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missingartist · 4 years

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The Witcher’s Mate- Chapter 14

Adva liked Triss. While being a skilled mage, there was a nurturing and caring nature to her. They spent many days together, practising the craft of spells and potions. In the three weeks, she never felt so free. Magic surged through her and with every day it grew. It wasn’t just the magic it was not having to wake up at the break of dawn to prepare the morning meal for the tavern, or stay up all night brewing a speedy recovery potion for the working girls who had had one too many customers the night before. Adva and Geralt had to feel into a pattern of sorts; each morning they would meet by the tree and spend the early hour of the morning together. Often or not, Geralt would sit in silence and watch her read or explain to her the various qualities of monsters or beasts. It was comfortable it was Adva favourite part of the day, spending a few hours with the moody Witcher. With each passing day, Adva was privy to a small glimpse at the man beneath all the armour, moods and mutations. A man who was sweet and caring he brought her a small packet of candy peanuts, he would never give them to her just leave them on her desk or would carry the mass of books Triss has dumped on her even little things like holding open the door. It was nice, but it did also reveal a sad side to his nature, a touch starved and painfully lonely man. His touches would linger, burn into her. I made her wonder when the last time someone hugged him, really hugged him. Being an orphan alone in the world, she knew what it was like to have no emotional intimacy; how it hurt.

For the last week, she rubbed the balm onto his chest, and stay with him till he fell asleep, sometimes she would doze next to him watching over him. Though he was sleeping better, sometimes ten hours straight, he still looked tired, his constant temperature was worrying. Geralt simple shrugged off her concerns with the news that he and Jaskier were going on a hunt. Both had disappeared for a week to a local forest infected by Ghouls. Every day that past Adva had become more adamant that they would not return. At the end of the fifth day, upon their return from their walk, Triss and Adva fell in the door laughing at some local merchant making a pass at the two women with the temptation of free cheese, to find the two men arguing in the living room.

‘Ahhh Geralt you have returned! We have just had a walk around the town…Smiggle, the Cheesemonger tried to talk Adva into a betrothal with a lump of cheddar.’ Triss’s laugh tinkled then bells in the parlour of the large house.

‘If it had been Brie, he would have got a different answer.’ Adva laughed taken a seat next to Jaskier, who laughed heartily and poured a drink.

It didn’t go unnoticed by Adva that Geralt gave Triss an outraged look, bordering between angry and irritation. There had been many secret looks and meetings in the workshop, behind the thick door. It uneased her. The way her ears burnt when they left made her paranoid. Geralt had been indecisively hot and cold. Some moments made her think they were almost friends than in a second; he would go cold and moody.

Geralt eyes rolled over Adva form, she wore the burgundy dress, with gold embroidery. It was tight across her chest and waist, showing delicious curves and flaring out at the hips to swish as she walked gently. Her hair had grown longer, and now wavy curls danced along her neck and the start of her back, every time she turned her head a waft of her smell invaded Geralt senses. He had spent the last five nights yearning for sleep; the smell had faded to a delicate reminder of her, calling him back to her. No matter how hard he scrubbed the smell clung to him, it has soaked into his very pores. When the last Ghoul had died, he saddled up Roach and headed straight back, not even bothering to clean the Ghoul blood from his body.

‘I thought you were meant to be studying Botany not how to flirt with cheese merchants. Triss your curriculum needs reworking’ Geralt bite out in a low cold tone

Triss glared as the Witcher, with deadly eyes. Five days gone, and the first thing he says to her was that—what a prick.

‘Adva why don’t you tend to the plant in the greenhouse, I have something to discuss with Geralt.’ Triss cooed and quickly ushered the woman out the room.

‘Geralt! The past five days, you have been like a lovesick puppy and that the first thing you say to her’ Jaskier scolded hands-on-hips.

‘I am not a lovesick puppy.’ The Witcher growled.

‘You are…Adva is so nice….you…you don't deserve her.’ Jaskier gave a high-pitched squeal, and he threw down his quill and followed the curly-haired women out to the Greenhouse.

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A slow sarcastic clap filled the air as Geralt stared grimily at the fire and burnt limply in the fireplace. Triss’s angry eyes were burning into the side of his face, but he refused to acknowledge her. ‘Well done, Geralt! Push her away.’

Geralt played his flagon taking deep gulps from the vessel, attempting to ignore the annoying Mage.

‘Ignoring me? Very mature, you must have been missing Adva immensely. I know she missed you, she kept pinning after you….’ Triss prodded and rolled her eyes, and he continued with the silent treatment. ‘Still nothing…. Well, I suppose you don’t want to know about the exciting discoveries I have made since you departure.’ Triss teased.

Geralt interest was ignited and his attention laid solely on the Mage, who gave him her best Cheshire smile as she waved her hand the table filled with papers and journals.

‘I sent for all of Tradi’s work; Lord Brightwater seemed to vary keen to get rid of it. Grumpy man. He also added some of Cersi notes as well. Seem your friend left in the middle of the night without saying goodbye to the sour Lord. He wasn’t best pleased. I sent one of the Marquis men to investigate; it appears that she left in the night in a hurry; the portal she used is nothing like I have seen before. No sign of the language in Adva book, I did, however, find an old journal.’ Triss pulled a journal onto her workbench, and pulled several pieces of paper from the book and scattered them in front of the two.

‘Geralt, Adva has been hidden her whole life…very carefully I might add. Cersi, in her journal, details the girl's growth and powers. Cersi seems very impressed with the girl's waterpowers peaking beyond expectation. There are pages and pages detailing everything magical goal she reached as she grew, how her body is formed, whether her body would be able to transform, or if she has bled. Don’t you think it's strange that ever since she left Brightwater, she had been attracting unwanted male attention? I have had to send away the Marquis men; they kept trying salivating over her. My guess's it's in her pheromones; there is nothing magical coming off her. That smell you're so addicted too. You’re her mate, so it does something more to you on a …metaphysical level. But for the rest of us mortals it does something else entirely, have you not noticed how people are with her? They become enamoured with her, but if you place her in a Whore house, Adva’s scent would be void. Sex gives off powerful odours, enough to hide her in plain sight. Why do you think Cersi did not take her in… and teach her, she placed her where she would be the safest, away from prying eyes of Mages and the like. If we want to find out what is happening, we need to find and talk to Cersi….. Till then I would recommend we take her to Kaer Morhen. She will be away from civilisation, and you can claim her. We need to tell her today…now.’

‘No’ Geralt gripped definitely.

‘Geralt! For the love of Goddess, why are you fighting this! What more proof do you need? Do you want me to wheel her out with the words Geralt’s Mate Painted across her chest before you admit it? An idiot could tell that you are struggling. You are barely sleeping or eating, and you're burning up! My potions are not working anymore. Have you read that book of Witches? You know if you don’t bond with her, you are going to drive yourself mad.’ Triss all but spat.

‘The book said we had a year…’

‘Yes, but with a human mate. WE may not know what she is, but we know she is not human, her bloody scent is enough to send the men around here acting like besotted idiots, for her mate, it must be seven times more potent. Why are you fighting this? Geralt your skin is clammy, I can feel your temperature from across the room. Your mood swings are becoming very wild, even for you. Geralt you are killing yourself…if that happens, who knows what will happen to her.’ Triss was pleading now, not something she usually resorted to, but she was scared for them both.

‘Fuck off Triss…’

‘Goddess help me Geralt... I will tell her myself.’

‘You won't!’

‘Why shouldn’t I?’ Triss hunched over him, prodding her brazened finger into his armour.

‘Because she deserves better!’ Geralt pulled Triss back as he roared, lifting a table in the process and launching in across the room.

‘Geralt…’

‘She is so pure and untouched. So sweet and innocent. I can’t….I won’t. She doesn’t and will not want me a life partner. I won’t subject her to this sort of life. I love her too much for that’ Geralt boomed

‘Geralt it not about you anymore. What about Adva, maybe she wants to be with you. To have someone, she had been alone for a long time.’ Triss voice broke into a soft whisper as she reached out to comfort the shaking man.

‘I can’t be that someone.’ Uttered heartbrokenly before turning and rushing away.

Triss’s heart broke for a moment, for both of them. Love was a complicated thing. For Geralt he felt too much, he loved so devotedly, and fiercely it broke him every time Yennefer stomped his heart into the ground. If anyone deserved someone, it was Geralt. A plan started to form in her head. It would take some effort to push the stubborn Witcher in the direction of the lovely creature, but it would be worth it, she cared too much to let Geralt send himself to early death, and she was already too devoted to Adva to let her be cast off by the handsome Witcher. Smiling smugly she set off, Jaskier would be easy to recruit. If Geralt weren’t going to act, then she would do it for him. Despite the complete mystery that enveloped the woman, there was one thing she did know, the soul bond was strong, and if they didn’t mate soon, god knows what will happen.

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Geralt couldn’t help himself. By nature, he was a very sexual being, that itself is one of the reasons there was an attraction between him and Yennefer. That spark of need that burnt between them. They satisfied each other; with a Witcher’s stamina he could go for days, and a mage could at least try to match that. Because of that Geralt could never really say he felt fulfilled with a partner, the nearest being Yennefer and whether that was because of the Jinns magic he couldn’t say. The Witcher had never cursed his sexual desire, he was never short of partners, and his energy seems to be limitless in the area, he has never failed to rise of the occasion no matter how beaten or broken his body. By now he cursed the fate for the situation he found himself in. All 6ft 5 of him stood half-collapsed against a bedroom for that was not his own.

After storming out, he forced himself to tend to Roach and after that momentary distraction found himself in Adva’s room. After five long days, he needed to calm himself with her scent. His nose had picked up the scent and dragged him like a prisoner to the room the other side of the house, where he had no reason or excuse to be in. The Witcher’s heart pumped faster, the first time in almost a century until it was the only thing he could hear. The perfume of her was suffocating, disorientating and intoxicating, he needed to get away but couldn’t tear himself to leave. Geralt could see the strands of scent in a sparkling blue that curled through the air leading to a swirling mass in the centre of the bed.

Swallowing hard he approached the unmade bed, tentatively perching on the side, giving at the rumpled bedclothes. The outline where her body had rested was clear; the scent permeated from where she had slept the past three weeks. Inhaling deeply, he drove through the scents, subtle difference depending on her moods and what she had eaten. He deciphered the scents layer by layer till he found the addictive fragrances that had driven him here, it was dark then the other, a navy blue, almost black. Apple and the sea but musky with a sweetness. Trailing his fingers over the bed, he felt it and saw it. Her want. Her desire. Her wetness.

The scent had soaked into the very fabric of the bed throughout her stay, every night, adding to the aroma. Never had he been so thankful for his Witcher abilities, he saw it. The way her hair cascaded against the pillow as she tossed and turned, clenching her thighs together as she the wetness formed and the pressure became too much to bare. A delicious bead of sweat travelled down her neck, travelling over her left breast and then missing with the other scents on the bed. Clothing would be flung off in an attempt to cool herself down with little or no difference. With reluctance, her hands would travel to her slick thighs in an attempt to rid herself of the ache, her mouth turning into the pillow to muff her sobs of pleasure and growls of frustration as she never managed to bring herself over the edge that she had teased herself along for the best part of two weeks.

Inside of him, two feelings flourished the sense of sadness that she did not know how to pleasure her own body but also pride at being her first and only, the only man that would teach and feel her. A throaty moan push passed his lips. The rough bronzed hand was slowly palming his raging cock; he didn’t know when he had unlaced his breeches, but he could bring himself to think about it. Instead, he found himself settling himself on the bed, ripping his undershirt in the process, his hand never leaving his throbbing member.

Adva could come back at any minute, or Triss discover him, but all Geralt could focus on was the heat that rushed through him with every stroke. The Witcher was accustomed to pleasure himself when a willing bedmate was not to be found but never had it felt this good. Palming his balls, they had been heavier than he could ever remember them being, tight and painful, a grunt rumbled from him as he rolled them in his hands, teasing the skin with his fingertips. His other hand worked his length, a generous amount of pre-cum was already dripping across his tip, along his hand to slide effortless up and down his throbbing cock. Rolling his wrist, he pumped up and down slowly, enjoying the sensation, his eyes fluttered close, and a thousand images passed through his mind. Her laying frustrated on the bed whimper his name softly, her looking down at him as shyly she reached out to touch him, and all he could feel was her hand, while the other stocked his hair as she kissed him softly. It was a tender, pushing him slowly along to his peak.

A hiss escaped him, pushing through his teeth and the scent overpower him, forcing his eyes open. Gold obs burnt down as he watched he hand franticly pound his hard cock. A bead of pre-cum dribbled down. Geralt hips franticly snapped against his hand to meet every thrust, grunts and growl shook against the walls paired the violent sound of rhythmic flesh slapping filled the room, boarding on animistic, with ever sound Geralt chest practically vibrated as he edged closer and closer to release. Pushing himself against the headboard as he dug his heels into the bed as he arched his body, his hand desperately gripped his reddening cock as he feverishly pumped his cock. Grasping his hand out, the Witcher gripped the ornamental bedknob tightly, series of feral roars escaped the panting man. A thick jet of cum spurted out against the chest pooling in his stomach.

All strength sapped from his body, and the Witcher collapsed against the bed, soft pants puffed out from his chest, as slowly his eyes fluttered closed.

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Jaskier twirled to flower in his hand as he tilted from foot to foot as he observed the woman in front of him, he likes her immensely, it was half the reason he agreed with this plan. Adva was refreshing after spending what was like an eternity in the company of Yennefer. Jaskier felt an inner hatred for the violet-eyed Mage; she treated Geralt as a plaything, he did not disagree that there was some endearment on her side, but the way in which she treated his friend was beyond miserable, Ciri and him caught in the middle. The sad thing is Geralt could not see it, he followed her like a minion, and the big bad wolf turned to a lovesick puppy. Adva didn’t seem to mind the Witcher’s countenance, and there was a genuine affection for him. Jaskier might not have the Witcher’s sense, but he saw the looks, the subtle glances and the longing glimpses. If it weren’t for that, he would have set his cap to her himself. Adva was a beautiful woman, gifted with a voluptuous figure, violently blue eyes and plush lips that gave her a disarming smile paired with a caring personality; she was a catch for any hot-blooded man. But the hot-blooded man she seemed to want to be Geralt, especially going from the way her shoulders sagged as she tended the plants.

Adva busied herself tendering the plant in the glasshouse, Jaskier had followed her out and tended to her with soft praises and cheerful stories as an attempt to lift her mood. For the most part, Adva kicked herself for being that upset, Geralt lately had often been in a bad mood, but what had just happen wounded her. There was no reason why, nothing had occurred between them, so there was no reason for her to be hurt by his words, but she had thought they had grown close in the recent months. The Witcher’s scolding upset her.

‘We could go to town. Paint the town red.’ Jaskier lightly suggested as he plucked another flower up from Adva cuttings, causing her to look up and break her away from her thought.

‘…’

‘Come let have a night on the town. My coin purse is empty and I need to refill it with some wealthy listeners. The local tavern is a perfect spot, but I need a muse. Come with me.’ Jaskier cooed as he tucked the wildflower behind her ear.

‘Jaskier…’ Adva started before Jaskier cut her off with a stern look.

‘No…my creative flow is upon me. We will raid Triss’s wardrobe for clothing worthy of you and set off for the tavern. I envision an elegant undo with those pearl pin Triss has, oh and that burgundy dress I saw tucked at the back of his wardrobe. You are going to be my masterpiece, my subject of serenade; all will come to see you and listen to my songs. Now let's get you washed and polished. We are going to eat, drink and sing’ Jaskier bustled as he pushed her out the glasshouse.

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Jaskier was very pleased with himself, the dress that Triss had ordered was perfect, no man or woman would be able to look away for her. It was tight-fitting column dress in a mix of silk and velvet, at the waist two separate vents shot off in fine mesh material, embroidered in a silver thread, her sleeve made from the same material. The front had a deep V that showed off the milky flesh of her breasts, enticing the eye and showed off a barely modest cleavage. It had taken two gins to get her into the dress and another to let him apply the makeup. Her face was made up by brief sweep of powder, and a dark dusky pink lipstick painted on, making them seem all the more pouting. Two-layer of mascara had been applied to her eyelashes and a light pat of eyeshadow and delicate touch of eyeliner. Adva protested at the reflection at the mirror, but Jaskier ignored her and began to pin her curls over one shoulder with pearl hairpins before pushing her out the door.

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‘Geralt’

The alarmed voice carried throughout the house stirring the Geralt from his post-orgasm doze by Triss’s urgent cry. Casting his eyes around, he found that he had slept most of the day away. The sky was now darkening alarmingly; he was still sprawled across the bed, dry cum still plastered across his chest, his hand still encircling around his half-hard cock. Rearranging himself quickly, he straightened his clothes and slipped from the room as quietly and quickly as possible.

‘Really?’ Triss deadpanned as she tapped her foot outside her trainee's door.

‘What.’

‘I take it I can’t hope the Adva is lying half spend behind that door? I haven’t heard any screaming.’ The Mage deadpanned cross at him.

‘Triss drop it.’

‘Well maybe if you had she wouldn’t be missing. I can’t find her anywhere. One of the servants saw her heading off into town with Jaskier. That was at midday….’

‘Fuck’

So guys, what do you think?

I have a little competition for you. I need a pet name for Geralt to call Adva. Best one or the most recommended wins. My top picks are Goddess and Love as a genuinely think Geralt is the kinda guy who would worship you- Well in my dreams he is!!!

If anyone want to me tagged please message me :P

@broco8 @threepupsinapuddle @introvertedmouse @luxyash @shesthelastjedi @wonderlandfandomkingdom @crazynocturnalkiki

#witcher geralt #the witcher #netflix the witcher #geralt smut #geralt x reader #geralt of rivia #Geralt #geralt x oc #geralt x smut #thewitcher

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nctwd127 · 4 years

Text

Arranged Marriage.

Chapter Twenty-Six.

Warning: None (?)

Word Count: 3349

About two hours into our phone call, Lucas had finally managed to make me smile and laugh. And it felt good to feel that kind of emotion again, even if it was for a little while. I had moved from my desk to my window to finally laying on my bed.

I laid looking at the ceiling, giggling about something he had said when my door opened and Yuta’s head peaked in, “Oh. You’re on the phone.”

The sound of his voice startled me and I quickly sat up, “I have to go, we’ll talk later, bye.” I ended the call and placed my phone to my side.

“Yuta, you scared me.”

He fully walked in now and was just standing by the door. His eyes met mine and half smiled, “Sorry, I tend to do that a lot to you.” He scratched the back of his neck. I smiled back at him and was getting ready to say something when he spoke again.

“Is he really your boyfriend?” Yuta asked, his body tensing as the word fell past his lips. Despite his best efforts to sound normal, the word still came out harsh. But there was a hint of sadness behind it. And to hear it felt rough.

His eyes were boring into mine and it was making me feel uncomfortable, more than usual. I couldn’t maintain eye contact and forced myself to look away. My eyes were set on the floor in front of his feet, feeling as if I was being scolded.

“No, he’s not.” I answered in a whisper, wishing my answer could be different. Wishing that everything about this situation could be different.

I looked back at Yuta and he just nodded to my answer, not quite sure if he wanted to believe me or not. But he decided that this was something that could wait for another time, we other things to be worried about the moment.

“Can I take a seat?” He asked taking one small step closer near me. I nodded and patted the empty space on my bed but he ignored my gesture and pulled my chair over to me instead. It hurt my feelings that he acted that way.

“Why was Doyoung here?” He asked once he settled in the seat and gave me a long hard look. My eyes darted from watching him to my bathroom that had the door open. The motion of my eyes didn’t go unnoticed by him but he refrained from turning around to see where I was looking at.

For a moment all these disgusting thoughts went rampant in his mind, thinking that I did the worst. So he couldn’t help but blurb out, “Did anything happen between you two?”

I looked away from the bathroom and back at him, offended to know that’s where his head went to first. Out of all the things to say or think, of course it would be that. “Excuse me?”

That’s when it snapped out of his mind, remembering everything that happened. And he felt a little stupid for thinking such things in a moment like this. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I was just surprised he was here, is all.”

I gave him a hard look for a split second before I eased up, knowing it was just an impulse thing he always had. Blinded by his anger in small spurts causes him to speak without thinking.

“He was told about what happened and was asked if he could some see me. To see if it would make a difference or something. He just wanted to make sure I was okay.” I answered with half the truth.

At this moment, I didn’t have the heart to tell Yuta the truth about what really happened that day. It was best to leave that out for the moment being. I didn’t want to add more worries to him.

“Oh okay.” He nodded and stared at me. I looked back at him, “How are you feeling?” For the first time today, I asked a question. He took a deep breath and dropped his head, hunching over and holding his hands.

“I don’t know. I have not a single fucking clue on how or what I’m supposed to feel. All of this makes sense to me but at the same time it doesn’t.” Yuta answered, picking up his head and looking at me again.

There was an emotion in his eyes and I knew all too well that it was anger. His rage was starting to build again and I know that he was trying to hold back but maybe that’s what he needed, to be angry and feel all of it.

“I want to be angry. I want to be so angry with you right now, for the past month actually. I just want to scream and yell, I want to ignore you, to pretend that you aren’t even here.” He paused to see if his words had any effect on me. They didn’t, at least none that he would see.

To not see the affect his words had on me only made him angrier. Right now, he wanted to hurt me, the same way I did to him. And I was okay with that because I wasn’t going to fight him on it, he had the right to feel the way that he did.

“And most of all, I want to hate you.”

I didn’t expect those words to hurt me as much as they did, it felt like my heart got punched. I dropped my gaze and nodded, not sure what words to say. My eyes started to burn with tears and I did my best to hold it in.

The last thing I wanted was for him to see me cry about what he said. Even though I know that’s what he wanted and I wanted to give that to him, it felt too venerable for me.

“Maybe you should then.”

Yuta’s heart dropped, saying that hurt him more. He didn’t want to hear that, he wanted a different answer. Anything that made him believe that we could be what we were.

“What?” He raised his voice ever so slightly and his body tensed, he was pissed off now.

“I don’t want to hurt you or make you angrier Yuta. But if that’s what you feel then you should. Maybe that’ll help you.” I answered, still not looking at him.

He suddenly grabbed my chin and forcefully made me look at him, “Look me in the eyes and tell me that’s what you want. Tell me right now that you want me to hate you.”

For his well being, for him, I had to lie again. My eyes closed, suppressing the tears when I opened them again, “I want you to hate me.” I spoke firmly, as if it was the most casual thing I could say. But deep inside I felt the hurt.

Yuta scoffed, letting go of my face and standing up so he could hover over me. “Then it’s a good thing I don’t even remember you the way you remember me.” He hissed and walked to the door, opening it and stopping before he stepped out.

He turned to look at me and our eyes met, making the words he said hurt more than they ever should have. Those words were strong enough to kill my heart.

“I hope those stupid memories never come back to me (Y/N). None of them.”

The sound of my heart cracking wide open in my chest was louder than the door being slammed. The tears I was trying to hold in broke free, running down my cheeks, to my lap.

“I’m so sorry Yuta.” I whispered into my empty room, somehow hoping that he’d hear me, that he’d know that I didn’t mean it. Of course I didn’t want him to hate me but I also didn’t want him to love me.

Not again, not like this.

This is what needed to be done, for his well being.

Everything that I have done until now has been for him. Not telling him about us, about what we had was for his well being. He ran the risk of having a meltdown or worse, and I couldn’t put the love of my life at risk like that.

The rest of the day passed with me locked away in my room, like the ‘normal’ life that I lived in. A part of me wanted to go back to Yuta but I knew that it was best to leave things the way they were now. He had a million and ten feelings to work through and being around me was only going to confuse him more.

Night time came around sooner than I thought and I sat in bed, scared. I couldn’t sleep thinking that I was going to have nightmares again. That one night with Yuta, did a lot to sooth my nightmares. And without him, I just couldn’t bear the thought of having to be alone during that again.

It was around two in the morning when I decided to go down to the kitchen for a snack since I didn’t have dinner. When I left my room, I saw that Yuta’s bedroom door was open and I couldn’t help but quietly see what he was doing. His light was off and I saw a lump in bed, so I guess he was sleeping. I sighed and moved away to go downstairs.

In the kitchen, I grabbed a yogurt from the fridge and sat on the island again. Thinking and letting myself wander into fantasies. All the thoughts of could have been started weighing on me so I rested my head against the cold marble and closed my eyes.

When I opened my eyes again, I wasn’t in the kitchen anymore but in my room and under my covers. I looked around confused, wondering what happened last night. I reached over for my phone and read the time, 10:30.

After a much needed shower, I changed into a new pair of sweats and hoodie and made my way downstairs. I felt starved and decided to make myself breakfast, leaving my room I saw that Yuta’s was empty. He must be out or something, I wanted to thank him for taking me to bed last night.

When I walked into the kitchen, I saw a bare back facing me and head full of messy blonde locks, it seems as though he just woke up too. He noticed my presences and side eyed me for a moment before he went back to his own thing.

I quietly walked to the fridge and pulled out a yogurt again, deciding that I wasn’t in the mood for anything to heavy at the moment. When I turned to thank him, he wasn’t sitting at the island anymore, but putting his dishes in the sink.

“Thank you for last night.”

Yuta didn’t even spare me a glance as he walked past me and out of the kitchen. It was like he didn’t even realize that I was standing right here. I sighed and put the yogurt back, I lost my appetite now. Instead I grabbed a bottle of water and went back to my room.

When I passed the living room, I saw him sitting on the couch, staring into the void. There was a lot of things he needed to figure out and resolve and I wanted to give him the space for that. It was better this way, I reminded myself when I reached my room.

Two weeks later.

Yuta was still not talking to me. Every time I went into the same room he was in, he’d walk out before the door even closed. So I did my best to not run into him as much as I could so that he could have some kind of comfort in his own home.

Around the fifth day since everything happened, Taeyong and Sicheng came by to talk to him. I did my best not to eavesdrop but I wanted to know what was going on. Besides, Yuta started raising his voice at some point in the conversation.

Taeyong was mostly talking and apologizing for what happened and heavily blamed it on himself. Apparently, it was him who heard me talking too passed out Yuta and out of shock and being naive, he told Jaehyun. Thinking that he could trust him but clearly he was wrong.

Before he left, he asked if he come see me and Yuta told him he didn’t care and left the house. So he quietly called for me from down the stairs, knowing that I had heard the conversation. I didn’t hesitate to go running down the stairs and throw myself into his arms.

He was practically in tears when he hugged me back and repeatedly apologized for what happened. I, on the other hand cried in his embrace and told him it wasn’t his fault. Because it wasn’t and I refused to let him think otherwise.

Sicheng watched from the side and didn’t really know what to do with any of the information, he was just kind of there. He eventually did also apologize for his previous behavior towards me and I did as well, explaining because of what I had with Yuta, I wanted to be away from everything that involved him.

Yuta eventually got over his anger at Taeyong and they started being in the house again and it felt good to hear their chatter and ruckus after so long. I didn’t quite realize how much I missed it till it was all I heard for two days on end.

He did ask once what happened to that ‘son of a bitch’ to which they responded that they didn’t know. The last time they saw him was that day and since then, no one has seen or heard from him. Not like they were trying to get a hold of him either.

Best bet was that he skipped out of town or something, I didn’t care. As long as it was far, far away from here and me. As much as it was reasonable to press charges, I just couldn’t deal with making this public, I wouldn’t be able to handle it.

Hendery and Ten stopped by a few days ago and as promised, they hugged me so tight till it hurt and I couldn’t breathe. That was the best I’ve ever felt not breathing, being in the arms of my two thirds of a heart.

We talked and it was safe to say that at some point, the three of us cried endlessly while we talked about everything that happened. I wanted nothing more than to just talk to them and make me feel sane again, even if it was a little bit.

The same way I had with Lucas and Doyoung, I took my time and explained to them in detail what happened between Yuta and me. From the very start to the very end. Even though Doyoung had explained to them what happened already, it wasn’t the full details.

They asked many questions and had many concerns but when they left, they felt much better knowing the truth now. They couldn’t wait till the day I felt comfortable enough to leave the house again so that we could hang out, so they could take me away from the life I lived for an afternoon.

They warmed my heart and that really made everything better for me. I loved those boys to death and I was and am, and will always be so grateful for them. They were truly my best friends.

Lucas, even though he was practically shriveling up into a ball of nothing without me and without seeing me, he still maintained his distance from me. Especially after what happened with Yuta, he didn’t want to make things harder for me.

So he swallowed his pride and hurt and kept away from me until I told him otherwise. It was really hard for me to away from him for so long but I kept thinking about Yuta and what was good for his needs and his well being.

It’s been a long time since I’ve stepped outside into the real world. To say that I haven’t even stepped out into my backyard because the simple thought scared me. But I decided that it was time to leave the house.

I’ve been inside for weeks and I was starting to feel suffocated, I was drowning in the misery that lived in this house. And the way things were with Yuta, it wasn’t helping. I needed to leave, I needed to get out. And my god, did I fucking hope that it wouldn’t affect our already broken ass relationship.

I showered and changed into a pair of skinny jeans, an oversized hoodie and my converse. I grabbed my phone and car keys, ready to go. Going down the stairs, my heart started beating heavily in my chest. I was starting to get scared but I needed to do this.

Because if I didn’t do this now, I never would. My hand rested on the door knob for what felt like hours scared of the outside. “Just breathe,” I told myself when I twisted the knob and did the opposite when I pulled it open.

The cold wind of the winter day hit my face and tried to fill my lungs. I exhaled and felt refreshed when the much fresher air filled my lungs. I took several deep breaths, enjoying the cold path the air left in its place.

The drive to where I needed to be didn’t feel as long as it was. I drove with my windows down and enjoyed the way my face got cold in the wind. It calmed the heat that started to invade my body over the anxiety that I got from being outside the house.

I parked in front of the house and made my way to the door. I felt anxious about being here but I needed to be here, I needed to see him. I stood outside his door and gave it a second for my breath to settle down.

With much hesitation, I knocked on the door twice and waited to hear sound on the other side. I hoped he wasn’t still asleep since it was only nine in the morning. I didn’t hear anything yet so I rang the doorbell this time.

It sounded throughout the house and that’s when I heard faint groaning coming closer to the door. I was getting nervous again and decided to maybe it wasn’t best to be here yet. I turned and that’s when the door opened.

“(Y/N)?”

I turned around to face him and became incredibly overwhelmed. He opened the door, shirtless and lose bottoms hanging off his hip with the strings tied in a bow at the front. His chestnut hair was messy and out of place. He never looked so beautiful.

“Lucas.” I threw myself at him and wrapped my legs around his waist. He stumbled back but caught me, holding me up by my butt. “Baby girl, what are you doing here?”

“I missed you, I needed to see you.” I cried into his shoulder quietly, hugging him tighter. He chuckled and wrapped his arms around me tighter and guided us into his room, where he softly placed me on his bed.

“Just give me a second and I’ll be right back.” He excused himself, stepping out of his room and into the bathroom I assume. While he was away I took the liberty of crawling into his bed and snuggling into his covers and pillows.

Before I knew it, the comfort consumed me and my eyelids started to get heavy. I tried to push it away but I haven’t been sleeping well at all. And that wasn’t new of course, but the fear felt consuming every time I was in my own bed that it was almost impossible to get sleep there.

Masterlist

~~~~~

How are we feeling about today’s update?

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werejusttouchingeachother · 4 years

Text

DUBAI 2019 [August 26th, 9:00PM]

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 T/W: smoking, smutty Words: 3638

True to your word, you’d shown him all of Dubai in the ways that it was meant to be seen—at night. Of course, the crowds never did recede but it was easier to go unnoticed with you manoeuvring him through less packed areas.

More than any other city you’d been in, Dubai reeked of luxury. Fancy sports cars were on every corner, most of the crowds were decked in designer from head to toe and the buildings were taller than any you’d ever seen. One would have to drive quite a bit out of the heart of the city to find areas inhabited by the average middle-classes.

Places that no common tourist guide would ever take anyone.

And so you did. You drove Baekhyun to all your favourite parts of the city, revelling in the awe on his face as you lead him all over downtown.

It was easy to lose yourself in a city like Dubai. Much like New York, it was easy to be caught up in the hustle, a lifestyle where you merely drove from your apartment to the workplace and back, using what little of the weekends that you’d had to yourself to just stay in your bed.

But after three months of living in such oblivion, you ventured out on a Friday night. You drove alongside the beach, wanting to see where the ocean ended or where the land began. And in true Dubai fashion, you hadn’t realised how long you’d been driving.

Until you’d seen the first glimmer of the sun’s rays as it filtered through the dark sky.

There weren’t many places that were dark in Dubai since almost all the roads were lit with the faint yellow streetlights but as you drove along the beachside, you’d wandered too far from the city’s bright lights and closer to the murky darkness that seemed like an abyss as the shore and the ocean merged into one black void.

But then the sun had risen far in the distance, a narrow streak of the first bright ray almost blinding you as it crept over the coastline.

You’d gotten out of the car and watched the sunrise then as it cascaded over the city.

It was slow at first, almost tentative as it leapt over the still waters and you watched as the ocean turned teal again, sparkling with every hit of the sun’s rays that then reached out farther to the skyline and brushed against the peaks of the skyscrapers in the distance.

You can recall how you’d immediately thought of Baekhyun then, sitting down on the sand as you felt the warmth slowly envelop you. You were reminded of all the cities, all the times you’d seen him, all the countries.

But the sunrise reminded you of Paris. Of that afternoon at the hotel after you’d both confessed, of the way he’d taken you into his arms and kissed you. Of how you’d been crying, feeling a cold numbness almost set into you until he’d wrapped you in his ethereal warmth, basking you in his sunshine.

You took him into the heart, driving along the highway that bordered the same Corniche beach.

You’d rolled down the window and watched Baekhyun as he leaned his head back in his seat, eyes closing at the rush of the cool wind against his face. He held your hand over the gearshift, smelling the salty ocean and at one point, you were certain that you could even taste it in the air.

“It’ll be nice to see the sunset here,” he’d murmured and you’d tightened your grip on his hand, closing the windows when the car had slowed as you drove back to the main streets. You let go of his hand to grab his mask and handed it to him, saying, “Sunrises are pretty, too.”

“You don’t like sunsets?”

“I like sunrises more,” you’d shrugged as you turned to the alley behind the restaurant, driving into an empty parking spot. “They remind me of you.”

Baekhyun blinked then, cocking his head in confusion as you unlocked your seatbelt and grinned at him.

“Never mind,” you answer his unasked question, taking the hat off his head. “You can take off the mask. Let’s go have dinner.”

Baekhyun seems wary as you lead him up the familiar wooden stairs by his hand, noticing his spooked expression as he looked around the slightly dark restaurant. You finally reach the glass doors of Trance, pushing them open and smiling when you see the familiar face.

“Zahid,” you call out and he looks up from his phone at your voice, a grin mimicking yours as he stands up to greet you warmly.

“I was starting to worry, Y/N,” he admits, shaking your hand fondly. “You haven’t been here in a long while.”

“I’ve been busy with work,” you confess apologetically before swatting his arm jokingly. “I’m here now to make up for it, aren’t I?”

He shoots you a look, feigning a mock-impressed expression as he says, “Yes, it’s always a pleasure when a guest buys the entire restaurant for four hours.”

You grin as you mouth a genuine ‘thank you’ before pulling your boyfriend by his arm forward, switching to English as you say, “Zahid, this is my boyfriend, Baekhyun. Baek, owner and co-chef of Trance, Zahid.”

“Ah, hello, nice to meet you,” Baekhyun greets, holding out his hand and bowing slightly by habit.

Zahid smiles widely as he takes his hand. “EXO’s Baekhyun, I’ve heard so much about you! I must admit I never listened to Korean music until she told me about you but I really like it! I was there for the fountain show, Power!”

“He was,” you agree, laughing and raising your arms when you could tell Zahid was about to attempt the choreography. “Okay, please don’t embarrass me.”

“But that’s my job!”

“No, your job is to cook for us and run this place that I just paid a lot for,” you retort, rolling your eyes playfully as you grab Baekhyun’s arm. “I’ll be at my usual booth.”

The air is cooler on the rooftop, the wooden floors slightly echoing against every step that you take. The rooftop lounge is wide and spacious with modern furnishings and sleek interior designs. The red and blue moody lightings gave a relaxed and an almost seductive vibe with the dark colour scheme of the restaurant. A cluster of Moroccan-styled pendant lamps are placed at the corners to casting the intimate mood lighting softly over the plush cushions and sitting booths.

Overlooking the banister around the lounge is the breath-taking view of the Dubai skyline. Trance was not on an extremely high floor that overlooked the buildings but there wasn’t really any place from which you could look down at towering Burj Khalifa—except maybe from a plane.

Nevertheless the view was impressive and you knew the Baekhyun felt the same as he stared off into the distance, the city lights reflecting in his eyes like a cosmic galaxy as you lead him to your usual booth at the corner.

“When’d you start speaking Arabic?” Baekhyun mutters as you take off your jacket. He blinks, looking down at the plush couches of the sitting booth, caught off guard.

“Okay, so,” you start in explanation, feeling excited. “I know you expected a fancy restaurant with tables and chairs but this is a lot better—it’s a rooftop shisha bar. The non-smoking restaurant area is downstairs and this is for shisha mostly. Now, okay, listen, I know—” You raise your hands in a calm-down gesture when his eyes widen at your words. Slowly, you say, “I know you haven’t done this before so I thought you could try it because honestly, there’s no better place to do it. No one is here nor can anyone come in because I’ve reserved the whole lounge for the rest of the night for utmost privacy.”

“But,” you continue, giving him a small smile, “I also know that you’re sensitive to smells which is another reason why I booked the entire place actually so that other people smoking won’t bother you. But if you don’t want to try it at all, we can just eat out here because honestly—” You throw your arms open to gesture at the expanse of the sky above you, stepping close to the banister to gesture at the sparkling city below.

“—the view is fantastic,” you complete, grinning at him.

Baekhyun leans back against the banister across from you, crossing his arms with an unreadable expression as he asks, “How long have you been coming here? It must be often since you’re really close with the owner. Also when did you start smoking?”

“Not as often as I’d like to, and no, we just struck up a conversation once and got along fairly well.”

“Y/N, he knows me. You introduced me as your boyfriend.”

You throw your hands up in exasperation. “Okay, fine, we’re kind of close! He’s a great guy and trustworthy, so just believe me, please. You know I wouldn’t tell about us to any random person.”

Baekhyun stares at you in silence, raising an eyebrow when you don’t continue. “Okay. I believe you. Now answer the smoking question.”

You sigh, slumping your shoulders as you shake your head at him. “Relax, Baek, I’m not doing it often. I just come here when I’m stressed because it honestly is relaxing.” You hesitate before crouching to grab your coat from the couch, ready to leave but Baekhyun takes your hand, pulling you down.

“All right, fuck it, let’s do it,” he relented, sighing and giving a small smile when you start bouncing with excitement. He holds up a hand, loudly stating, “Buuuut please get something that doesn’t give me a headache. I have to shoot tomorrow.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t worry!” You nod excitedly, calling over the familiar waiter. “I’ll get something mild.” You think before teasing, “Maybe cucumber—”

“Bye,” Baekhyun deadpans, starting to get up and you grab his arm, laughing as you pull him back onto the couch. You sink back into the plush couch after ordering, relaxing into Baekhyun’s side as you watch him stare at the waiter in fascination when he walks back in with the shisha vase in his hand.

You sit up straighter as he sets up the vase on the crimson Persian carpet between the two of you, stirring the coal atop the plate before handing you the hose. You thank him softly and Baekhyun turns to you as you remove the plastic wrapping around the mouth-tip to insert it at the end of the hose, hearing him ask what you just said.

“Thanks,” you responded, looking up at Baekhyun as the waiter leaves.

“No, say it in Arabic, the way you just did.”

You smile slightly before enunciating, “Shukran.”

“Shukran?” he repeats softly, eyes on your mouth to imitate you and your own gaze drops to his, grinning as his lips form a pout.

“Yes, shukran,” you whisper, unable to stop yourself from pressing a light kiss before pulling back and giving him a teasing smile. “Do you like it when I speak Arabic?”

“I like it when you speak any language,” he replies huskily, leaning forward and pausing when he notices the hose in your hand. “Okay, why can’t I smell it? How mild did you ask it to be?”

“It’s not something you smell that strongly, Baek, it’s not weed,” you laugh at his worry, placing a hand on his knee comfortingly. “Give it a minute. Just relax and just watch me, okay?”

You lean back and raise the hose, wrapping your lips around the brightly-coloured tip and inhaling slowly. Baekhyun watches you carefully with hooded eyes, gaze darting to the base of the vase, watching the liquid bubble slightly as you inhale and remove it from your mouth, a puff of smoke escaping your parted lips.

Baekhyun is leaning back against the couch, watching you with wide eyes. You raise an eyebrow at him and he asks, “I want to be repulsed by this so bad but why the hell am I turned on watching you do that?”

You laugh, shaking your head as you hold out the hose to him. “Do you want to try it? It’s fine if you don’t—”

He grabs the pipe, cutting you off. Gently, you instruct how to do it and you watch as he hesitates before following your words. You watch as he blows a puff of smoke and give him an impressed look as you cheer, “Hey, you did it! And you didn’t cough!”

“Why is that smooth?” Baekhyun demands like he’s offended as he stares down at the pipe. “And what is that flavour?”

“What do you taste?” You grin, leaning back on the couch.

“… something fresh,” he answers, looking at you in bewilderment. “Like the beach. Almost like mint but it isn’t.”

“It’s called Spring Breeze. Do you feel relaxed?”

“Yes, very, and I hate it.” At your confused expression, he explains, “No, I love how relaxed I feel and I hate how much I love it.”

Beaming widely, you call over the waiter to order dinner as Baekhyun gets more comfortable with the pipe, smoking and puckering his mouth to attempt blowing circles.

“Okay, hon, relax,” you chide, taking it from his hand to slow him down. “It’s not vape, you can’t do all the cool tricks with this.”

“What can you do then?” Baekhyun questions, sitting back to watch you take your turn.

You pause before taking another puff and then lean forward until your face is hovering a few inches away from his. Locking eyes with his, you lift the pipe and inhale deeply, feeling the fresh almost minty-cool mist settle on your tongue and lower it only after a few seconds. Slowly, you exhale from your nose, causing thin tendrils of wispy smoke to drift down your nostrils.

Baekhyun leans forward, inhaling the sweet-smelling smoke as you breathe it out and you feel his fingers on your arms then, pushing you against the couch. You make a muffled noise of surprise upon being pressed against the plush velvet when he closes the distance between your mouths, a smoky mist still around your faces as you taste the coolness of the shisha on his lips, his tongue. An intense sensation of arousal rises deep within you and you can’t help but moan softly into the kiss, melting in his arms like putty.

“Does this get you high, Y/N?” Baekhyun mutters against your skin as he presses kisses into your throat. You whine out a protest to his question when you feel a sting as his teeth bite down slightly on the soft flesh.

“It does give a buzz, though,” you admit breathlessly and Baekhyun pulls back to look at you lazily smile up at him with half-lidded eyes, swollen lips and a reddening neck.

“Does it get you horny?” He asks, voice husky with arousal and you feel his hand hike up the hem of your dress, resting on your thigh.

“From past experiences, no,” you answer honestly, raising your finger to trace the defined cupid’s bow of his lips. Baekhyun’s eyes dilate slightly at your touch and you whisper, “Pretty sure that’s not the shisha and just my red lipstick doing things to you again, Baek.”

He doesn’t respond as he grabs your raised hand by the wrist, lowering it and bringing his own fingers to your mouth. You hear his breath audibly catch as your lips part almost with a mind of their own to allow his fingers slip inside easily.

Choking slightly from the way you’re sitting back, Baekhyun’s other hand comes around your neck to tilt your head up enough and he pushes his two slender digits in almost all the way to his knuckles.

“Yeah, it’s the lipstick,” Baekhyun agrees as you suck lazily, rolling the tip of your tongue on the underside of his fingers and he groans at the sensation. His other hand quickly dives in between your pressed knees, roughly parting them and you gasp aloud, arching up from the couch when you feel his hand dive in between your thighs. His eyes meet yours with disbelief as his knuckles press against your clothed core, asking, “Why’d you wear underwear?”

You narrow your eyes at him, wrapping your hand around his to yank his fingers out of your mouth, a trail of saliva connecting his fingers as you reply, “Because I dressed for dinner and not sex.” You straighten on the couch and tug down your dress, much to Baekhyun's dismay, continuing, “Also, this country is kind of strict about its rules against PDA so you might want to—Baek, the waiter's coming, get your hand off my ass.”

You elbow him on his side, glaring as you shove him back when the waiter walks to your table. You grab the shisha's pipe that had been temporarily forgotten on the carpeted floor and grab a tissue to busy yourself while wiping the mouth-tip, unable to meet the waiter’s eye—especially since you noticed his expression as he entered the lounge that was a dead giveaway that he definitely knew what the two of you were doing even though you stopped right as he walked in.

Your messy hair and flushed face most certainly did not help.

He placed the meat platter down along with a plate of the traditional Arabic bread and the condiments.

Exhaling the puff you just took, you turn to him to explain the delicious meal you had laid out in front of you but he was pouting, eyes narrowed as he sighs loudly.

“I still can’t believe you wore your panties,” he stated with annoyance.

“I have literally only skipped wearing it that one time at the Milan club, Baek!” You exclaim with a laugh at his childish pout. “Shut up and listen to me about the meal now.”

You smiled as you saw Baekhyun immediately grab the pink-coloured fizzy drink in the tall glass, sucking on the straw and humming in content at the sweet liquid.

“It’s strawberry mint mojito,” you explain, taking it from him to sip a bit. “It complements the shisha flavour.”

True to the consistent Baekhyun that you knew, if there was one thing that could have him distracted enough to not be groping you—it was food.

There weren't many moments in your life that you remembered or cherished closely in a way that they’re still crystal clear when you recall them again years later.

In fact, you could count them on your hands.

The adrenalin rush you had at the Incheon airport, heart pounding louder in your ears than the intercom announcements about boarding your flight to Paris as you decided to run, once and for all.

The sky as you stepped out of Roissy Airport and looked around Paris for the first time with hardly any money in your pockets but a luggage of scrapbooks filled with designs.

The exact time, location and outfit you were wearing when you got a call from Sylvie’s assistant as she told you that they’d received your portfolio and Madame Sylvie herself was interested to have you as her apprentice.

Seoyeon’s elated expression as she sat beside you when you handed over the signed contract to the Chamber of Commerce in Paris for officially opening your first place of business.

The way you’d practically collapsed as you received an invitation to present your work at your first Paris Fashion Week.

Baekhyun’s gaze at the power room as he stared at you in the dark like he was seeing you for the first time, a look in his eyes that to this day you couldn't describe—the one that changed everything, the gaze that lead to your undoing.

The way you’d burst into happy tears for the first time in your life when Baekhyun had walked back into your hotel room at Paris while you were crying, the way he’d kissed you and you’d felt like you had the sun in your arms.

The way Baekhyun had felt, the way he’d sounded against your chest as he hugged you on the floor of his dorm room while misquoting Frozen after almost two hellish months apart.

And now, as you laughed at Baekhyun's stories of the boys, you stared at him with a heart fuller than your stomach, despite all the kebabs and koftas you’d just had.

This. This right here would go on to be another memory that you’d remember as clear as ever—the sweet smell of the shisha hanging over the two of you, the soft Arabic music that Zahid had left playing in the background, Baekhyun’s sparkling eyes that were prettier than any skyline, his warm lingering touches dancing across your skin, his loud boisterous laugh that you could hear echo heartily around you without fearing anyone else hearing or seeing because you’d been wise enough to finally create a private paradise in a big world that always seemed too small for both of you.

Hours after you’d cleared all the plates on the table and were laughing at his story about Jongin being clumsy again, you both fell into a comfortable silence and your eyes met over the table.

And you knew. So did Baekhyun although you were sure he’d blame the shisha for its ‘buzz’ later.

“Hey,” he said, taking your hand that was atop the table. He stares deeply at you without saying a word and you smile.

“I know,” you reply with a nod, your voice soft. “Me too.”

Baekhyun’s eyes became crescent moons from how hard he grinned at you and you tighten your grip around his fingers, feeling him squeeze back.

My sunshine, mine.

#bbh-net #exosnet #exo fic #exo baekhyun #baekhyun fanfic #byun baekhyun #mshm baekfic #smut #romance #fluff #angst #idol!au #mshm 14 #chapter 14 #i loved writing this chapter so fucking much #cause this is home to me #two more chapters to go y'all!#this is ending on his birthday

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ignaciotries · 4 years

Text

COFFEE

Coffee

There’s something mystical in waking up right before the sun shines. The sheets are still cold, it’s incredibly misty outside, and everything seems suspended in a half dreamlike state. You wobble between dream and reality, and gravity seems awfully stronger. The air isn’t stale, but gentle and the breeze sends pleasant tingles down the spine. I exhale heavily and roll covered in bed sheets towards the edge until my face meets wood; a bitter departure but needed if I’m to get out of bed. After long contemplating the cold paneled floor, I glimpse at the window. My exhales fog the cold panes. I push the window open and meet the soft breeze outside. I motion my body forward and rest my arms over the damp wooden frame, while the wisps from a low fog outside slither into my room.

It may not be the place for everyone, but here I behold my own small paradise. The whitish peaks shine a bluish hue against the dark horizon. Long lived pines naturally frame the vista and cover my lonesome cabin in the woods from the harsh winds and brutal temperatures that come rushing down from that sparkly ridge beyond. A ridge I would love to describe even further, but I just slammed onto the floor seconds ago and will need a bit to sharpen my senses; though, it is a good thing that today is for relaxation and mindfulness. Today is for taking my time and enjoying my home; as every timber has been chopped, all the meats carved and cured, and the forest peaceful. It is me, and only me on this slope opposite to man and industry.

I take a break from admiring it all. I don’t want it to get too cold inside before I prepare the fireplace. The logs may get humid. It would be far too eventful now for them to split and crack wildly. I pick the driest logs and let the ember gather strength on its own. I enjoy this simple silence.

But above all, I enjoy something more; more than the books I keep safe and sealed away in the living room chests, or a sharpened hatchet gliding through wood as a knife would butter. Yes. The one thing that I can enjoy the most on mornings such as these is the purest black elixir I can filter after one delicate pour.

I light the gas and watch snow melt away into sweet water. I bring it to a soft boil and then maintain the pot at a low simmer. The vapors contrast wildly inside as the hot and cold airs spiral into a perpetual dance above. Now comes the best part, I gently let the water stream out as a sparkling waterfall into the dry grinded bits I prepared the day before; perfectly roasted and dried. Fumes rich in aroma and force envelop the room as I pour in concentric circles from the center outwards. And in a minute, I will be experiencing a sunrise of my own.

It is the stark contrast of the season against the remedy of man, both night and day in a cup. Coffee. My cup with Coffee. There are many like it across the world at hours such as these. The salaryman has his expresso; the boys, their americanos; and those who fancy the drink as a sweet and quick “pick me up”, their lattes. But this one, this simple stream of black into a stained ivory cup, is mine. It forever will be. I do not pretend to sound like a braggart, but the difference in resulting hue has been something of an art and lifelong learning experience for me. I have drunk from the frothy mixes of the south, partaken of the rich Caribbean tones, and endured the harsh and uncaring smack of the smooth roast. All of these experiences coalesced into what I hold now. My cup. My coffee.

I place it at a table next to a broad window.

There’s a clearing outside. The peaks are as visible here as from my bedroom, and it seems that a harsh orange glow burns against them from the right. The ever radiant towards the irradiant.

I sit by the table, cup at my left, and I look out and fix my eyes beyond the windows, beyond the clearing, beyond the peaks. I take a small taste and follow it with a small mouthful to warm the senses; a sublime enlightenment in such a small broth. Would it even be right to call it such? No, it is preposterous to call it a broth and continue my early ramblings. I apologize. This is no bean soup; therefore, never will it be a broth. Coffee stands on a world alone. It is apart from others by more than just use and origin. It is a lonesome and tortured soul, that has been filled with bitter sentiment against the world.

A cherry is plucked, its dreams to face the musky earth and give rise to something more destroyed, it is then gutted and left to suffer the morning sun, like the peaks. The peaks shine a softer color now as the spectrum reaches further on its path through the void.

“The void...” I whisper.

One would think I would compare it through some convoluted analogy or otherworldly metaphor to the stiff dark of my Coffee, but it would result in more or less the same. It is black because it is greedy. It desires all that it has lost and so picks even the color from air, takes it all till not one is distinguishable from the other. The void doesn’t care for colors. When one stares into space, like an astronaut contemplating their place in it all, it seems black, but not because of color, but the lack of it. Here, color roams freely unhinged and uninhibited. The astronaut is both aware and saddened by it, for to let color free in such an unfathomable space is to see it disappear and leave only darkness, and to catch it all and not let it escape is to also be darkness. Only by freeing it among others is to see light and hues.

And so, it is that Coffee is lonesome, tortured, and greedy, but most of all… bitter. We have taken away enough, and it is that will for fight rather than flight that awakens the body. We have made something suffer for our gain. Good Coffee. I know your pain, so I always treat you with ceremony. I admire you and your spirit.

I take another mouthful.

“So much bull,” I sighed.

All this rambling, all the nonsense, the attempts to veil myself in constant thought, and whimsical allusions are just proof that I’m more of a social creature than what I tell others. I close myself in these fantasy-like rental cabins and spin a distinct narrative every morning. Today I’m a coffee connoisseur, yesterday I was woodchopper, and well, Thursdays… they’re just for building a fort of literature as I tangle myself in their worlds, too; it’s how I get new material for the rest of the week.

“It beats facing reality, at least for now.”

I push away from the chair, inching towards the window, cup in hand.

“Yet, perhaps that’s what I should aim for,” the view getting a bit ginger, yet not as arrayed in hues anymore.

“Peaks.” I let out. A peak, a sort of maximum confluence in direction, all roads in my mind converging; something far and above these habitual escapes.

Goal oriented is what they call it. I get it, what sane mind would want to develop a new persona each day? To pour myself into the mold, while suppressing any asphyxiating thought of what I really think I am. Of what I can remember. Constant change inevitably erodes the self and time builds upon the remainder as to fill the gaps.

I look back at the chair, at the table with its sleek mahogany finish, and the kitchen at the back; coffee bean bags rushed open, an unseemly grinder with old bits clumped at the bottom, and the hourglass like shape of my coffee dripper, gifted to me by my sister. Around it all, miscellaneous pots, and utensils, all thrown around the small counter.

I turn back towards the window. Under the thin layer of snow outside, foliage from months ago decompose at a standstill pace.

“I better make another cup.”

I light the gas and watch snow melt again. I just bring it to a boil this time. The vapors contrast wildly inside as the hot and cold airs blah, blah, perpetual, blah, blah, above… yeah. I place the bean bits I roughed up this morning on the filter; perfectly beaten into submission. Fumes rich in wakey-wakey envelop the room as I pour in concentric circles from the center outwards or was it inwards? I’ll just draw a star this time. And in a minute, I hope we can all experience less buffoonery. If this were a short story, then I would be a criminal for robbing the reader from his time. In a story there would be a plot to develop and tensions to rise. I’m just shifting from one end of the room to the other, not much action here.

Perhaps there’s something intrinsically natural to just doing nothing. Not that I would advocate for the world to stop working all at once. The economy would collapse! Sure, a week or two would be alright, but give it a month and production halts, travel ceases, consumerism trickles, and the line at the supermarket, where old ladies philosophize on each other’s day, vanishes completely. Oh! What a chaos that would be.

And the silence.

Maybe it wouldn’t be that bad.

I’ve been away too long.

I serve my second cup and walk towards the table, again.

The cup isn’t real ivory, just some fancy facsimile for those that . . . “like to brush shoulders with Norse warriors while gulping barrels of ale after a glorious and visceral skirmish at the gates of Valhalla.” That’s just what’s written on the box. It curves at the bottom making it awkward to drink from. Why would I go to pains to drink something when a simple cylindrical cup would suffice? Is appearance that important for me? Am I vain? I think it is more likely just another tool for escapism, a thing to renounce the typical for the atypical and from it construct a world of my own. But by fulfilling this desire through material objects in order to appeal to a mood or passing fancy is shallow and wasteful. Should I not seek to feel contempt with what I do have, or what I can muster through my own ability or craft? Keeping this cup is just another day in a fit of delusion waiting to happen.

I grab a cup from those provided in the cabin. Pour the coffee from one cup to the new one, a wide brimmed glossy gray cup. I open the windows. The breeze assaults the room. I take a mallet out; toss the faux ivory cup into the air. My grip tightens fast. My feet are parallel to the shoulders. The hands back, and my left foot forward. My hips burst into motion. My whole torso follows, and away the mallet goes. The cup is obliterated immediately and the projectile bits rain outside like dirt over a coffin. The logs at the fireplace start popping a bit as if cheering me on.

I toss the mallet at the floor, and drop over the seat again, window still open and breeze still rushing in. I drink from the new cup. The logs pop louder as the flames twist the pulp and vapors trapped inside shootout.

I drink from my new cup.

All the confusion tumbling in my head is bound to lead me into exhaustion. I believe that by drinking from that which I described at the start as something so dark and bitter, may help me untangle the weaves of fantasy and delusion I have brought upon myself. Is it not the remedy of man against the season? This seasonal depression I stumble into every night, hoping in the end that I at least manage to see the day again. There are many who go through the same ordeals at hours such as these, but I wish them better than me. I hope they don’t end up attaching their happiness to the availability of a drink, to a drug. I hope that they don’t grow addicted to their escapes. I hope that they return to a less cold and somber place; somewhere they can see and be merry under the light each other reflects upon the other. I never wished to sound so disheartening. I believed that being away from others could help me reshape this mentality.

I used to believe that coffee could help. I still drink it because I have replaced all that I used to know with it. If I drink enough water and eat accordingly, I’m sure to stay fine no matter how much coffee I consume in a day.

Remedies against the season, right?

Remedies of man.

I stare at the cup. It seems I’ve gulped most of it down at some point, made more, and didn’t even notice.

I look back at the kitchen counter; coffee bean bags decomposed, a moldy old grinder, and a broken coffee dripper only able to hold half a cup before it starts seeping through the seams. Around it all, ashes. The fireplace is filled with soot and the walls around it are charred. My books are just tight bundles of dust that collapse at the touch. The cabin has lost its roof and the windows are broken. Snow gathers inside just like outside. The peaks are still there, off in the distance, and I’m still sitting in this chair by the table, cup in hand.

I stroked my old dusty beard and let out a sigh. The low warm exhale dancing gently in front just as vapors did long ago above me. I grow covered in this white dust, but my cup is warm to the touch, my coffee, still bitter, in a stained gray cup.

#second draft #coffee

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