#c'est la vie t

[murrageneralconstructions]

Buy C'est La Vie T Shirt Mens online at sdnbrand.com.

[toooldforthisbutstill]

Seeing my 14 year old son spend his days in joggers and hoodie - and a jacket when he goes outside! - while the temp is easily reaching 30°C outdoors...

Well, it brings back memories of my teenage years tbh.

[entomolog-t]

Some of my favorite tropes have already been asked, but if we’re wanting a super specific G/t trope:

Athletic giantesses with hearts of absolute gold.

Like, we’re talking pro athletes, CrossFit herbos, Herculean female powerhouses. Women who could catch a falling skyscraper on their back to save a crowd, then sweep up their sweetheart and smother them with kisses.

Talk me through it, doc. What’s up with that? Why do I like that so much?

Back at it again !!

Its a pleasure to be back in office.

There are quite a lot of interesting concepts to break down in this trope; Gender role subversion, muscle and size and their relationship with power dynamics and sub-dynamics (trust, security, submission) and parental modeling.

Lets proceed in order.

Gender role subversion

The typical societal norm for women tends to be airing towards the more submissive, and less physically intimidating. A *ahem* "giantess muscle mommy waifu," as the kids say, is a significant subversion of typical societal norms. This creates two intertwined themes; subversion/role reversal and taboo. There is something very intriguing about things that go against the grain. There are many theories as to why this is such as repression and expression of free will for example. Free will is particularly interesting, as it really emphasizes the rebellious nature of humans, despite us being a pack/group/society driven species. Essentially, by going against the societal norms we reinforce our own individuality. Normally this is not a conscious thought, and instead something that manifests within what we repress (the shadow, for any of you who enjoy Jungian philosophy). When something is repressed from our conscious to subconscious, it tends to manifest in strange ways; dreams, fantasies, desires, and even what we project onto others.

Fatigue within ones own role is also a driver for these kinds of role reversal fantasies. The societal expectations of ones gender can be overwhelming. Men are expected to remain stoic emotionally, and strong physically. While the roles are not as clear cut as they were decades ago, the expectations can still leave many people weary, as they can be forced to repress parts of themselves (emotionality, weakness, fear etc..) and the circumstantially forced reversal of those roles in fantasy acts as a form of catharsis. A reprise from the demands of those around them, and the freedom to be accepted as you are.

I would highly recommend you list out traits you associate with Giantesses in fantasy; do they correlate with what you assume people expect from you?

Muscle and Size and their relationship with power dynamics and sub-dynamics

The distinction of muscularity is very interesting, as these kind of fixations tend to have a notable overlap within G/t. Muscularity and G/t both have a great deal of fixation on body parts, size difference, power, fear, intimidation and trust. The combination of the two is very concentrated power dynamics.

As a warning, I will be discussing the next bit with a focus on animal behavior (a subject I specialize in) and the context of mate selection and genetic potential. I will try my best to use appropriate language, but keep in mind this is referring to subconscious processes, and there is so much more that goes into attraction and relationships than genetic potential.

We have done quite a bit of size exploration in previous sessions, so I do want this to emphasize muscularity. First and foremost, muscularity (less so lean-ness) is a marker for good health (indicator of strength, access to resources to cultivate said muscle, predictor of fitness etc..) while muscularity doesn't exclusively determine any of these, our brain likes to make judgements at a glance, and statistically, its a pretty good indicator, despite outliers. In that sense, indicators of good fit are enticing as the brain perceives them as potential desirable traits. Regardless of ones sexuality, our neurology has developed to pick up on certain traits and perceive them as attractive, both as a learned behavior and as a genetic driver. There are some extremely interesting studies on people subconsciously being attracted to those who have traits that could improve genetic potential.

This might indicate that you subconsciously feel physically weak/inferior, and your brain is trying to mitigate this by seeking out those with complimentary traits.

In a more human psychology sense, we see a physical and aesthetic manifestation of a power gradient, further emphasized by over all size. As mentioned earlier, the physicality seems to act to further concentrate aspects of power dynamics already seen within G/t; trust, safety and submission.

Having someone so much larger and stronger with a "heart of gold" very much seems to fit the sub archetype of the protector for the Giant. This emphasizes a possible yearning for safety and security in ones day to day life. If one feels unstable, the image of someone so powerful and immense taking care of them could be extremely reassuring and soothing.

What aspects do you align with Giantesses in your fantasies? This could be indicative of traits you are comforted by, and it could help to stabilize yourself if you cultivate them within yourself or act as a roadmap to traits that you value within others.

A little more on the negative side, we often find comfort in what is familiar. This can be seen in sad examples of friends from difficult households seeking out less than savory spouses. The same can be seen at times within our own fantasies. Being seen as smaller and weaker can make one feel less than or insignificant. However, having a loving giantess counterpart may be a way to cope with these feelings, especially if there is the continuous theme of "I love you as you are." Thus begs the question(s); do you find comfort in being seen as insignificant?

Or

Do you find significance through being seen as your whole self, despite certain perceptions of being small/weak etc..?

Parental Modeling

Gender role related fantasies and tropes have a tendency to have origins in early childhood, namely from parental figures (parents, aunts/uncles/teachers etc..).

Another warning, this topic is a bit weird and takes a more animal behavior analysis, which just sounds a little strange when applied to humans.

In early childhood we may look towards parental figures as models for gender roles as well as attraction. While this may sound Freudian in nature, its more so just early knowledge acquisition of what is expected of us, and what we expect of others. A normally gendered fantasy may imply specific traits associated with the mother, ranging from making one feel small, to being extremely nuturing and a safe haven.

Particularly negative traits of the parent may be twisted to turn into coping mechanisms as well (such as combining the two themes above; my mother made me feel at times small and insignificant, and thus I cope by envisioning a massive being caring for me and protecting me in spite of my stature).

Evaluating parental relationships (both the negative and positive aspects) and comparing them and contrasting them to what you seek in G/t may offer greater insight.

----

Thank you for your time today, please see my secretary on your way out to set your next appointment.

[naturalbornlosers]

i really really love pink aesthetics and lolita fashion and cutesy stuff and soft things but every time im in tags for things like that. well its a minefield isnt it

[izzy-b-hands]

Shaved the beard for a bit, since being really visibly GNC doesn't feel super safe rn even in CT (let alone when we're in ND soon!!)

Leaving the mustache and lil under lip for now tho bc, quoting a questioning dude on Grindr who i asked for his opinion tonight aksnjdf: "Those spots aren't so thick I'd really notice them, and even if I did, it wouldn't register until after you'd walked off, and most assholes hopefully won't want to make that much effort at that point to bother you." (he and i did not click much otherwise but he was v nice abt it all and happy to let me ask him abt this, bless him)

So at least for now i don't have to lose all the facial hair. like, yes it'll grow back, but i worked for it dang it 😭

[jananabananawithnopeel]

Kaamelott crew mais tout le monde est WWE ...

[lolochaponnay]

La maîtresse dit aux élèves : - Les enfants, aujourd'hui nous allons parler de ce qui vous manque à la maison, pour avoir une vie plus agréable! - Il nous manque une voiture, dit Benoît. - Oui c'est vrai, une voiture c'est important, dit la maîtresse. - Il nous manque un ordinateur, dit Jérôme. - Je comprends, répond la maîtresse. Cela devient un besoin, aujourd'hui. - Il nous manque un congélateur, dit Simon. - Cela aussi est indispensable, confirme la maîtresse. Mais, dis-moi, Toto. Tu n'as rien dit. Que vous manque-t-il à la maison ? - Ben, rien, m'dame! - Comment ça, rien ? Réfléchis bien. Il vous manque sûrement quelque chose, non ? - Ben, non, m'dame. Il ne nous manque rien du tout! - J'aimerais comprendre, Toto. Comment peux-tu être aussi sûr qu'il ne vous manque rien ? - Ben, le mois dernier, ma sœur a ramené un arabe à la maison. Alors mon père a dit : " Putain, il ne nous manquait plus que ça !"

[wallartdesignergift]

(via T-shirt classique « Tee-shirt la musique c'est la vie » par Digitl-for-you)

[steddie-as-they-come]

sequel to my roommate steddie au!! here's the first part! tags have changed, it's now more mature with some fade to black sex

Steve’s so warm. It’s not fair.

Eddie must have half his wardrobe on, tucked under all the blankets on his bed, and Steve is just sitting over there, in a T-shirt and thin sweatpants, like the jackass he is.

"You look cold." Steve says, shifting a bit.

Eddie glares at him. "No shit, Sherlock," he bites out, trying to reign in his temper. All things considered, Steve's a pretty great roommate, sharing his food and his children with Eddie. It's not his fault the college decides to let their students freeze to death.

Steve, to his credit, just laughs at him. "Okay, fine. I was gonna offer for you to come hang out over here, since you're over the vent and I'm not, but if you're gonna be like that-"

Eddie practically teleports out of bed. "No! No, please, Steve, did I ever mention how great your hair looks today and how kind you are to me-"

Steve laughs again, moving out of the way and patting the bed next to him. Eddie doesn't hesitate to scurry up and tuck himself into a little cocoon of his own blankets, trying not to bump Steve's arm as he focuses on his homework. He doesn't completely succeed, and his hand brushes against Steve's bare arm.

"What the fuck?" he says loudly. "Why are you the temperature of a campfire?"

Steve shrugs. "I've always run hot." he says. "It's great during winter movie nights because everyone piles on top of me, but then I get banished during summer movie nights, which is no fun."

Eddie's already sprawled over his shoulder, sighing happily, like some kind of lizard on a sunlit rock. If August Eddie could see him now, he'd try to smack the shit outta him for falling for a straight guy. One who was his roommate, no less.

But it's hard not to when Steve is kind, and accepting, and a little bit stupid, and hot as hell. It isn't like he just tolerates Eddie's physical affection either, he seems to welcome it. Steve even started initiating it, wrapping an arm around Eddie's shoulders, grabbing his arm to haul him out of particularly big crowds, and the hugs. Steve loves hugs.

There's a darkness to Steve too, the way he moves, the way he's always checking over his shoulder, flinching at flickering lights, always ready for a fight.

It makes Eddie wonder if Steve is like him.

Eddie wiggles a bit, adjusting his chin to prop on Steve's shoulder. "Whatcha workin' on?" he asks, just to be nosy.

Steve rolls his eyes, leaning away. "None of your business." he teases.

Eddie misses the warmth as soon as Steve's gone. "Nooooo," he whines. "Come back. I won't look!"

Steve stays leaned away, raising his eyebrows. "You're so weird." he says. It's not in a mean way, more that he's bewildered that one person can be this strange. Eddie takes this as a compliment.

He pretends to freeze to death, jerking and flinching. "It's...so cold." he mutters. "I see...the light... All because my roommate...let me freeze to death..."

Finally, Steve's blissful warmth comes back, and Steve sighs, tapping his pen against his paper. Eddie tries to peek again, and recognizes familiar words.

"Is that a character sheet?" he yells, and Steve frowns at him.

"You said you wouldn't look!"

Eddie waves him off, grabbing for the sheet. "Steve, this is D&D. It's automatically my business when it's D&D."

Steve finally hands it over. "Fine. Yes, it's a character sheet. Dustin's birthday is next Monday, and I was gonna ask you if I could join your game as a present to him."

Eddie nods, inspecting the sheet. Dustin's been begging for Steve to join basically since they started their little arrangement, where Eddie DM's for them in exchange for no more open hostility in the dorms. It may have worked a little too well, given Eddie's budding crush, but c'est la vie.

Eddie hands it back. "You are supposed to give the DM the character sheet a couple days in advance so they have time to work you into the plot."

Steve winces. "Really? Shit, I didn't know that."

"It's fine, I got some ideas, just from looking it over. You can borrow a spare set of dice and one of my miniatures too."

"Oh good, I had no idea if I needed any of that stuff."

"Do you want me to do a little crash course for you?" Eddie asks, preparing to brave the cold to grab his little homemade handbook.

Steve gives him a deadpan look. "Are you kidding me? Dustin is gonna love being better than me at this. I might as well go in with a regular six-sided die and pretend I thought that's the one I needed."

Eddie laughs. "Fair enough." The cold touches his neck and he burrows back into his blankets. "This fucking sucks, by the way. The cold."

"You're a big baby, man. It's fine."

"Ah, yes. Forgot I live with a walking, talking furnace." Eddie rolls his eyes, muttering, "This is worse than the time I was left outside in the cold."

"Wait, what?" Steve turns to him, eyes flinty like steel. "You were...what?"

"Oh. Um." Eddie's not sure how much to reveal, but he figures it had to come out eventually. "My dad left me out in the cold when I was thirteen. I think he thought it'd fix me. I just got really sick, though." He laughs humorlessly.

"You said...fix you?" Steve says, and Eddie's heart drops. He backs away from Steve before starting to talk, trying to find something to defend himself with if Steve gets mad.

"Yeah." Eddie says. "He saw me...kissing a boy."

Steve's eyes widen, and then he scoots closer. Eddie's breath hitches.

"Me too." Steve whispers.

Now it's Eddie's turn to be shocked. Steve continues. "Not...not left outside in the cold. They'd need to be home long enough for that. But...bisexual. I like girls and guys."

There's a tense, charged silence in the room. Eddie draws up all his courage. "I like you, Steve."

Steve stares at Eddie’s lips. “Can I-” he whispers breathlessly.

Eddie, seemingly just as entranced, nods, and Steve leans forward, pressing his lips against Eddie. Almost unconsciously, Eddie tilts his head, deepening the kiss, and Steve hums happily. 

Eddie’s tongue swipes at the sealed lines of Steve’s lips. Steve freezes, then slowly, tentatively, opens his mouth. 

Give him an inch and he’ll take a mile. Eddie practically pulls Steve down towards him, hands greedily exploring every inch of Steve he could reach. Steve gladly returns the favor, sneaking his hands between Eddie’s back and the mattress so he can feel the muscles lining Eddie’s spine flex and move as Eddie kisses him stupid. 

Eddie pulls back, breaking the kiss. Steve whines, actually whines, and dives back in, but Eddie stops him with a gentle hand on his chest. 

He kisses the corner of Steve’s mouth, and Steve chases it, leaning subtly towards Eddie, but Eddie just keeps moving, kissing a trail from his mouth to his chin, to the soft skin where Steve's jawline blends into his neck. Steve keeps moving, running his hands up and down Eddie’s back just for something to do. 

Eddie reaches the small curve where his shoulder meets his neck, and Steve feels a small scrape of teeth against his skin. He whimpers. 

“Oh?” Eddie says, the first thing he’s said since Steve leaned in. His voice is raspy, and Steve privately thinks it's the hottest fucking thing in the world. “There?” 

He kisses there again, but this time there's no teeth, and Steve stays quiet, breathing slowly, in and out, in and out. 

“Or…did you like it when I did this?” 

Eddie leans forward and nips at Steve’s collar, and Steve keens. “Eddieee…” he says, dragging the vowels out too long, leaving that name hanging in the air.

Eddie tilts his head back up and captures Steve’s lips in another kiss, tongue sliding into Steve’s mouth smoothly. He kisses for a few seconds, then readjusts and gently nips at Steve’s lower lip. 

“Please, please Eddie,” Steve begs breathlessly, not even sure what he's pleading for. Eddie seems to get it though, and slides his hands under his shirt to cup Steve’s waist.

Steve laces his hands through Eddie's hair and pulls, and Eddie lets out a moan, pushing Steve off of him and rolling so he's on top, enjoying the feeling of Steve under him on the mattress.

"I've never been so glad for the cold," he whispers against Steve's lips, and kisses him again.

[sweetteainthesummerx]

THE LOVE LASTS SO LONG (13)

In which they visit Paris!

series masterlist

notes: let me know if you want to be added to the taglist and leave a comment! Enjoy :)

★・・・・★・・・・ ★・・・・★

alexandrasaintmleux posted on their story

caption: Louvre, pastries and Aubrey

olliebearman posted

olliebearman c'est la vie (the only French I know 😌)

liked by kimi.antonelli, aubreyyang and 701,694 others

user1 ARE WE GONNA TALK ABOUT SLIDE 3

-- olbreylovers YES THATS DEFINETLY HER THEYRE SOFT LAUNCHINGGG

scuderiaferrari stick to italian

-- user2 ADMIN!!

landonorris nice sunnies

-- olliebearman thanks their borrowed

-- aubreyyang pls return them I can't see 😔

-- olliebearman omw 🏃‍♂️

-- user3 not them flirting under landos comment

-- landonorris right this is so rude I demand compensation

-- aubreyyang we'll get you a magnet

-- landonorris DEAL

user5 they're in love in this essay I will

aubreyyang posted

aubreyyang are you happy to be in paris? 🇫🇷💋

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, olliebearman and 670,332 others

view all comments

dior.n.goodjohn OUI!!

-- aubreyyang miss u bae

aryansimhadri pls bring me back a t shirt too

-- aubreyyang will do

user1 THEYRE SHARING SUNGLASSES = THEYRE IN LOVEEE

alexandrasaintmleux mignon

-- aubreyyang je t'adore <3

aubreyyfanpagee I love how we have collectively decided that yes, they are dating

MESSAGES

ollie

r u still up 😊

aubrey

yep what's up

ollie

wanna come to my room and watch a movie?

aubrey

ive heard that line before

ollie

NOOO I would just like some cuddles and a Disney movie pls

aubrey

okay :)

let me shower and ill head over

ollie

see you in 20

Aubrey examined her outfit: a big Ferrari shirt given to her through PR, a pair of cotton shorts and white scrunch socks. 

She figured it hardly mattered; more and more everyday, she was sure that Ollie would think she was beautiful not matter what she wore. 

When she showed up at his door, he was very broad, damp and shirtless. 

Not to brag, but she was one of the biggest young names in Hollywood. She’d worked with male models and actors alike, but none of them managed to stir up a storm in the pit of her stomach like Ollie could. 

His sweatpants (grey) were slung low on his hips, and he had a towel in one hand. With a dopey grin, he swung her into his arms as she squealed. 

“Oliver, you’re getting water in my hair! I just blew dried it!”

“Yeah? Looks nice.” He told her, all wide innocent eyes as he dumped her on his bed. The big television had Cars 1 & 2 queued up already. 

“Nice,” she grinned as he settled in beside her, “very fitting.”

“I thought you’d appreciate my wittiness.” He shrugged modestly, and she poked his rib. 

“Watch the movie, Bearman.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He casually flopped over onto her lap, laughing when she groaned at his weight. Aubrey slid her right leg under him, and he shifted so he was lying between her legs, still facing the TV with his head resting on her stomach. 

“How are you liking France?” He murmured, sliding a big hand up and down her calf.  Something low and hot bubbled in her stomach and only intensified when he dragged the tip of his nose over the sensitive skin of her thigh.

“I love it here. It’s so rare I get to practice my French now,” she carded her fingers through his soft brown hair, “how about you?”

“It’s…” he sighed contentedly, pushing up into her hand like a puppy dog, “it’s…really nice, doing touristy stuff. During race weekends we don’t get to.”

“Hmm. And there’s not much paparazzi around. In America, it’s so terrible. I just want to hide away in my apartment.”

“I’ll bet. Sometimes I forget that you’re super famous.” He admitted, stroking her ankle with his thumb.

“Sometimes I forget when I’m with you too.”

“I think that’s good. We’re just…two normal people.”

“Do you remember my Elle magazine interview?”

“How could I not?” He answered quietly, and she flushed. 

“I meant what I said you know. You and Charl and Alex and Lily…I’ve never got to be a teenager and this is really nice.”

“Me too. I mean this is pretty glamorous, but,” 

“It’s still better than just the cameras and the fame.” She concluded for him, suddenly feeling very sleepy.

“You’re better than any camera and all of the fame in the world, Yang.” He murmured.

Her fingers slid to his ear, fiddling with the soft his earlobe.

She wondered what they were. He was her best friend, no one could make her laugh or feel so much like he could. Being with his was easier than it had been with Mace or anyone else. He always told her what he was thinking.

"You are something special, Ollie Bearman."

Aubrey woke up to the sound of a Shakira song and a space heater pressed up against her. 

She realized, blinking the sleep out of her eyes, that the Shakira song was Charles’s ringtone and the space heater was one Ollie Bearman. 

She was tucked under the covers, her legs tangled with his much longer ones. Her face was pressed into his bicep, his forearms locked firmly around her waist. He looked so angelic, sleeping through Hips Don’t Lie. She sat up slowly, reaching for her phone. 

“Hello?” She asked blearily.

“Hello? That’s all you have to say for yourself? Alex and I are worried sick! Where are you?”

“Oh, shit. Sorry! I fell asleep in Ollie’s room,” she heard Alex yell on the other side of the line and Charles gasp, “no! Not like that. We watched a movie and knocked out, honest.” 

She felt like she’d been caught by her parents. 

“Aubrey?” Alex came onto the phone, “You will tell me everything later. Also can we please leave before lunch to shop? Charl owes me a bag. I told him you two would end up in a situation like this!”

“You guys bet about us?” Ollie lifted his head, squinting up at her. 

“No..?” The older woman tried, “Okay, yes. See you in an hour!”

“Wha..” He asked, voice deep from sleep. She bit her lip, no one should look that good waking up.

He pulled her back down, pressing his face into her hair. 

“We should get up,” she murmured, having no intention of moving for a while. 

“Sure.” He replied, burrowing them further into the sheets. 

aubberieyaang posted

aubberieyaang ARGH I CANT STOP SMILING HEHEHHE

liked by walkdontrun, aryannawhatrudoinghere and 15 others

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celine_diorr another fallen soldier :(

-- aubberieyaang HE TOLD ME IM BETTER THAN FAME

-- celine_diorr damn maybe hes kinda good to keep around if he can get us more paddock passes

-- chuck_bushes yo can I get in on that

walkdontrun EW THERE ARE CHILDREN ON THIS PAGE

-- aubberieyaang ...

liv_laugh_love maybe so american was actually about you guys all along

-- aubberieyaang still a banger tho

★・・・・★・・・・ ★・・・・★

Taglist: @callsignwidow @iloveyou3000morgan @honethatty12 @taygrls @destinyg237 @ilivbullyingjeongin @eiaaasamantha @1uvsptnik

© sweetteainthesummerx.tumblr. all rights reserved. unauthorized copying, translation, or claiming of my writing or any works as your own is strictly prohibited.

[clubdionysus]

[BAD DECISION #6] Wishing

warnings: i like to call this a montage chapter - it gets us through the entire summer :) gym trips! dionysus nights! jaykay being sexy in the gym! dynamic and friendship solidified!

soundtrack: c'est la vie - ethan surman; my type - brb.; happiness - the 1975

wc: 6k

bd total wc: 540k (on-going)

minors dni | AO3 | series masterlist 

The scowl on your face as you reach the gym prevails. You've a coffee in one hand - ice americano, double shot - and the hood of your sweater is bunching around your shoulders. You lift it over your head, and push the swing door of the gym open with your shoulder, wanting to avoid the unwanted eyes of Jiyeong, just in case she's working.

You don't look over to the reception, but the lobby is empty, regardless. It's quiet, always a little less busy in the morning than it is in the evening.

You make your way to the gate of the gym. Punch in the code. Get it wrong. Tell the keypad to 'stop being a prick'.

You try again, exhaling a weighty sigh as you do so.

There's a whir as it works this time, hinges clicking open for you. The metallic clang of gym equipment and grunts of burly men cloud the air, battling with the voice in your head for the title of most annoying sound. Always have to win, don't you? Couldn't just take a loss!

It's a flaw; one that you'll admit to, but one that you wouldn't change for the world. A little bit of drive is good, even if you do drive yourself up the wall more often than not.

Hood up, a pair of leggings and a sweater on, black high-tops tied in bows around your ankles, you look like death warmed up. There's glitter caught in your lashline, and your hair is still damp from your quick shower, but you've a point to prove.

And so, just shy of midday, your feet stomp heavily up the stairs, as thunderous as the look on your face.

It's not that you're actually mardy or moody at all - you're just hanging like an absolute bitch.

Whatever Jeongguk puts in those tiny purple shots is lethal. Writes you off every single time.

Admittedly, you had gone a little harder last night knowing that you didn't have work the following day, but that's beyond the point. Normally your hangovers aren't so bad, especially not when you drink water throughout the night - which, thanks to Jeongguk, you had been.

Jeongguk doesn't notice your arrival until you roll down onto the bench behind him. You're on your side, legs tucked up, just like you had been in your bed when his message had arrived in your inbox.

He's in shorts - black, finishing midway down his thigh - and a big baggy t-shirt. On his feet, he's matching with you. Black Chucks. The only difference is that he ties his around the front. His bows are double knotted and little lopsided, the white trims on the soles scuffed and well worn. He's got history in his hi-tops, and you wonder how it compares to yours.

There's a girl in the city who matches him, and it isn't you. You don't have the tiny 'J' scrawled into the rubber of your soles like she does. He's scratched out her initial on his sole.

Takes a little longer to erase it from his other soul, mind you. It's still there. Only faintly, but enough to make him trip over himself from time to time. S'why he always double knots. Harder to fall, that way.

There's concentration on his face, features perplexed as the weight he lifts forces him to exert more energy than he's fully ready for. His teeth are bared, face tight, brows tied in a pretty knot between his eyes. You can see why Jiyeong is so territorial. He's not a bad-looking bloke. Quite handsome, actually.

He exhales as he brings the weight down, resting it on the ground, chest heaving ever so slightly before he turns to look at you. His brows are still furrowed, but his eyes are soft as his body gets more comfortable and settles into a state of rest.

A breathly laugh graces his lips as he reaches for the towel by your head. He pays no mind to the fact your crown is resting upon it, whipping it from beneath you to dab at the sweat gathering on the back of his neck.

"I said bright and early," he smirks, knowing that you must be hating everything about this interaction.

"It's before twelve," you mumble, eyes closed, knowing that watching his dimples form would only make your tummy feel all light and vomit-inducing. You're too hungover for anything other than neutral sensations. "It is bright and early."

"You're basically asleep."

"The bet was that I'd be here, Jeon," you remind him, voice a grumble as you shuffle deeper into your position. "Not that I'd be doing anything useful."

You've a point. It's not one that he can argue against, and so instead he just shrugs and picks his water bottle up from beside the bench. He tosses a little back into his mouth, the stream of water running from the plastic opening and into his mouth with such precision that you're sure he must be an asshole deep down.

You don't buy the nice guy front. Only assholes look that good doing the bare minimum. You'll get to the bottom of his assholeness eventually, but not now. Not when you're this grouchy, and everything feels a little biased.

"C'mon," he says as he knocks his head to the side. "Treadmill. Walk with me. You'll feel better for it."

"I think I'll die," you tell him with so much certainty he can't help but laugh at you.

Still, he stands in front of you and waits for you to join him. Knocks his knee against yours. Kicks your shoe with his own.

He's patient, his eyes soft as they look down at what a sorry state you are. There's something about the way his lips purse gently that makes him feel like a safe bet.

You've no regrets for tumbling out of bed and catching the subway to meet him at the gym. Your head is killing, granted, but it would have been killing you at home, too. At least this way you can feel like you've actually done something productive despite the hangover.

"Trust me," he insists, holding out his palm. "It really will help."

And so you take his hand, letting him pull you up. They warm, and a little clammy, but you don't mind.

When you're finally on your feet, your eyes are level with his chest. He's broad, chest well defined even beneath the shirt. You try not to think about the fact you've seen him shirtless, but you can smell the scent of his laundry detergent, and it adds a whole new element to the enigma the Jeon Jeongguk is. Looking at him, you'd imagine a scent of musk - something woody, maybe. Instead, he smells like fresh blooms, sweet peas under summer sun.

You don't let yourself linger for too long, fearful of him reading into the way you can't seem to keep your eyes off him. He's just new. Something shiny. Fresh. Excitement amongst the mundane of a city you've grown tired of.

He reaches down to pick up your half empty coffee and takes a sip as he begins to walk away. "Tastes like shit."

You pull it back from him, and nudge his side. "Feels like crack cocaine. The Purple Starfuckers, man... they actually kill me."

"You're welcome."

Small talk peppers the walk down the steps - How are your friends? Get home alright? How was Jimin feeling in the morning? How long do you have to stay after closing time? - and flitters around the pair of you as you set your inclines. His is noticeably higher than yours, but you're not here to work out. You're here to win a bet - of which he keeps reminding you that you lost, and that you are, in fact, a 'loser'.

You just tell him to 'fuck off' in return.

He never does. Just smiles, beams all wide, teeth on display, nose a little scrunched, and says "sounds like something a loser would say."

Jeongguk is easy to be around. His company, his humour, the anecdotes he tells. They're delivered freely, revealed without pressure. No diamonds are being formed, but there's enough of them in your eyes when you laugh with him, regardless.

You reduce the ease of your interactions to your perceived lack of expectations he has of you.

There's security that comes with fucking someone's housemate. You're no longer a viable sexual conquest, and therefore you don't have to worry about an ulterior motive for your exchanges with Jeongguk. Jimin's been there, done that.

For Jeongguk to be hanging out with you, you think he must actually like your company. It's mutual. Reciprocal. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

There's a clear line drawn in the sand between the two of you, as you walk forward on separate treadmills. He matches your speed - slow and lethargic - despite his marginally higher incline, before offering you his water.

You hold up your coffee, but he shakes his head. "It'll dehydrate you."

You'd left in such a rush (and without any intent on actually working out) so had neglected to bring any water with you. Never mind the fact you stopped by the coffee place inside the subway station. Force of habit.

You're chronically dehydrated as it is. Danbi has to remind you that you need water, not just iced americanos to get you through the day. Sometimes you listen. More often than not, you don't.

"Sure?" you ask, aware that you don't really know each other well enough to be sharing drinks yet (despite the fact he'd already helped himself to your coffee) but he just nods. Doesn't really see it as a big deal.

"Don't backwash," he tells you as you're mid-sip, and it almost makes you choke the water straight back into the bottle. You refrain, swallowing it down, coughing slightly as you recover from your shock.

"Christ. Too late," you joke as you pass it back, before he makes some crude remark about how you've basically kissed now, and that 'you can't have your way' with both him and Jimin.

"Fuck off," you laugh. "For starters, Jimin and I aren't like, a thing. It was a one-time hook-up."

"Sure."

"Well, I mean, he tried last night," you shrug, looking up to the mirror ahead, finding Jeongguk's dark eyes already on you.

He doesn't look away as he says, "he did?"

"You served us, Jeongguk," you remind him. Your memories of last night are far clearer than they were of the night you'd actually hooked up with Jimin. "He wasn't getting me drinks just to be kind."

"You don't know that," Jeongguk pouts, though he's not sure why. He knows Jimin. He was definitely trying to get laid - but he's also his best friend, so he says, "he's a good guy."

"I don't doubt that," you agree, not wanting it to appear as if you're being over-critical of Jimin. You're the one who fucked him, after all. He's incredibly attractive, and you know that many people would consider themselves lucky to end their night with him, but you've fucked handsome men before. It doesn't really couldn't for all that much.

A fuck is just a fuck.

What we do in the dark has no bearing on who we are in the light of day.

"Sounds like you do," he assesses, but you dismiss it.

"Sounds like you're reading into it a little too much," you banter back, slowly learning that Jeongguk likes to do that. He overanalyses. You do quite the opposite.

Jimin could have a noble peace prize for all you care. Doesn't mean you've any interest in fucking him again.

The conversation dwindles on, you gradually upping the pace of your treadmill to the point where Jeongguk might consider it a brisk walk (though you'd argue it's a jog).

He's kind in the way he takes a second to think before he speaks, conscious of letting you finish your sentences, and also wanting to be sure of the words he articulates. Thoughtful. Mild-mannered. Nice, but not in a way that boring. Nice, in a way that feels safe.

By the time your legs begin to ache, the treadmills have been running for over forty-five minutes.

You've been too busy guessing the conversations between other strangers in the gym. Who they are; where they're going after their sessions. What they'd had for breakfast (and for some reason, Jeongguk would guess 'egg whites' without fail for every single person) and what they'd be having for dinner.

He mimics their voices, and you laugh along, adding a narrative. So many lives have been lived by the people around you, and not single one you get even remotely correct.

There's a burly man, bearded and broad, with a petite girl hanging on every word he says towards the far corner, and you decide that they're a couple.

Jeongguk thinks they're siblings.

Makes it a little awkward when the guy starts squeezing the girls ass mid-squat.

"Yep, no, maybe you're right," he cringes, face scrunching up, lip ring almost disappearing into his mouth as he does so. Unfortunately, he does also then begin to debate the prospect of them maybe being stepsiblings, at which point you threaten to push him off his treadmill.

"You watch too much porn," you tell him, and he can't even argue against it.

It's been a little while since his last situationship ended, and he's been avoiding bedding anyone new like the plague. Been keeping girls he thinks he could grow to like at arm's length. Safer that way.

"I watch a perfectly healthy amount of porn," he scoffs, but then bunches his face up, clearly not proud of himself for making such a declaration. He chooses to not share the fact that he and Jimin split a VPN bill for that purpose exactly.

You laugh with him, the topic moving along to the PG shows he watches instead, the Netflix shows you're both hooked on, and what you'd each chosen for your Vecna song (which also leads to him helplessly defending all of his Spotify playlists from your gruelling judgement ( Justin Bieber defined a generation and I won't listen to you talk shit about him.... And fuck off, Mad at Disney is cute! Cute! I'm never showing you my Spotify ever again. EVER.))

He mirrors you as you slow the pace of your treadmill, looking over to you after checking the time on the clock - 58:23. Longer than he'd expected you'd last. "Done?"

"Done," you nod.

"How are you feeling?"

"Like death?"

"Still?"

"Still," you nod. "Need a Vita500 and a nap."

"There's CU round the corner," he notes. "I'm now about to leave anyways. I'll come with you. You can get your vitamins, I'm gonna grab something to eat."

You nod, not minding in the slightest - but he mentioned food, and your stomach begins to grumble like King Kong atop the Empire State.

"Would die for convenience store ramyeon," you sigh, musing over one of the finest delicacies in life. Nothing beats instant jjajangmyeon, not even a home-cooked meal.

"Wanna grab some?" Jeongguk asks a little mindlessly, not thinking much of the offer. "I'll eat with you."

And so he does. The comfort born in the confines of the gym is nurtured over cheap food and even cheaper shots at one another in the form of banter. He's a lot of fun, you think. It's a shame he's always stuck behind the bar and never able to let loose with you in the club.

He texts you midweek to let you know he can put you on the club guest list, if you want. Save paying entry and queueing. You'd be mad to say no - and so you spend the next few days convincing your friends that another night out is a good idea.

It's not. Hoseok somehow ends the night without his shoes, and you wake up with an ache in your lower back from a guy who'd tried to be all sexy in his bedroom last night, failing miserably. Human bodies aren't supposed to bend in the way he insisted on positioning you in.

You ignore the slight burn as you head to the gym though, ready to pretend like Jeongguk's the bane of your life once more.

A routine is forming.

What started as a bet becomes a weekend guarantee: you will get shitfaced at Dionysus on a Saturday, and then you will chat shit with Jeongguk on the treadmills for the duration of your Sunday morning.

He never lets you off the machines until the scowl that you inevitably arrive with transforms into a subtle smile. Some weeks it's quicker than others, but one thing is for certain; your scowl will always fade.

By week three, he's already by the treadmills when you arrive.

"No napping today," he teases with a soft smile, making light of the way you always curl up on the bench behind him as he does his final few reps. He's already done with them. Got to the the gym fifteen minutes early to make sure he would be.

"Gguk," you groan, dragging your feet a little and yet still heading in his direction towards the cardio area.

The way his body swings around to look at you, a single brow raised, is like something out of a kid's cartoon. He's so animated and full of energy that it's hard to believe he was at work until five that morning. "What did you just call me?"

"Shut up," you mumble, crossing your legs and sitting down on the treadmill belt. It's quiet - this time of day is never busy - so you don't feel bad for hogging a machine that no one would be using regardless. "Everyone calls you that."

He hops up on his treadmill and sets an incline, while you let your body flop down on yours.

"You're not everyone."

"Be impossible to be everyone," you mumble, eyes closed, body shuffling into a more comfortable position - until the treadmill jolts, moving ever so slowly beneath you. The way you get up is akin to a cat being confronted with a cucumber, a small yelp leaving your lips. "Jesus, Jeongguk!"

He's smirking, as if hadn't been tampering with the buttons, shrugging. "Started by itself."

"You could have killed me."

"What a shame that would have been." He grins at you like a kid who just found a stash of candy. "C'mon! Up you get. I've got places to be. A life to live."

You scoff as you begin to walk forward, lowering the incline that he'd set it to. "You? A life? Seems unlikely."

"You know, you're incredibly hard to like," he assures you. You catch the challenge of his gaze in the mirror and simply shrug.

"Yet here you are, still trying to be my friend."

"Can't shake you off."

"You force me to come."

"I do no such thing."

"Ohhhh, disco baaaaall," you begin to imitate him, bringing your clasped hands to your heart as if you really are begging. You sound nothing like him, but it's kind of deliberate. The more ridiculous you sound, the more he'll laugh. "Pwetty pwease come to the gym and keep me company."

"I don't talk like that," he laughs at how whiney you sound. "And fuck off, I've never said that."

"So you don't mind if I leave?"

His hand reaches over and hooks into the hood of your sweater, as if you're a dog on a leash. His grip is tight. Ain't no way you're going nowhere.

"No, you're not allowed," he says sternly, but there's a smile on his face, voice dulcet as the command rolls off his tongue and sinks into your ear. "I'll get bored."

"See!" You laugh, and pay no notice to the fact his hand stays with an iron grip on the fabric of your sweater even after the joke has been made. He keeps it there.

"It's either I have you keep me company, or Jimin keep me company," he says with a shrug. "I've always got a second choice."

"Aw, but I'm your first choice. How cute."

"My god, I hate you," he says as he finally drops his grip on your hoodie, nudging your shoulder as you walk. He busies his hand, tampering with his incline, trying to make it seem like the touch was casual. Nothing to read into.

It's a debate the pair of you are able to have for hours; who hates who more, who hated who first, who's gonna hate who for longer.

It's not flirting as such, but it is a ruse. You deflect the fact that you actually really enjoy each other's company, using hatred as a measure of just how much you like one another. It's all very juvenile.

He tells you he hates you when you steal half of the cheese he buys for his instant ramyeon after the gym, and you tell him that you hate him every single time you show up at the gym. It's a win-win.

By the time week four comes around, you're surprised to find yourself considering signing up for another month.

You rarely use your membership - once a week, to be precise, and only for about an hour at a time. It does give you a luxury of freedom, though. Chances are you'll be able to find Jeongguk there, no matter what time of day it is.

You'd swung by one evening that week after work just to show him the painting someone did of breadfish, knowing that he'd be the only other person in the city who remembered something so ridiculous.

He'd been deadlifting at the time, a thick leather belt cinching the baggy shirt he'd been wearing, stopping you quite suddenly in your tracks.

Hands covered in paint, hair up, a pencil still tucked behind your ear, you're the most 'you' he thinks he's ever seen you.

Sure, he's seen you with your makeup all smudged after a night out, and he's seen you after far too many drinks deep, but he's never really had the luxury of a totally sober 'you'. The 'you' that other people get to indulge in.

The glitter on your lids is a little more subtle than he's used to - it's thinner, finer, a little pink in its hue - but still prettily in place. Sparkling under the harsh gym bulbs. It's nice to know you're a disco even in the daylight.

He finds himself holding the bar he's lifting for a little longer than expected. His eyes are on yours in the mirror. You've paused by the top of the stairs, eyes on his.

It had been the shock of how bloody tiny his waist is that had startled you first, the look in his eyes, second.

And it's that second surprise - a pleasant one - which stops you from doing anything else but staring. He's got car crash eyes, and you can't help but watch the disaster of the wreckage burn.

You can't even really take in the rest of his face, and it's a shame, for he's a sight to behold; lips ajar, the freckle beneath them covered by the shadow of his pout, brows furrowing together slowly.

The longer he looks at you, the more strained his expression becomes - until his eyes close, teeth clenching, body holding the weight until he can't support it for much longer. It drops, his body shaking as his chest heaves, the sound shattering the tension between the pair of you.

You feel bad for intruding; as if you've seen him in a way you were never supposed to. It's not like you walked in on him showering or anything as intimate as that, but it's been a while since a man has looked at you like, well, that.

Desire, passion? Sure, whatever. They'd looked at you with those in their eyes.

But Jeongguk hadn't been looking at you with either of those wants. At least, not a want for you.

He'd been pushing himself. Proving himself.

And while he hadn't been proving himself to you, you're reminded why you don't fuck anyone face-to-face these days. Eye-contact. It's too much. Gets you all hot and bothered.

And so while his chest heaves, eyes looking you up and down, a little unsure of what the fuck just happened, you do the only thing you can: distract him.

Behind your back is the breadfish canvas, so you bring it around, hold it in the air and smile as brightly as you possibly can. "Please tell me you know what this is."

He takes a second. Tilts his head, and then realises exactly what it's meant to be - a loaf of bread with a fish head and tail tacked onto the end. He's not seen it since middle school. Was the only one of his friends who found it fucking hilarious - and the way you're beaming makes him think that you were probably just as strange as he was, growing up.

Your mutual childhood strangeness is proven right. Transcends in adulthood, apparently. He sends you voice notes of him singing the breadfish song on loop for three days straight. You block him on 4 separate occasions.

Doesn't stop him from making sure the DJ plays the song on Saturday night. He'll take the blocking if it means he gets to see your smile just as bright as your disco ball eyes.

When Sunday comes, the look on Jeongguk's face as you tell him your membership is due to expire is hard to read.

His eyes, for once, don't give much away.

He's forbearing as he says, "you can't use your memberships expiring as an excuse not to hang out anymore. I'll still force you on hangover walks."

His stoicism fades as he tries to hide a smile when you ask him to wait by the door of the gym lobby. You renew your membership. Just for another month - just enough to keep him happy.

And so the routine continues. Saturday nights are reserved for Dionysus; Sunday mornings for the boy from behind the bar.

There's normally a gap of five or so hours between you saying goodbye at the club and hello at the gym.

Sometimes you go home from Dionysus with Hoseok and Danbi.

Other times, you end up in an apartment that's unfamiliar, with a man who's equally as unknown.

They're always nice enough.

Never nice enough to make you wanna stay the night.

On one occasion, you end up going home with another woman, instead. It's not unheard of, for you, just harder to come by. Your first experiences had been with women, and your dating history is littered with as many women as it is men. You don't subscribe to the idea of sexuality being a linear thing, far more content with just going with who feels right, not what feels right.

Naively, you'd put her on a pedestal, thinking you'd finally get a decent lay - but a drunk shag is a drunk shag. You still ended up leaving as soon as you could, orgasm not quite reached.

At this point, you figure it's a mental block. You never used to have this issue, but you also used to only fuck people you loved.

When the people you loved began to fuck you over, things changed.

You've too many rules now. Too many restrictions on yourself. You can never fully relax and actually enjoy sex for what it is.

The rules are never set in stone, but they always follow the same pattern.

Don't let yourself be vulnerable. Don't get fully naked. No kissing during sex. Absolutely no face-to-face fucking - taken from behind, or not at all. You'll give oral, but the second someone tries to reciprocate, you move it along.

How can you enjoy intimacy with another person when you won't let yourself be intimate?

There are just too many things that remind you still of him; things that will hurt your heart more than it already does when someone else takes his place.

And so sex isn't really sex anymore. It's a tool.

You use it to pretend like you're over everything that happened with your ex; as if you're in control of a situation that he created.

And so that's why Saturday nights are reserved for Dionysus: they're filling the space of date night. Sunday mornings in the gym? Filling the space of lazy morning fucks and brunch down by the lake near Hoseok's place.

Being busy with the gym stops you from making 11:11 wishes for him to show up at your door, and the nights in Dionysus stop you from looking for shooting stars to wish upon instead.

Instant noodles with a guy you barely know don't quite manage to make you forget about eggs benedict with the man you thought you might one day marry, but hey - it's something at least.

On the nights that Jeongguk knows you don't go straight home, he checks up on you; will text when his shift is up, again when he gets home, and one final time when he wakes up. He doesn't care for the semantics that come with double messaging. He isn't trying to impress you.

He knows what you get up to in the dark. What you do is your prerogative. He's more concerned about the lack of trust and faith he has in the people you do it with. Despite this, not once does he berate you for it.

Even Hoseok's made a dumb remark here and there about the fact you're 'getting around', but if Jeongguk's thought similar things, he doesn't let you know it. He's a good friend. One that you're lucky to have. Thank God you fucked his flatmate and not him, instead.

The illusion of you has slipped by this point, for Jeongguk. He knows you too well to toy with what-ifs.

You feel secure in the fact he's not trying to get into your pants; a rarity for dudes these days.

Even Jimin took the hint after you turned him down, and has become a welcome addition to your nights out. He's fun to flirt with, but he knows nothing will happen, so he never pushes it too far - but is also happy to be your cover when another bloke is getting too touchy with you for your liking. He's been your 'boyfriend' a grand total of three times, now - only ever for a night.

You're not too familiar with Jeongguk's other friends yet, but you sometimes get in on a round of shots with them. There are four usual suspects: Jimin, Taehyung, Namjoon and Yoongi. All handsome, all perfectly nice. None of them stick to you like glue, though. Not Jeongguk did.

Hoseok and Danbi have followed your lead, and consider the boys casual acquaintances; drinking partners for when they happen to be at the bar at the same time.

A dog walker by profession, Danbi always finds herself flirting with Taehyung, who tries his hardest to get a discount on her services. She always refuses.

Jeongguk and Yeonjun have a running bet going to see how long it takes until he's paying full price, just for an excuse to see her outside of a club setting. They've had to reset the bet twice, because Danbi might just be the most stubborn woman to have ever graced the planet.

Summer is spent in a technicolour haze of Purple Starfuckers, club lights, unorthodox gym routines and enough glitter to open a craft shop.

Jeongguk didn't quite know how, but he was always finding flecks of the metallic warpaint on his gym gear. He always has a little laugh to himself whenever he does the laundry. "Fucking Disco Ball."

It's early autumn by the time Hoseok and Danbi make their first appearance at the club without you.

He texts you - boo, you whore - and waits in the backroom of the bar until he sees a reply come through.

Busy tonight, your reply reads. It feels a little cold, but you don't mean for it to be. You're just a rush, and Jeongguk nagging you is the last thing you need.

JK:  Busy doing what?

You:  none of your business x

Despite the kiss you end your sentence with (he can hear the way you say 'mwah' the same way you do whenever you know you're being a little cheeky), it still feels... off.

JK: Oddly defensive.

You: i'm always defensive :)

You:  lemme know when you get home safe

It's a simple role reversal, but Jeongguk isn't sure what to make of it. He's normally the one making sure you get home safe. Not the other way around. It's not a 'what-if' scenario that he's run through in his head before. He doesn't like it.

He likes being depended on. Has gotten used to you depending on him.

Pushing it to the back of his mind, he makes orders without much thought, too busy letting himself indulge in what-ifs. It's been a while since he's thought of any regarding you, but he's consumed by them, now. Where you are, who you're with. Why Danbi and Hoseok won't give him a straight answer when he asks. They say it's not their business, but the way Danbi gives Hoseok a grimace whenever the topic is mentioned would suggest she doesn't approve.

It's probably why you haven't told him. He wonders how bad it must be. Secrets aren't something really kept between the pair of you.

There are things he hasn't told you - parts of his past he'd rather keep buried - but he doesn't actively hide himself from you. He thought you did the same.

Apparently not.

He arrives home with no new message from you. It's five thirty, and even though he's a little pissed with the sudden change in your attitude towards him, he can't bring himself to take it out on you.

JK: I'm home, asshole.

JK: Dionysus ain't the same without a disco ball.

Tossing his phone down onto his sheets, Jeongguk stares up at his ceiling. There's never been a complicated weight to your friendship, but he's also never been in the dark before.

Above him, origami birds dance in the light breeze coming from his aircon unit.

There's a dozen strung up from his paper folding phase six months ago, when he was trying to get his mind off of the girl whose initial had been scratched out of the soles of his shoes. Thought that if she came back, she'd find the birds endearing.

Kept them up just in case. Now, he just keeps them up as a reminder: You've gotta let wild birds fly away. Can't keep them caged up.

And it's funny, cause the strings the birds hang from feel like a cage for his thoughts, now. They get tangled in the spokes, your name wrapping around the bars. He can't keep you in a cage, either. Can't expect you to be as you always have been with him, just because it's the 'norm'; can't expect you not to have a life without him.

You:  does your apartment need one?

JK: A disco ball? Don't think so?

Truthfully, he thinks a little disco ball would be fitting strung up with all of his birds.

You: gaaawd, ur such a boy

You:  i'm   asking if i can come over :(

He tries not to read into the unhappy face, but it has him sitting up, replying just as quickly as his heart is beating. There's something amiss, and he doesn't like it.

JK: Oh. Now?

You: no, next week

You:  yes now, doofus

JK:  It's 5am?

He doesn't know why he's being like this. Difficult. Perhaps he is a bit bitter. Petty.

You: this isn't a booty call lmao, chill out

You: i'll be there in 15

JK: Do I get a choice?

He's smiling as he sends the message, and hopes you'll read it in the tone he intends. He's bantering, trying to deflect from the heaviness he can feel in your text thread.

He's relieved when you reply just how he hoped you would.

You: no x

JK:  See you in 15, db x

AO3 | MASTERLIST | NEXT

[sabinerondissime]

Bonjour ! Après un weekend en famille avec tous mes enfants et mon petit-fils, retour à la vie plus calme, silencieuse et ordinaire. A 4 jours de printemps, toujours pas de trace de soleil en Normandie. C'est simple, j'ai toujours des T-shirts à manches longues et souvent une petite veste en laine par dessus. Mais je suppose que l'été va arriver d'un coup, avec une grosse canicule et que je vais me plaindre de la chaleur :) On n'est jamais content !

[penvisions]

garnish {chapter 1}

Pairing: Chef! Joel Miller x Bartender! Reader

Summary: Summer is a time of fun and carefree days for those who are fortunate enough to not work within the food industry. You however have found yourself back in that world and so long were the days you could spend doing nothing. Along with the shift back to a world you once left behind is the figure of Joel Miller, who is as magnetizing as he is irritating that is now a part of your daily life.

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: smut piv smut, unprotected piv, dirty talk, joel miller's filthy mouth, kinda enemies to lovers?, degrading language, restaurant lingo, triggers associated with the food industry

A/N: this...this is a scary thing for me to share. this is so closely drawn from my life and the things i've experienced in my twenties (as far as the restaurant stuff goes, i was never fortunate enough to catch the eyes of someone as alluring as our dear joel). i'm fully aware that i don't need another WIP but this has been comsuming me lately and i wanted to share despite the trepidation. c'est la vie, no?

ao3 link || series masterlsit || main masterlist

“Fuck.” You moaned, the sound filling the cool air of the walk in, back arching as you tried to push back against the man who had sheathed the entirety of his hard length into you with one smooth, drawn out move so attuned to your body. His grip on your hips was bruising, the feeling of him gripping tight to your shoulder even more so, but he didn’t move.

He seemed frozen, head bowed down and forehead connected with the back of your head, hands gripping tight, chest heaving with each deep breath and brushing hot against your back. Murmured words falling from his plush lips too quiet for you to catch, but you were sure if he could safely do so, he would be praising you in that filthy way he was prone to do. His large thighs were pressed to the backs of your own and the feel of his chef pants was rough on the naked skin of your thighs where he had pushed up the skirt of the dress you had worn for your shift.

“Please, Joel, I need you to move.” You circled your hips, grinding back on the entire length of him and you could feel yourself clench. A guttural moan sounded from his lips, puffing out in a misty breath.

“What did I tell you about bein’ a good girl f’me?” The hard line of him twitched deep inside you and your knees wobbled. The hand on your waist curled around your middle to help keep you upright, lest they give out on you completely. He pulled out nearly all the way only to slam back in, it took everything in you not to scream from the pleasure as white sparked across your vision. Your teeth digging into the hands that were grasping desperately onto the edge of the metal storage shelf you were pressed up against. Trying to hide the sound in an effort to keep the secret that had become your personal life just that, something shared in moments of spiking passion and deep kisses between you and the man who enraptured you beyond anything you had experienced before.

Thoughts swirled and your mind took you back to the events that transpired to allow this type of pleasure to be something that you owned, that you took, that was given to you by the man whose hands were holding you so tightly and pounding into you so deliciously.

“I think a play on mint would be a good idea, for the paired cocktail. I could whip up a batch of simple syrup infused with it or order a case of crème de menthe. But I’ll mess around with it and get back with y’all in a few days before the order needs to be placed.” You jotted down what glasses you were thinking of, a choice between a martini glass, a coup, and a tall rocks class. You pushed your reading glasses back up your nose, the frames having slipped down the bridge as you scribbled half ideas down in your small notebook. “Chef, will the mash be sweet potato or more like the topping for the Shepard’s pie we did last fall? And the balsamic, will it be a glaze over the brussels or will they be cooked with it?”

Joel Miller’s eyes seemed to snap to you, he had offered his new rotation of dishes for the fall menu and promptly spaced out. He never seemed to pay attention to anything else in the higher up meetings for the restaurant you worked at. You had been here for a year now. Having been hired as a general bartender and then bumped up to manager around two months in. You had to do an order on the fly for the bar when it was revealed that the manager had made a faux one and pocketed the money for themselves. To say they had been fired would be an understatement. They were no longer allowed to work for any part of the company.

You don’t think you had ever met his eyes before and you were beginning to think that was a blessing in disguise. His eyes were such a warm, chocolate brown that lit up into an amber wonderland that you could find yourself getting lost in when they caught the light. It took you a moment to realize that he was answering your questions. This was the first instance of a menu change that you had the chance to ask questions. His gaze wandered over what he could see of you as you sat across the table from him, further down by the barback you had chosen to help out with keeping the tickets flowing well and running drinks when the servers were busy.

“Was thinkin’ of sweet potatoes, to compliment the lamb. It won’t be a traditional mint jelly, more of a yogurt based mint sauce topped before leaving the line.” He glanced down at the menu he had provided for the meeting. It was simple and to the point. Underneath one of the new dishes, the special due to the cost of sourcing the lamb was simple descriptors. Special: Lamb. Mash. Brussels. Mint. Balsamic.

“Sounds yummy, and the balsamic, chef?”

“Haven’t decided yet.” He grunted out, not sure what to think of you asking after the dish. Sure, he knew you needed to know the components properly for each dish of the special in order to pair it properly with a house made drink. But you were so…something he wasn’t used to seeing. You had a good balance of professional and personable, both on the clock and off. He noticed some of his cooks offering you tastes of stuff they were working on during prep hours and returned dishes that came back to the kitchen. The other servers often mentioned you helping them with rowdy or difficult tables, were more than willing to help them if they didn’t know questions asked after the drinks offered and wine selection.

More often than not, people from both the front of house and back of house would sit at the bar with you after their shifts. Idle chit chat and horror stories of the night told between laughs and knowing looks. Bonding in ways that could only happen as a result of working in such a space, of being able to handle working in such a space.

He shook his head, the thoughts of you disappearing with the movement and he shoved off from the table to slink back into the kitchen. He stopped at the threshold of the dining room, your gentle voice in his ears and he stifled a shiver at the thought of your lips close enough to whisper into them. What kind of things would you be brave enough to say in hushed tones just for him? Would you whisper filthy desires into his ears and cause heat to spark down his spine, or would you beg him for the things he wanted to say to you, the things he saw flash before his closed eyes when he would see how effortlessly you knocked out a line of tickets, or helped to expo his line during the times in which spacing out tables was only a wish.

“Gotcha. Thank you, chef.”

Despite his better judgement he turned to look back at you over his shoulder, just in time to see you smile softly at him before turning your focus back to the meeting. He almost hadn’t, unsure of where the sudden salacious nature of his thoughts had sprung up from. And his heartrate picked up as he crossed into his kitchen space.

The manager of the restaurant was pacing back and forth in front of the host stand, phone held tightly to her ear as she listened to the voice bleeding from the other line. It was summer, the season of call outs and no call no shows. As predictable as the looks of glee on servers and cooks faces alike as checks hit their accounts on a weekly basis, the tip out rate through the roof with the influx of tourists and lively people of the city. The manager prided herself in being able to provide a good base pay for everyone, ignoring the cheap cop out of matching the other establishments of the area and the country in general.

None of that $2.13/hour nonsense, she had smiled genuinely at you in your interview, the softness of her excitement allowing you to seriously consider the industry you had left a few years previously in favor of going back to school, of taking the monumental step of becoming a teachers assistant at your alma mater. But grad school was around the corner, something you needed in order to pursue your dreams.

But even that wasn’t a good enough allure to keep the younger members of society committed to their shifts, especially after a particularly busy week. The restaurant world wasn’t for everyone, and it was quick to humble people in ways that still took you off guard even after having been entrenched in it for a good chunk of your twenties.

With a long sigh, a worn-out thin smile, and the harsh placement of the phone back into the charging station atop the host stand, that’s how you found yourself in the kitchen you only drifted through previously.

“You know anythin’ about preppin’ food?” The calculating look aimed down at you as Joel stood beside you in front of a prep station was sharp, his arms crossed over his broad chest. The sleeves of his chef’s coat folded up to expose the thickness of his forearms.

“Of course, we prep the-“

“Not fruit. Food. Actual food.”

The fact that he cut you off mid reply made your jaw clench and you had to hold your tongue back from spewing a bad comment. You had never been treated like that at this job, in the entire year that you’ve been here. Everyone had always been polite and friendly and professional. Things you were in return, the kitchen even going so far as to offer you the rare dead plate or extras from staff meal you were always unable to snag any of due to your schedule. People would stay and hang out at the bar after their shifts ended, often bringing you treats on their off days to share as you frequently brought stuff for the front of house to have snacks and rounds of their favorite drinks to stay hydrated during busy hours. This often extended to the back of house as well, if you had the time and means to.

The divide seen so cleanly in other restaurants was something that you tried to eradicate here, not play into the ‘this versus them’ ideology that plagues too many establishments and allowed for more errors and unhappy customers.

That’s not to say there was the odd throwaway comment in the heat of dinner rush or particularly challenging event, but those were brushed under the table as they were harmless. But this, this animosity for someone willing to help out when it was desperately needed, was uncalled for and sparking annoyance in your chest.

You hadn’t really interacted with Joel directly. Just in passing and hardly for longer than a professional acknowledgment during staff meetings when a new dish would be rolling out and you needed to make a cocktail or wine pairing for it. To be honest, you hadn’t spoken to him out of the childish daydream of not wanting the image of the handsome man to be shattered in your mind’s eye. Guess you were right to worry about something being wrong with him to warrant him to spend what seemed like his entire life in the damn kitchen. He had a superiority complex, it seemed.

But for him to be rude and cut you off after already making it clear he didn’t want you in his kitchen?

Game, fucking, on.

“Oh, no,” You adjusted the fit of the black gloves around your right wrist before you carefully picked up the chef knife and tapped the tip of it on the cutting board. Joel’s eyes were heavy and judgmental as you did so, he probably disliked the way you had needed to get the feel of the knife before using it. But he stayed silent, the furrow of his brows and the turndown of his plush lips deepening as you quickly and efficiently broke down the chicken. Once you were done, you placed the knife along the edge of the cutting board beside the line made up of a pair of breasts, thighs, legs, wings, and the severed spine of the chicken. “I don’t think I’m any good with actual food, chef.”

The controlled expression you were holding didn’t break, even when one of Joel’s eyebrows seemed to rise without conscious thought as his sharp eyes danced from the cutting board atop the prep station to you standing at attention in front of it. The tick in his jaw was garnering your attention, an obvious show to what the man was really feeling at your little display. Despite his less than kind attitude toward you, you couldn’t help the flash of heat that flared up in your middle at the thought of sucking kisses into the cut of his jaw, right where it was showing is ire. The surrounding kitchen staff were all peering over toward your new station with wide eyes, unbelieving that you were deliberately feigning innocence in a cheeky manner toward the head chef.

He may be an asshole, he may be loud, he may be particular, and he may have high standards: but no one argued with him because of his skill set and how effortlessly he displayed it day in and day out.

“Now, I believe we prep a total of 56 for the night shift. After dissembling them, they get placed into a salt brine to allow the skin to brown and crisp easier when braised or pan roasted. With an extra 4 just in case of dishes going to the wrong table or mix ups with servers not paying attention to the available par, is that correct, chef?”

Your lips turned up in a small grin and you knocked your gaze up to catch the man’s eyes. There was a fire behind them, one you were sure he was about to unleash on you in front of the entire staff. He was known for his outbursts when really upset, whether it be from someone not listening to clear instructions or a count gone wrong and messing up the rotation of dishes that could be offered that shift. Instead, he gave you a curt nod and told you to complete the prep by time the doors were to open and walked briskly away.

You spent the rest of the evening prepping the necessary things for the dinner service. You could’ve just done what had been asked of you, but you peeked at the long list of things that needed to be done by the person who had bailed on their shift, on the job and decided that the bar would be okay on a weekday night without you.

You prepped the chickens for the evening and the chickens for tomorrow’s service so the kitchen wouldn’t be behind like it had nearly been today. You had diced in perfect cubes the pickled beets for the panzanella salad and the components for the egg salad to be combined. Portioned out the ingredients for the brine and brought them to a soft boil atop a hot plate for a new batch of pickles and prepared the cucumbers with a mandolin. Sliced and portioned out the bologna and pancetta used for sandwiches, and even sliced the other components like the provolone cheese, cucumbers, and tomatoes used on them as well.

You neatly organized and legibly dated everything before breaking down the station at the end of the night. Even taking everything out of the banes and running them through dish and drying them before placing them back in their respective locations underneath the hood. Going as far as to deep clean the cooler shelves down below, wiping them down and sanitizing the entire station before putting everything back according to FIFO etiquette and wrapping it all up for the night.

The next day, your schedule was updated with two hours of prep before your typical shifts for the bar.

next chapter

[rollinginthedeep-swan]

RPG et anxiété.

Tw : Anxiété généralisée.

Encore un sujet qui va me stresser une fois publié, dont j'avais envie de parler sans trop savoir comment et, ce soir, je tente le coup. Parlons "relations" sur les réseaux/rpg et anxiété ! C'est quelque chose dont je souffre et contre lequel je lutte à peu-près chaque jour. Les pensées intrusives sont terribles, la crainte qu'un quiproquo débile plus encore suite à des évènements passés qui, j'en suis certaine, auraient pu être évités. Je peux me prendre la tête et réfléchir trop vite, trop longuement, sur des petits riens un peu insignifiants tout en craignant que certaines situations passées se reproduisent. Quand c'est comme ça, j'ai tendance à serrer les dents, attendre que mes craintes soient indirectement contredites et respirer de soulagement après en silence, et hop ni vu ni connu ! (Appelez moi la houdini du stress. Bon par contre, les maux de ventre sont un peu moins fun. ) L'objectif n'étant pas de me flageller mais ne pas empiéter sur l'espace des autres. Oui, c'est contraignant, mais mes troubles ne doivent jamais empiéter sur le loisir des autres. C'est mon problème, je suis suivie pour ça.

Néanmoins, tout ce que je peux dire c'est qu'il est plus qu'essentiel de :

Tenter de communiquer en cas de doutes. Et surtout, ne pas faire de suppositions qu'on valide par le biais de nos propres certitudes et rejeter une personne sous prétexte qu'elle n'a pas su communiquer une information selon vos propres critères. (on le rappel, les troubles dys, la neuAtypie, la fatigue etc... existent.) En discutant, on se rend très souvent compte qu'en réalité, ce n'est pas du tout ce qu'on pensait. On s'épargne ainsi un drame inutile - a-t-on vraiment le temps pour ça, btw ? (NON.) - et l’opportunité de, peut-être, renforcer des liens entre Rpgistes tout en mettant à la porte des comportements problématiques qu'on a trop longtemps laissé passer par le passé. (En évitant de mettre de côté des personnes sous prétexte qu'elles sont un peu différentes, au passage.)

Ne pas oublier qu'on ne sait pas tous forcément parler de nos doutes ou qu'on a pas toujours envie de le faire par crainte d'agacer l'autre, qu'on est des êtres humains avec une vie en dehors du RPG, de tumblr, de discord, et qu'on est désormais nombreux-ses à être plus qu'adulte avec une vie IRL franchement déjà assez compliquée. (Et puis bon, les étudiant-es et/ou les plus jeunes aussi ont le droit d'être crevé-e-s, et on connaît ni la vie des autres, ni leurs contraintes ou l'état de leur santé.)

On va pas le répéter - si - mais la bienveillance, vraiment, c'est un banger. À consommer sans modérations.

Pour ma part, je ne peux que conseiller aux personnes de venir me parler si quelque chose a été mal perçu. Et sentir sans avoir de confirmations, tourner en rond sur 'ce truc qui ne va pas mais impossible de savoir quoi', c'est quelque chose de profondément déstabilisant ?

En ce qui concerne la gestion de ma propre anxiété, je ne sais toujours pas totalement comment vraiment vivre avec, mais je le fais au quotidien et je suppose que je chaque jour, je me débrouille un peu mieux. C'est pas mes seules contraintes, néanmoins, les autres sont bien plus privées.

Bref, je sais pas trop si ce poste est bien utile ou sera bien perçu mais voilà.

Des bises sur vous,

Swan qui ne sait pas si elle va laisser ce poste ?

[mrsines]

C’est à moi.

À la demande de @sayresse17 j’espère que ça va le faire 👀

23« Est-ce ma chemise ? »

Lilia X reader

Reader était une jeune orpheline de 25 ans, marquée par des années de vie en famille d'accueil. Elle avait toujours rêvé d'une vie stable, mais chaque nouvelle maison ne faisait qu'accentuer son sentiment d'instabilité. Aujourd'hui, elle avait décidé de fuir ses parents adoptifs, ne supportant plus leur indifférence.

Elle avait trouvé un petit travail dans la boutique de Lilia, Lilia avait tout de suite remarqué la douceur et la détermination de Reader. Avec le temps, un lien s'était tissé entre elles, si bien que Lilia avait proposé à Reader de s'installer dans sa chambre d’amie.

Cela faisait maintenant quelques mois que les deux femmes cohabitaient. Leur quotidien était rythmé par des rires, des discussions autour d'un café, et des soirées passées à lire ensemble. Reader se sentait enfin chez elle, entourée de chaleur et de compréhension. Pourtant, au fil des jours, un sentiment troublant commençait à s'installer en elle. Plus elle passait de temps avec Lilia, plus elle réalisait qu'elle l'aimait d'une manière qu'elle ne pouvait pas contrôler.

Reader se surprenait à la regarder plus longtemps, à apprécier chaque geste, chaque sourire de Lilia. Elle se sentait coupable de ces pensées, consciente que ce lien affectif pouvait être dangereux. "Je ne devrais pas ressentir ça," se répétait-elle en silence, mais son cœur avait déjà pris le dessus sur sa raison. Les moments passés ensemble, les éclats de rire partagés, tout cela la rapprochait d'une affection qu'elle n'avait jamais connue auparavant.

Reader avait enfin terminé de faire le ménage dans la maison, un sentiment de satisfaction l'envahissant. Elle se dirigea vers la salle de bain, impatiente de se plonger dans une bonne douche bien chaude. L'eau chaude coula sur sa peau, apaisant toutes les tensions accumulées de la journée. Elle ferma les yeux, profitant de chaque goutte, laissant la vapeur envelopper la pièce.

Après un moment de pur bonheur, Reader sortit de la baignoire, se sentant rafraîchie et revigorée. Elle s'enroula dans une serviette douce, absorbant l'humidité de sa peau. Une fois sèche, elle se mit à chercher ses vêtements, le cœur léger. Elle commença à enfiler son pantalon, soudain, un frisson de surprise la parcourut

. "Oh non, j'ai oublié de prendre un haut !" s'exclama-t-elle, réalisant qu'elle était restée là, à moitié vêtue, sans rien pour couvrir son buste.

Reader se sentit soudainement prise au dépourvu. Elle ne pouvait pas sortir ainsi, et la panique s'installa un instant. Ses yeux parcoururent la salle de bain, cherchant désespérément une solution. C'est alors qu'elle aperçut une chemise de Lilia accrochée au porte-manteau. "C'est mieux que rien", se dit-elle en l'enfilant rapidement, se sentant un peu plus à l'aise.

Elle attacha rapidement ses cheveux en un chignon désordonné, essayant de donner une impression de calme avant de sortir de la salle de bain. En marchant dans le couloir, elle espérait que personne ne la croiserait. Malheureusement, au moment où elle tournait le coin, Lilia apparut, surprise de la voir ainsi vêtue.

Reader se figea, le cœur battant. La gêne l'envahit, et elle ne savait pas quoi dire. Ses joues prirent une teinte rosée alors qu'elle cherchait des mots, mais rien ne venait. Elle se contenta de sourire timidement, espérant que Lilia ne poserait pas trop de questions sur sa tenue improvisée.

Lilia se tenait dans l'embrasure de la porte, un sourire malicieux sur le visage.

"Est-ce ma chemise ?" demanda-t-elle, un coin de sa bouche se relevant en un sourire espiègle, ses yeux pétillants de curiosité.

Reader, encore un peu gênée par la situation, baissa les yeux sur la chemise ample qui flottait autour d'elle.

"Eh bien, je… je l'ai empruntée sans vraiment demander," commença Reader, sa voix hésitante trahissant son embarras. Elle se gratta la nuque, cherchant les mots justes. "Je n'avais rien d'autre à mettre, et je me suis dit que ça pourrait faire l'affaire le temps que j’aille chercher quelque chose dans mon placard.."

Lilia, cependant, ne semblait pas se soucier de l'explication. Ses yeux parcouraient le corps de Reader avec une admiration inattendue. Elle se rapprocha lentement, ses pas légers sur le sol.

"Tu sais," dit-elle, son regard ancré dans celui de Reader, "je trouve que ça te va vraiment bien."

Reader sentit son cœur s'emballer sous le compliment, ses joues s'empourprant légèrement. "Tu penses vraiment ?" demanda-t-elle, surprise mais flattée.

"Absolument," affirma Lilia, un sourire sincère illuminant son visage. "Garde-la, elle te va bien. Tu devrais porter des chemises comme ça plus souvent."

Reader, touchée par la gentillesse de son amie, ne put s'empêcher de sourire. "Merci, Lilia. Je vais réfléchir à ta suggestion," répondit-elle, se sentant à la fois gênée et heureuse.

Lilia lui fit un clin d'œil complice avant de s'éloigner, laissant Reader avec une nouvelle confiance, réalisant que même les moments les plus embarrassants peuvent se transformer en compliments inattendus.

[lolochaponnay]

L'institutrice questionne ses élèves : - L'un d'entre-vous a-t-il déjà sauvé une vie humaine ? Toto lève alors la main et dit : - Oui moi maitresse ! - Toi Toto ? Mais comment as-tu fait ? - C'est simple, j'ai remplacé les pilules de ma grande sœur par des cachets d'aspirine !