling stars in the distance that have just vanished.

Except for this one.

“My name’s Kim Dahyun.”

Tzuyu smiles.

“And I’m your girlfriend.”

[autumnrory]

fic rec

title: jamais vu author: yennefers pairing: mac/dennis words: 6561 summary: “I just think we’re spending too much time together,” Mac blurts out. The silence that follows is so complete, Dennis can hear the blood rushing in his ears. — Mac and Dennis break up. Again. ao3

[dasnercaret]

(In this moment, you are loved.)

(BECAUSE YOU FORCED THEM TO.)

quote is from fireworks by mitski. details under the cut!

each panel represents a different member of the party! mirabelle waking siffrin up, isabeau trying to save siffrin from the tear, bonnie offering siffrin snacks on the third floor, and odile telling siffrin about her family (siff is holding the paperasse familytale)

there's a subtle color differentiation between all the characters! all of siffrin's family are slightly warmer grays (purplish), and siffrin is more of a deeper blue color. he is separated from their warmth

underlying wish in the background :) something something siffrin at his core something something it's also the wish that deleted the island and what siffrin is missing underpinning all of his memories. something something . Red. something. the universe

siffrin's eye in the first panel is based off this particular sprite from act 5 that just breaks my heart. always. he's so completely and utterly devastated

some very intentional choices made as well about when you get to see siff's eye. that is to say, never

this is HEAVILY based off jamais vu. and by heavily i mean there's a relevant quote from that fic for Every Single Panel

panel 1: [THE TRAVELLER smiles quietly, something splintered in the look of his eye.]

panel 2: [He looks so frightened, when you grab the tear.]

panel 3: So? How are they? / They're really good! Thanks for holding onto the snacks for us!

panel 4: [How wonderful it would be, to come to a place willingly, seeking. Not simply because you had no place to return to. Spat from the mouth of home like fishbones from between teeth.]

and yes, it is following the 'timeline' of jamais vu as well

[dseval]

Today's self indulgent doodle is domestic CrossDust in a whimsical scenario where they're both happy and recovered and married (I like that)

More under cut

@unlikelyluxbeloved I blame you for putting DreamCrossDust poly thoughts in my head (although it is also partially my fault)

Kinda very loosely based off this silly old CrossDust fic of mine that doesn't make sense (Jamais Vu) which hypothetically happens in the far future post-Underverse where Cross had recovered and works with Dream. Then they just got Dust to quit Nightmare's emo band and join the Omega Timeline.

It's a terrible fic but anyway the point is that Dust manages to recover along with Cross and they're happy and they're married idk it doesn't make sense?? Doesn't have to.

Alt/Flat version:

Cross Sans by Jakei

Dust Sans by Ask-Dusttale

[wondernus]

˗ˋˏ Briefly Orange ˎˊ˗ | PREVIEW

SUMMARY: Fragmentary source of healing and like an oasis away from the city, for his group of friends, Boo Seungkwan’s family farm is a regular vacation destination away from the city. Yet Seungkwan wishes for anything but a future filled with mountains of oranges, his dream of living in the city still ineffaceable in his head. When he receives a request from a friend he fell out of touch with asking if they could stay on his farm for the Summer, Seungkwan finally finds himself in an opportunistic place in which his dream can finally become a reality. Why? Because you’re cursed to have everything you love disappear.

Sweltering heat and an eventful Summer, magic touches lives in ways that we can never imagine. But in this transition between seasons, we find ourselves asking: When loss is as transient as the lives we live, what does it mean to love with every fiber of our being?

PAIRING: bsk x reader

FIC GENRE: angst, romance, slice of life, magical realism

FIC TAGS: food/drinks, time jump, summer fic, exes to lovers, friends to lovers, slow burn, cooking processes (including mentions of knives), character gets physically hurt

PREVIEW WC: 3.1k

FIC WC: 30k

MESSAGE FROM NU: this is merely a preview for the longest fic i've written so far. i've been working on this for months now so i'm so incredibly excited to share the preview with you all this product of so much love and care for seungkwan <3 there are 23 chapters in total, and here are some excerpts from the first few chapters. if you would like to be tagged in the final fic a few days from now, please let me know! - nu ♡

wondernus's masterlist

It starts with the peel. Hold the orange in both hands and press your thumbs against the hollow bottom where there’s an open dip between the peel and the fleshy meat of the orange. Press into the peel with the tips of your fingernails, hard, penetrating the peel and creating a perfect opening to peel the fruit. Then, start peeling the bright and smooth outer shell away until you’re left with that orange and fleshy ball of juice. When you halve the fruit between your fingers, it sizzles and cracks crisply as you rip it apart — sometimes the juice escapes the membrane in a transparent drop of liquid, collecting on your finger, and rolling down your hand toward your arm. Sweet or sour, the rest comes after.

The large rolling suitcase leaves behind two long indents in the dry dirt path as it drags along the road. Each pull and tug towards a new temporary familiar coats the once black and glossy wheels in a matte tan color disrupted by speckled imprints of tiny gravel in every new layer of dirt rolled onto the wheels. Once in a while, the wheels break through a pair of footprints that belong to the person pulling the suitcase like the long lines used to omit phrases from a written sentence. Still, the traces along the dirt path are never straight, nor are they as continuous as one would like them to be. As an arborist would study the rings of a tree to determine periods of sickness and health, anybody could see how the lines left by the suitcase indicate periods of pause in transit, a person struggling along the road, and moments of pure and undisrupted conversation.

Under the warm morning sunlight, Boo Seungkwan has a new kind of warmth lingering by his side — someone so familiar yet so new, neither déjà vu nor jamais vu but nostalgia in person. He hasn’t seen you in years, yet he can’t find himself to say he expected the person to step out of the taxi to be someone drastically different. But you’ve changed since he last saw you, albeit it’s a more mature version of you who walks alongside him toward his family farm.

Seungkwan knows everything about you, for instance, as long as he asked you about family, close friends, past relationships, the summary of the last chapter you read: you would always answer, bluntly of course. In the past, he would often find himself wondering about whether or not you never made the effort to ask him any questions about himself because you were simply not interested or if you were afraid of your inevitable. He knows the amount of hair that collects on your drain every time you shampoo your hair. He knows you never order the same drink from a coffee shop twice. He knows the answer to every single question he has ever asked you to the point where he’s afraid that one day he would run out of questions to ask you. So when he received a message from you asking if you could work at his farm for the Summer in exchange for room and board, he knew both your lives are about to undergo a new form of change and momentum. Change or no change, he agreed to your request if and only if you would be willing to fulfill his additional term: you must help him get rid of his oranges.

What presents itself as the Summer getaway is a 3-acre piece of land that hosts a small orange grove behind the cream-colored family farmhouse and guest house-turned-seasonal café that Seungkwan is left in charge of for the Summer while his family vacations in the Maldives. Even sitting in the car with the windows down and turning onto the street in which the property sits wafts of honeyed and tangy citrus can energize those on a long journey away from the city. Beside the dirt road that leads towards the farmhouse are large patches of clover in place of grass and the beautiful array of flowers and bushes that are planted between dirt and clover. What is most magnificent, Seungkwan points out while walking up to the farmhouse where you would be staying for the rest of the Summer, is not the fact that his grandparents built this place from the ground up or the thousands of oranges they produce each year, but the fact that he drew the long end of the stick for you so you have the first floor study to yourself instead of having to share a room with the rest of his friends.

When his introductory gist is returned with silence, Seungkwan finds himself too embarrassed to see whether or not you’ve reacted in response. But if he took the time to look, he would’ve seen you looking around your surroundings in awe, wondering about how much of the landscape could change just by being thirty minutes away from the city.

“Let’s see,” Seungkwan mumbles while opens the front door and leads you to the interior of the house in an attempt to free himself from his embarrassment. “The study is the first door on the left down the left hallway. It’s a sofa bed, and I already set it up for you. Laundry room is one door down. I’m in my grandparents’ bedroom down the right hallway. There’s also a bathroom and a guest room on our side. Everybody else should be upstairs…if you think it’s awkward to have pictures of my family stare at you while you sleep, I won’t be offended if you turn them around.” He scratches his hair, still trying to figure out whether or not he conjured an air of awkwardness between the two of you.

He hovers behind you as you quietly make your way to your room, looking at you crane your head to look around the foreign farmhouse interior from the living room to the wooden beams that support the ceiling. It’s quiet between the two of you, as if you’ve both run out of topics to discuss after the brief moment the two of you trekked from taxi to house. He doesn’t know why he hesitates when you reach for the doorknob as if he were imagining you to be some interior design critic for a magazine. But his breath hitches for a second when you open the door and step into the modest office. Distracting himself from nothing, he looks at anything but you and settles for the tiny streaks of dirt your suitcase wheels brought indoors. And he wipes away the dirt with his foot, making a mental note to mop when he has time.

“Seungkwan?” Your voice calls for his attention not too long after you entered the office.

Seungkwan steps into the open doorframe, careful to not cross the threshold of the room in order to give you some privacy. He notices you’re sitting on the edge of the sofa bed, your suitcase temporarily tucked against the wall and underneath the light switch. There are pictures of his family on the shelves, most of them with him in large puffer jackets holding large oranges in his tiny hands. What is more is that he notices your hand which clutched the blanket in which you are sitting on loosen with his presence and leave a mountainous crease in its absence.

“Thank you,” you tell him.

The response sounds like a squeak which Seungkwan finds both amusing and reassuring. The fact is there is an air of awkwardness present, not from his creation but from the years the two of you spent apart, that causes you to squeak. Gratitude phrased simply, yet your simplicity is more than enough to let him know you’re feeling the same way he feels.

Truthfully, Seungkwan is still trying to fathom and process the fact that you are here with him. It hits him in this moment that maybe the you who sits in comfortable silence while staring out the window isn’t exactly the same you he once knew like the back of his hand. Finally taking time to look at his friend closely, Seungkwan still recognizes you in the same way that we recognize ourselves as ourselves even when all of our cells have exchanged themselves for new cells. He recognizes the way your hands clutch into balls with your thumbs placed between your pointer and middle finger when you fidget. He recognizes the backpack you brought as the same one you used in college. But he fails to recognize and understand why or how you have become the person to reach out to him for any reason. Why is it that he was chosen to be one of your protagonists in your journey in finding the meaning to your life? How is it that a nobody who dreams of a life unattached to the farm could possibly offer something of such value to someone who constantly lives life in fear of loss?

Truth is, there is always something about being next to you that always makes Boo Seungkwan want to cry. Pity doesn’t even begin to describe the feeling that wells and burns in his chest. Is it rage? Sadness? Regret? Empathetic and sympathetic as he is, he is prone to wearing his emotions before he can even realize what he is feeling. Being next to you causes his chest to concave and collapse in on itself, but he knows better than to feel bad for you. Or maybe he thinks it’s so fucked that you’re in a position in which you’re so desensitized to loss that you can’t even recognize in any moment that you lost what you loved. Always by your side, or at least until a few years ago, Seungkwan was there to reintroduce you to the things and concepts you’ve once loved because he cared and notices. Now, a savior isn’t who he’s trying to be nor was that role ever his intention. Maybe a constant without caution is what he strives to be in your life even if his own selfishness causes him to believe that in case you ever allow yourself to fall in love with him he would be able to disappear and thus never take on the responsibilities of a third-generation farm owner.

Yet a curse regarding loss upon a regular human being in love shouldn’t be the wake-up call that shows the world that loss is a daily occurrence. Loss is as banal and unremarkable as its spelling. And Seungkwan knows this. He’s lost torn snack foil wrapper corners from his pockets. He’s lost time during transit. He’s lost those who he once loved dearly. So why is someone else’s loss so much more important to him when he knows that love is involved?

And why is it that he chooses to show everybody unconditional love and care even when he knows transactional relationships would statistically yield more return?

Seungkwan isn’t a bad person. There isn’t a single bad bone in his body. He’s known you long enough to not tiptoe around you because, despite your curse, you’re just a regular person. And you would prefer it if other people treated you as a regular person. But why is it that he feels the way he feels whenever he’s alone with you?

Orange peel sliced away to form a hexagonal-shaped fruit, lean the fruit on its long side against the cutting board to slice thin hexagons. If what you hold in your hand is too dull, then you risk losing more than what there is to the recipe. Dullness slices the fruit just as sharpness does, but you risk bruising the delicate meat and creating soft pockets of mush while the juice escapes and drips onto the cutting board. There are times when it’s better to do things quickly and all at once or you will risk losing the beauty in your creation. Simple orange slices in a refreshing salad, sometimes it’s better to not try too hard. You did your best. And that’s enough for me.

Dropping the ATV off near the entrance to the orchard, Seungkwan jingles and twirls the keys in his left hand while directing to his seasonal workers where the crates should be stored for the night shipment to local grocers. Without noticing how hard he twirls the keys around his pointer finger, the small chain of keys flies off his finger and onto the ground a few feet ahead of him. It lands on a soft patch of dirt, light colored dust covering surfaces that gleamed with a metallic sheen just a few seconds ago. Someone picks up the pair of keys before Seungkwan has the change to chance to react and lightly tosses the keys back to its owner.

Yoon Jeonghan, with his jet-black hair he spent months growing out that finally touches his shoulders, takes long strides towards his friend while reaching into his pant pocket for his phone, a long stream of complaints already trailing out of his mouth.

“I looked everywhere for you,” Jeonghan complains to Seungkwan while Seungkwan finds himself rolling his eyes. “Why didn’t you pick up your phone? We’ve been calling and texting you, but you wouldn’t reply.”

“I left it somewhere. Can’t remember where I put it,” Seungkwan sighs while wiping the dust off  his keys with the hem of his shirt. “When did you arrive?”

“Like half an hour ago.” Jeonghan adjusts his light blue baseball cap to better shield his eyes from the Sun. He clicks open his lock-screen to double-check the text he received from his driver. “Seokmin’s napping in our room. He’ll come out later.”

“Oh no, was the drive bad? When did you guys leave?”

“Nah, the drive wasn’t bad. He’s just hungover,” he replies nonchalantly while shoving his phone back into his pocket. The dark-haired man quickly looks around the familiar farm and rocks on the heels of his feet. “Busy, huh?” He observes.

“Yeah,” Seungkwan agrees. There is a glimmer of mischievousness in his eyes when he cocks his head toward the ATV he parked not so long ago. “But the new investments help.”

“Bro I can’t imagine how cool your grandparents must look while riding the ATVs.”

“5 miles an hour.” Seungkwan gestures the number five with his hand and drops it after. “Speed demons.”

It’s clear to Seungkwan that Jeonghan, who had spent a remarkable amount of time on this farm over the past few years, isn’t looking around to people-watch or check out the new additions to the farm. He’s been around long enough that Seungkwan’s grandparents consider him as one of their grandsons. No, Seungkwan knows that while Jeonghan is trying to play it off as if he’s simply checking out and reminisce in his surroundings, what he is looking for is not an it, rather, a who.

When Yoon Jeonghan, who is usually not the type of person to be silent or stay still for long periods of time, freezes in his spot like a deer in the headlights, Seungkwan knows better than to follow his friend’s line of vision to see who exactly it was who caught his eye. Instead, Seungkwan looks toward the blue canopy near the entrance and notices that two people are missing from their posts.

Out of nowhere, Seungkwan feels someone from behind him throw their entire weight onto his shoulders. The force of the sudden weight on top of Seungkwan knocks Seungkwan’s sunhat from his head forward and onto the ground and causes him to lose his balance, but he grabs onto the unwavering Jeonghan’s shoulder to steady himself.

“Seungkwan,” Yunling sings in a sing-song voice. Her bleached blonde hair falls and covers half of Seungkwan’s face as she reaches her arm over his shoulder to wave a familiar object in front of him. “You forgot your phone.”

“Get off me. It’s hot,” Seungkwan groans while bending his knees so she can safely hop off his back. She hands him his phone to which he thanks her for. In the meantime, another person picks the sunhat from the floor and tucks a thick booklet underneath their aim pit to brush the dust off the hat before handing it back to its owner. And Seungkwan finds himself, yet again, thanking another person for handing him an item he dropped.

Seungkwan sees you bring the accounting booklet to the front of your chest while Yunling leans her elbow on your shoulder. It looks like you’re about to say something to him, but someone interrupts your question.

“Yn.” Jeonghan manages to push through his state of shock, yet your name rolls off the tip of his tongue as if he spent his entire life dedicated to saying the name.

It feels familiar because it was.

Gladly handing his daughter over to his friend, Choi Seungcheol mumbles a quiet note of gratitude before he sits up straight and rolls his shoulder backwards to stretch his back. He leans forward in his seat and comfortably rests his elbows on his knees before grabbing the untouched fork next to his salmon salad. And Seungkwan watches him dig his fork into the roasted salmon and take a hearty bite to enjoy the marinated citrus flavor of the salmon by itself before raking the metal prongs through the meat to shred it to pieces just as Seungkwan’s grandparents had taught Seungcheol to do so before they went on vacation.  

June is when Seungkwan’s friends all arrived at the farm for a Summer away from the city; January is when Seungcheol arrived at the farm, two people’s lives packed up in a couple of suitcases and cardboard boxes for time away from the city to heal and escape. The café, originally a guesthouse, returned to serve its original purpose by housing Seungcheol and his daughter for a little over half a year, and Seungkwan knows very well that he doesn’t have the heart to tell his friend that he should’ve moved out months ago. So he sits in the once sought-after spot in the café with a sleeping baby in his arms, watching the newly single father scarf down his salad like it’s his last meal. Looking at the infant, her dark-colored eyebrows and the pout that resembles her father’s all too well, stress stores itself in the pit of his stomach, finding company with the sympathetic grief he shared with the heartbroken Seungcheol who once couldn’t so much bring himself to pick up the pen to sign his divorce papers.

Falling in love is easy, but falling out of love and learning how to become whole again is a process that can shatter one’s soul and make one doubt whether or not love in any shape and form is an achievable future feat. A lifetime is not long enough to contain and overcome love’s defeat for some. And for those devastated by love, the process of falling in love would never be the same as it once was. 

Copyright © 2023 Wondernus. All rights reserved.

[dramioneasks]

Do you have recommendations for a cozy rainy day? I love the atmosphere in Out of Mind by galfoy. Some sweet tender moments, angst and a small mystery!

baby classes and reconnecting with old enemies - riddikulus_puff - T, one-shot - It has been twenty-five years since the end of the Second Wizarding War and it seemed as though everyone had moved on with their lives. Many of the students who had fought in the war had moved to the countryside or even across the sea to somewhere they could be aware of the trauma they had experienced. Draco Malfoy was haunting Malfoy Manor, the cries of his five-month-old son echoing throughout the corridors as the two boys mourned the loss of their late mother and wife, Astoria Greengrass, who had died five months ago in childbirth. He avoided everyone until Pansy forced him out of the house and made him attend baby classes that were happening in the local library with other parents and their children. This was where he was reconnected with Hermione Granger, learning that she too had a five-month-old and was also mourning the loss of their partner. A one-shot for the 2023 Twenty-Five Years Later Fic Fest.

To All the Wizards I’ve Loved Before - takenbytheview - M, 7 chapters - “What if—” Malfoy begins, twisting his signet ring with the forefinger and thumb of his other hand. “What if you didn’t tell him?” “What?” “What if we let people think we were actually together? Just for a little while. Not just the Weasel. Everybody.” A Dramione Eighth Year adaptation of Jenny Han’s To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before.

Lovefool - WillowingScribe - E, 12 chapters - Draco gets doomed by the Ministry to live without his magic for a year. Hermione, tasked to chauffeur the proud but now magically-impotent wizard to a small cottage in the middle of nowhere, never imagined she would be responsible for teaching her former nemesis how to use a toaster. Neither of them would’ve thought that through their forced collaboration they would learn to appreciate each other beyond their wildest imagination. OR A decade spanning love story inspired by When Harry Met Sally but with a much heavier dash of spice.

Jamais Vu - CosmicCthulhu - M, 15 chapters, Words: 123,328  - After a fall (from the world’s smallest step-ladder, mind you) Draco lost his memories, and all he can remember was his life as a teenager in the middle of a war. It was certainly going to be hard to adapt to this new life he knew nothing about – especially considering that he was married to Hermione Granger, of all people.

The Malfoy Mystery - kkavyaa - G, 23 chapters - One day, Draco felt himself changing. No, not like puberty, but something else. He discovers things about himself that his family has hidden since his birth. His family, his entire life had been a hoax. He has trouble accepting this reality and has to balance this as he attends his last year at Hogwarts after the defeat of you-know-who.

-Lisa

[goodfellowe]

Hat Kid always been looking for a way to contain that raw, primal magic that bubbled out of her fingertips, called to her will in short bursts and running through her veins like brilliant blue ichor. As a vessel, the timepieces weren’t perfect, but they were still something— so long as they didn’t fall into the wrong hands.

Jamais Vu (AO3)

Chapter 1: Losing Ground

When the shattering of too many time pieces creates a time rift that reflects all of her whims and desires, Mustache Girl must choose between the life she's always known and the one she's always wanted to have… before a crumbling timeline decides for her.

[plounce]

Whats your ace attorney fic recommendations? ^_^

HMMMMMMMM well i am a klaviergirl so this is mostly klapollo/aa4 but here are my recs :3

turnabout toast is a lovely post-aa4 nrmt fic with background klapollo. great "people trying to fix their lives" stuff and WAHHHH edgeworth... also a lot of lovely socal setting stuff (<- socal native, weak for it). phoenix being kind of a bastard but not a bad guy, which i think is fun, because it's interesting.

dirty sympathy, also by the above author. CW for abuse: the premise of the fic is that it's a retelling of aa4 where klavier and apollo are behind the scenes of all the cases collaborating to get rid of each other's abusers (daryan and kristoph, respectively), and trying to keep everything secret. it's a suspenseful read and it's like. crazy. auuughhh. makes me crazy. it's prob my fave aa fic but it takes so much out of me to reread

about him - last rec from this author. the only piece of clay terran fic i have any time for. post-aa5 klapollo sweetness with the outsider pov. so cutes

jamais vu - post-aa6 klapollo get-back-together fic where they hook up at nrmt's wedding

turnabout toilet brush - SO FUN. office farce where WAA argue over who broke the toilet brush. good phoenix pov with fun athena & apollo banter. nrmt and background klapollo

in better light - pacific rim au! trucy & apollo siblingisms, with angsty not-married nrmt, a bit of klapollo, and swag k-scientist ema skye

say it to the crowd - various minor character outsider povs on pre-relationship klapollo. i looooooove outsider pov

notes from the underworld - canon-divergent epistolary bad end aa4 au where MVK kills phoenix and maya with his taser in aa1. only reccing the first in the series since the others weren't to my tastes but the first one. wagh

turnabout from within - an aa5 prequel case! really fun. tries to be a bridge between aa4 and aa5 and is a very fun written version of an AA case. aura is there!! minor klapollo! fun aa pun names!

the thing about forgiveness - trucy and klavier talk post-aa4... wah... performers...

youngblood - daryan pov about his and klavier's relationship. very good... sad bc it's from the pov of a guy who sucks and how the love of his life deserves better than him. good stuff. klapollo endgame bc klavier deserves a decent guy as a bf

turnabout runaway - WAGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH it's about post-OT pearl dealing with like. the trauma of all that shit with her family as best an 8yo can - by trying to run away to protect mystic maya :( babby... (this one is written by a good friend of mine :3)

there's some more in my bookmarks but it's been a few years since i read them (my aa hyperfixation was spring/summer 2020) so while they're probably decent reads i can't write blurbs

HAVE FUN HOPE YOU LIKE THEM

(anti-recs under the cut. can't resist some complaining)

(also i genuinely have so much hatred in my heart for the fic with the most kudos in the klapollo ao3 tag, it's tagged for them but they don't actually happen in it, it's a nrmt fic that wildly mischaracterizes klavier and makes him into like. an asshole sexual harasser, and the fic barely even takes the sexual harassment seriously? don't read that one. <- DONT LEAVE MEAN COMMENTS ON IT EITHER, the fic's like 10 years old or smth, don't bug the author)

(also i don't like the 100k word fic "custody" bc iirc 1. i didnt like how they characterized thalassa? 2. white ginger klavier??????????? girl)

[miyamoratsumuu]

𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐊𝐘𝐔𝐔 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

-where the crows take flight, where the great king became a comrade, where the eagles soar, where the cats roar, where the owls prey, where the foxes are the most sly, and the weasels unpredictable

navigation . . .

DRABBLES (short fics below 1k words)

↳ "uh, tsumu?". . . it's normal for people in a relationship to BOTH share their clothes. right? (miya atsumu, gn reader. fluff, crack) ↳ at midnight. . . kuroo tetsuro being the nerd he is, had the audacity to give you butterflies this late in the evening. (kuroo tetsuro, gn reader. fluff) ↳ you're safe here. . . you come home late due to an accident during volleyball practice. little did you know your boyfriend was waiting for you the whole time. (seperately- oikawa toru, bokuto koutaro, kuroo tetsuro, gn reader, fluff, comfort) ↳ out of your league. . . he wanted to be yours. and he can be., but certain circumstances say otherwise. ↳ unsent letters. . . he was a writer, you were his muse. and every stroke of his pen reminded him just why all he wished for was to be the one to love you until the end of forever. (iwaizumi hajime, fem reader. fluff, angst)

HEADCANONS

↳ dating the pretty setter squad W/ MOODBOARDS. . . ft. oikawa, akaashi, kenma, atsumu, semi ↳ dating the hq boys, W/ MOODBOARDS pt. 2. . . ft. kuroo, mattsun, suna ↳ dating the hq boys, W/ MOODBOARDS pt. 3. . . ft. bokuto, iwaizumi, tsukishima ↳ haikyuu boys + tiktok trends with you. . . ft. various hq boys ↳ in love all over again. . . as you walked down the aisle, the song that described the story of your love played in the background. or your wedding with them as opm (original pinoy music) songs (ft. various male characters) ↳ still into you. . . after all this time, kenma was still into you as much as he was in the beginning of your relationship (ft. kenma)

TEXTS/SMAUS

↳ jamais vu. . . (h.iwaizumi x reader smau series, ongoing)

FICS

↳ and they were roommates. . . keiji seemingly made everything easier for you when he moved in. especially the part where he made you fall in love with him. (akaashi keiji, gn reader. fluff. 1.9k words) ↳ easy to love. . . love has always been a beautiful mystery. until kiyoko came along to help you uncover it. (shimizu kiyoko, gn reader. fluff. 1.2k words)

[raysfixations]

Best Sheldon and Amy fanfics you could recommend?

If I'm being honest, I don't read many fanfics. It's surprising considering I write fanfiction myself. However, I have read most (if not all) of @fort-cozy-mcblanket 's fics and enjoyed them! I especially like her Thanksgiving one (ao3) (ffnet) and Jamais Vu (ao3) (ffnet)! If you haven't read them, you totally should.

I know that @rgbcn also writes fanfiction along with drawing. The ones of her's I've seen are nsfw and I'm not sure if there's others that aren't, but I am sure that most of her drawings are clean!

You should definitely check out both of them because they've been carrying The Big Bang Theory's fandom for a while now. They put so much care and thought into their fanfiction, it's so nice.

Cheers!

[dhrmonth]

Dramione Month Daily Roundup

Here is the Day 29 roundup of Dramione Month works! ⏳✨

AO3 Links:

Fifth Time's the Charm by JessicaLovejoyAO3: E, 10,819 words, 3/5 Chapters

jamais vu by euphrasie_pont: E, 11,816 words, 1/1 Chapters

Curse Breaker by writes_and_wrongs: E, 4,286 words, 2/? Chapters

Tumblr Posts:

Art by sophiesstreet (Also on Instagram and Twitter)

Twitter Posts:

Ficlet by thisisntdd

Ficlet by mspolapotter

Ficlet by MissusBWrites

Ficlet by Grangermalfoy07

Edit by nothing_devils

Ficlet by revelrunic

Ficlet by palomab1anca

Ficlet by Fifitheflower96

Ficlet by UnaOrion

Instagram Posts:

Art by ghostdelights

Fic by catmintandthyme pt 11

Fic by catmintandthyme pt 12

Fic by magicalsydney (Legilimens) 

Fic by serpentsortia_ao3 (Legilimens) 

Ficlet by bookish_clf (Obliviate) 

Ficlet by bookish_clf (Expecto Patronum)

Art by ghostdelights

Ficlet by grangermalfoy07 (Also on Twitter)

Art by garnetsyrup (previously sisiwako)

Fic by augustaoctavia87

Fic by lexxus.ao3

Ficlet by palomablanca (Also on Twitter)

Ficlet by malfoyslioness

Art by artsiidaisy

Art by saneasluna

Art by quillandpotions