blow my mind | bang chan
Pairing • Chan x GN!Reader
Summary • You have a test today and you haven't studied at all, but you're not worried. Why? Because you have the ability to read minds, and you'll be sitting next to the smartest guy in class. Unfortunately, his thoughts have strayed from the test and into very dirty territory.
Genre • college au, smut, fluff
WC • 1.7k
Content • no pronouns used but reader does have a vagina, mind reading, dirty thoughts about: hand holding 🥰, public sex, fingering, dry humping, unprotected piv penetration, orgasm denial. Indented paragraphs indicate what's happening in his mind and not real life.
Ethically, reading minds is a very dubious subject. As far as you know, you're the only person in the world with supernatural abilities. No one would ever know you're reading their mind, but you have high enough standards for yourself to only use your mind reading capabilities in emergencies.
This was an emergency.
You have a test today, and didn't study. But, you do have a plan. You are going to sit beside one of your classmates and cheat.
You walk into the lecture hall, and scan the room. The class is arranged with tier seating and long tables, and as you work your eyes around the room, you spot him at the very top. You've had a few projects with Chan before, so you know how intelligent he is. You've talked a lot more over the course of the semester, so it wouldn't be weird to sit beside him.
"Ready for the test?" you ask, approaching the table he's sitting at.
He looks up at you and smiles.
"I hope so, I've been cramming all night for this. You?"
"Nope." You grin and give him a thumbs up, pulling out the chair next to him and taking a seat.
"Glad to see you're confident," he laughs.
The rest of the class trudges in, and the test begins.
First thing you write is your name. Easy enough.
You concentrate on Chan, and peer into his mind. He's reading the first question, and after a few minutes of words formulating in his brain, he writes down an answer. You always found it interesting to see how different people think, and Chan's thoughts are muddied as he tries to answer the questions. But when he figures out an answer, everything comes into total focus.
You rewrite his answers on your paper, making sure to use different words. As much as you dislike doing it, this isn't your first time cheating on a test like this, so you know how to not get caught.
A particularly tricky question is next, and you can see his thoughts wander from the test, to the class, to... you. You see yourself in his imagination.
He's daydreaming. This is not good, you need him to focus on the test.
You think about tuning into someone else's mind, but you're captured by what he imagines.
He reaches out his hand, gently placing it over yours. He squeezes it lightly.
You have to look at your hand to make sure it wasn't real. His imagination is extremely vivid. You see movement out of the corner of your eye, which turns out to be Chan shaking his head. Just like that, the image disappears and he's back to thinking about the question.
What was that?
You don't have time to ponder what that could mean when he starts writing down his answer, and you have to quickly catch up to him before he stops thinking about it.
The next question also seems to be giving him trouble, because he stops to think about it for a long time. Eventually, he drifts off into another daydream. He imagines the classroom again, and himself scooting his chair next to you. The version of you in his imagination rests your head on his shoulder. It's very cute, all things considered.
Then it dawns on you. He has a crush on you.
Well isn't that just adorable. It would be cuter if he would just get back to the test before you both fail.
He turns his head to look at you, resting peacefully on his shoulder. He smiles and leans in to kiss you.
Your fingers instinctively brush your lips. It's not rare for people to have vivid sensory imaginations, but you almost never get a tactile experience from your power. He must be imagining the feeling of touching you, enough that you feel it through him.
If only he had Aphantasia, and not the worlds strongest imagination. You don't think either of you will be passing this test.
He moves his hand from on top of yours to caressing your thigh. Then, it moves closer to the waistband of your pants-
You cough loudly, breaking his focus. The image disappears in an instant. You see the muddied words coming back, and he's finally thinking about the test again.
You can feel heat rising to your cheeks. Was he imagining what you think he was imagining?
He has been stuck on this question for a while, so you probably wont find anyone else in class who's still working on it. And even if you could, you'd have to check the minds of the entire class. You're stuck peeping in Chan's mind if you want to possibly pass the test.
It's feels a bit strange to be the subject of Chan's romantic fantasies, but not in a bad way. He's handsome, kind, smart, funny in an awkward kind of way that you've always found charming...
You've never thought about him that way before. But knowing how he feels, you'll definitely be thinking about him now.
You realize you're starting to drift off the same way Chan was, and go back to concentrating on your cheating scheme.
Luckily, he's focused on the right subject now, and he flies through the answers. He's almost too fast, and you have to leave some answers half done in order to keep pace. Hopefully you'll still get half a mark for those ones.
You're on the last question now. He takes some time to read and reread the question, and when he starts to think of an answer, he goes back and reads the question one more time. You're worried, the tricky questions are when he starts to nod off.
He rests his head on his hand and his mind wanders back to his imagination. At this point, you think you should just try to answer the question yourself, but your mind freezes when he continues where he left off.
His hand moves up your thigh, and between your legs. He rubs you over the fabric of your pants, but the friction is enough to feel your core start to pulse. You start moaning involuntarily, and Chan smirks to himself.
'Quiet, we're still in class' he whispers.
He pretends to keep writing with one hand, while the other slips into your pants. You're not wearing underwear, so he can easily move his fingers to circle your clit. You cover your mouth with your fist to stifle a moan. The pace is slow, but you're able to pretend to be working while he works his fingers. You find yourself mindlessly rocking into him. He increases his speed, and you feel your orgasm building while you try to suppress another moan. Your head leans back as you buck into his hand, and you feel yourself about to-
Suddenly, his fingers stop. Your core is still throbbing, but he takes his hand out of your pants. You look at him pleadingly, and he pats his lap for you to sit on. You look around the classroom. Everyone is too focused on their tests to notice you getting up.
You stand to straddle him, and before you can sit down, he unbuttons your pants and pulls them down. If anyone turned around to look, they would see him groping your ass. He guides you down to sit on his lap, and you feel his bulge prodding against your folds.
"Finish yourself on me," he whispers. You try to turn your head to see if anyone's watching, but he stops you. "Just look at me. Don't worry about anyone else."
Nervously, you rub yourself on his bulge, and even under the fabric you can feel how hard he is. When you feel your orgasm building up again, you forget about the possibility of anyone seeing and hump him harder. His clothed dick against your bare cunt clouds your mind, and you try to get as much friction against him as you can. You buck into him faster, and you feel him getting harder as he starts to rock against you.
You feel yourself about to cum again, but he lifts you up onto the desk and lays you on your back.
"Chan, please," you whine. You can't take this anymore, and you rub your legs together to feel any sort of release.
He pulls your legs apart, opening your soaking wet pussy to the world. Before you can even complain, his pants are down, and his massive cock is throbbing against your entrance.
He easily slides himself into you, and you feel him moving up your walls. He fills you up completely, staying there for a moment before pulling out and slamming himself right back in. He rams into you, hitting your sweet spot. His hand is back on your clit, rubbing circles while he continues his ruthless pace with his cock pounding in and out of your throbbing core. He slams into you faster and faster as he chases his own high, losing control as his body acts on instinct. You're almost at your limit, and you feel your orgasm about to peak-
"Time's up everyone! Turn in your tests," the professor announces to the class.
You feel your core pulsing as you snap back to reality. Your heart is beating loudly in your chest, and you realize none of that was real, despite it being incredibly vivid. Somehow, you lost yourself in his fantasy.
You look over to Chan, and notice his erection as he quickly writes something down for the last question. You look back to your own test, and see the empty space where you should've wrote your answer. You have no idea what to write. You don't even remember what the question was.
All you remember was Chan pounding into you at a brutal pace.
You look back to Chan as he stands, and when he makes eye contact, his cheeks turn red and he looks away. He hurriedly stuffs all his things into his bag and speed walks down the steps.
If you want to pass this class, you can never sit next to him again. You definitely should never read his mind again.
However... you do want to know what else he's thinking about when you're near him.
And you really want to know what he's like outside of his imagination.
EPILOGUE:
Two weeks later, your test scores are posted to the schools website. You click on the link to see how you did. As it loads in, you wait with baited breath.
You failed the test.
A/N: I hope someone went to look up what Aphantasia was, and suddenly everything made sense in their life when they realized they have it. And they have to live their life knowing that an incredibly important part of their worldview and way of thinking was discovered by reading a kpop x reader smut fic.
read part two here!
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This Week in BL - Lesbians WIN & I'm excited about a Thai BL again!
Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top.
April 2024 Wk 4
Ongoing Series - Thai
My Stand-In (Thai Fri iQIYI) ep 1 of 12 eps - Adaptation of Chinese novel Professional Body Double by Shui Qiang Cheng. Stars Up (Lovely Writer) and Poom (Bake Me Please) directed by the same team as KP (not a recommendation IMHO - my biggest criticism of KP was the clashing directing styles). The MDL description made it sound complicated af but actually it's not so bad. In fact it's GOOD.
Stuntman Joe dies on the job and wakes up in the body of another Joe who has an entirely different life. But our Joe just gets his new body right back into his old existence, full of friends, enemies, and one troublesome ex. Poom is absolutely killing it in the lead. Mek is perfectly cast as the Actor du Jerk. I’m not sold on Up’s bratty brokenhearted rich kid... yet. The show though, I like it. I like a one (two) night stand starting things off and I like a lot of morally gray characters. Fun fun!
Deep Night (Thurs iQiyi) ep 8fin - The lesbian moms are the cutest thing in the world and my favorite thing this week. Bar none.
Summation:
It's about a host club and all the gay boys in it and some stuff that's not important because... PEOPLE OF EARTH WE HAVE A HONEST REP OF POLY IN A BL. Stand up and raise your hands in prayer to the Thai BL gods because sure as shit no one else was ever going to give this to us. For that alone this show gets 8/10 from me. Bonus Lesbian moms and great kisses.
Two Worlds (Thurs iQIYI) ep 7 of 10 - Say what you want about MaxNat all these years that they've been paired makes them great onscreen boyfriends. And you know me, I'm a total sucker for linguistic negotiation. Makes my heart go all mushy. That said, now that the leads are together, I’m really uninterested in all the drama around the ex-boyfriend/triangle. I'm glad this is only 10 eps.
1000 Years Old (Thurs iQIYI) ep 11 of 12 - They gave me the tiniest teaser for the kinky vampire BL that I have wanted my whole life. And now I'm just fucking annoyed with the rest of the show.
We Are (Weds iQIYI) ep 3-4 of 16 - Q & Toey are the only interesting thing going on. I actually didn’t like this pair in My School President, but I’m enjoying them here. The others are all fine but these two have my heart. I have questions like: did Phum ever get his shopping bags back? And why is Phum driving a different colored car half way through the ep?
Only Boo! (Sun YouTube) ep 3 of 12 - The quality is good (it’s GMMTV) but the acting is... not. Still I loved that Moo just made the confession for both of them. Very in character. Does this plot remind anyone else of Footloose? Just me? Side couple was cute but now a bit too stalker for me.
Ongoing Series - Not Thai
Unknown (Taiwan Tues YouTube & Viki) ep 10 of 12 - It’s fantastic. Such a great show. We are so lucky. This is basically Taiwan’s The Eights Sense. I didn’t know they had it in them, but I’m really glad that they did.
Living With Him AKA Kare no Iru Seikatsu (Japan Thurs Gaga) ep 3 of 10 - As JBL’s go this is way more my speed (than Alaska). It’s just so sweet and awkward but charming about it. The confession was so earnest.
Blue Boys (Korea YouTube) 2 of ? No MDL link - It’s very sexy this one. Not sure what Korea thinks it's doing, but I’m not mad about it.
Gray Shelter (Korea Thurs iQIYI) ep 5fin - summation: About a slacker nursing a crush on the (brief) older stepbrother who abandoned him. Upon finding him again he moves in with him, upends the mans lost suffering life. A dark gritty piece with confusing subs making it too chewy to really grok. It's trying to do too much for its length. The tension is real and the acting is good, it's just everything else stymied clean execution of the core concept. Frankly I spent this show expecting (and wanting them) to just fall into bed together - in a kind of desperate fight sex. It didn’t happen, and I’m disappointed by the non-ending we got. (Whether it’s going to have more in the series or not.) 7/10 I'm open to changing the rank if a part two fixes this one's flaws.
Boys Be Brave AKA Roommates (Korea Thurs Viki) ep 1-2 of 8 - Oh dear. Terrible hair. Jock nerd pairing. OCD baby cakes. Cohabitation trope. Killer side couple. Def unhinged.
At 25:00 in Alaska AKA 25 Ji Akasaka de (Japan Thurs Gaga) ep 2 of 10 - I’m still genuinely not sure about this one. It’s just a little too awkward for me in the wrong way. I expect all Japanese BL to have a certain aura of awkwardness so I don’t know what it is about this one turnign me off. I do enjoy that we’re getting both stories, the one between the actors, and a little bit of the roles that they’re playing on screen but... yeah
Love is like a Cat (Korea Mon Viki) eps 7-8 of 12 - The leads finally had a moment but there is negative chemistry. Why am I watching this?
It's airing but...
Lady Boy Friends (Thai WeTV grey) 16 eps - reminds me a bit too much of Diary of Tootsies only high school. Not my thing. DNF unless it turns a corner and is truly amazing.
Memory in the Letter (Thai WeTV) - 6 eps, when it's done, tell me if I should bother?
In case you missed it
Kiseki Chapter 2 (Sun iQIYI) 6 eps - finished its run but I won't be finishing it. Stays dropped.
GMMTV announced the second half of their 2024 line up. I got excited and picked my favorites, details + trailers here. Basically my ranking is:
The Heart Killers
ThamePo
Revamp
Sweet Tooth
Perfect 10 Liners
The Ex-Morning
Ossan’s Love Thailand
Next Week Looks Like This:
What happened?
Knock-Knock Boys (Thai WeTV) - 4 college friends conspire to help their friend lose his virginity. Familiar faces like Seng (yes, Billy's previous pairing) and Best, news here. But will it actually air this month?
Upcoming BLs for 2024 are listed here. This list is not kept updated, so please leave a comment if you know something new or RP with additions.
THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENT
I have adopted him. He is MINE. I love him, your honor. (The Stand In)
I love them SO MUCH. (Deep Night)
(Last week)
Streaming services are listed by how I (usually) watch, which is with a USA based IP, and often offset by a day because time zones are a pain.
The tag BLigade: @doorajar @solitaryandwandering @my-rose-tinted-glasses @babymbbatinygirl @babymbbatinygirl @isisanna-blog @mmastertheone @pickletrip @aliceisathome @urikawa-miyuki @tokillamonger @rocketturtle4 @blglplus @anythinggoesintheshire @everlightly @renafire
If ya wanna be tagged each week leave a comment and I will add you to the template. Easy peesy.
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Danny no longer has a haunt. So… he decides to find another one. And while he technically has a whole world (other dimensions aren’t an option because he’s going to stay near where Jazz’s grave is, damn it) there’s only a couple of other places with enough ambient ectoplasm to sustain him. Nanda Parbat, Tokyo, and Gotham.
Nanda Parbat had a weird old musty immortal that kept trying to summon him and exchange power for the ability to “take a worthy body and rain as much destruction” as he’d like. As if Danny would need a body to bring the world to its knees.
Tokyo… it’s too far from Jazz’s grave. He could ask Wulf or even open his own portal but when Danny tried it out, Tokyo was too peaceful. Obviously there’s crime, but nothing… nothing big like Danny’s used to.
Danny ends up picking Gotham, even if the sewer zombies and the weird group of rich fruit loops with an adoption problem creeps him out. So, he destroys the portal, packs up his parents’ house and sells it, and hauls ass to the cesspool calling his name. His family’s stuff is stored respectfully in a vault located on the deepest parts of his personal haunt in the Infinite Realms.
And honestly, he’s doing better. Sure, he’s got a shitty apartment near another revenant’s almost-haunt and he feels like he’s drowning all of the time, but Danny isn’t in danger of turning into Dan, he’s catching up on royal paperwork, and he’s got like a job as a barista. In his own coffee shop that paid for using his parent’s money (who, despite their hazardous everything, made a crap ton of money off of their more normal inventions).
Gotham’s got some pretty interesting local gangs, most of which respected the sanctity of Danny’s cafe. Sure, they tried blowing it up and tried extorting money from him in the form of “protection costs” but after three months of failure, they gave up.
(Really, the local gangs gave up when they saw him take three shotgun shells to the chest and continued to work.) (They didn’t know it never hit him. Intangibility is extremely useful.)
The Rogues, on the other hand, just gave Danny flashbacks. Their gimmicks are different, sure, but after years of Box Ghost, Skuller, Lunch Lady, etc., Danny’s more than done with costumed villains. They don’t bother him either. Some of the reason is probably due to Harley and Ivy, who had walked into the cafe and (because they were bruised and scratched up from a fight) triggered Danny’s mother hen tendencies. They were promptly fed and watered and caffeinated and their hyenas were also similarly taken care of. They declared the cafe under their protection and that was that.
Red Hood stops by, and begins to interrogate him. But when Danny met his… helmet eyes? The crime lord paused, paid for his coffee, and sat in a corner table of the cafe for the rest of the day.
And he kept coming back?
But Danny figures it’s because Hood was a revenant and people who had come close to death tends to feel more comfortable around him.
(Considering this is Gotham where people almost die every other day? Yeah, he’s pretty much friends with everyone. Or at least, less likely to get shot.)
(Hood does stay because of the King’s presence and the Pit calming itself, but also Danny’s hot and he’s got a sleeper build and Hood definitely did not imagine himself in the place of the heavy box he saw Danny lift effortlessly onto a table. No.)
But of course, the peace couldn’t last forever. But by then, Danny was so antsy, he welcomed the trouble with open arms.
It starts with a clown. Danny knows who he is. He knows who Danny is.
So, Danny has no idea why the clown thought it would be a good idea to aggravate the owner of Gotham’s official neutral grounds. See, Clovkwork? Danny’s learned how to gauge his own political importance!
“HAHAHAHAHA! COME OUT, DANNY-BOY! LET ME TELL YOU A JOKE!”
Danny comes out and grabs a chair, and with a flat expression, says, “you’re not funny and I hate clowns.”
And then he swings and slams the chair into the Joker’s face. Over and over again until Danny’s sure the clown won’t get back up. The thing about Gotham’s outdoor chairs is that they’re mad out of steel and are bolted down to the ground to prevent undedicated thieves (dedicated thieves can and will steal the bolted down steel chairs). The Joker’s hired muscle just watched this scrawny twenty-something year old yank the steel chair and take some of the fucking ground and the bolts with it and beat the fuck out of their boss who is the literal Joker.
They surrender on the spot and is taken to jail. Danny just smiles at the officers who come by and since he’s got pretty privilege and they don’t want to mess with the guy who, again, owns one of Gotham’s official neutral ground and also beat up Joker without breaking a sweat, the officers just lets him go with a warning.
And then the bats comes, and wow, Danny’s playing mentor to a formally dead person again!
But before that, the Red Hood asks for an autograph on the Gotham Gazette article with a picture of a tired Danny standing over Joker’s prone body. Then Hood stammers through asking Danny out (which Danny said yes to because he’s tired, not blind, and Hood is built like a brick house and HOT).
Batman interrogates him. Danny, who can tell that this man needs therapy and is Sad TM, tells Bats that Danny’s died before and that’s why he’s like this. He also calls Batman a furry, but like in a nice way. And then he kicks Batman out with a coffee and a file on Nanda Parbat.
Now, Danny’s got a date to prepare for and he realizes that maybe this is what Jazz wanted for him- to be happy and mostly safe and happy. (Or, happier, he thinks. It’s been a long time since he’s been truly happy, but this might be a good start)
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take me home, country road
[ao3]
You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (part 8)
part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7
-
Now a nocturnal animal emerges into the daylight hours.
A week becomes two and your shoulders untense. It’s not something you notice at first because you’re used to an ever present strain between your shoulder blades and an ache in your jaw from grinding your teeth at night. Then a fortnight goes by without so much as a missive with your name on it floating across John’s desk or a stranger appearing in town after tracking you down, and you wonder if maybe the world really is big enough to hide in.
It sure feels that way at times. The woods beyond the bounds of John’s property stretch out farther than the eye can see and even walking it feels like you could disappear into another realm. Old spruces shoot up high into the clouds, and deeper into the woods, huge rock formations grow more and more prominent as you near the mountains. John takes you through the woods on horseback, following the rough trails carved into the dirt by a century of wagons and carts using the same path. The footprints of a different time.
Up in the trees, birds warble and chirp, talking to one another in songs that you’ve never heard before. A woodpecker drills into the side of a tree. Pinecones snap out of the upper branches and drop to the forest floor.
There is only a single trail and it’s easy to lose. You grow a bit nervous when John takes you off the trail and deeper into the woods, but he does so with the confidence of a man that knows these woods like the back of his hand. You go quiet when he stops Buttercup to let a herd of deer wander by, the stragglers hurrying to catch up with the group, throwing the two of you nervous glances before they disappear into the thicket.
“Should we be out this far?” you ask in a whisper, reluctant to disturb the silence. Though the woods are full of animals that bleat, chirp, chatter, and hoot, the sound of your own voice feels preternaturally loud and shrill.
“We won’t get lost, darlin’. I know my way around,” John reassures you, curling an arm around your waist to hold you to him. These days, you hardly worry about tumbling off the horse. Not with him at your back anyway.
“That wasn’t really my worry,” you mumble, trailing off.
“Then what’re you getting all worked up about?”
“Aren’t there wolves out here? Or bears?”
He snorts, the sound making you jolt. You don’t topple over because he has such a firm hold around your waist. “They don’t usually come this close to town. They’re more scared of you than you are of them.”
“That sounds like something mothers tell their children to stop them crying,” you say flatly. You draw your legs up automatically when John directs Buttercup through a shallow basin, a shortcut back home. It makes you anxious for a moment, but the water barely goes up to her ankles, so you relax when you realize that you’re in no danger of being swept away by the current.
“That doesn’t mean a bear or wolf can’t wander by, but it’s rare.”
“And there it is.”
You can feel the heat of his glower on the back of your head. “We could spend the night out here if you want to see for yourself.”
At that, you shut your mouth. Even if he were to prove his point, you have no interest in camping out in the woods now that you’ve become accustomed to the luxury of a soft bed. Granted that you’re forced to share that same bed, still you’ve never slept half as well as you do these days. You wake up rested after nine hours of blissful shut eye, a sleep so deep that your dreams only come in half-remembered flashes. Often they involve the man you wake up wrapped around, and for that you’re grateful that they remain submerged.
A new desire has started to burrow its way into the back of your mind in recent days. It starts out as a thought so brief that you hardly notice it before it skitters away.
And then it lingers.
You wake up in the middle of the night hot, sweat dripping down the nape of your neck and a fire burning in your loins, a red-hot coil wound around itself, fit to burst. Pulsating. At some point throughout the night, you must have thrown a leg around John’s waist because it rests there now, your hand planted in the middle of his chest and your sex all but rubbing up against his thigh. Under your hand, you can feel his heart pump strong and steady.
You hold very, very still, waiting for him to wake. But John sleeps on, his palm loose where it rests along the curve of your hip, fingers curling into the flesh of your backside.
You can hardly look at him these days without shaking. You’ve come to fixate on the sway of his hips when he walks and the flecks of silver in his beard. The grooves in his weathered hands. The way your head fits in the palm of his hand when he cradles it to his chest. The fond glimmer in his eyes that shines the brightest when he puts his hat on your head and it slips past your eyes, too big for your head.
When you tip it up in order to see, the folds around his eyes become more pronounced with the force of his smile.
“There you are, bug,” he says, taking the hat off your head to set it back on his and reeling you in for a kiss.
Bug, love, honey, darling. The constant flux of endearments makes your head spin. John never calls you by the name on your marriage license. It’s like that name means nothing to him, cast away at the first opportunity and replaced by an endless stream of pet names.
He hasn’t touched your sex since making you come on the porch swing the week before. He pulls you into a chaste embrace at night, the only evidence of his own desire being the stiff shaft nestled against the small of your back in the early morning hours, which he takes care of on his own in the bathroom downstairs after pressing a kiss to your cheek. You feel robbed of something, though you don’t know quite what.
You’re tempted to offer your help, but you don’t know exactly what that would entail. Inexperience and fear of rejection hold you back, stay your tongue. In the two weeks you’ve been married, he hasn’t once tried to pin you down and rut between your thighs like you expected and dreaded that very first night.
Now that that time has passed, you don’t know how to initiate that moment again.
John promises to teach you how to ride a horse. You can’t see a reason to protest, much to your chagrin. Despite your apprehensions, even you can’t deny that it would be a helpful skill. A train only goes one way after all, confined to a single track. A horse has no such laws to obey.
The thought stays nestled at the back of your mind as the days continue on.
You flounder around in the kitchen on the day that John invites his deputies over for supper. You’ve met the big one—Simon—now a small handful of times, each encounter marked by a silence that sucks the air out of the room when he turns his gaze on you and holds it. Perhaps you’ve simply ascribed too much importance to his person, given that every time you’ve seen him, your life has changed irrevocably. His presence is always followed by revelation it seems. The archangel of vicissitude. A harbinger of uncertain times.
The other two are new. John introduces you to them when you bring out the cutlery and crockery to set the table, and you nearly go cross-eyed when they reach across the table at the same time to offer their hands. You go to meet them halfway, but flinch when John brings his hand down on the table with enough force to make the silverware jump.
“Sorry, darlin’,” he apologizes to you first before turning his glare on the other two. “That ain’t proper, boys. You wait for the lady to offer her hand first—you don’t treat a woman like she’s a mutt you’re teaching to shake.”
“Ah, sorry, hen,” the one on the left says, his voice a thick Scottish brogue like a purr. He’s possibly the handsomest man you’ve ever met, but there’s something dangerous and wild in his eyes. When he smiles, it curls up in a roguish sort of way that makes you falter, like he’s in on a joke that you aren’t. “Dinnae mean to offend. No’ often we get ta meet such a pretty lady.”
“Sorry—” the one on the right apologizes in a voice far more earnest than his counterpart’s. “And sorry for him. We think he was raised by wolves.”
“What’s yer excuse then?” the Scot sneers, knocking his knee into the other man’s under the table. “Dinnae see ye waitin’ for her fuckin’ hand like a gentleman—apologies, hen.”
“Christ,” John sighs, leaning back in his chair and staring up at the ceiling.
Simon stays silent at the other end of the table, but the whole table jumps when he aims a kick at the Scott’s leg. He hisses and blurts out a word in a language you’ve never heard before, the word unmistakably vitriolic. He clutches at his shin and shoots a nasty look at Simon, though he doesn’t make a move to retaliate.
“Name’s Kyle. Kyle Garrick,” the other introduces himself, and you finally reach across the table to offer your hand. His hand is warm against yours when he takes it, dark skin burnished in the candlelight. There’s something inviting about him; something about his eyes, so dark that you almost fall into them. Thick lips curl up into a smile. “And this here is Soap.”
You frown. “Soap?”
The man in question runs a hand down his front, emphasizing the cut of his shirt and the way it clings to the muscle of his chest. “‘Cause of how well I clean up.”
Simon barks out a laugh at that. The sound comes so sudden and sharp that it startles you. “You got it ‘cause your mum had to wash out your mouth with soap.”
It’s the most you’ve ever heard out of him and you can only stare wide-eyed at the lot of them as they dissolve into bickering and squabbling after that. It’s almost a relief to head back into the kitchen to finish cooking.
Dinner is a similar messy affair, punctuated by the sound of Soap practically gnawing the meat off the bone. He only apologizes when John barks at him for making a mess, more food on the floor around him than on his plate, but his table manners don’t last very long. John doesn’t seem so much embarrassed on their behalf as annoyed, but it’s an annoyance that comes with an aftertaste of warmth. You can tell without asking that they’ve known each other for years.
There’s room enough in you for food and envy. Back home you had friends. Never close friends, but acquaintances at least. Maids you could recognize by face. Small talk while ascending single-file up the servants’ staircase. Perhaps little more than that. You’d never been particularly close to any of them, but how could you? You worked from morning ‘till night, up and down the stairs, moving in the shadows. Never making too much noise lest your employers take notice of you.
Like he did.
You shake it off. That’s no matter now. You’re hundreds of miles away and living under a new name. A married woman, to the county sheriff no less. It only sometimes hurts your heart to think of how lonely you’d been.
When they leave, you stand at the window and watch as they disappear into the black of the night, Simon at the front of the pack, his torchlight leading the way. The sound of horse hooves beating against the dirt recedes the farther they get.
His hands warm your shoulders. You don’t know how long he’s been there, standing behind you while you stared out the window after the boys. All you know is that his hands are warm, and the kiss he presses to the back of your head makes you arch back into him, unconsciously gravitating closer to him. Needing to be near.
In bed, you curl your fingers against his chest. On a rough exhale, you wake. You dream still of something terrible that happens somewhere else, in another city, in an old life. His heartbeat lulls you back to sleep.
John takes you to the local seamstress to have you fitted for a pair of pants and suddenly you’re out of excuses. They fit you comfortably, like a second skin, and you find yourself pulling at the legs at your final fitting as if to stretch out the material. The seamstress nearly jabs you with a pin and glares up at you until you stop fidgeting.
You come to terms with it when he brings you into the stables and makes you fetch the saddle from where it rests on its stand. It’s heavier than you expected. You stumble back over to where John now has Buttercup standing in the middle of the stable, holding her by the lead fixed to her bridle.
“I don’t know if—” you start, trepidation climbing up your chest until it grips you by the throat. For as many times as you’ve ridden her, you’ve never done it alone.
John fixes her lead to a post and walks over to you, taking the saddle from your hands and letting it drop to the ground. He cups your face in both hands to tilt your head up. “Hey, honey. We’re not doing much of anything today, alright? Just a walk around the paddock so you get used to sitting on Buttercup on your own. I’m not gonna smack her ass and send you down the trail at full tilt..”
That gets a laugh out of you. “You promise?”
He smiles. “Promise, darlin’.”
And he keeps it. The only thing you do that day is learn how to tack a horse and how to properly mount and dismount her. The latter part of the lesson is devoted to you trying to find your balance while John leads the two of you around the pen at a leisurely pace. He calms you down when he sees you grow too stiff, stopping to coo and rub your thigh until you gradually relax. It’s heartwarming until Buttercup begins to tense up too for a reason unbeknownst to you and you watch in righteous fury as John calms her down the same way.
John gets you a hat to keep the sun from beating down on you, but there’s little he can do about the soreness between your thighs and the stiffness in your legs the next day. All you can do is hiss and moan in pain, hobbling around the house until he forces you down into a chair and hikes up your dress in order to apply an arnica salve to your inner thighs.
It’s a relief and an affront at the same time. The duality of man. The salve soothes much of the ache, but you twitch nervously around John for the rest of the day, the memory of him pinning you to the chair and forcibly spreading your thighs haunting you. The lingering ache in your core is just the salt in the wound.
It rains another day. A light drizzle while the sun is still out.
Every day you sit and you think, will it be today? And then the wash basins are emptied out in the field, the horses are taken out to the paddock, you pin the laundry up on the line to dry, and John presses a farewell kiss to your forehead when he leaves you with Kate and nothing happens. Every inch of you waits for more, anticipates more. Throbs when he leaves you wanting, only a chaste kiss and a squeeze around your waist before he’s off.
You can feel it coming to a head. An itch you can’t shake.
That day comes with another ache you can’t shake.
“Please,” you beg, clasping your hands in front of you. “One day of rest. That’s all I’m asking. I can’t do this anymore, John.”
John snaps the lead in his hands. “Let’s get a move on. We’re burning daylight.”
You hang your head low on the march over to the stables, John taking up the rear like he expects you to bolt. An executioner’s walk. The thought of escape has never seemed further away—not even because of its feasibility, but because all you want to do is lie down and rest.
“You can quit your moping,” he says as you tack up Buttercup, a pout on your lips. “Got something special for you today.”
That makes you perk up, regardless of the fact that he doesn’t specify what that is. Anticipation mounts in you when he helps you up onto Buttercup and then climbs up behind you himself. He steers her away from the paddock and towards the trail leading into the woods, the sun at its zenith now, illuminating everything as far as the eye can see.
You’ve ridden this trail before. A week ago, with John at your back as he is now. Through the fields and over the hills until the trees start to number in the tens and then the hundreds, no clear delineation between plain and forest. Simply there and then everywhere.
By now, after hours of sun beating down on the path, the trail is mostly dry, yesterday’s rain long since having sunk into the earth. You think it’d still be a tough hike on foot, but on horseback you cover acres of land at a brisk pace, Buttercup hardly breaking a sweat. You cross paths with a small group traveling by horse and wagon, but John breaks off from the path not too long after that, steering Buttercup deeper into the wilderness, where the only gullies are the ones carved out by years and years of rainfall.
You only see it when the land begins to dip and you’re forced to hold onto the horn and tighten your thighs around the fenders to keep steady. At the bottom of a hill, a small stream opens up into a larger river, narrowing out at the other end where the land rises again and the water can only trickle over the pebbly riverbed. On the other side, a rocky outcropping cuts the stream off from view.
“Is this where you used to come to bathe?” you ask, recalling an earlier conversation.
John sighs. “Thought I’d take you for a swim as a treat, but if you’d rather just tease me—”
“Well now, let’s not be hasty,” you say, already trying to dismount on your own, eyes glued on the stream glimmering in the sunlight. John chuckles, keeping you pressed to him until he guides Buttercup under a tree for shade and dismounts first, helping you down after him.
All you want to do is wade in the stream up to your ankles, so that’s what you do. Boots kicked off, Buttercup relaxing in the shade of a tree, John standing by the water’s edge with his hands on his hips and watching you tiptoe over the smooth rocks below. You roll up your pant legs, but eventually you feel the ends grow damp as you venture farther out. At its deepest, you would probably sink up to your waist.
“Don’t you want to swim?” John asks from somewhere behind you.
You splash around a bit, kicking your feet through the water. “Hard to do that with clothes—”
When you turn back around to face him, your eyes dart down momentarily at the sight of skin before you squeak and whirl back around, sending up an arc of water. Twice now you’ve seen him naked.
“You’ve no clothes on,” you state, bluntly enough that it almost sounds stupid.
You hear the water splash and ripple when he takes his first step in. “Right—you better think about doing the same if you don’t want to ride home soaking wet.”
“I was perfectly fine just getting my feet wet,” you say indignantly.
“We came out here to swim, not get your feet wet,” John laughs. You stiffen when his hand comes down on your shoulder, conscious of the fact that your husband is standing right behind you, entirely divested of his clothes. “So best get to steppin’.”
“You can’t make me.”
“Oh, honey,” he says pityingly. “Yes, I can.”
You squeeze your eyes shut as you make your way back to shore, careful not to allow yourself a glimpse of him. Your boots are stacked beneath the shade of another tree, John’s clothes folded neatly beside them. You strip slowly, attentive to the world around you; though unlikely, it’s not impossible that someone might wander by. Your only consolation is that John is still within sight, though you keep your back to him because in recent days, you’ve developed a hunger for him that even now makes your stomach hurt.
Though the air is warm, you shiver. When you turn around with your arms crossed over your breasts to hide them from sight, you find John wading in the river up to his waist. You’ve seen him like this once before, the hearty body of a man in his prime. Sturdy and strong. The hair on his chest is darker than that on his head, wet too from the dip he must have taken when your back was turned. His hair is slicked back too, a wet hand combing it back.
“Come on, darlin’,” he calls, beckoning you forward with his hand.
The water is a cold shock when you step in past your ankles. Ice cold tendrils wrap up your legs, sucking the warmth from you.
You suck in a soft breath when he pulls you into his arms and heaves you up, big hands gripping under your thighs. Your breasts press against the wet skin of his chest, nipples already pebbled. The river is deeper than you assumed; John pulls you deeper in until it pools around your waist and then your chest. Cold enough that you shiver until John dips his head down and the kiss he presses to your lips melts you from the inside out.
You can’t escape the intimacy of water-slick skin. When John drags you up his chest, your nipples brush over his and the shudder that passes through you is violent, toe-curling. You know that he can feel the heat of your core even underwater. With your legs wound around his waist, every inch of you is plastered to his front. Even your fingers play with the ends of his hair, arms draped over his shoulders. You can’t look away.
“C’mon,” he murmurs, breath hot on your face. “Eyes on me.”
As if you could look anywhere else.
He reaches down under the water to readjust himself and you gasp when his shaft is suddenly right there, trapped between his belly and your heat. It’s the closest you’ve ever gotten to coitus, his glans nestled between your folds. You’d only have to shift slightly for him to slip right in. The thought makes your breath quicken.
He doesn’t make a move to take you though, even knowing that he could. How easy it would be. How it’s due to him. Your husband that’s waited a fortnight to take you as his own. John kisses you until each slick pass of his lips grows sloppier, clumsier—his lips barely parting from yours before they’re on you again, rendering you a creature of base needs.
But his hands don’t shift from your backside where he holds you in place. His fingers dig into the flesh hard enough to bruise, but they don’t move to part your folds to make room for his manhood. You expect him to—practically yearn for it and squeeze him around the neck all the harder when he subverts your expectations, doing no more than letting you grind your heat against the base of his shaft.
“John—John, please,” you beg, mindless for what. You don’t know what you’re asking for.
“What d’ya need, darlin’?” he asks into your mouth, stealing your answer with another kiss.
You fall under the swell of another wave. When the root of his cock glides over your clit, your core clenches on nothing, a sob half-bitten off in your mouth, ripped from your chest.
It doesn’t matter how close to him you get—he gives you nothing. The heat could very well burn you from the inside out. Cold water caresses your skin as it flows past, but the center of you runs so hot that you hardly notice it.
When he hikes you higher up against his chest, you clench your fingers in his hair, whining when he takes your nipple into his mouth. Your gasp comes out sharp and hurt when the coarse bristles of his beard rub rough against your breast. He sucks at your breast tender at first, gentle, eyes half-lidded like his mind has gone somewhere else, but there’s a glint in his eye that grows wild and dark, that turns him rough. You don’t know what to do except shake and let him use you how he wants.
Desperation nips at your heels, urging you up the length of him. If you had more nerve, you’d reach down and grasp him under the water, notch the head of his member against your sex and sink right down on him. You need him like you've never needed anything before. Every part of you aflame, searing hot under the sun at its highest point; right overhead, right on top of you.
His teeth sink delicately into your areola, tongue lapping over your nipple to soothe the hurt, and suddenly, you break.
“Please—” you gasp, wrenching his mouth away from your breast and whimpering when he resists at first, glaring up at you like he might bite. “Please, John—I can’t take it. I need you.”
His eyes darken, the pupil swallowing everything up. “Need me where, wife? Here?”
A hand dips between your thighs, pointer finger gliding over your sex, plump with blood. So tender that your mouth hangs open on a whine when he touches you.
“Y-yes,” you whimper, gaze swimming.
John’s breath comes out in a harsh, ragged pant. Completely undone in a way you’ve never seen before. “Get out, darlin’. I’m taking you home. Gonna give you what you need.”
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