Had a moment of listening to music I liked back when I was a teenager (& still like) and having a whole. Realization . That I like myself as I am now sooooo much better than I like teenage me. And I started thinking about Why.
There's a lot to it I'm pretty sure, & most of it centers around the fact that I just... didn't really know who I was as a person. I didn't really have hobbies outside of what I did in school (aka orchestra) and like. Video games + anime. I did creative writing in middle school, but dropped off in high school for... some reason? I still made original characters and played around with them a lot, but it was mostly just in drawing and thinking about them. I never actually *wrote*, and I in fact didn't get back into creative writing at all until I was 23 years old. I was someone who had spent so long hiding behind others and just doing what I was told that I just... didn't have any real direction. I didn't know what I even *wanted*. I thought I knew, but in hindsight, I can confidently say that I didn't. I was just an insecure teen drifting through life and not thinking about things beyond what was immediately in front of me. Which is pretty standard for teenagers I guess, but not all of them. Not at all.
Compared to now, where I have Many hobbies, most notably being writing. As I am now, I am just Intrinsically a writer. And it's weird to remember that I wasn't even really *writing* before 5 years ago (besides text rps, which did a lot for developing my writing skill! But still aren't a replacement for writing individually). As a teen, I wasnt into dnd, I was incredibly out of shape, & I was a lot less aggressive and focused. I was the type to avoid sports!!! I hated them!!!! But as I am now, I Love biking and can easily bike for an hour+ no problem (I remember being a teen and trying to go on just 10 minute bike rides in the summer and just *dying* from it), & I love working out. I wanna be strong!!! I LOVE being strong!!! And I was an absolute mess with things like public speaking & working in groups, vs now where I can do an impromptu presentation no problem & I'm often the unofficial leader in group projects bc im typically the one who does the organizing and allotments of work. A side effect of working as a supervisor and then assistant manager for so long. I have a lot more confidence in my perceptions and judgements, & I have the self-assurance to assert these things. And this is only really the tip of the iceberg with all the differences.
I just feel like an entirely different person, almost. The cores are the same, or at least damn near similar, with the things I want out of life & the sorts of things I enjoy, but it's like. The difference between finding a random rock off the side of the road & then that rock when it's been sanded and carved and decorated to be something individual and unique. You look at them side by side and it's something dull vs something shiny and intricate. The origins can't be ignored and dismissed, & I certainly would never resent younger me for just doing the best with what I knew at the time. But it's just astounding how much difference time and experience will have for growing and developing as a person. Things I consider integral to my personhood weren't even thoughts in my mind back then. We are almost entirely different people.
CARDiac, syntax coloring, view source and vibe code
If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:
In the mid-1970s, my dad – then a budding computer scientist, subsequently a math teacher – brought home my first computer: the CARDiac, a Turing-complete, all-cardboard papercraft computer that you could write and execute programs on:
CARDiac stands for "CARDboard Illustrative Aid to Computation," and it was created in 1968 at Bell Labs as a way to teach high schoolers how computers worked. I wasn't anywhere near high school age (I think I was in third grade?) but the CARDiac was revelatory. The year before, I'd had access to a teletype terminal and acoustic coupler that let me operate a PDP machine at the University of Toronto, and I'd been endlessly fascinated with the possibilities. I wrote simple BASIC programs, chatted with ELIZA, and messaged other system users, one keystroke at a time, all on paper (the terminal didn't have a screen, just a printer, and we fed it 1,000' rolls of paper towels my mom brought home from her kindergarten classroom, which I then rolled back up so she could put them back in the bathroom for the kids to dry their hands on).
Interacting with a computer in real-time was captivating, but it wasn't until I assembled and used the CARDiac that it all snapped into place. With the CARDiac, you composed simple programs with pencil and paper, then followed instructions that directed you to move paper tokens in and out of various slots representing memory cells and an accumulator. All an electronic computer does is repeat these crude mechanical operations, millions of times per second, using microscopic transistors. None of that action can be observed with the naked eye, of course. If you had a very sensitive multimeter and a very good microscope, it's conceivable that you could indirectly watch this intricate dance, but only on very early processors, and only if you drastically slowed down their operations.
Much later, I learned a word for what I got from the CARDiac: legibility. Together, the CARDiac and I made a working digital computer, with me standing in for the physics that propels electrons down the endless labyrinth of a microchip, like a pinball triggering various blooping, beeping bumpers. Though the computing we performed was sub-trivial (adding one and one was a major undertaking!), the physical performance of that computing imbued me with Fingerspitzengefühl ("fingertip feeling"):
This stood me in great stead in the years to come. To this day, when I think about my computer, I sometimes imagine those little cardboard tokens, shuffling in and out of the slits in my paper CARDiac. There's something very reassuring about this imagery. No matter how many levels of abstraction sit between me and the nanoscale transistors ranked in their billions beneath my fingertips, they are all undertaking those familiar operations I painstakingly performed on my child's desk all those years ago.
(This is one of the things that makes Science Comics Computers: How Digital Hardware Works such an amazing kids' book! By illustrating how a computer's operations are built up from simple boolean logic that can be represented as physical switches, the comic performs that same legibilizing magic that I got from the CARDiac:)
Not long after my CARDiac experience, my dad brought home an Apple ][+, which came with a schematic that revealed the inner workings of the machine in ways that I found visually striking, if significantly less accessible than the CARDiac:
(For me, at least. For the legendary hardware hacker Andrew "bunnie" Huang, it was the start of a journey that turned him into one of the world's virtuoso reverse-engineers and science communicators):
The Apple ][+ did very little when you took it out of the box. It came with a few floppies' worth of demo programs, and we bought a few more down at the local computer store, but most of the programs I ended up using with that machine were ones I typed in myself, from magazines I bought at the corner store (I spent half my magazine budget on Cracked, Mad and Crazy, the other half on computer magazines full of BASIC program listings).
Typing in a program, keystroke by keystroke, was another Fingerspitzengefühl-generating exercise. I wasn't much of a typist, so it was slow going, and of course I made a lot of typos. What's more, BASIC had already fragmented into several dialects by this point, so even a correctly typed program could fail to run until it had been adapted for the BASIC that shipped with the computer. Getting a program to run on my computer required me to hone my typing skills, but even more so, my problem solving skills.
After months of this, I (re-)invented the debugger, from first principles, coming up with lots of little tricks and gimmicks (many of them horribly inefficient) for identifying and solving my programs' errors. In later years, I had lots of opportunity to work with real debuggers, created and maintained by trained programmers who'd forgotten more than I would ever know about writing code, and my own cack-handed efforts to build my own version of their tools conferred a confidence and intuitive understanding that I could not have achieved otherwise. Figuring out the need for a debugger and then rolling my own (crude, inefficient) one made all debuggers more legible to me.
I think that "legibility" is an underrated trait. If a system is legible to you, then you have a superior basis for understanding it, improving it, and making it work again when it breaks down.
There's an old joke that goes, "physics is applied math; chemistry is applied physics, and biology is applied chemistry" (I've also heard versions that start with "math is applied philosophy" and carry on to "sociology is applied biology," etc). While this isn't entirely true, there's something profound in it: we understand and manipulate our complex reality by wrapping it in abstractions that package up a writhing, shuffling, vibrating machine inside a smooth, serene membrane with a sturdy and easily grasped handle. You could do chemistry using the tools of physics, but it would take hours to perform the kind of calculations a chemist does in seconds (just as it takes an eternity to add one and one with a CARDiac).
Nevertheless, there are times when it is useful for a biologist to think about chemical processes, and for a chemist to think about interactions at the level of physics, and for a physicist to do math. The membrane and the handle are essential, but sometimes you have to decap the sealed package and inspect and manipulate its internals directly. Problem solving, improvement and maintenance all require the ability to move up and down the stack of abstractions to figure out where to stick your probes and stage your interventions.
This is where legibility comes in. Interacting with physical processes improves your mental model. In Broad Band (a magisterial history of women in computing), Claire Evans talks about how the first programmers were women who did the "unskilled" labor of physically cabling components together, developing powerful Fingerspitzengefühl, with such high-fidelity, trans-abstraction mental models of the machines' operations that they became the world's best programmers and debuggers:
My early adventures in programming were so powerful and instructive because nearly all the programs I interacted with on my Apple ][+ were written in BASIC (not just the ones I keyed in, but also the demo software and much of the packaged software we bought). That meant that I could get a listing of any program I was using, peeling open the membrane to look at the machinery underneath. I could even laboriously trace the operations of that program using my toy debugger. This, too, was legibility: the ability to flip between the effects of the running code, and the instructions themselves (and then to mentally map those instructions onto the movement of cardboard tokens in my CARDiac).
This affordance was repeated later on the early web, thanks to the "View Source" function that came built into every browser, acting as a velcro tab for the membrane that separated rendered web pages from their underlying instructions. In my early years as a web developer, I copied, pasted, adapted, probed and traced HTML in ways that would have been instantly recognizable to the younger me, keying in those BASIC programs and ripping apart the commercial software on my computer.
I read somewhere that the Bell Labs scientists who created the CARDiac were worried that, thanks to transistorization, the next generation of programmers wouldn't understand the physical, material processes that unfolded when their programs ran, and that this would mean a loss of legibility and intuition and Fingerspitzengefühl. I can't track down the reference now, but it stuck with me, because the CARDiac is such a perfect way of preserving those virtues.
Modern computer science curriculum includes some chip design for just this reason (just as chemists study physics and biologists study chemistry). But there are plenty of programmers – better programmers than I ever was or will be – who taught themselves and never had a CARDiac or gave much thought to chip design. They work at different layers of abstraction and in different ways to solve different problems. Maybe they could improve their art by tinkering with FPGAs, but there's always something even the most skilled artisan can do to round out and incrementally improve their craft.
In the same way, there are plenty of programmers – better ones than I ever was or will be – whose journey started at higher abstraction layers than a teletype terminal or a CARDiac. Maybe they started with a browser's View Source, teasing apart other people's Javascript to create weird Myspace customizations. Maybe they tweaked a programmable block in Minecraft. Maybe they modded a Scratch game. Or maybe they recorded macros using Applescript or Hypercard or Visual Basic to automate a routine task, only to later open up the source code generated by the macro recorder to make fine adjustments.
Whether you're pasting source from Stack Overflow or recording a macro in Excel, you are just one operation away from unwrapping the membrane and exposing the code beneath it. And with the modern internet, with Wikipedia, with endless tutorial videos, you are one further operation from penetrating the high level code to get at the code beneath it, and the code beneath that, and the code beneath that, all the way down to the bare metal.
Which brings me to vibe coding. As I've written, there's a world of difference between writing code for production and writing "personal software" that solves a problem you have. Whatever deficits that code has (due to the fact that you're not a skilled programmer) are offset by the fact that you're the one making the tool (which means your needs aren't lossily filtered through a programmer's understanding of those needs):
There's nothing wrong with code that solves your problem, even if you don't know how that code works, even if it breaks in a couple of years, even if no one else could maintain, extend or debug that code. Personal software is fundamentally different from software made to be used and maintained by others:
Higher-level abstractions are necessary. Moving tokens between the slits in a CARDiac is a powerful exercise, but eventually you want to do something more substantial than adding one and one, and so you need to package up the mechanics of computing inside a membrane with an easily grasped handle (knowing that you can always open the membrane if need be).
The more automated code you generate – macros, pasted Javascript, Minecraft blocks – the greater the likelihood that you will be failed by a readymade, prefab component. At that point, you have means, motive and opportunity to open the membrane and start tinkering with the internals, and every time you do, you have a better chance of making a realization that improves your grasp on the whole system.
Automated code – whether from an LLM, View Source, Stack Overflow, or a macro recorder – is the top of a funnel. Many – most – of the people who enter the funnel won't slip further down the abstraction chute. They'll solve their problem (a virtue unto itself!) and move on. But the more people we put at the top of the funnel, the more chances our civilization gets to produce another skilled artisan who understands and can improve, iterate and repair the code the rest of us use.
pairing: computer science major!san x street racer!reader
tags/genre: street racer au, college au, friends to friends with benefits, smut with plot, sub!san x dom!reader, whiny san oooooh yes
word count: 6.8k words
synopsis: the street racing circuit is starting to get really competitive—too competitive if you're not able to up your game. when you enlist a certain computer science major to help you with some major tech upgrades on your car, you'll need to find a way to pay him back.
notes: 18+ content (mdni!). if you've been following this series, i'm so sorry but yeosang's garage is so ran through and i'm sure that poor boy has no idea. i don't think he knows he's alive.
the door to san’s apartment creaks open thanks to the spare key he’d made for you a month ago. the scent of vanilla and cedarwood greets you from the burning candle, the only source of light in the living room aside from san’s computer setup. his silhouette is turned away from you as he focuses on the lines of coding that cover his monitors and the small lamp beside him.
“brought your favorite,” you call out, shaking the paper bag of fast food that held his usual order of a burger and fries. only then does he turn, his narrow eyes widening in delight as he saunters over to you.
“i think i’ve only had a cup of coffee and a baby carrot for today,” he admits, happily taking the food from you and setting it up on his kitchen island. you shake your head, but it’s nothing you’re not used to. ever since college, san was the type to hyper-fixate until he got the job done. it was a habit of his you highly criticized, but it fell on deaf ears.
"i guess i’m a lifesaver then,” you scoff, stealing one of his fries. “what are you working on?”
“capstone,” he answers simply.
the mention of his master’s program makes you wince at the thought of grueling coding and software analysis. you’d gotten out early with your bachelor’s, opting to stay away from any more school and focusing on working with your hands as soon as possible. it fed into your love of cars and the gritty, grimy nature of street racing and car meets. getting to work under the hood and operate on the body of a car interested you far more than sitting behind a desk to work on its innards.
san was the complete opposite, but it worked in your advantage to have someone in your corner that was more versed in all of the tech know-how.
speaking of …
“so, what do you need from me?” san asks, interrupting your thoughts with a sip of his drink. you blink, glancing behind him at his monitors.
“why do you think i only come to see you if i need something?” you scold, smacking his strong shoulder. even through the oversized hoodie, you can feel his well-defined arm and shake the thought from your mind. “can’t i come see you just to say hi?”
“not really in your track record,” he chuckles and nudges his glasses slightly up the bridge of his nose. “i mean it, though. everything all right?”
“well …” you pause and trail off, earning another soft laugh from san as his suspicions are confirmed.
san meets you bright and early at yeosang’s garage the next morning. he comes prepared, two to-go cups of iced coffee in hand and his laptop. you warned him that you weren’t keen on dragging yourself out of bed so early on a saturday morning for him to look under your hood, but he insisted. after you told him about the fact that rival drivers in the car meets were starting to work on illegal software mods to win races, you needed him to help you up the ante of your acura integra before someone ran you off the road.
“you realize it’s dangerous to mess with the software side of mods,” he warns, arms folded over his broad chest.
“yeah, but that’s why i came to the most intelligent coder i know,” you swoon. hunched over the kitchen island, you blink up at him in mock admiration. he pushes you away by the crown of your head, tousling your hair in the process.
“you know i’m weak for a good compliment,” he protests, though the smile that stretches across his face proves otherwise.
“so, it’s a yes?”
“it’s the computer nerd!” yeosang hollers from his own end of the garage bay, waving a wrench. you curse at him, scolding him to be nice as san takes the teasing in good spirits. he raises a hand in greeting, setting down his stuff on your workbench.
“hey, yeosang,” he laughs, eyes flickering to the older man’s car. “how’s the supra doing?”
“she’s running so smoothly,” he replies, patting the side panel of his chrome car affectionately. he cranes his neck and looks at your acura, letting out a slow sigh. “as for some other people …”
“i’m working on it,” you grumble, patting the hood of your black integra as though she’d be offended by yeosang’s criticism. “or well, we’re working on it.”
“ahh, so that’s why the computer nerd is here.”
“and i know you’ll be asking for my help when your supra needs an upgrade,” san teases back, earning yeosang’s raised hands in surrender before he returns to working on his car. he turns to you and waits for you to pop the hood so that he can run diagnostics on your engine.
seated in your rolling chair, you observe quietly as san gets to work. it always amazes you the way he shifts into a different person when he’s focused, muttering to himself with laser eyes behind the lens of his glasses. he purses his lips, making notes on a piece of scrap paper he’d brought along. your iced coffee is nearly gone by the time he’s finished.
“what kind of mods did you say people were doing?” he asks over his shoulder.
“we were guessing they messed with the timing of their nitrous injectors and possibly their traction control,” you suspect, referencing some of the more common illegal mods you’d heard about. they weren’t hard to equip, but they made drifting all the more dangerous. you look to yeosang for confirmation and he nods with a frown.
“your engine’s closer to factory settings than it is to anything they could have equipped,” san concludes, taking off his glasses so he could rub at his eyes with the heel of his palm. “i know most of your mods have been manual. do you want to take her for a spin so i can see how her system runs now?”
your face splits into a grin as you glance out at the isolated backroads that surround yeosang’s garage.
san settles into your passenger seat, laptop on his thighs as your engine roars beneath you. a hand curls around the gear shift, the other gripping the leather of your wheel as you shoot out onto the backroads. your mind shifts from san as you slip into your own domain, twisting and turning through the hills while the adrenaline courses through your veins. your window is slightly down, letting the wind whip your hair around your face.
shifting gears juts you into your typical racing speed, your acura growling as she drags you closer back to yeosang’s garage. san remains focused on his screen, glancing every so often at your dashboard. dust follows you as you pull back into your engine bay.
“i’ve got a few ideas,” san offers, leaning against your workbench. “at least, ideas that won’t get you killed or arrested.”
“well, that’s no fun,” you huff and san glares at you. rolling your eyes, you brush him off with a wave of your hand and look at his notes. “i’m kidding. what did you have in mind?”
the pair of you spend the afternoon toiling in the garage, san instructing you through complex lines of coding and software repairs to your engine control unit. he tries to explain adjustments to your cold air intake and how he can modify your monitoring systems. the thought of all-new upgrades to your car makes your mouth practically water.
on the other hand, you remain under the hood and focus on maintaining your existing hardware—tightening bolts, swapping outdated wiring for yeosang’s newest deliveries. you don’t even notice the way san looks to you every so often from behind your windshield, or the way his gaze lingers on you for just a second too long when you straighten to run a hand through your hair.
yeosang comes over when you’re both nearly finished, the afternoon sun hanging low and painting the sky outside with streaks of deep pink and orange. the overhead leds had switched on, giving him a better look at the mods you’d made with san. his wide eyes move like darts across your engine bay as he hums to himself. he rounds the car to where san is and you can hear the two men reviewing the upgrades to your system software.
“transmission lockout?” you hear yeosang exclaim louder than you’d ever heard from him. “oh, she’s gonna love that.” excitement pricks at your skin as you approach them and narrow your eyes at yeosang’s giddy grin. he wipes at his brow and gestures to your dashboard. “san hooked you up. you have to test this out tonight.”
“i removed the factory limits on when you can shift gears,” san explains matter-of-factly, still in his work mode. “which means you can drift to high hell if you wanted to.”
“are you serious?” you ask, mouth agape as a disbelieving laugh slips out of you. “oh, we’re racing tonight.” san beams up at you, clearly pleased with himself. you love the way his eyes disappear when he smiles and the way he seemed so eager to help.
“will you come out?” yeosang nods in encouragement. “you should see her in action after all the work you put in today.”
“sure!” san affirms.
yeosang insisted you pregame at the garage. you welcomed the change of scenery from your apartment, especially after crowding your bathroom mirror panicking over what to wear for the night. the classic leather skirt and boots combo would have to do. wooyoung joins soon after with a roar of his civic, bottles of vodka and henny in hand and a loud cry of excitement when he sees san.
“no fucking way you got san to come out,” he exclaims and slings an arm around san’s shoulders. “dude, i have not seen you in forever. you’re gonna have a blast. the girls that come out are fine.”
you try to ignore the jolt in your stomach at wooyoung’s comment, just as much as you try to ignore the way san’s eyes flicker to you when he says it. san adjusts the neck of his oversized hoodie, not bothering to dress up for the meet. it wasn’t like he needed to, anyway.
the trio of you—supra, civic and integra—roll out as the sun dips behind the hills in the distance. san leaves his audi behind and rides shotgun with you, his scent engulfing you as you blast the ac for a distraction. anything to not glance out of the corner of your eye at him.
“so, how does it feel?” san asks, his voice low as he runs a hand through his hair.
“huh? great,” you reply awkwardly, shifting your gear for emphasis as you round the corner to the industrial complex. “can’t wait to try her out.”
“i’ll be disappointed if you don’t win,” he teases, hands tapping on his thighs.
“oh, i will.”
“confident, are we?”
“shouldn’t i be?” you retort, lowering your windows as the faint scent of gasoline and asphalt creep closer. san arches an eyebrow at you in amusement as he sees the excitement spread across your face. “world’s greatest tech guy in my corner, over here.”
“just glad to be of service.”
you feel the familiar buzz of adrenaline coupled with alcohol seep into your system, coaxing you out of your car and into the night air. it engulfs you—the leds, the engines roaring. yeosang and wooyoung pull in behind you and flank you on either side in their usual spots. san’s eyes widen at the crowd, a half-smile hanging off of his lips as he steps out.
“this is sick,” he comments and leans against your hood with an approving nod. he’s a great addition to your acura, if you do say so, yourself. you round your car to stand beside him and reach for the solo cup wooyoung offers filled with your usual.
“one step closer to getting you to race with us,” you sing. san chuckles and nudges his shoulder against yours with a shake of his head.
“maybe someday.” he glances around at the cars and you know exactly what he’s doing. mentally checking under the hoods and behind the wheels, wondering what software was running each and every one of the cars in the lot. you don’t even realize you’ve been staring at him when mingi calls out your name.
“are we taking a fucking shot or what?” he hollers, taking the bottle from wooyoung as a girl you don’t recognize follows behind him. she smiles at each of the guys individually with a hasty tight-lipped smile in your direction.
she remains silent as mingi pours you a double, conveniently finding a spot to squeeze in beside san. ever the gentleman, he gestures for her to join the circle with that soft smile of his. her eyes trail over him from head to toe, lingering just a second too long before she turns to you.
“so, who’d you come with?” she asks, her voice like honey as you arch an eyebrow at her.
“uh, no one,” you reply with a sheepish smile of your own, gesturing to your raven acura behind you. “that one’s mine.”
“oh … you race?” she asks, as if she were in disbelief.
fuck is her problem?
“she sure does,” san interjects, oblivious to the awkward tension rising between the two of you. he squeezes your arm affectionately and glances down at the girl, encouraging her to peer up at him through her lashes. “do you come here often?”
oh, brother.
san was many things, but able to take a hint was not one of them. he was always so kind and so warm, even if he couldn’t tell that the girl beside him wanted to jump his bones right that second.
well, that makes two of you.
no, stop it!
that’s one of your best friends. it’s san. sweet, helpful san. there’s no reason for you to imagine what it would feel like for him to have you on your knees, under his desk while he’s hard at work and your hands are wrapped around his c—
“can i have another shot?” you burst out, not waiting for mingi to answer when you snatch the bottle from him. the warm sting of liquor slides down your throat, a much needed distraction from the filthy thoughts that plagued your mind. san blinks at you curiously and you avert his gaze, turning to wooyoung instead.
“are we racing or what?”
wooyoung’s face is plastered with a wicked grin from his driver’s seat as he revs the engine of his civic beside your acura at the starting line. your pulse thrums as alcohol, adrenaline and what you won’t admit is jealousy fuels you. a laugh cuts through the sound of the engines and you look to the sidelines. san is there, caught between focusing on the start of the race and the same girl clutching his bicep with a hand over her mouth. you scoff when san smile back at you unknowingly.
what the fuck got into you?
mingi steps forward beside the flag girl, bottle raised above his head as she unfastens her lacy black bra. the fabric drifts in the breeze that carries through the garage bay, your eyes locked on it and waiting for it to drop.
“three, two—”
wooyoung cackles beside you and you can hear him shift his car into gear.
“one!”
tires scream as you both shoot out of the garage. your acura launches past wooyoung, keeping his civic hot on your tail as you follow along the usual route racers took around the abandoned industrial complex. with your window down, the howling wind whips through your hair and the interior of your car. glancing at your gear shift for a split second, you remember the instructions san gave you.
“alright, show me.” you bound into your car, eager to get behind the wheel to learn about what san did to your transmission. he laughs to himself and slides in with far less enthusiasm after you. he clears his throat and motions to the gear shift, which you reach for obediently.
“you can override the built-in settings now,” he explains. “if you shift like this—” san rests his hand over yours, his palm soft to the touch. his grip tightens over you, guiding your hand so that your engine is thrown into a new gear. “you’ll hit the next gear without the ecu triggering.”
“uh huh.” you swallow, barely registering his explanation. the warmth of his hand, the scent of his cologne, the way he holds your gaze. it clouds any rational thought in your head to focus on his instructions. san arches an eyebrow at you, amused by the way he had you flustered but not seeming like he planned to act on it. you clear your throat and tug your hand away from under his.
“let’s test her out, then.”
the sound of wooyoung’s civic drawing closer pulls you from the memory as you grip the gear shift with a huff. throwing it into a new gear, you hear an unfamiliar growl that pulls your car across the asphalt and builds the distance between you and wooyoung. you laugh manically from the thrill, operating like clockwork as you twisted and turned through the complex with the garage bay back in view.
the screech of your tires reels you in, dust flying as you come to a stop just seconds before wooyoung. the crowd erupts into a round of excited roars that you join in as you step out of your car and back into the night air.
“i almost had it!” wooyoung laments after he’s parked beside you. with a laugh, you throw your hands above your head and welcome the shot that mingi presents you. “might need san to hook me up next.”
san.
the thrill of the win slowly subsides as your eyes scan across the garage for san. he’s right where you left him, leaned against yeosang’s supra with a clear view of the starting line. the other girl is still beside him, twirling a strand of her long, dark hair and muttering something to san before he offers her a small wave and jogs over to you. it takes a great deal out of you not to flash her a petty smile when san wraps his arms around your waist and twirls you excitedly.
“that was sick!” he exclaims as he lowers you, his hands still lingering at your waist. you laugh, breathless when you meet his gaze. the crowd around you seems distant as his eyes trail from yours to where his hands hovered. color flushes his cheeks before he steps back, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “glad the, uh, mods worked out well.”
“they sure did,” wooyoung comments bitterly from beside the pair of you, earning a roll of your eyes as you shove him aside with a soft scoff.
“anyway.” you glance back up at san with a tilt of your head. “you want to hang around a bit more or head out?”
“actually, can you drop me back off at my car, if that’s okay?” san smiles down at you apologetically. “i just have a ton to work on tomorrow, so might need an early start.”
disappointment picks at you for a split second before you nod, gesturing for the keys from yeosang. “that’s totally fine! i can come back after, don’t worry.”
you can’t quite put your finger on the tension that hangs heavy in the car during the ride back to the garage. were you crazy for thinking san might also … no, no you’re crazy. he didn’t look at you in any specific way. he wasn’t flirting with you, he’s always so nice to you.
the purr of your engine slowing to a stop shakes you from your thoughts, headlights washing over the metal of the yeosang’s garage doors as you pull into the spot beside san’s audi. you don’t turn the car off right away and neither of you speak just yet. the silence stretches, still heavy as you keep your eyes locked forward.
finally, you speak first. “hey,” you mutter, fingers still curled around the steering wheel as your heart begins to hammer in your chest.
“hm?” san turns to you, not seeming to be in a rush to leave your car, either.
“i just wanted to say thanks for the help.”
“you don’t have to keep thanking me,” he scolds, his lips curved into that smile of his. “i enjoyed it.”
“i know,” you confirm uneasily, hesitating before you glance at him. “i just … i want to make it up to you somehow.”
“and how do you plan on doing that?” san asks jokingly, his expression still unfazed when he meets your eyes. he stills, finally recognizing the darkness that dilates your pupils. his hand that hovered over the door handle drops back onto his thigh. the smile on his face falter slightly when he realizes you’re not messing with him.
“well …” you trail off, mentally cursing yourself at the way you fully reverted into a blushing, mumbling mess of yourself. this was so unlike you. you don’t quite recognize the emotion that washes over san’s face. rather, you don’t give yourself the time to as you turn to face the window. san scoffs, instinctively reaching for your chin so that you’re forced to hold his gaze. the touch of his fingers on your skin sends a jolt down your spine that you struggle to ignore.
“before you answer,” he continues, “are you saying this because you want to … or because you feel like you owe me?”
ever the gentleman.
“of course i want to,” you answer more quickly than you expected, heat creeping along your skin. “i’ve … wanted to. for a while now.”
“really?” san asks, beside himself for a moment before something flickers in his expression. the timid, gentle san you know is put on the back burner as he pulls away from you, settling into his seat with his hands behind his head. “and what exactly have you wanted to do?”
you take his shift as permission, leaning in just a bit further so that you can feel the heat radiating off of him. with narrowed eyes, you shake your head at him and tap at your bottom lip.
“why don’t i just show you?”
“no, actually.” his rejection takes you aback, but the way that he still stares at you leaves you confused. his eyes trail over you like they did earlier, only this time much more slowly and suggestively. “i want you to tell me exactly what you’ve wanted.”
“you—” you blink, a disbelieving smile threatening to stretch across your face. san mirrors your expression, enjoying himself as he awaits your answer. “you’re a freak, you know that?”
“well, maybe it’ll make two of us if you care to share.” san offers a hand out to you, motioning for you to continue.
“san,” you lilt, the sound of his name slipping from your lips earning a twitch in his jeans. “i want you to fuck me.”
“mm,” he hums as if you told him about the weather. with his tongue pressed to his cheek, he nods once. “what else?” he raises an eyebrow with a knowing smirk.
“i want you to have your hands around my throat while you tell me that i take it like such a good girl.” it was a wild jump to make, you were well aware. but the fact that san’s eyes darkened, his lips parted as his breathing grew ragged gave you no warning to stop. if anything, it coaxed you to lean in, your lips ghosting over his just barely.
“what else?” he asks again, his voice strained.
“let me show you,” you insist in a hushed voice, fighting the urge to fully plead with him. san swallows, clearing his throat before he reaches around you to shut off the engine. you blink at him, confused and even more so when he does step out and rounds the car to open your door.
“let’s go, then.” the sound of san’s audi unlocking behind him catches your attention. “i’m not fucking you in your car.”
ever the fucking gentleman.
the tension that surrounds the pair of you grows heavier and hotter by the second. massaging him through his jeans in the driver’s seat was cut short when he nearly staggered into a cop car at a red light. the elevator felt all too small on the way up when an older couple stepped in and made small talk the entire ride up to his floor. never were you so grateful to hear the faint beep of his key scanning you into his apartment.
san barely has enough time to turn on a light or shut the door behind him when he has you pinned against it, his lips pressed to yours with a desperate groan. you melt into his touch, his familiar scent engulfing you as he cages you against the door with his arms. he snakes his hands over every inch of you, from your waist to the back of your thighs. he hoists you up against him, tongue slipping into your mouth as he carries you to the bedroom. you thread your hands thread through his hair, as though it would help ground you in the moment that this was really fucking happening.
“you have no idea—how long—i’ve wanted to—” san struggles to speak between kisses, his tongue gliding against yours before he finally dips his head into the crook of your neck and trails his tongue along your skin. the sensation draws a shudder out of you, coaxing you to tilt your head back with a soft moan.
“shut the fuck up,” you mutter, your eyes fluttering shut. san scoffs against your skin, his teeth sinking into the soft tissue just beneath your ear. the sensation earns another whimper from you, more languid and feverish than the last as your nails dig into the fabric that covers his back.
san hums in approval, lowering you onto the bed against his soft linen sheets. they smell just like him, sandalwood and vanilla. you can barely summon a deep breath when you hear san unzip your leather skirt, his fingers trailing along the hem as he tugs it off of you. the cool air of his apartment kisses your skin and you can’t help but shudder.
he recaptures your lips with a muffled groan that you match, relishing in the way he grinds against you in such a needy rhythm. san’s hands are desperate to massage every inch of you, trailing along the cusp of your breasts to the dip between your thighs. the way his fingertips ghost over your clit earns a sharp moan from you and you arch your back off of the sheets in response.
“mm, you like that?” san asks against your earlobe, feigning surprise as he presses the heel of his palm against your clit at a slow, languid pace. the feeling of him pressed against you coupled with his teeth nipping at your earlobe nearly sends you into a frenzy.
“ngh,” you reply in a strangled moan, your chest pressed firmly against his as he falls into a steady rhythm massaging your clit. of course you’d been with other guys, but there was something about the way san moved and the way he read your body that sent you into a spiral. something about the way that you’d considered what it’d be like for so long that you couldn’t believe that it was actually happening.
san pauses for just a moment to slip his hoodie over his head, about to pull your lace panties to the side when you press a palm to his chest. he’s solid under your touch, warm and strong. his lips are parted still as he looks down at you through hooded eyes, trying to steady his breath.
“am i not supposed to be repaying you?” you ask, arching off of the sheets and guiding him to switch positions with you. a soft noise slips out of san in protest before you undo the belt looped through his jeans and expertly slip it around his wrists in a bind. “keep your hands to yourself.”
“seriously?” he asks, strained as he tugs his hands against the tight leather. you hum approvingly at the sight of him at your disposal and scratch your fingernails against his skin in a long, painfully slow trail to his waist. he writhes under your touch, biting down on his lower lip to stifle his moan.
with your eyes locked on his, you free him from the restraint of his boxers and trace your fingertip along the head of his cock, already slick. he shudders and lifts his hips from the sheets in anticipation. without warning, you swallow his length whole, bottoming out with him hitting the back of your throat almost instantly.
“fuck,” he hisses, fighting against the belt around his wrist in an attempt to hold the back of your head. you hum against his skin, the vibrations sending a jolt of pleasure through him. he lets out a string of curses under his breath at his restraints and tosses his head back as you get to work.
you move your lips along him slowly, carefully as your tongue glides around every inch of him. he’s as big as you anticipated, if not bigger as the tip of his cock repeatedly hits the back of your throat. you hollow out your cheeks and tighten around him, your hand matching the rhythm of your mouth around his length. you can feel the way he twitches and hardens from the way you’re sucking him off and moan against him from the satisfaction.
“how’s it feel?” you ask, your hand still pumping around him as you glide your tongue across your bottom lip. san furrows his eyebrows with a pathetic moan, his broad chest rising and falling at an erratic pace.
“better than—” he gasps mid-sentence as you fully engulf him for the second time. “—fuck—better than i could have expected.”
“mm,” you hum against him, picking up the pace. you’re fully focused, locked in on coaxing every drop out of him when you feel his hand thread through your hair and pull you off of him. you gasp in a combination of surprise at his escape and the feeling of him forcing you to meet his gaze by his grip on your hair.
“not like this,” he warns, not wanting to cum just yet. you don’t bother questioning how the fuck he got out of the belt as he flips you, your back hitting the sheets for the second time that night. “let me take my time with you.”
“doesn’t that defeat the purpose of me paying you back?” you ask, tilting your head in question as his hands separate your thighs to make room for him.
“trust me,” he scoffs, a filthy smile hanging off of his face, “this is more than enough.”
san loops his fingers around the lace fabric to pull it aside, exposing the way you’re already a soaking mess for him. even in the dark, you can see the way his pupils blow wide before he glides his fingertips along your folds, an approving sound slipping out of him as you coat his fingers. his free hand wraps around your throat as the other plunges into you, moving in and out at a dangerous pace.
a drawn-out moan escapes you as you ball the sheets around you into tight fists, writhing under san’s touch as he curls and slides his fingers across all the right spots inside of you. not even a second of you squeezing your eyes shut passes when you feel san’s grip around your throat tighten.
“look at me,” he commands gently, his thumb brushing along your jaw as his pace quickens. you oblige, your mouth hanging open as you try to steady your breathing. it’s increasingly difficult with the way his thumb massages against your clit, his other fingers curling relentlessly inside of you. the familiar tightening in your stomach pulls a groan out of you, clenching around his fingers in anticipation.
one final pump of his fingers has you undone, arching off of the sheets with staggered whimpers as you ride out your high. san slows, slipping his fingers out and lowering himself so that he can lap up every last drop of you. he runs his tongue through your folds, stopping to suck on your already swollen clit with a low, breathy moan. the overstimulation twists and turns in your stomach as you buck your hips against his face with a cry of his name. he laughs to himself, swiping his tongue over his bottom lip before lifting himself back up to capture your lips in another kiss.
“let me fuck you,” san begs against your lips in a whisper, “please.”
you scoff, relishing in his neediness as you reach for the waistband of his jeans to shove them off. in no time, every article of clothing is strewn across the bedroom floor as he positions himself at your entrance, his strong arms caging you in on either side of your head. you watch the way his expression shifts with every inch of him sliding into you, the way his brows furrow and his lips part with a soft shudder.
san falls into a steady rhythm once he’s bottomed out, holding your gaze with a desperate plea in his eyes. every breath that comes out of him is ragged as your nails dig into the skin between his shoulder blades. his body molds against your perfectly and you let out a string of whimpers at the way he hits just the right spot with every thrust. he finally tears his gaze away from you only to bury his face in your neck.
“fuck,” he groans against your skin, his hips snapping against yours relentlessly. you can feel his pace falter for just a second and glides your hands down to his waist, your nails pressing into his skin more intently as you guide him into a deeper rhythm. when you drape a leg around him to pull him in closer, he obliges and nips at your earlobe with a strangled moan.
you throw your head back, leaving skin exposed for san to devour as his name slips past your lips in another whimper. he growls and presses his forehead against yours, slick with sweat as he whispers to you how good you feel and how good you were for taking him so deeply.
“s-san,” you stutter, your breath mingling with his, “i’m gonna—”
you’re unable to finish your sentence when san picks up the pace, the sound of skin on skin filling the room as every inch of you is rocked with pleasure. a groan through gritted teeth comes out of you instead when he presses a hand to the back of your thigh to lift your ankle onto his shoulder. he fits even deeper into you, thrusting you into the sheets with a stifled whimper of his own,
“san,” you whimper again, nearly begging this time as your stomach tightens from the new angle. the fucking grin that spreads across his face as he pounds into you sends you over the edge, waves of pleasure rolling over you as you twitch and jolt beneath him from the high. you clench around him to suck him in and he gasps, hips bucking before he slips out so that he’s able to finish himself off. a few pumps of his hand later and he cums all over your stomach, streaks of white across your skin as he heaves to steady his breathing.
“you’re a mess now,” he scolds, immediately reverting back into his gentle persona as he lifts himself off the sheets and heads into the bathroom for a towel. you sit up, your muscles sore as you blink the haze from your vision and stare into the darkness that engulfs his apartment. his silhouette returns carrying a towel and one of his oversized hoodies, a black twin to his gray from earlier that night.
“i got it,” you assure him, taking the towels and wiping yourself off as san reaches gingerly for the hair that’s fallen over your face. you still for a split second, noticing the way your heart still skips a beat even after the post-nut clarity. slipping into his hoodie and your underwear, you reach for the glass of water perched on his bedside table and take a long, much-needed sip.
san sits across from you on the sheets, cross-legged as he fiddles with his fingers awkwardly. he’s wearing sweats now, a pair he must have grabbed when he left to fetch you a towel. you stare at him in silence, his lips swollen and red and his hair disheveled.
“i’d say we’re even now.” you finally cut through the silence, earning a quiet laugh from san as he runs a hand through his hair.
“you might have overpaid, actually,” he admits, leaning back on his palms as his eyes trail over you. already you can feel the heat reignite inside of you and silently scold yourself. “that was …”
“was …?” you urge, leaning forward so that your lips nearly touch his. san chuckles and cups your face, brushing aside a strand of hair with his thumb.
“really good.”
“might need to ask you to help me out more often, then.”
“you just might.” he presses a swift kiss to your lips, gesturing to the empty bed behind you. “it’s late. you should probably crash here and i can take you back to the garage for your car in the morning, if that’s okay?” you nod, about to head to the couch when he captures your wrist. “no, no! you should take my bed. i’ll sleep on the couch.”
“you really don’t have to—”
“i insist.”
“i mean …” you trail off, scanning his face as he looks at you expectantly. as much as you appreciated his gentlemanly tendencies, a much larger, much more insatiable part of you wanted him to stay wrapped around your finger for just a little while longer. “your bed’s big enough for the both of us, is it not?”
san’s face flickers with understanding as he shakes his head, trailing his hand from your wrist to your waist so that you fall back onto the sheets beneath him.
“i’d say it is,” he confirms and nudges your thighs apart with his knee. “sounds like it’ll be a long night.”
“don’t worry,” you scoff, draping your arms over his shoulders so that he’s pressed against you, “i’ll make sure you’re up on time.”
“and if i start falling asleep while i’m working at my desk tomorrow?” san asks, feigning concern. “what then?”
“oh, i’m sure you won’t be.”
“is that so?”
*
“are you okay with setting up another meeting for this friday, san?” his mentor asks over zoom the next morning, the scent of coffee filling the living room from a freshly brewed pot.
“mhm,” san replies, clipped with a firm nod as he grips the edge of his desk. his knuckles are white, fingertips digging into the cool metal as his mentor goes on about research protocol and an assignment he needed to turn in.
“do you think you could take a look at the coding we were putting together for the presentation next week?”
“ye—yeah! yeah, i can,” he answers hurriedly, the man on the other end of the call arching an eyebrow in confusion. you stifle the laugh that threatens to escape you, careful not to bump your head as you take every inch of san into your mouth. you can feel how tense his thighs are when you press your palms against them to steady yourself. san rambles about something he was working on and you considered it the perfect time to flick your tongue against the head of his cock. you swivel your hand around his shaft, enjoying the way his voice lilts at the sensation.
“h-hey, uh, i’ll text you,” he interjects, slamming his laptop shut with a huff and leaning back into his desk chair with a frustrated groan. you smile to yourself, slipping out from under the desk and settling onto his lap with a hum.
“you’re gonna pay for that,” san scolds, snaking his arms around you and shifting his weight. you could feel that he was still hard, moving your own hips so that he could feel the friction. a devilish smile graces your features as you grind against him, his head falling back against the chair with a small whimper.
hii first of all i just wanted to say that your writing is inmmaculate and you truly write the best mel king fics. i was wondering if you would be open to writing a smutty fic where mel is dating a musician reader hehe
✉️ thank you for the lovely words nonie! you are truly so kind <3 I interpreted this musician reader as like... instrumental instead of singer, so if that's what u meant, I apologize, but this also let me geek out a little (played clarinet & violin for 8 years... miss them so bad) love you so SO much!
demure! strap usage (r!receiving), cervix fucking, edging, dumbification, clit play (kind of), praise kink, one thigh tap, mel begging a little, overworking, mentions of crying, mel is tired aww wc 1.9k 18+ MEN & MDNI
One thing Mel admired most about you was your work ethic.
Both of you had come from two different worlds that had more similarities than she would’ve guessed initially. But after four years in undergrad together (roommates freshman year, which spiraled into attachment, and nervous at the thought of someone new not understanding her routines, you and Mel had shared dorms and apartments every year after that), and four more after that with you getting your Master’s of Music in Performance and her passing through med school, Mel had concluded that arts and science were crossings in a Venn Diagram. Which, she never would’ve suspected, even with her pretense and internal hatred for any kind of judgment.
The long hours of practice. The competition. How mentally draining it could be to perfect a craft only for the core of the matter to fall to a few minutes–one audition, one procedure–and for the result to be so careless to one’s true feelings. She’d been there the first time you’d auditioned for the San Francisco Conservatory of Music’s graduate program. She’d waited with you by the computer on that day in March for the results to be posted and held you when you teared up at the sight of your name not being on the list. It had been the same for her the first time she’d taken the MCAT and hadn’t gotten the score she’d wanted. You’d held her, lips pressed to her hair as she’d quietly cried.
In both instances, she’d wanted to argue that it wasn’t fair. That those judges you’d played for didn’t understand how you’d had to select the over 30 minute repertoire (which, according to you, had to include a concerto movement–whatever that was–Bach, and a composer from the 21st century), how long you’d practiced, how frustrated you got at times and Mel had to have calmed you down. The stress from the initial pre-screening you’d submitted and the baited joy from passing the first round.
How many hours she’d put into studying, ran herself to the ground, cared for her sister, and balanced all other aspects of her life. Spent her free time researching, TA-ing, and finishing her own studies.
It hadn’t made sense. You both had gotten into Berkeley on the first try. And while the next round of auditions, you’d been at the top of the list, and during the next month of MCAT testing, Mel had been in the 95th percentile, in that moment, she’d understood how similar the two of you were.
So, four years later, she really did admire how hard you worked. Because she knew first-hand how much effort it took to succeed in a competitive, cutthroat field. Much less excel. Because after that first rejection, something inside of you had flipped. You’d learned and grown, and now, you outpaced everyone.
The youngest principal clarinet and principal E-flat clarinet the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra had ever seen.
The thought made her so proud that Mel couldn’t help but feel like she had been the one to achieve it too whenever it surfaced in her mind.
So, yes. Mel loved your work ethic and everything you’d achieved because of it.
But at 12:07 AM, with her having the day shift and you teaching lessons the next day, she was about to confiscate your Selmer Paris (B-flat, thank god, she wasn’t sure if she could handle the high octaves of the E-flat so late at night) and lock it away in the guest bathroom. Which you would severely protest to, worried the instrument would get out of tune or the cork would crack, so, actually, Mel wouldn’t do that. But still, it was too late for you to be practicing.
A solo performance that weekend was the root of your stress. And to say the least, Mel was halfway worried to death that you were going to burn yourself out.
Getting out of bed is difficult when the sheets are warm, and she’s found a comfortable position, and she’s already halfway to sleep, but she’s missing you. And after a beat of silence that has her momentarily convinced you’ve finished practicing, you begin the measures you’d been obsessing over with that stupid run–
Mel’s throwing the comforter off her legs in a matter of seconds, making her way down the short hallway to the living room, where you’re sitting on the couch, back pin-straight with Becca in the armchair, wrapped in a blanket and watching you intently. At the sight of her, hair mussed from almost-sleep and eyes barely open, Becca springs up, rushing off to her room before Mel can get out a word of: “You’re supposed to be in bed.”
Because you’re all supposed to be in bed.
You, however, don’t even pause, eyes glued to sixteenth notes.
And Mel’s been listening to you play for years, knows what your mind is looking for when you get stuck in incessant loops like this. Sure, sometimes your reasoning is justified (she might as well be musically trained now as well), but right now that’s not it. You’re just being picky. Perfectionism leaking into your much-needed sleep. Which Mel will not tolerate.
You complete the excerpt, huffing as you reach for your pencil to angrily mark what’s probably a sharp considering the D-sharp major key. Mel takes the moment to speak. “Are you done?”
Your eyes flick to her momentarily. She sees the exhaustion. But she also sees the fire of how stubborn you could be.
“Sorry,” you mumble, setting the pencil back down and lifting the instrument back to your face. Your thumb nudges at the ligature, adjusting the reed. “This entire box of reeds is terrible. Can’t believe I pay over 36 dollars for only two decent reeds–”
“Because you’ve broken them in,” Mel mumbles sleepily, pushing away from the doorframe to come stand by the foldable music stand. “It’s time to let them sit and harden a little again.” You open your mouth to protest, but Mel is gently collecting your sheet music, sliding it back in its folder. “And it’s time for us to go to bed.”
“I’m not tired yet, Mel– C’mon, I just need to go through measures 128 and 149 again, please–”
She shakes her head, gesturing for you to clean the instrument and put it away.
“You are tired, honey,” she says gently. “You need to listen to your body. I can for tonight, but tomorrow, please, only do a light practice session.”
You let out another tiny huff, reaching for the pull-through swab. “Fine.”
But Mel can tell that you don’t mean it. That you aren’t recognizing your fatigue because you’re on the high of productivity. And, well– sometimes, the only way to get through to you when you were like this, was to lay you face down on your shared bed and lazily fuck you into the pillows.
Your eyes roll back, arms lax even as your hands weakly grip the headboard, as Mel continues her unhurried pace. Long, easy strokes of the strap, the biggest one you owned, sinking into your warm, swollen walls. You were pretty sure every time she buried the silicone into your sopping cunt with that tiny squelch, the tip nudged your cervix. But, again, you couldn’t really think from the sparks of pleasure it was sending up your spine. Only let out tiny squeaks that went along with the quiet creaks of the mattress each time Mel leisurely fucked back into you. Pillow under your hips, her hands skimming over your ribs and breasts and arms to keep you on edge and shuddering like a leaf, the angle and position was meant so neither of you had to do much work.
That pillow wasn’t going to be used to sleep on after this, though. Not with how you’d soaked it.
A small tap on the back of your thigh, barely sharp enough to sting, pulls you from the cloudy state of mind you’d eased into. “How are you feeling?” Mel says, voice soft, but not mumbling, that hand that had slapped your thigh settling on your hip.
You can only answer with a small moan, shifting your body back against her touch, craving to feel more of her. More of her hands and her mouth and her warmth instead of the teasing brushes of her fingers designed to keep you on edge.
Which she picks up on.
Still maintaining the friction your pussy needs to be brought to a peak, which she would deny you, one of Mel’s hands moves to hold yours where they’re on the headboard, the other brushing your hair from your sweaty neck. Her front folds over your back, her sleep shirt soft against your damp skin as her chin tucks against your shoulder to press her lips against the corner of your jaw.
“You’re so beautiful,” she whispers against your skin, the frame of her glasses digging into your cheek. But you don’t care, not when the tip of the dildo bumps against your cervix again and your thighs shake, pussy drooling around where it’s stretched, and you’re right there–
Mel’s hips still, fingers intertwining with yours as she pulls the orgasm away.
You almost sob at the rejection. If it weren’t for the way you were so relaxed after being high-strung all day, or if it weren’t for the gentle kisses she trails from your jaw along your neck and over your shoulders before her lips are returning to your ear. “How are you feeling?” Mel repeats gently against the shell of your ear. And you know she won’t move until you give her a word.
So you force your lungs to work harder than shallow breaths. “Better,” you say shakily after a beat.
To your relief, Mel rocks her hips again. You moan quietly in contentment.
“You’re going to be amazing this weekend, honey. Please don’t overwork yourself,” the plea mixed with praise against your skin. And in this stripped mindstate, this intimate space with the person you trust more than anyone or anything else, you believe it. “No more stressing yourself out either,” Mel continues, and your ears pick up on the hitch in her own breathing.
Her thrusts had turned into more of a grinding motion now, nudging your engorged clit against the fabric of the pillowcase and most likely hers against “I hate seeing you like that. They don’t understand– How lucky they are to have you–” She squeezes your hands with hers, breath warm against your neck. “How wonderful you are… Stresses me out too…”
“Don’t want you to be stressed–” you squeak out softly, managing to lift your head enough to tilt it and meet her eyes. The pressure on your clit combined with the way the strap is grinding against your cervix and the sight of Mel’s flushed cheeks is enough to have your orgasm building again, more intense than last time.
Mel shakes her head quickly, forehead meeting yours. “I’m not, honey, I’m just worried about you.” She sounds whiny, brows pinched together as your half-lidded eyes flutter shut with a tiny gasp.
“Mel–”
“It’s okay…” she rushes out, knowing that tone. High-pitched and oh so pretty, one that you only adopt when you’re about to cum. “You’re so perfect,” she mumbles, letting her lips hover right next to yours as you pant and jerk under her to finish yourself off by fucking against her. “Say it back.”
That heat in your stomach peaks.
“I– mm, m’perfect–!”
Mel’s lips meet yours, her way of comforting you through the mind-numbing high.
And again, as she cleans you up. Again, kissing you goodnight. Again, that Saturday night before you head backstage to warm up and her to the audience. Again, post-performance, bouquet from her and Becca pressing into your arms, exclaiming congratulations about the standing ovation that perfect performance had received.
‘she told you she’s celibate, she told me i could nail her shit’. in which your ex comes back to town, but you are in a new relationship.
ex bf! jungkook x reader
warnings: (kinda??) cheating, there’s some angsty themes (but not rlly idk), mentions of alcohol consumption, yn is a little mean sometimes (but she’s so real), yn is the president of #ihatemybf nation, unprotected, penetrative sex (be safe), ass eating (yup, jk is a munch thru n thru), idk what else
___
Jungkook and your brother, Zane, were always attached at the hip as you grew up in the same neighborhood. Your house was across from the Jeons' house, and ever since you could remember, you had a crush on Jungkook. Jungkook, the boy who stole your heart the moment he came over to play soccer with your brother and accidentally kicked the ball against your head at the tender age of 10, then apologized with a warm hug. You were eight when that happened, but you knew everything. You knew you wanted to marry that boy, and you knew what you felt was real. What you did not know was that the same boy would steal your heart years later and take it with him to Singapore, leaving you stranded.
Your love story started when you began attending college, the same one that Jungkook attended; surprisingly, it wasn’t the same as Zane’s. To Jungkook, that meant he could make a move on you without the awkwardness of your brother and your parents around. After years of waiting for the right time, Jungkook took the chance when Zane told him you were unsure about where to apply to major in psychology. Of course, he recommended that you apply to his school, which, thankfully, had an amazing psychology program. You took his advice and started attending the same university.
Jungkook became your bodyguard, even though he was a computer science major in his junior year, guiding you everywhere and protecting you from any harm, basically never leaving your side. At first, he claimed it was an oath to protect his buddy’s little sister, but at one point, he finally gathered the courage to profess his love for you and asked you out; of course, you agreed, and that’s where your love story began. That’s where a year filled with love, princess treatment, and pampering started. Your relationship remained strong even after he graduated; you continued going on dates, making time for each other daily, and being completely and utterly in love.
Until he received an offer to become a CFO of a large Microsoft company in Singapore, he accepted the offer despite your objections.
___
(a year and a half ago)
“Jungkook, baby, I’m here!” you shouted as you entered his upscale apartment with your spare key, which he had given you the moment he bought the apartment. “Sorry, I’m a little early; I was bored and by myself.”
Jungkook was taking a shower, smiling as his heart warmed at the sound of your voice. “That’s okay, baby. Come join me.”
“No, I already showered before I came here, but you enjoy!” you exclaimed with a giggle, looking for something to occupy yourself until he got out of the shower.
His bedroom was spacious and very neat; Jungkook was a clean person, a quality you cherished about him a lot.
You were bored, trying to find something to entertain yourself with until he got out of the shower when you found something that made your heart race.
On the nightstand, under a book he was currently reading, were two plane tickets. You quickly grabbed one and thoroughly read what was written on it.
* Name: Jungkook Jeon
* Date of Flight: January 15, 2021
* Flight Number: SQ 25
* Airline: Singapore Airlines
* Departure:
* Airport: John F. Kennedy International Airport (JFK), New York, USA
January 15 was just three weeks away. Jungkook hadn’t said a word about his trip to you. He mentioned the business opportunity he received in Singapore once, but you quickly shut down any further talk about it, completely against the idea of him leaving. He hadn’t talked about it since.
Your heart stopped for a millisecond, shock taking over your body. With shaky hands, you quickly grabbed the other ticket; it was the same flight but for a different passenger.
Your name was written on it.
Just as you tried to compose yourself, you heard a click from the bathroom door; Jungkook had finished his shower. You quickly put the tickets back where you found them. He entered the bedroom with a big smile, a towel hugging his lower body, strong arms and defined abs on display.
“Hey, gorgeous,” he leaned over your frozen body and planted a kiss on your lips before noticing the tenseness in your posture. “Hey…what’s wrong, my angel?”
“What’s wrong?” You let out a humorless laugh. “What’s wrong??”
Jungkook stood in front of you, confused and nervous, still half-naked in just a towel.
You grabbed the tickets and faced him. The color drained from his face.
“Baby, I was gonna tell you about it,” he tried to explain, but your harsh expression didn’t soften.
“When? The day you’re supposed to leave?” you said sarcastically. “Oh wait, I’m sorry, the day we are supposed to leave?”
“Yn…” the voice you usually loved suddenly angered you.
“No! Just no! How could you do that?! I told you, I don’t want this!!” Angry tears started forming in your eyes. “You can’t just make a huge decision like this without telling me!”
“I know it wasn’t a good move, baby, but this is a huge opportunity for me; you have to understand,” he tried to touch your waist, but you pushed his hands away.
“You’re joking, right?” you exclaimed, your hand in your hair as you chaotically walked around with the plane tickets in your hand before stopping. “It’s not like I don’t understand; I do! But I don’t understand how you can just decide something so big for both of us and assume I’m going to go along with it!!”
The tension between you and him could be cut with a knife, your words throwing flames of anger at him.
“Yn, if you would just listen to me for a second,” Jungkook’s voice was steady, but there was a hint of desperation. “I want you to come with me; you can continue your studies there, and we’ll get married. We can come back for every holiday and every vacation I get; it’s gonna be good. We’ll be fine.”
“And you haven’t once stopped to think about what I want? If I want to leave everything behind and move with you to Singapore, only to come back on HOLIDAYS?? Jungkook, my family is here; damn it, your whole family is here. Did you not think this through?” you yelled at him, pushing your fingers against his chest. “And what’s wrong with your current job? It pays well; it’s here! There’s nothing wrong with it.”
“I just graduated from college last year! Do you know how often I could get an opportunity like this? Probably never, and let’s be honest, nobody’s getting any younger, so I’m going to take this job!” he exclaimed, but then his voice softened again. “I can provide for us with this position, Yn; I’m going to be a millionaire my first year. This is what I dreamed of ever since I started college: to get a good job and be set for life, not just for myself, but for my future wife as well, for you.”
“Well, I guess your future wife’s a very lucky woman then, but I’m sorry, Jungkook,” you took a deep breath, tears still brimming in your eyes. “It’s not going to be me.”
Jungkook got on his knees, his head touching your leg as he begged. “Don’t say that, Yn, please don’t.”
“I’m sorry; I just cannot do this. Not right now.” You left the bedroom hastily, Jungkook immediately following you, grabbing your arm. “Let me go, please.”
“No! I’m not going to let you go!” he snapped. “You can’t just give up on us this easily, Yn. We have one fight, and you’re ready to leave? What the fuck!?”
“I’m sorry; I don’t even think this is a fight! This is you disrespecting me, my freedom, my opinion, and stepping all over my life like it’s yours to control!” you argued, cheeks flushed from overwhelming anger. “I am not your property! You can’t just control things in my life like you’re in charge of it, okay?! I won’t go to Singapore with you. Goodbye.”
As you moved to the door, he stepped in front of you, his body towering over yours. “You didn’t even think about it, Yn. Singapore is a great place; if you transfer to a school there, you’ll still get a very good education. The quality of life is amazing; the house I bought for us is huge. You’ll have enough space for yourself, and there’s even a library, baby; you’ve always wanted a library in your house. I found you a school with an amazing psychology program near our house and my work; you don’t need to think about money at all; I’ll pay for everything. I’ll get you whatever you want, baby; just come with me.”
“Our house??” You asked in disbelief. “Did you just completely lose it? You didn’t ask me if I want to come with you, and you already bought me a ticket and a house?”
It was evident that Jungkook’s patience was wearing thin as he jabbed his cheek with his tongue. “I’m sorry that I want to move forward with our relationship, Yn. I thought we talked about this: we want to get married, get a house together… have kids. What’s suddenly so wrong with that?”
“You’re right; we did talk about these things, but for later and for here! After I graduate, not when you suddenly decide you’re ready, Jungkook,” you explained, your voice a little less harsh than before. “A relationship means working together as a team. It doesn’t mean you get to make life-altering decisions behind my back.”
“So, what does this mean now?” he inquired, his heart pumping with fear.
“I don’t know; I don’t know,” you fidgeted with your hair intensely, eyes shut, clearly unsure of how to proceed. “I just really don’t want to see you right now.”
And that was the last time you saw Jungkook. You didn’t attend the farewell party your brother threw for him, nor did you say goodbye on the day he left. You successfully fought all the urges to reply to his messages or call him back, which led to an empty feeling in your heart.
You were not ready to forgive him.
At one point, you unfollowed him on all social media, muted his number, and refused to look at the pictures and messages he sent you from Singapore; you simply couldn’t.
Deciding to focus solely on college, a little over a year after Jungkook left, you graduated with honors. During the time you learned to navigate life without the love of it, you also learned to be happy within it. You cut off any thread that led you back to the feelings you had for Jungkook.
Eventually, you started living without the aching emptiness in your heart again, yet there was always something missing. You always feared you knew what – or who – it was.
___
You didn’t really know how to describe your current state.
Now 23, you had graduated college, had a steady job, and were in a relationship that was going well. From the outside, it seemed your life was perfect; there was nothing more you could possibly wish for.
You were content with where you were, but there was always something missing. Something indescribable that you subconsciously searched for.
Work was your way of distracting yourself from feeling like that, avoiding confronting your feelings at all costs, which was ironic, considering you studied psychology.
You were working on a report on your day off when Eric, your boyfriend of eight months, called your phone. You couldn’t help but sigh, yet you picked up reluctantly. “Hey.”
“Hi, baby! How is my superstar doing today?” Eric’s cheery voice spoke. “I miss you, and I thought since it’s your day off, we could go get bagels and coffee. I’ll pick you right up!”
Bagels and coffee... you were sick of getting bagels and coffee with Eric. You couldn’t remember the last time he planned something new or exciting for you.
“I’m sorry, Eric, I can’t,” you said in a distant voice. “I’m working on a report, and I have to finish this one... but we could do this another time, right? I mean, there’s always bagels and coffee.”
Eric felt uneasy with the idea that you felt so comfortable not seeing him for weeks and not even checking up on him; he was always the one to call you. If it were up to you, he wouldn’t know where you were half the time.
“Everything okay, babe?” Eric asked. “You want me to come over, cook you something? Give you a massage? Help you with your research?”
‘No, god, no,’ a voice in your subconscious mind said.
“No, it’s fine,” you reassured him, still focusing on the MacBook in front of you instead of your boyfriend. “We’ll just see each other sometime this week, alright? I’ll let you know when I’m free.”
This conversation summed up your relationship with Eric.
He was a sweet, respectful guy who worshipped the ground you walked on, seemingly always a step ahead of you in the relationship. He was already talking about your future together while you were unsure of spending a full weekend with him alone.
It freaked you out. You had only been in one relationship before, but with Jungkook, everything seemed to fall into place: both completely and utterly in love with each other, (almost) always on the same page, never wanting to leave each other’s sides, no subconscious voices in your mind or feelings in your gut telling you something was wrong; just pure excitement and joy.
You told yourself it was you growing up, becoming a ‘real adult,’ but the more you told yourself that, the more you recognized it was a lie.
At least your relationship with Eric gave you one thing you were looking for: peace.
___
Jungkook was back in town after exactly one year and seven months.
It was a small town; people talked and gossiped about everything and everyone, but that’s not how you should have found out about it, given that your brother was the one who picked him up from the airport.
It irritated you that your brother thought you were too fragile to let you know that his best friend, your ex, was coming back to town.
He didn’t know exactly what happened between you and Jungkook; neither of you went into the details of your breakup. He only knew how much love there was between you and that you weren’t willing to talk about Jungkook or hear his name during the initial months after the breakup.
He assumed it was a bad one.
You decided to call him just to see if he would mention anything about Jungkook being back.
“Hey, sis, how’s it going?” your brother answered after a few rings.
“Hi, Zane,” you bit back any snappiness. “I’m doing well. Where are you?”
He hesitated for a few moments, then you heard his footsteps, obviously walking away from whatever scene he was in before. “Just out with some friends…”
You loved how much of a bad liar your brother was.
“Who?” your curiosity was palpable.
“Damn, why do you care so much?”
“I don’t know, Zane; maybe because I heard from some girls at the nail salon that you picked Jungkook up from the airport two days ago,” you said, dumbfounded. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
He sighed into the phone, tsk’ing lightly. “I’m sorry, Yn; I just didn’t know how you were gonna react, you know?”
“Oh my god, I am not a baby! I can handle it,” you declared. “So what if Jungkook is back? What am I gonna do now? It literally changes nothing about my life. You could throw him a party and invite Bella Hadid for all I care.”
Truthfully, Jungkook being back in your orbit did mean something to you. Your first love was back where he belonged after long months without this place seeing him; it almost made you emotional to imagine him back in his childhood home, back in his first apartment after graduation, and back with your brother playing basketball in the yard and…
“Actually, I am,” your brother hesitantly revealed.
“You’re throwing him a party and inviting Bella Hadid??” You only realized how ridiculous that sentence sounded after it came out of your mouth.
“No, just throwing him a welcome back party,” he chuckled a little. “You can come if you want! But only if you want; like, don’t feel pressured to be there. If you don’t come, I’ll totally understand–”
“I’ll be there!” you interrupted your brother’s rambling, who was nervous because he knew what you turned into when you were mad. “And Eric will also be there.”
“Eric?” Confused, he asked, as if he didn’t remember where he heard that name before. “Oh, yeah, your new boyfriend. Yeah, sure, take him with you.”
Even though Zane truly felt it wasn’t a good idea for your current boyfriend and Jungkook to be in the same room, he was inclined to agree with you.
You were going to attend Jungkook’s welcome back party with Eric, and you were going to look absolutely beautiful.
---
After visiting every boutique in New York with your girlfriends to find the perfect dress for your brother’s party, you finally found it and called Eric last minute to inform him that he would be your plus one for this party.
The dress you picked out was a gorgeous red number with a flattering off-the-shoulder cut and delicate lace accents, striking the perfect balance between sexy and classy, accentuating your curvy silhouette; you aimed to impress.
Eric wasn’t aware that Jungkook was your ex; he only knew that the party was for your brother’s best friend who had returned from overseas. He didn’t care whose party it was; he just thanked God that you finally called him and let him see you.
Your girlfriends knew you were indulging in self-destructive behavior by going to a party solely for your ex-boyfriend after not seeing him for almost two years, but they also knew nothing they would say could stop you, and they seemed to think you deserved closure. All of them suspected that you were still hung up on Jungkook, but none dared to speak of it until you decided to, which you hadn’t.
As you arrived at the bar your brother rented, hand in hand with Eric, his friend Marcus was the first to greet you with a big grin, evidently already too drunk for his own good.
“Hey, Marcus, you know where Zane is?” you asked, only to receive a drunkenly slurred ‘nah, but probably in the back somewhere’ as an answer.
While you walked into the place, you couldn’t help but silently praise your brother’s dedication; the venue looked good, nicely decorated with a huge sign that said ‘Welcome Back, Jungkook’ on it.
The crowd was enormous, making you almost trip in your high heels, but thankfully, you caught yourself on Eric’s arm.
“This will be the first time I meet your brother. I can’t wait!” Somehow through the loud noise, Eric still managed to be audible. “It’s about time, you know? I mean, you’ve met my entire family; I was wondering when I’d get to meet yours.”
“Yeah,” you sent a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes his way and walked forward, until you finally saw a glimpse of Zane, seemingly engaged in an animated conversation. “He’s there!”
With gathered confidence, you gripped Eric’s hand and walked over to Zane; even though your eyes didn’t see him yet, you knew that if Zane was there, Jungkook couldn’t be far.
“Zane!” you called out to grab his attention, but the music was too loud and he was too engaged in the conversation to hear you, so you approached him closer, gripping Eric’s hand like your life depended on it.
When Zane finally saw you, he waved at you, excitedly signaling you to come closer, so you did. But there was no sign of Jungkook yet.
“Yn!!” he shouted, having indulged in some drinks himself. “Hey! Come here; let me get you a drink.”
He didn’t even spare Eric a glance before turning around, but thankfully, you gave him a subtle nod in Eric’s direction, which he immediately picked up. “Hey, man, I’m Zane, Yn’s brother. You must be Eric. How’re you doing?”
Zane gave him a friendly smile and offered him a hand, which Eric immediately shook. He was giddy to say the least, just as he opened his mouth, a deep voice from behind you interrupted him before he could speak. “Ey, Zane, there’s no fucking pizza left! It’s my damn party, and I didn’t even get a piece of pizza!”
Jungkook’s playful voice halted you for an instant. Your back was still turned to him, but as he approached the three of you, he slowly recognized who stood in front of him.
Now, he stood next to your brother, paralyzed for a second before he let his eyes wander down your face, then your entire body; a shimmer of desire and longing that could not be overlooked formed. He studied your familiar body, every curve that was once only his to touch, to explore, and the eyes that looked back at him with an innocence he could not resist.
His attention flickered to Eric for a second before fully turning to you again, with darkened eyes and flared nostrils; you were sure from his expression that Zane told him you were in a relationship now.
Your eyes wandered just the same, spotting new tattoos and much bigger biceps; he looked disgustingly handsome. He was bigger, and his presence seemed even more powerful than before he left. His hair had grown a few inches, but what always stayed the same were his eyes that never stopped looking at you the same way.
There was an awkward silence that even Eric detected before Jungkook spoke up. “Yn… it’s good to see you. You look beautiful, of course.”
There was something deep about the way he said those simple words; it was evident there was a lot more behind them.
And there was so much you wanted to say too, but all you could muster was, “It’s nice to see you too.”
You felt Eric’s and Zane’s gazes swinging from you to Jungkook while you two were lost in each other’s eyes; Eric was confused, trying to figure out what was going on, while Zane was amused yet cautious of what would happen if he left you two to it, with your boyfriend by your side.
“So, I think we should all get something to drink,” Zane was the one to break the silence before patting Jungkook on the shoulder. “C’mon, man; I’ll get you that pizza.”
They moved along, leaving you and Eric alone for a moment.
“So, do you know that Jungkook guy?” Eric carefully asked, not wanting to push you.
“He’s my brother’s best friend; of course I know him,” you answered a little snappily. “And he used to be our neighbor.”
Eric simply nodded, his grip on your shoulder tightening a bit before you slipped out of it, saying, “I’m gonna get a drink too.”
But you actually left to catch a breath of fresh air on the balcony. You felt someone following you, but convinced yourself it was paranoia until you felt the warmth of a larger body lurking behind you. You turned around and saw Jungkook looking at you with an indescribable expression.
“Please tell me that’s your new gay best friend,” he started, now standing next to you, hands on the balcony railing.
“What?” You turned your face to look at him, a sigh escaping your lips.
You were pretending that his presence didn’t affect you, pretending that you were even slightly annoyed he followed you, but you knew you wanted him to and you were glad he did.
“The guy you came with,” he clarified, a waiting gleam in his eyes.
You knew he knew that Eric was your boyfriend; he was just acting oblivious to get you to feel bad and to start a conversation about how Eric wasn’t ‘the right one for you.’ He might have been gone for over a year, but you knew Jungkook. He was predictable to you.
“No... he’s my boyfriend,” you clarified with a huff. “And what’s it to you anyway?”
He put his hand up in defense, a small smirk forming on his pretty face. “Nothing, nothing... just didn’t think he was your type is all.”
Despite not having figured out your feelings for Eric, Jungkook’s words pushed you to defend him.
“What do you mean ‘not my type’? Eric is a sweet guy, the sweetest actually, and any girl would be lucky to be with him,” you asserted, your heart racing. “He is gentle and a good communicator, and he loves me. And he would never do anything behind my back.”
Jungkook’s nostrils slightly flared as you talked about another man; he had always been the possessive one. He noticed how your stance wasn’t firm and the knitted expression on your eyebrows; a sign of uncertainty on your face he knew too well. “He loves you, huh? No doubt about it... do you love him though?”
Your breath hitched, and you felt faint for a second, not knowing how to compose yourself; you didn’t love him, no matter how much you tried. You always found yourself longing for something else... someone else. You didn’t know what to say, so you replied, “He treats me right.”
“I’d hope so...” he started, with an indescribable expression. “At least one person in that ‘relationship’ has to treat you right.”
You knew exactly what he was trying to do: making you overthink your relationship to come to the conclusion you two belonged together. But your half-healed heart refused to bring you to that place.
“What are you trying to accomplish, Jungkook?” you asked, saying his name as if it were venomous. “You left for Singapore almost two years ago; what was I supposed to do? Wait around for you until you remembered you had people who wanted to see you here? People who missed you?”
Now, he wore a spiteful expression, jabbing his cheek with his tongue. “No, you should have picked up my calls, answered my messages, let me know how you were doing. You should have at least let Zane let me know. You blocked me out of your life entirely; we are – we were in love, Yn. That doesn’t just go away overnight.”
You scoffed sarcastically to mask the pressure in your heart, affected by his words. “You think it was easy for me to do that? Guess what, Jungkook! It took a lot longer than ‘overnight’ for me to get over you, and if I had answered your calls and messages, maybe I still wouldn’t be over you!”
At that point, the loud party was a soft background noise for the two of you; you were too indulged in the rising tensions - your raising voices the only thing consuming you. Even during fights, there seemed to be no one else around you - for you.
“I wanted you to come with me! I got you a ticket, remember? The house is designed exactly how you envisioned your dream house,” he started, pain evident in his voice. “Yet, I have to live in it alone while everything reminds me of you.”
Your heart was breaking all over again, the sorrowful reflection in his gaze influencing you more than you wished. Yet, there was a rational part of you that recognized you had to stand your ground, defend yourself. You had good reasons to do what you did.
“Maybe you should have told me that before you bought a ticket for me without consulting me first!” you ranted, reminiscing the shock you felt at finding the tickets. “Or maybe you shouldn’t have taken the job offer and just stayed here like I wanted you to!!”
Jungkook had envisioned multiple scenarios about what would happen when you would see each other again. He thought about it all the time, while he was working, during sleepless nights without you by his side, while showering, working out, or fucking women that meant nothing to him... he knew exactly what you were going to say, if you would be willing to talk to him. And you were, and that made him feel happy despite the arguing because at least you were willing to argue with him, to talk to him.
He knew you, maybe more than anybody else did. He was convinced that the love between you two transcended any boundaries or obstacles.
“I know,” he admitted defeat, his voice velvety. “And I’m so fucking sorry, but please, baby, just give us another chance. I’m staying here for six months straight, and the offer to come with me after still stands.”
You felt conflicted; on one hand, you could not believe his audacity, and on the other, you were satisfied to know that he still wanted you, just like the last time he saw you.
“You can’t be serious!” you snapped. “I’m with Eric, and you can’t just come here and pretend like nothing ever happened.”
Jungkook felt your patience spreading thin and decided to go against his usual instincts to persuade you further. “Alright, I’m sorry. I just need to know one thing.”
“What?”
“Is he fucking you good?” he inquired, a possessive gleam in his eyes.
The question hung in the air like an unanswered prayer for a moment. You stood frozen before him as if you weren’t expecting him to ask that, as if you weren’t sure how to answer it.
And you truly didn’t.
“I don’t know,” came out in a whisper.
The truth was, you hadn’t let Eric that far yet, and you weren’t planning to do it anytime soon. He had an inability to make you wet, and whenever he went any further than touching your waist, you felt a slight sensation of disgust, like you would rather be fighting in a war than let Eric be inside you. You opted for telling him you were celibate, which wasn’t entirely a lie.
“What do you mean you don’t know?” Jungkook was confused, trying to decipher what you were trying to say.
“It means,” you started, slowly regaining your snappiness, “that I don’t know! I’ve never had sex with him.”
It was now Jungkook’s turn to say ‘what?!’ and it suddenly made you very aware that there were crowds of people just inside, Eric being one of them. You were lucky there were so many people blocking the view into the balcony, because if there weren’t, Eric would have found you a long time ago.
Jungkook was evidently happy with the revelation, smiling like an idiot.
“Stop smiling like that!” you hissed, motioning with your hands. “I’m just not ready yet. I told him I’m celibate. It’s none of your business anyway; why am I telling you any of this?”
Jungkook obeyed your wishes and stopped smiling; instead, he burst out laughing, so amused. “So you’ve been dating for eight months, and you still haven’t fucked? Damn, ma... we did it after the first date... and every day after.”
Before you could answer, your brother entered the balcony. When he saw you and Jungkook face to face, deep in a conversation or rather an argument, he gazed between you with an indescribable expression.
“Yn, Eric’s been looking for you everywhere,” Zane informed you with what you called ‘warning eyes’ digging holes into your face as you went back inside, leaving the two best friends alone.
___
The two weeks following the party were filled with work, for you and Jungkook alike. You didn’t run into each other again, but you did decide to unblock him.
You thought it was petty and unnecessary to deny him access to you when you would surely see him during his six-month stay here. You also wanted to see if he would notice and maybe hit you up occasionally; which he did.
Good morning texts and daily ‘how are you’s?’ filled you with an unspoken joy that you felt shouldn’t have been there, but you defended yourself by thinking, ‘I cannot control my feelings.’
Your conversation on the balcony made you think a lot through, specifically your relationship with Eric. You decided it was time to open up to him, giving him a chance to take you out properly, which he had been trying to do for a while.
So, you were getting ready for a romantic night out with Eric, putting on a gorgeous, tiny black dress that accentuated your curves and applying makeup that made you resemble an effortless beauty.
You planned to be honest with him about where you thought the relationship was headed.
---
You met up with Eric at a nice Italian restaurant in the middle of the city.
After a little small talk and finishing your meal, you sat in an awkward silence as he admired you.
You could feel something unusual but brushed it off as your usual paranoia. Eric was always a jolly person who wasn’t afraid to show his love in sometimes very overbearing ways.
“You know, Yn,” he started and suddenly got on one knee. His loving gaze spread pity over your conscience, his position weighing heavily on your chest. “I’ve never felt this way about anybody; you are bright like the stars and beautiful like a flower. I find you in everything around me. You consume my soul, Yn. I... I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you marry me?”
He took out a red box and opened it, revealing a small diamond ring. Eric waited a moment for your answer, but you sat frozen; it was too much. With the people around you watching, and Eric’s slowly saddened eyes gauging your reaction, you did not know what to do.
You questioned Eric’s self-awareness more than anything; when had you ever given him the impression that you wanted to marry him? You were sure you had never even given him a reason to think you wanted to be in a relationship with him!
You knew Eric’s lack of self-awareness would present a problem sooner or later, but you just wished it wasn’t in such a public setting, in front of at least twenty people.
Your breath quickened, and your heart tightened. You couldn’t do this anymore.
So, you grabbed your purse, stood up, and left with a hurried, “I’m sorry; I can’t do this,” leaving Eric with a humiliating crowd and a broken heart.
It felt like the right thing to do.
- - -
Once you ran to your car without looking back, you drove away from the scene.
You were so lost in thought that your subconscious acted; you set off in a direction you had not intended to go. You drove in the exact direction of Jungkook's apartment, as if it hadn’t been two years since you were last there, as if you were returning from work and it was your house.
As if your heart, and not your head, had guided you. If you had been thinking clearly at that moment, you would have given yourself a slap and reminded yourself who you were.
But you didn't, because as your grandma used to say, “Love makes a person lose their mind.”
You parked your car next to his luxury car. He still lived in the same apartment where you last fought, where you had countless sleepovers, where you lost your virginity, where you shared secrets, and made love in every corner.
You cursed and loved that apartment at the same time.
With a fog-clouded mind, you entered the complex and took the elevator to the fourth floor. Finally, you knocked on his door, '4B,' a few times before a confused Jungkook opened it.
He stood there in all of his glory, wearing grey sweatpants and an oversized black shirt, looking back at you with a questioning yet yearning gaze. “Yn?”
His voice immediately sent shivers down your spine, and you wanted to live in the eyes that devoured your lightly clothed body. “Can I come in?”
Your voice was smaller and weaker than it had ever been; he could tell there was something wrong but did not ask right away. He simply stepped aside and said, “Of course. Always.”
His eyes ran over the prominent curve of your breasts and your naked legs, begging to be wrapped around his head.
Before he had the chance to ask what was wrong, you threw yourself into his arms and whispered a desperate, “Can you just hold me?” into his ears.
He simply kissed your forehead and carried you to the couch.
You wrapped your exposed thick thighs around his waist and your arms draped around his neck, his hands resting on your hips, holding you as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
You hadn’t felt so safe since he left.
The realization that Jungkook was your safe space suddenly hit you, making you hide your face further in his neck.
He sat on the huge sofa, which led you to sit on his lap, your face still hidden in the hollow of his neck.
His large hand moved from your back to your hip, and you would have loved nothing more than to let yourself melt into his body. You had searched so long for that feeling – the feeling of being back in the arms of the only man you could love.
“What happened?” he asked solicitously, his voice rushing softly in your ears.
You refused to say anything for a few moments, totally unsure of how to explain your situation to him, or if you even wanted to.
Slowly coming out of your hiding place, you looked deep into his eyes; your eyes held a melancholy he noticed immediately. He stroked your goosebump-filled arms and brought his forehead close to yours. The atmosphere was just loving and peaceful.
“Eric proposed to me…” you sighed softly, fingers tangled in his soft black hair.
Jungkook’s eyebrows furrowed. “What?? Did you...” He coughed a bit before continuing, “Did you say yes?”
You sighed even louder. Even though you did not want to discuss it, you knew you had to eventually.
“No,” you answered, trying to maintain eye contact. “I just ran away and drove here.”
It was obvious Jungkook was trying hard to suppress a smile, so he simply wrapped his arms around you comfortingly and gently rocked you back and forth without saying a word.
You were hyper-aware of the fact that the only thing separating your wet pussy from leaving marks on his sweatpants were your thin, almost see-through panties.
You stayed in that position for a while, before leaning in and starting to place wet kisses on his neck, your fingers tightening around his hair.
His breath grew heavier as he held onto the thick flesh of your bare ass, unsure whether to let you go further or stop you.
“Yn...” his tone was uncertain yet aroused. “We really shouldn’t…”
You continued the trail of desperate kisses, unable to resist, with his familiar scent and the feel of his skin against your lips.
You already felt his dick hardening in his boxers as you gently caressed it with your hands, making him groan at the friction.
“Why not?” you asked with a pout, before palming his dick harder while grinding on his thigh. “Don’t you want to fuck me? Do I not make you hard anymore?”
You knew that neither of those things was true; you were just playing dumb to get him to give in to something you wanted, craved desperately. Your body hadn’t been properly touched in nearly two years; you were starting to get needy.
“You’re in a vulnerable state,” he stated in a raspy voice, heavily affected by your behavior. “I don’t want to do something with you that you might regret later.”
You shook your head almost vigorously, gently punching his chest; it was only gentle because your arousal was weakening your body. “No, you don’t get to leave for Singapore for two years and then come back to deny me. If I say I want you, I better get you, okay? I’ve been lonely for almost two years, Kookie; my fingers are starting to cramp from how much I touch myself thinking about it... don’t you dare deny me.”
Despite the urge to chuckle at your approach, your words made him think about you craving him just as much as he craved you; it made him feel validated and less pathetic for thinking about you after all the time and distance.
He was always convinced the love between you two transcended any boundaries or obstacles.
He captured your lips in a passionate kiss, which you reciprocated with whimpers against his familiar lips. There was no way to describe how much you missed this feeling.
Suddenly gripping your hips tighter, he stood up, carrying you to the bedroom like you weighed nothing, your pussy and his clothed dick touching delectably, evoking even more arousal from both of you.
At his bedroom, he gently placed you on the bed, looking down at you with desire-filled eyes. “You sure you want this?”
“Yes!” Your patience was wearing thin. “Just fuck me, Jungkook, and stop talking so much.”
You tugged at his shirt, and he quickly took the hint, stripping it off to reveal well-defined abs and bulging biceps, arms that looked like they could kill someone.
The last time you saw him, he was already muscular and fit, but it was evident that he took his fitness seriously while in Singapore.
You dreamily stared him up and down. “Now, the pants.”
He chuckled at your bossiness but obeyed without hesitation, leaving him in just his boxers.
You were getting impatient, already reaching for your panties to rub your pussy in anticipation, letting out small ‘hmmm’ sounds that drove Jungkook insane.
Now, he was determined to take off your dress, zipping it down hastily and almost ripping it off you if it weren’t for your hands stopping him from ruining a perfectly good dress.
“Baby, you don’t know how much I missed this,” Jungkook breathed out, eyeing you hungrily while you carefully took off your dress.
Once the dress was off, you revealed nothing more than your panties; you decided not to wear a bra because the dress was strapless and it would look silly with one.
Jungkook’s breath hitched, clearly overwhelmed by the sight of your generous breasts. “No bra?”
You shook your head and slowly approached him, roaming your hands all over him and grabbing him by the neck to pull him in for a kiss.
Your chest pressed against his, or more accurately, against his solid stomach because of your height difference; he was acutely aware of your hard nipples.
“Fuck, Yn,” he groaned, his hands roaming your body just the same. “Need to be inside you.”
“Then fuck me,” you urged, tugging at his boxers with hooded eyes and parted lips, desperation and horniness visible. “Just want you to fuck me, Kookie.”
He tilted his head back at your words, muttering a low ‘fuck,’ before positioning himself to enter your pussy. He quickly glanced into your eyes for any uncertainty, and finally, when he didn’t find anything other than an eager, awaiting expression, he entered your tight pussy with a low groan.
Your mouth widened for a second as you tried to adjust to the feel of his dick again, eliciting loud moans of pleasure and slight uneasiness.
He pressed you against the wall for more support, thrusting deeper into you. He watched his dick enter your pussy; it was almost poetic to him how perfectly made for him your pussy felt.
There were no afterthoughts about the situation being wrong, absolutely no overthinking about Eric, who was blowing up your phone while you were getting your back blown by your ex.
It felt right; you and Jungkook knew you were meant to be, and there was nothing that could happen, no one that could come between you. At the end of the day, you were always going to be back in each other’s arms.
“Shit, baby, you’re so fucking wet,” he panted, his lips pressing against your cheeks. “Still so fucking tight for me...”
You let out an aroused purr, already fucked out before even starting. Your hands were gripping his big arms, and your hips were moving towards him, seeking more friction.
“I’ve been dreaming about this moment, baby,” he admitted between low groans, moving in and out skillfully. “You know how many times I fisted my dick thinking about fucking you again?”
“Me too,” you desperately moaned back, bouncing slightly; the sound of slapping skin surrounded the air. “Fuck, Jungkook… love that dick… yes, I fucking love that dick…”
Your barely comprehensible words drove him crazy, gripping your hips and fucking you like you were a fuck toy. “Shit, baby, that pussy’s mine, yeah? Only mine. No one else gets to - fuck - no one else gets to have you like this.”
You nodded, burying your fucked-out face in his broad shoulder, vocalizing the pleasure you felt at every thrust. Your breath tickled his skin, and the warmth of his hands contrasted the coldness of the wall beautifully.
His big dick moved inside of you in a steady rhythm, each thrust making your eyes roll back further.
Your bodies pressed against each other sexually, big breasts spilling out against his strong chest, your hands moving around his back to scratch him harshly, and his grip on your ass and hips becoming almost painful; you were both begging for release.
“Harder, Kookie. Do it harder,” you begged, not caring how desperate you sounded. “That dick feels so fucking good. Oh god, Jungkook.”
He indeed started to fuck you harder, heavy breaths becoming even heavier, lips connecting again and again in sensual kisses. His moans against your lips drove you wild.
The raw intensity of the moment was driving you insane; you felt every inch of his beautiful dick, and he was feeling your pussy entirely, without the almost restrictive feeling of a condom.
“Shit, shit, shit, shit,” he panted with every quickened motion of his dick, his mouth forming an ‘o.’ “Baby, I’m g’na cum. Shit, I’m g’na cum so fucking hard.”
Feeling your high approach as well, you didn’t care about the consequences at all; you planned to go on birth control first thing in the morning, saying, “Cum inside, Jungkook. Please, just fill me up with that cum.”
Your bodies moved together rhythmically, his steady thrusts hitting exactly the right spots as you chased your orgasm. Your eyes locked together and your moans became intertwined.
Low ‘fuck’s and ‘oh god’s were all you heard, as both of you were too deep into the pleasure to formulate real sentences.
With one final thrust and a muttered ‘yes, just like that,’ he found his release, his thick, warm cum deliciously filling you. You closely followed, your back arching and head thrown back, the two of you coming hard.
His broad body momentarily collapsed against yours, both panting hard, still pressed against the wall. He whispered praises and sweet nothings in your ear while trying to regain composure.
“I’m so happy I came here,” you softly kissed him, and he agreed with your words, muttering a ‘me too’ against your lips.
You felt hazy and tired, but you tried to slowly get off Jungkook and get to the bathroom, which you eventually did with his help; he carried you all the way there.
After you finished cleaning yourselves up, you headed straight to the bed. You lay bare on your stomach, still somewhat overstimulated and hazy from the orgasm.
Jungkook gently stroked your backside, muttering things like, “You did so good for me, baby,” and “You don’t know how much I missed this fucking pussy,” before leaning in and biting into your shapely ass playfully, eliciting a gasp from you.
He spread kisses on your ass cheeks and slowly separated them; he stuck his head in between and gave your hole a few licks before gently sucking on the skin of your ass with his skillful tongue.
Your legs started to tremble from pleasure and mild discomfort; Jungkook had eaten you before, but you seldom did that in the bedroom.
The more you thought about it, the more you realized how terrified your brother would be if he knew what you two did.
“Jungkook!” you purred, arching your back for more pressure against his tongue. “Oh fuck… oh my god, oh god.”
Jungkook’s groans and low chuckles sent vibrations through your body, deepening the pleasure and making you seek your high more.
“Fuck, this fat ass is still as good as I remember,” he praised against the sensitive skin, still kneading and spanking it hard. “Wanna stay like this forever.”
He returned to licking and probing your asshole, clearly enjoying your squirming figure. You pushed your ass up, hoping for more friction.
You were practically already fucked out and overwhelmed that you couldn’t answer with more than a simple agreeing moan.
You started grinding your ass against his face, desperately wanting to cum again, enjoying the feel of his tongue against you.
His licks and your grinding quickened, which quickly turned into a series of ‘ah, ah, ah’s as you came undone on his tongue.
When your panting lessened, you turned around, lying on your back in bliss.
You fell asleep in each other’s arms almost immediately.
Jungkook thought this was the nicest way you could have welcomed him back.
___
i hope you enjoy this!! idk if i wanna give this a second part or just leave it like this (cause i have no idea what i would do in the 2nd part actually), but i’m thinking i’ll see if people enjoy it and then think about a part two💋 love uuu
No matter how sneaky Vance always thought he was, Kyle had been one step ahead.
It wasn’t as if he hadn’t anticipated his former Best Friend to follow him after he left the city. After all, Vance Dane had always seemed to do everything in his power to undermine and take the things he loved. He didn’t understand why.
Kyle Marks had befriended him when he was all alone in High School and they never left each others side since then. He shared his hopes and dreams with him, went to the same university to study Media with him. Even got a job at the same advertising agency together. He didnt realize it at first but he noticed that Vance would alienate him from others and started outperforming him when Kyle was starting to get distracted from the anxiety. Vance denied doing so and insisted he was his friend. And yet, the isolation continued.
It got so bad that he couldn’t take it anymore. Instead of picking a fight, he sent in his two weeks notice and moved to another state. He hated that his dream career had gone down the drain. But he had to take it in stride. Be the bigger man. Start over and try his luck with a new career path.
Even if Vance could do this to him, he couldn’t. He was his best friend. And the first man he ever had feelings for. But these days, knowing how far Vance would have gone to destroy him, those feelings had vanished, replaced with anxiety that he would come back.
So imagine his (not) surprise when he saw Vance sneaking into his data lab where he was conducting mind to data physical conversion research.
Vance was the strong one, but Kyle was always faster. A single syringe of tranquilizer to his neck was all Kyle needed.
Vance had slumped to the floor, barely awake from the effects of the drug.
Kyle kneeled down and faced his former friend, ruffling his hair.
“You’re always taking things from me. My dreams. My ambitions. Even the people around me. I let it go because you were my friend but still you persist. I dont know what kind of sick game you’re playing but I’ve had enough.”
Vance grunted as Kyle dragged him by the hair to one of the chairs in the lab. He all but slammed the near unconscious man down and slowly stripped him down to his underwear.
“I’ve taken the high road long enough. I moved away and started over and everything.”
The anger pulsated into Kyles limbs as he attached nodes to Vance’s temples and chest, its wires connecting to a nearby computer.
“All I ever wanted was for you to like me but you still insist on taking from me.”
He felt a tear drop from his eye as he started typing away the commands to start his program. The button on the remote on the table lit up, ready for use.
Kyle stripped to his underwear and grabbed the remote. He approached Vance, who was now fully unconscious.
“Maybe I should take something from you instead.”
Kyle walked over to the chair opposite of Vance and plugged nodes to his own temples and chest.
He stared for a moment, suddenly aware that he’s about to perform a human trial on untested experiment. He was normally rational enough to not let himself perform what could possibly be a crime against humanity. Or worse, death.
But his emotions were getting the better of him.
He deserves it. I’ll make him pay.
Even if it kills me.
And besides… Science requires risk.
There was no going back now.
He stared at his would be body soon. From a distance, Vance looked like he was smiling. Perhaps a reflex of the muscle. No more doubting. This was going to work.
With a heavy breath, Kyle pushed the button.
He felt his body convulse, like electricty was pumping into his heart. His body was sweating and his brain felt like it was getting sucked by a straw. Across, Vance’s body had started convulsing as well, his body arching slightly upward in shock.
For a moment, Kyle felt like this was the end. Maybe he shouldn’t have let his anger win.
And suddenly it went black.
Kyle woke with a start. A ragged breath escaping his mouth. He felt extra groggy.
“Wha-“ he covered his mouth, his voice deeper than usual. He looked down and saw hands that were familiar but not his. And he looked across to find… his body slumped over.
“It worked… It actually worked!” The anger all but disappeared. He had finally succeded.
“I wasn’t hoping to do human trials until later, but this proves it. The mind can be turned into data and moved.”
He ripped the nodes from his new body and walked over to his unconscious old body.
“Maybe now… I can go back to my old life. Maybe it wont be a pipe dream anymore without him getting in the way.” He caressed his old face and slowly lifted his head up by the chin. “Everyone will just think he’s crazy if he starts saying he swapped bodies with me.”
Kyle walked off to grab a towel and look at a mirror. This was a face he was so used to seeing but being inside was a whole new level of ecstacy he was never used to.
“It’s so weird… being in this body. But its…” he wiped his face with the towel and took a sniff.
“…so emasculating. Fuck… Vance is really hot.”
Kyle looked down, his new member straining hard against his shorts. An image he had wanted to see his whole life. And pulling it out confirmed what he had only ever imagined.
“Shit. Mine isn’t bad but this is a whole new level of huge.”
He grabbed hold of his new shaft, the sensitivty eliciting a moan from his mouth. He didnt even process any thought and just started pumping.
“Fuck… FUCK!”
It was like a geyser of white just erupting out of him. The intensity was way beyond anything he’s ever experienced.
He scooped up some from the mirror and gave it a taste.
“Salty…”
He heard his old body stir from behind and he felt an evil grin creep up his face. He walked over as he watched his old body wake up.
“Hey. How’s it feel, Kyle. To have all of this ripped away from you.”
Kyle flexed, feeling the mighty hard muscles from his stolen body. And it felt good.
Vance, in Kyle’s body blinked a couple of times before sitting up. His face remained blank, as if he was still processing.
“Too stunned to speak? Missing all of this? Have a taste of the old you.”
He swiped his cum stained hand over to his old body’s mouth.
“And nice package by the way. Thanks for that. Mine aint bad but sheesh. You sure won the genetic lottery.”
He wanted to be satisfied, but the lack of a violent reaction was souring his victory.
“Well, say something.” Kyle finally said.
Vance stood up and walked over to the mirror. Quiet at first, as if to take in what he now had. Kyle expected trembling, shouting, begging. Anything!
But the words that came out of Vance completely shattered him.
“This was everything I’ve ever wanted.”
Vance raised his new arms, taking in Kyle’s body as if it were a prize.
“W-What…?”
The smile on Vance’s face was anything but the anguish Kyle wanted to see.
“You have no idea how much I’ve dreamed of this… To be in your flesh.”
Kyle’s breathing intensified, everything clearly not going as planned.
“What are you saying? What the fuck is going on?! This is supposed to be my revenge!”
Vance turned around, walking towards him in such a sultry way that seemed ultra foreign from Kyle’s body.
“Revenge? Why would I want revenge? I’ve never hated you nor have I ever wanted to destroy you. Quite the opposite actually.”
Vance hugged himself, feeling his body from every inch of what he could touch.
“Vance..!” It was Kyle’s turn to be speechless.
“You said all you’ve ever wanted was for me to like you. Kyle, liking you was never a problem.”
He licked his cum stained lip as he began exploring his new cock. A foreign feeling from what he was used to but a dream made reality completely ramped up the sensitivity Kyle’s body normally had. But unlike Kyle, Vance was slow, delibirate. Edging himself as he pumped his new cock in front of Kyle.
Kyle felt like he was being manhandled but he couldn’t stop watching. His own new cock springing back up in arousal.
“I’ve wanted you for as looooong as I could remember. Since that day you saved me from my loneliness. I needed you to be mine. And mine alone.”
Kyle’s breath hitched, backing away as Vance approached him.
“I did everything to be at your side. I’ve followed you to your career path. I got rid of anyone that would stand between us. Because all you need is me. No one can have you”
Kyle tripped down to the chair behind him. This time, Vance caressed his trembling face. It terrified Kyle to watch his own face contort into this kind of… lust… that he would never normally have.
Vance planted his lips into his body’s mouth, forcing his new tongue to dance with his old one. He pulled back, letting their saliva bridge and trail down.
Kyle was panting, overstimulated from the revelation and sexual intensity.
Vance purred, enjoying his slightly higher voice.
“It killed me to see you leave. I never realized that the success I was bringing for us hurt you. But its over now.”
He pumped faster now, their dicks and their sweaty bodies colliding.
“I will follow you to the ends of the earth. I wont let anything stand in my way. I trained my body to protect you.”
With his free hand, Vance twisted his old body’s nipple and he ravaged Kyle’s neck with a long, sensual kiss.
“And now… I can. Forever.” He let out a long gutteral cry completely foreign from Kyle’s usual demeanor. A stream of white cum showered Vance’s old body.
He panted, smiling from an orgasm he never felt before. He scooped up some cum and gave it a taste. “From within, I will always have this… delicious body. And no one who ever wants to hurt you will know it was never you in the first place.”
He licked the rest of the cum up and kissed Kyle. Letting Kyle’s former sweet tasting cum swirl within both their mouths.
“Come here. I will show you the depths of my love.”
It wasnt love. It was obsession.
“Vance… Vance, no. Vance-“
Vance covered his mouth.
“Shh… it’s Kyle.”
The new Kyle smiled before planting his new mouth into the new Vance’s dick.
“OH GOD!” Kyle- no, Vance held onto Kyle’s bobbing head as he received the best head he’s ever had in years.
“Kyle… KYLE!”
His new cock warmed up, another round of cum finally erupting. And Kyle swallowed it all.
~
It had been three months since the body swap.
Vance had moved into Kyle’s home and restarted his career in a new advertising agency. Kyle would soon join him, a return to a life he had supposedly “abandoned” and quietly supported him. The experimental research for Kyle’s mind to data project was shelved and hidden away.
While Vance went on to enjoy a life of success, Kyle would enjoy the body of his one true lust love.
“Rest easy baby. I wont let anything or anyone hurt you…”
-
Hey! Etoile Cyber here. I’ve been a long time reader of body swap stories and thought I’d try my hand at wrting one for once!
If you please; what is your Tolberone theory of knowledge?
My theory, which I thought up a few weeks ago while sick with covid, is that all knowledge is a form of art, and that there are very broadly three basic types of knowledge arts: physical arts, philosophical arts, and scientific arts, and that pretty much all academic, artistic and practical disciplines exist somewhere in that triangle spectrum.
Physical arts are knowledges of how to actually, physically do things. The purest front of physical arts are things like dance and navigation.
Scientific arts are knowledges of things that can be tested and proven. Computer programming and Quilting are both scientific arts: they work, or they don't.
Philosophical Arts are knowledges of things which while not objectively provable, are still very real. History and Being A Good Listener are philosophical arts.
Nearly every discipline of knowledge is some combination of all three. Cooking is largely applied chemistry, a scientific art, but it's also a philosophical art because flavor is extremely cultural and contextual, and a physical art because you have to know how to hold the damn knife and heat when it's done.
The first part of toblerone theory is that, like how each piece has three sides, any given project needs at least one person who has a good grasp of each of the underlying arts involved or it's going to go sideways at best. For example:
Physical and Scientific arts, no philosophy: Jurassic Park. They need someone to point out that, while very possible, it's not necessarily a good idea.
Philosophy and Science, no physical: that dril tweet about the forum debate locked by a mod after 12,000 pages of heated debate. They need someone to drag them away from the keyboard and actually do something.
Philosophy and Physical, no science: that cult in midsommar that put a guy in a bearsuit. Without the ability to engage measurably with the world, they give into fear and behave like reactive animals. Also the "rare chicken steak" phenomenon.
You can have differing ratios of each type- Jurassic Park really only needed two philosophers: one animal behaviorist and an OSHA inspector, and 98% of the issues would have been avoided- but you do need at least ONE of each underlying art to check each other's work.
The second part of toblerone theory is that, like how the toblerone is made of many triangle pieces, there are poles to the triangle spectrum. Practical vs Esoteric arts. Short term and long term arts. High stakes vs for funsies arts.
While you have have different ratios and levels of expertise in each of the arts, you do all need them to be on the same piece of the bar, or they won't take each other seriously. A UN Diplomat and a climate scientist aren't going to take the advice of physical artist my uncle Bobby the plumber re: global warming, but they will take the advice of physical artist my Aunt Cheryl the civil engineer, a world expert in getting shit done.
The same applies for the other end of the spectrum. Aunt Cheryl the civil engineer isn't going to get much milage with the local high school student council and principal Waley when the problem at hand is "what are we going to do for this year's prom theme?"
Human caine, but not ANY human caine, we have STUDENT human caine, and MOON, the prettiest and strongest student of D.C. highschool! And the rugby team’s leader! She using those muscles to take care of Caine
Caine comes from CnA program for struggling children, a program that helps kids with childhood traumas to grow into independent human beings, but after an accident with some internal drama the program was aborted and Caine, with his adoptive father/tutor Kinger, decides hes both stable enough and willing enough to go to a seemingly normal high school, one known for the great past students.
In this au all the main circus members except for Caine are somewhat bullies, Jax being the most violent and Gangle just being passive, she’s kind but her fear of going against the group doesnt let her do the right thing, Zooble can be pretty violent but they’re also predictable and doesnt start a fight unless provoked, provoked as in bumped against. Pomni too isnt violent, but she likes taking video of fights.
Kinger is a teacher who instead of reading each file of these troubled kids, tries to study them by simply teaching what he teaches, computer science, and takes care of his son as much as he can. Caine refuses to call him dad till some time passes.
The relationship between Caine and the gang is complicated, he doesnt understand if he’s being bullied or if he was adopted. Jax likes making him fall by taking his cane but doesnt laugh as much when someone else does it. Pomni never takes videos of him and Gangle and Zooble usually help him when Jax (pr someone else) takes his cand away. So hes confused, i dunno i wanted something between angst and comfort.
Then there’s Moon, the rugby team’s leader, a two meter tall woman made of muscles that can work any outfit from the floweriest to the militar style. Moon is very flirty and likes the way Caine fits in her lap like a kitty, she has a sister named Sunny but she should stay away from Caine, for safety reasons. She’s also very passive aggressive.
I dont know man my mind is running three hundred miles per hour creating stuff i cant throw in the garbage for fear it might be a waste and its exhausting but so exciting to keep getting ideas, also sorry for the inconstency but i took these doods from weeks apart and actually i dont give a damn, its two in the morning here, whos making me do this? Why am I making myself suffer, why
