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gauntie-o-dimm · 5 years

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Geralt | Salvation

Prompt: “You’ve been a bad girl.” Word count: 1900+ Warnings: Smut, swearing, prostitution

The smell of alcohol and sexual tension hung around the room, laughter audible, echoing through the tavern. I sat at my usual table, one leg draped over the other, back straightened as I applied my make up, dark red lipstick that would stain any man I would kiss. Ever so often, my gaze fluttered towards the door to see if a certain, regular customer of mine would enter. Disappointed sighs left my lips every time a drunkard barged in, babbling he would plough the hottest of us all. I reached for my perfume flask, spraying a royal amount in my neck and on the insides of my wrists. It was Tuesday, he should be here any moment now. Impatiently, I tapped my nails against the table. I chewed on my lip before dragging a hand through my (h/c) locks, trying to look as seductive and sexy as possible. A few men shot me suggestive glances, but I ignored them. Tonight was reserved for somebody else, a certain White Wolf dropping by for a drink, sex and some rest.

I grew restless as a few hours passed. Men entered and left again after being satisfied, yet I did not do a single thing tonight. I chugged down another Kaedweni Stout, rubbing my temples in agony. 'Tonight was a fucking waste of time.' I muttered, sighing deeply. 'Did you say something, (Y/n)?' I nearly got a heart attack as Geralt suddenly stood behind me, his swords draped over his back, his face caked with mud. 'I thought you wouldn't show up anymore.' He gave me a charming smirk. 'I always do, except if I am dead. I never want to miss an opportunity to see you.' I couldn't fight the blush that grew on my face. 'Shall we go to my room?' I asked him, twirling a strand of my hair around my finger. 'Of course.' Geralt answered, gesturing towards the stairs as a sign he wanted me to go first. Probably to look at my butt as we climbed the steps, that was. My room smelled a bit musky, so I threw open a window. Geralt flinched the moment we walked in. He dropped his stuff in the corner, making his way to the washing basin to carry out the usual ritual of washing his face, armpits and private parts. As he gazed at his hands fiddling in the water, I wrapped my arms around him from behind, pressing my lips against a few scars on his muscled back. 'What's the matter?' I whispered, feeling his wet hands wrap around mine. 'How many men, (Y/n)?' I tensed, wanting to withdraw my grip on Geralt. His nails dug into my skin all of a sudden. 'How many?' he repeated, 'Five? Six?' I managed to free myself, whipping around to walk towards the window for a few gulps of fresh air. 'Twelve.' Geralt let out a huff, dragging his hands through his white locks. 'Twelve. You slept with twelve men in just one week. No matter my sense of smell is so overreacting right now.' I closed my eyes, leaning on the windowframe. 'It is bound to happen, Geralt. I am a prostitute. It is my bloody job!' The Witcher shook his head. 'No, (Y/n), stop that. You can find another job.' 'Like what? No one wants to hire an ex-strumpet! As soon as I leave the trade, the news about me being a retired whore will spread around like a wildfire!' Geralt let out a groan of frustration. 'Petite Nina from three rooms down the hall slept with twenty-seven this week. I could top that easily had I not reserved my Tuesday evenings for someone else.' His cat-like eyes bore into me. 'Don't say that. I don't want to think of you sleeping with other men.'

'It's unavoidable. I need to live too, to pay for my food. Even a bit of rent for this room.' Geralts fists clenched and unclenched. 'Why do you act all surprised? This is a fucking brothel, Geralt!' The Witcher let out shivery breaths. 'I don't want you to work here anymore. I want you to be mine.' I sat down on top of the bed, crossing my legs. 'I really wish I could be, but the owner will never let me go. She's merciless.' He sat down next to me, putting an arm around me before pulling me into his shoulder. I leaned my head against his chest, sighing deeply. 'What's her price?' 'You wanna buy me with a certain sum of crowns like a piece of livestock.' Geralt grabbed my chin. 'No, (Y/n). Look at me.' I dared to face him, his eyes filled with an emotion I had never seen by any man before. 'I fucking love you, OK? Not just because of the sex.' I closed my eyes, rubbing my temples. 'She wouldn't ever let me go, I think. I am one of the... better courtesans.' Geralt caressed my cheek, his thumb grazing against my skin. 'I shall let her name her price and I will pay it to her, no matter how much.'

'She is asleep at the moment. Still wanna go for that fuck?' A smirk grew on his face as he leaned in to lightly peck my lips. His beard was ticking my chin as he tilted his head to the right. 'I guess we should. Twelve men... You've been a bad girl, (Y/n).'

I giggled as he suddenly flipped me over on my back, hovering over me. His Wolven School necklace brushed against my stomach as he straddled me. I hooked a finger around it, tugging him down for a kiss. Slowly, Geralt started to kiss me. His lips moved against mine in sync, savoring the moment I had longed for an entire week. I hooked my legs around his hips, forcing him to stay close as his tongue slithered into my mouth, rolling it against mine. Of all the men I had ever slept with, Geralt was the best kisser. The best fucker. The most gentle and the most rough. He was the only one I wanted to see again and again. Geralt was the only man I didn't have to fake orgasms with. His fingers fiddled with my bra, taking it off me. Goosebumps covered my arms as he played with my hard nipples, pinching them gently as his lips still kissed me. I moaned into his mouth softly, his long hair falling like a curtain over my face as I undid the ponytail that held it together. The Witcher pulled back for air, a low hum leaving his throat as I bucked my hips against his crotch. 'Aren't you excited?' I chuckled as I felt his solid member twitch against my core. The White Wolf grinned, kissing my neck softly. 'I can smell the other men you slept with in the sheets.' 'Then please, leave your scent behind.' He grabbed my wrists as soon as my hands started to wander to his back. 'None of that. I am in charge.' I smiled seductively. 'Then go ahead.' His lips pecked my collarbone, one of my breasts as he undid his underwear. His kisses trailed downwards, over my stomach. I arched my back as he breathed over my core, kissing my thighs. He hooked his fingers around my thongs, taking it off me. 'I rather spread the scent of our mixed juices instead of just mine.' I chewed on my lip, the spot between my legs growing wetter and wetter every second. Geralt smiled, crawling over me again so he was facing me.

'Are you going to be a good girl from now on?' 'Hmhm.' 'Say it to me.' 'I am going to be a good girl from now on, Geralt.' 'And if I pay your employer for you, will you come with me.' 'Yes.' 'Yes what?' 'Yes Ger-- Oh!'

Without a warning he shoved himself into me, thrusting forward as deep as he could. 'Those tiny men with tiny pricks are nothing compared to my cock, aren't they?' I moaned. 'Yes Geralt, they are nothing.' He started bucking his hips in a quick, unsatisfactory pace. Grunts already left him before I had even adjusted to his size, the head of his cock hitting my g-spot over and over without showing mercy. Pleasure was soon present in the pit of my stomach, making me see stars as his hot breath blew against my neck, his husky voice whispering dirty words in my ear. 'You like that, (Y/n)?' I raked my nails across his back. 'Are you going to give me some more scars? Give them to me, darling.' he groaned, speeding up. His hands were propped on both sides of my head, trapping me from turning my face from his as if I even wanted to. 'Fuck, Geralt.' My fingers dug into his skin, clawing in his hair. The sloppy sound of his member slipping in and out of me filled the room. Perhaps it was even audible on the other side of the brothel, and part of me hoped it was. I moaned, Geralt leaning down to seal my mouth with his. He was slamming in and out of me, numbing the bud between my legs every time the little white patch of pubic hair brushed against it, even if the touch was so gentle it drove me crazy, for the nerves in my clitoris were highly sensitive right now. 'Geralt, I am going to cum...' I cried out, bucking my body into his. The Witcher just chuckled, pulling out his cock. I let out a sob of disappointment. 'What are you doing?' 'You've been a bad girl, (Y/n).' he repeated his sentence from earlier, wrapping his hand around his cum-oozing member. 'Besides, I am going to stain the sheets with my load.' He started to pump himself with his hand. 'Come here, baby, help me out.'

I gathered myself from the loss of his cock, taking it in my palm now. I gave a few tugs, making Geralt bury his hands in my hair. 'Yes, like that.' I started to jerk him off, his swollen member throbbing already. 'Let me cum on the sheets, (Y/n).' I smirked, licking the few first drops off his shaft. 'No, on the sheets, not in your mouth.' I pouted, swiping my tongue against the base anyways. 'I thought you promised to be a good girl.' I smirked, continuing to pump him with my hand. 'Let me cum. Now.' I sped up, sperm dripping over my hand right now. Geralts cat eyes found mine, the certain glint in them indicating his high approaching quickly. 'Yes, darling, yes.' I leaned to the side so my sheets were free to be released on. Geralt grunted, ejaculating all over the soft fabrics. I let out a laugh as he panted heavily, gripping my hair even tighter. 'Yes, good girl. Good girl.' I let go of his member, letting him push me onto the bed again. He pressed his mouth against mine, drawing air from me. I could hear his quickened heartbeat and felt the hot seed underneath me. 'Stay here.' Geralt breathed, pulling back and grabbing his underwear. 'I am going to wake up your employer and pay for you, so you can come with me as soon as we wake up. I am going to get you out of here.' I smiled, watching him dress up messily. He still looked like sex as he left, his legs still trembling a bit. I buried my head into my pillow, and as I inhaled, I could smell him in the sheets.

#the witcher #witcher x reader #geralt of rivia #x reader #smut #moans of Temeria

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royaltyjunk · 7 years

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Brighter - Ch. 2 [T, Perceval/Cecilia]

Author's Ideas: The nerds are back and better than ever

*flashes a V*

End me now this ship is taking over my life

Disclaimer: No, I don't own Fire Emblem, no, I am not Shouzou Kaga, and no, I am not rarepair trash. ...No. I'm definitely not. Totally not. I swear.

II: Sparkle

Cecilia pulls open the drawer to her dresser, stacking two binders and folder into her bag. She shuts her laptop and tucks it under her arm as she stands, going to open the door.

Perceval steps back as the door is pulled open, and Cecilia starts before smiling, letting go of the doorknob.

"I wasn't expecting you here," she slips her computer into her bag.

"Neither was I. I thought you'd be inside overworking yourself again," he teases, and when Cecilia scrunches up her face, he laughs, leaning down to press a kiss on her cheek. "I got you dinner."

"Mm hm," Cecilia hums in thanks as he hands her the bagged food. It's still warm. "You know, you should really let me go get my own dinner sometimes."

"It's more convenient," Perceval smiles. "Besides, I get to see you."

"You get to see me all the time," Cecilia points out, but stands on the tips of her toes and gives him a gentle kiss on the lips.

"Would you rather I didn't come see you?" he raises an eyebrow.

"No," she licks her lips, "but I'd rather you don't come see me right before I have a meeting."

There's a moment of silence, and then Perceval grinds his teeth. "Shoot. That meeting is today, not tomorrow…"

Cecilia blinks. "You know about my meetings?"

"Of course," he replies incredulously as he takes her bag. "Why do you think I always visit you when you have free time?"

"Oh…" Cecilia starts with realization, then shakes her head. "The meeting's in A45."

"I know," he laces his fingers with hers, and Cecilia shuts the door to her office. They walk down the stairs to the first floor, and as they round the corner, Gale appears from a nearby door.

"Cecilia, Perceval." Gale smiles as he notices them.

"Did you just come from a meeting?" Cecilia frowns. Gale waves off her worry.

"It's normal. Melady and I are trying to balance out our schedules, but for now, we're rather busy."

"Gale…"

"Don't worry, Cecilia. We should probably get going."

Cecilia nods, letting go of Perceval's hand. He kisses her temple gently.

"Come to my house afterwards, okay?"

She blinks. "Why?"

"Do I need a reason to invite my girlfriend over?"

Cecilia shakes her head, smiling as she brushes his hair from his forehead. "No. I'll come over."

"I'll see you, then." Perceval laces his fingers with hers, squeezing her hand. She gives him a squeeze back, smiling.

"Yeah."

Cecilia falls into step with Gale, and they enter the meeting room.

The meeting passes, a boring matter that involves her a little too much than she wants it to. Eventually, she and Gale leave, and Gale gives her a sympathetic look.

"I feel sorry for you. You have so much to do, even more than I do."

Cecilia shakes her head, smiling. "I like my work. It's not gruesome or tiring, at least to me."

Gale nods, pushing open the door to the parking lot. He holds it open for her, and she thanks him softly.

"Where's your car?" Gale asks, and Cecilia points at the car a few spaces down the first row. Gale rolls his eyes. "I forgot, you get first priority with parking."

"At least you get second priority," Cecilia jokes, making her way to her car. As she gets closer, she squints her eyes, making out a strange shape behind her car. She turns around the trunk of her car, and Gale's eyes widen.

"Cecilia!"

His warning comes too late, and Cecilia stumbles backwards, holding her cheek which stings from the slap that echoes through the parking lot.

"I thought it'd be just you. That's fine, though. I can deal with Gale," Narcian sneers.

"Narcian, what the-" Gale cuts himself off when Narcian brings up his hand, revealing a switchblade in his grip. Cecilia can feel her hands growing cold, and she shudders.

"He's…"

Narcian advances on them, and Gale curls his lip. "You prick!"

Narcian slashes at Gale with his knife, and grins when Gale dodges right into his punch. Gale reels backwards, and Narcian is so caught up in his smugness that he doesn't notice Cecilia is behind him.

Cecilia clamps her hand against the side of his neck, throwing a punch to the side of Narcian's head. Narcian screeches.

"You bitch!" Narcian elbows at Cecilia, but she jumps back, dodging his strike. Narcian throws Gale to the ground, raising his knife as he rushes to attack Cecilia. Her hands dart upwards, clasping around Narcian's wrist.

"Stop… it…!" she growls, as she presses herself against the trunk of her car, clenching her hands around Narcian's wrist. She's struggling to still his assault, and when Narcian knees her in the stomach she doubles over, leaning against the car. Narcian slashes the knife down, but as Cecilia crumples to the ground, the knife's edge cuts her right arm. Pain explodes in her arm, and she hisses.

"Narcian! Stop it!" Gale yells angrily, hooking his arms under Narcian's armpits, hauling him away from Cecilia.

"You vile piece of…!" Narcian spits, kicking violently, and Gale throws him to the ground behind him.

"Get out of here, Narcian," Gale growls, his fist clenching together in rage. "Get out of here!"

Narcian bares his teeth at Gale and Cecilia like a wild wolf. "You wenches… you-"

"Go!" Gale bellows, and Narcian scrambles to his feet, stumbling away.

Gale clenches his fist, watching the brown-haired man disappear into the darkness of the parking lot. He takes in a deep breath, and then turns to Cecilia, who's standing, her left hand clenching her right wrist. Her arm are flecked with blood that's still flowing.

"Gods… I'm so sorry, Cecilia. This… it's all my fault… I'm so sorry…" Gale shudders, and Cecilia shakes her head.

"No, it's not your fault…"

"But Cecilia-"

"Please, Gale, stop blaming yourself," Cecilia murmurs, smiling wearily at him. "I… I'm going to Perceval's. If you need anything, call me, okay?"

"Take care of yourself," Gale mutters, and Cecilia turns, opening the door to the driver's seat. She collapses into it, sighing as she forces herself to shove the keys into the ignition and start up the car. Only when she pulls out of the parking lot and onto the roads can she let her guard down, let her fingers loosen around the steering wheel, let her eyes blur up with the pain and despondency she's bottled up.

She wipes her eyes, gulping as she stares at the blood trickling along her arm. Slowly, her eyes drift to the rearview mirror, and Cecilia flinches at the sight of the large and ugly purple bruise on her cheek.

"How am I going to explain this…?" she whispers, then shakes her head. Perceval will understand - as long as she tells him. She'll go to his house, take a shower, go to bed, and explain everything the next morning. That'll work.

Slowly, she navigates the roads and highways, on her way to Chanchester, where Perceval's house is located. His house comes into view as she turns one more time, and she lets out a shaky breath. As she pulls up into his driveway, she reaches up and hits the control to the garage, given to her due to her frequent visits. The garage opens, and she pulls in on the left side of the garage beside Perceval's car. A jittery feeling sweeps over her as she closes the garage with the remote and removes her keys from the ignition. She takes a deep breath, and pushes open the door.

Calico, Perceval's cat, meows as Cecilia steps into the kitchen, and Cecilia smiles as she spots the tortoiseshell cat padding through the kitchen to meet her.

"Hi Calico," Cecilia coos, running her hands through her hair. She brings her bangs to cover her cheek, barely concealing the bruise on her face. Slowly, she kneels down, petting Calico.

"Cecilia?" Perceval's bleary voice drifts from the kitchen doorway, and she looks over to see the blonde standing in the doorway.

She stands, carefully folding her hands behind her back. "Did you fall asleep?"

"I didn't, but I have to admit I'm drowsy," he grins and walks forward to meet her. "You're late." He tilts his head, and she smiles.

"Sorry. The meeting went on longer than I thought it would," she replies, and Perceval smiles back, kissing her forehead and cupping her face.

She freezes, realizing the dilemma she's gotten herself into. If she pulls away from his touch, he'll know something's wrong. Yet, if he keeps going-

Too late.

Perceval's fingers brush the hair away from her cheek, and his eyes grow dark as he sees the purple bruise blotching her pale cheek. She reaches up tentatively, touching his hands unsteadily. He cups her hands, examining the gashes on her arm.

"Who did this to you?" Perceval finally asks, his voice harshly quiet.

"...Narcian."

He's halfway out the door before she can say another word, slamming the door behind him so angrily that the glasses in the sink rumble and clatter. She can hear him starting his car. Calico is startled so badly that she dashes into the basement and doesn't come back out.

Cecilia waits for him throughout the night, smearing ointment on her wounds and bandaging them, scrunching up her nose at the bitter scent that ends up following her around. She ends up spending her time sifting through piles of paperwork from her bag on the couch. Eventually, she cocoons herself in his blankets that smell so strongly of his musky scent (mint masked with coffee, honey, and the faintest scent of peaches) and changes into a pair of loose sweatpants and a camisole, wiping off the makeup from her face. She can feel her eyelids growing heavier as the clock ticks away, but she shakes it off, forcing herself to pull open her laptop in an attempt to stay awake. At some point, Calico awakens from the slumber she had once been in and pads into the living room, jumping up onto the couch Cecilia is sitting on and curling up against the woman.

"Do you think he's coming back soon?" Cecilia murmurs. The cat just meows, rubbing her cheek against Cecilia's hand which is stroking her fur.

She brews herself tea stored in Perceval's cabinets, her favorite blend that always comforts her, but when Douglas calls her and asks why she's using her work laptop to watch cheesy movies from the '80s and '90s at 12 in the morning, she breaks down.

"He what?"

"He left. He hasn't come back yet…"

"No, Narcian. He what? Drew a knife on you and Gale?"

Cecilia swallows, remembering the terrifying expression in the man's eyes. "Yes." Her hands are trembling. Calico notices, and the cat curls up in Cecilia's lap, meowing reassuringly. Cecilia smiles.

Douglas swears, and she can hear him flipping through papers with a violent urge in his actions. "I'm sorry, Cecilia. I didn't notice the tension between you two before it was too late."

"It's okay, really," she promises. "I've already heard enough apologizing from Gale… since he thinks he's the main cause of this…"

"Well, I'll bring this up tomorrow to Mordred."

"Thank you, Douglas…" she grins, her eyes blurring again. She swallows, and Douglas shifts the phone, most likely holding it with his shoulder against his ear.

"Are you sure you're alright, Cecilia?"

"I…" she shakes her head mutely before realizing she's talking over the phone. "I'm just… worried…"

"About Perceval?"

"Yes…" she strokes Calico, her hands shaking.

"I know you're worried, but trust in him," he reassures. "He's a smart young man. He wouldn't dare do anything that would upset you."

Cecilia smiles, wiping her eyes. "He's… a little too compassionate for his own good, isn't he?"

Douglas snorts. "That's certainly a way to put it. I can remember more than a few occasions where he got rather heated. Most of them involved you."

Cecilia lets out a little laugh. "I can certainly think of some."

Douglas lets out a low chuckle. "I'm sure he'll be just fine, Cecilia."

"Thank you, Douglas."

"Of course. Get some sleep, girlie. It's 1 AM."

"You too." She hangs up and lets her eyelids fall down. She drifts asleep listening to soothing orchestral music, her hand curled on Calico's pelt.

Cecilia wakes up when she gets a call from Pent an hour later, who exasperatingly tells her when she picks up, "Control your man, damn it."

In her drowsy state, she can barely make out Narcian, who is shouting in the background. Pent gives the phone to someone because his yelling gets quieter and quieter, and then a guilty Perceval mutters into the line, "Sorry."

"What were you thinking!?" she squawks, fully awake now, and Perceval coughs.

"I wasn't thinking," he admits.

"Reassuring," she mutters sarcastically, glancing at the clock in the corner of her laptop. "It's two in the morning. What in the world did you do to end up with my former boss this early?"

"Drive to Aquelia to yell at and threaten Narcian," he replies. "Pent caught me and dragged me back to his house. I'm staying the night."

"Did you do anything else?"

"...I might've slapped him."

"Narcian?"

"And Pent," Perceval adds. He doesn't sound sorry at all.

"What were you thinking!?"

"I said I wasn't thinking!"

"Well, think!"

"I can't think when something's happened to you! That just makes me angry, and then I feel like shoving my foot down Narcian's throat."

"Did you try that? Because that was oddly specific."

"No! What do you take me for, Cecilia? A barbarian?"

"A dork."

"Stop derailing my argument with opinions," he grumbles.

"I'm not. I'm stating facts," Cecilia smiles, and Perceval sighs.

"Look… it's 2 AM, and I know you're really tired, so… I'm sorry."

"What are you apologizing for?" Cecilia asks, confusion laced into her words.

"For worrying you. Douglas told me you stayed up all night waiting for me to come back. I didn't mean to, but I just got so angry, I found myself on the road to Aquelia before I could stop myself. So, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to worry you. I promise, I'm okay."

She'd completely forgotten about the sensation of worry that had been haunting her just minutes ago. Tears blur her vision again.

Cecilia sniffles, rubbing her eyes. "You should be sorry… you worried me so much… I didn't know if you were even alive…"

"And I'm sorry for being an idiot." There's a pause, then he's sputtering. "Wait, don't cry! I promise I'm okay, Cecilia."

"I know you're okay," Cecilia presses herself against the couch, pulling the blankets tighter around her as if they can replace Perceval's arms. "I worried you, didn't I?"

"...Yeah," he murmurs, then laughs. "It's funny, how we're caught in a cycle of worry."

Cecilia giggles along with him, and Calico meows loudly.

"Calico, are you keeping Cecilia company?" Perceval questions teasingly. Calico meows again, and Cecilia smiles.

"She's keeping me very happy, unlike you."

Perceval sighs, and she can only imagine he's rolling his eyes. Cecilia laughs.

"Perceval, can I have my phone back?" Pent yells, his voice distant.

"Sure," he calls back, then brings the phone back to his ear. "I'm staying the night at Aquelia, in Pent's house. I'll be back tomorrow."

"I'll see you tomorrow then," she murmurs. "Come home safely, okay?"

"I will." He pauses, then whispers, "I love you. I'll see you tomorrow."

"I love you too," she breathes, and the phone beeps, signalling the end of the call. She shuts down her laptop, closing it and standing. Calico hops off the couch and follows Cecilia as she makes for Perceval's bedroom.

Sluggishly, she lays down on his bed, draping the blankets over herself. Calico hops up onto the bed and curls up next to Cecilia. She falls asleep breathing in the scent of coffee and honey, thinking of his lips which always taste like sweet mint, and the faint scent of his peach shampoo.

Eventually, Cecilia wakes up to the angry buzzing of her phone against her cheek, shoved under her pillow in her sleepy state last night. She groans, reaching under pillow for her phone.

Cecilia rolls her eyes upon noticing the source of the buzzing: her 7:15 alarm which usually wakes her up for work. She hits "snooze" on the alarm and sighs, but perks up as she sees the text on her screen.

Douglas - 5:12 AM

I've excused you for the day. Gale will be taking over your duties for today. Feel free to stay at home. Use your time wisely. Give Perceval a scolding for me when he gets back home.

She's less worried about getting excused for the day and more worried about the time he sent the message. She frowns.

"Goodness… did he stay up all night?"

Calico purrs blearily, pushing her nose into her paw and curling up tighter.

Her phone buzzes, and Cecilia blinks. Her home screen displays the caller ID, and she hurries to pick up, a big grin spreading across her face.

"Good morning," Cecilia hums with a singsong tune in her voice.

"Good morning," he reiterates, sounding as if he's smiling. "Did you sleep well?"

"Mm… yes, even though I only had five hours of sleep."

"That's nice to hear. I just finished up at Pent's house. I'm on my way back."

"Do you want me to cook breakfast for you?"

"That'd…" he hesitates, "That'd be nice."

"Okay. When will you be back?"

"Eight thirty, at the latest."

"Okay. I'm waiting." she pauses. "Bye. Love you."

Perceval chuckles. "Love you too."

Cecilia ends the call before sitting up, bringing her arms over her head and stretching as she lets out a little sigh of happiness. Calico meows, and Cecilia smiles.

"What is it, Calico? Are you hungry?"

The tortoiseshell cat meows again, and Cecilia laughs.

"Okay, you little rascal. Come on," the woman swings her legs over the side of the bed, standing. Calico hops off the bed, brushing against Cecilia's legs. She leans down, stroking the top of the cat's head before snatching up one of Perceval's folded sweatshirts in his dresser, throwing it over her head and pulling it on.

She hurries down to the basement, picking up Calico's bowl at the bottom of the stairs and ducking into the closet to refill it. She sets it down by the stairs, and Calico ducks her nose into the bowl, crunching away. Cecilia leans down, a warm feeling in her heart as she scratches the cat behind her ears before walking back upstairs.

Her eyes catch sight of the mess she left on the couch, and she collects the scattered paperwork on the floor and across the cushions, stacking them into a neat pile on top of her laptop and tucking both of them into her bag. She picks up the empty mug barely filled with cold tea and walks into the kitchen, dumping it out.

Cecilia flicks the switch on the boiler and gets to work, completely forgetting about the anxiety and anticipation brewing in her stomach until her phone buzzes. She starts, looking over at the small mobile device.

Perceval - 8:23 AM

Almost home.

The nervousness and apprehension she'd lost during cooking suddenly comes back, and she gulps, going to dry her hands on a towel.

Calico dashes up out of the basement as soon as she hears Cecilia opens the garage, and Cecilia laughs as the cat dashes past her legs, looking around wildly as she skids to a stop by the edge of the garage.

"Over here, Calico," Cecilia urges as she sits on the stairs from the door that leads between the kitchen and the garage. Calico jumps up into her lap, and Cecilia smiles, slowly petting the tortoiseshell she-cat's pelt.

A sparkle of silver at the end of the road catches her eye, and she looks up. Her pulse gets quicker, and she can hear her heartbeat thundering in her ears. She stands unsteadily, and Calico jumps to the ground and sitting, looking up at the woman curiously.

The sparkle of silver turns into a Porsche, a familiar car that pulls up onto the driveway and into the open garage, parking next to Cecilia's car. Calico perks up, and Cecilia steps forward as the engine stops, and the car stills.

She's ready to scold and chide him, but when he comes out of that familiar silver Porsche of his and she sees that shyly proud, yet shit-eating grin of his, she settles for running forward and hugging him as tight as she can, and he hugs her back until Calico meows in protest, brushing against both of their legs. They spend the rest of the day binge watching old action movies and taking turns dozing off and petting Calico. Sometimes Cecilia will wake up, find Perceval's face centimeters away, and he'll smile, cheeks growing red when she leans in and kisses him while soaring music from the movie rises. Other times, she'll laugh softly when Perceval drifts asleep and his head ends up falling against her shoulder. Sometimes, they'll both fall asleep, and then Calico will meow loudly, batting at Perceval's hands until he groans and scratches her behind the ears as Cecilia wakes up blearily, smiling.

"Perceval?" Cecilia murmurs after the fifth movie, pressing herself closer to him. He tightens his arms around her waist, leaning forward.

"Yes?" he asks, resting his chin on her shoulder and kissing her cheek.

"I should go back home."

Perceval tenses up, and Cecilia squeezes his hand. "I'll be fine."

"...If you really want to go," Perceval murmurs, and Cecilia looks at him.

"I didn't mean it like that. I just… maybe I shouldn't spend another night at your house when all I have is a set of pajamas."

Perceval laughs. "Maybe. For now, it's our day."

Cecilia smiles. "Yeah."

The next day, when people clamor over her absence yesterday and ask about the bandages over her arm and the bruise on her cheek, Perceval gets a dark look in his eyes, and Cecilia smiles, squeezing his hand before telling the painful story for the hundred and first time.

Eventually, though, she stops explaining the faint scars on her arm to others, and Perceval just closes his fingers around it, wrapping his arms around her and smiling.

#fire emblem #fire emblem: binding blade #fire emblem 6 #fe6 #Cecilia #Perceval #Narcian #Gale #Douglas #Pent #Elibe #avietta writes fire emblem

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sarenthestalwart · 6 years

Text

Hush, a Short Story by Michael Grant Shipley

It’s early afternoon out here in this beautiful waste and I’m melting like wax on a candle. I have been chopping logs since noon-time, my palms feel like they have been squeezed into a vice, my eyes sting from the salt in my sweat, and I don’t dare let myself mind. I have a house, pigs, and a baby to be thinkin’ bout. One last chop. That should be enough for the stove. Maybe I should do beans and a slice off one of the hogs.

Josiah. Sweet Jozy. Three weeks it has been. Three weeks, two days, and a hundred and more longings between the hours. I ache when I know you ain’t there. I know you’ll be back. You’re my husband. And I’ve got Lil’ Mo to keep those hours full. Those pigs can even be most captive listeners when I have something in my heart to tell. But Mo’s a knowing little pip, he senses it. How empty the house is when just one of us isn’t in it. The worst is when Mo is fast asleep and all I can hear is the breath of the wind as it gently licks my face.

Mm. Muh. This new load of fire logs feels like I’m carrying a baby grizzly. These arms have gotten some more muscle since I came to this frontier. I’ve gotten to likin’ the heat that burns in my arms and shoulders after some hard chopping. My Josiah still holds like I was that soft little thing he met years before. Mo doesn’t complain either. Oh. Wait. I think I hear him. He’s fixin’ up for a holler. Hold on young one, your Momma’s on her way.

It doesn’t take a lot of effort as I balance the bunch of logs in the crook of my left arm and get to the front door. The heat ain’t so bad inside, and I drop those logs into a neat pile next to the stove. I can see Lil’ Mo standing peeking his head over his cradle, his chubby little grabbers are reaching out and his whimpers beckoning. I hear you, child, I’m coming. I slip both of my hands under Mo’s armpits and I lift him up into my bosom. He’s a heavy porker of a babe, but I think he is lighter than a chippy chick and prettier than morning birds. I lightly bounce him in my arms while I hum a melody to him. No real rhythm in my tune, just a sweet birdsong that’ll keep his mind off of crying. There have been days where that gentle hum doesn’t quiet his whimpers or cries. Days where I’m aching for you worse than ever, my sweet Jozy. And Mo can sense it too. Nights when those damn coyotes are whooping their wails, and all I can do is bounce and hum to Mo.

Mo’s going all calm again. I smile down at him forlornly and give the top of his head a kiss. My arms still feel like they were rubbed with warm coals. And it’s still just me and my Mo.

The wind whickers against the house again. Wait. What is this? What’s that sudden chill? I hear something. I continue to bounce Mo as I walk to the broader side of the house to see out the window. I pull back the curtain with my middle finger. Uh. Why do I feel weary? What’s that sound? I keep looking at the rolling hills of cracked earth until I get my answer. Someone’s riding towards here.

Josiah! No. There’s two coming. Two riders on two brown horses. I can’t see what they are. They’re coming closer. They’re wearing…. Sombreros? They look like they have dust all over them. Oh no. Are those bandits!?

I’ve heard of stories like this from my neighbors across the frontier. Bandits from further South who come knockin’ at these other farms while the men are away! Three months ago, Lizy Vernon from southwest of here had her house completely sacked by desperados while her Papa was selling his sheep. What do I do? The rifle! Where’s the rifle!? No, wait! Suze from the Dendrite Farm had her youngest brother hanged when he tried to fight back against those same bandits. What would they do to Mo if I tried shootin’? I could miss. They could over power me.

The cellar! I just stay real quiet and keep Mo close until they leave! So, with no more second thoughts, I frantically but deftly slide under the table and carefully open the trap door leading to the dark cellar. I wiggle in, mindful not to hurt Mo, and close the hatch securely down. I wait.

Creeeeeaaaak. Chunk chunk chunk. They’re inside. I can hear ‘em. Chunk chunk. They’re tromping around up there. Damn bandits! Chunk. I don’t care what you two do up there. Chunk chunk chunk chunk. Just do it and gallop out of here!

I can hear ‘em moving our belongings around. A tightness grips my belly. I don’t want them to take anything valuable but I can’t put Mo’s life in danger. Suddenly, Mo starts to squirm in my arms. He’s getting nervous, and that means he could start making noise. I bounce him in my arms hoping that it’ll keep him calm. Then he starts to whimper. I bounce him harder and I start to quietly hum. He keeps whimpering. Please, Mo, please! I know you’re frightened and that’s dark down here but please! We can’t let them find us! I keep humming hoping it’s not loud enough for these intruders to hear, but Mo isn’t having it. I can feel that he’s going to start crying and then he’ll wail and then those bandits will have their God knows what way.

Forgive Momma, Mo. But I have to keep us safe and hidden. I bring Mo close to my breast. Not too harshly, just softly enough so his cry is muffled. Those wasters ain’t find’n us. I’m won’t let Jozy come home to a dead wife and son. I can feel the Mo’s little breaths as he tries to keep crying. The intruders keep making a rattle above us. Now I can feel Mo start to squirm, his breaths are more frantic. I know you’re frightened my baby, but I can’t let ‘em find us. Please, oh please just bear with it a little more.

They keep on their trouncing. I can hear mutterin’, can’t make out what their saying, and I don’t care to neither. Their still stepping about. I’m so focused on any sign of them leaving that I don’t take notice of Mo’s squirming lessening. Then they stop. No more foot falls. No sound of anything being moved. Did they leave?

Mo’s not squirming anymore. Must’a calmed down. Did they leave?

Scrrrrrratch. Chunk, chunk, chunk. Those sounds reignite the panic that was roiling in my belly. They’re still in the house! What’s going on? What are they movin’?

“Hey… Javi!” That one’s speech is slurred. He sounds like a regular fella. What’s he doing? “T-t-th-here’s a… door under this table!”

No.

“Ey? Oh. Well don’t just look at it puto… See what’s behind it.”

No! Nonononono! I can feel hot tears well in my eyes. This wasn’t supposed to happen! Oh Gods! Angels! Jozy! Anybody! Make their arms lame! Strike them with fire and lightning! Lift me and Mo up and away from here!

The trap door rattles. It rises and falls. It doesn’t open, though. That stutterin’ one is moaning and groaning, knockin’ his knuckles against the door. What’s he tryin’ to do? The other invader speaks up. He has a titter in his voice. “Dios, Bruce! Whatchu doing?”

“Doing… What- What you… said.”

“Eesh. Get away. Go outside pendejo.” There’s a thud against one of the walls. The Hispanic must’ve shoved his partner. “I’ll get the stup-eed door, you get the horses.”

Oh no. What do I do, what do I do!? Think! I have to protect Mo, but I can’t die either! Think! Think!! THINK!!! No time! The trap door flings open and light from the outside floods the cellar. I let out a cry as I bury Mo into my chest and turn my back to the door. This is it. The end. Goodbye Josiah.

Nothing happens. No gunshots. No rush towards me. Nothing.

“Ey! Yah Javi! What is- what is it?” The regular fella shouts from outside. Gingerly, I turn back around to face the intruder.

“Heh, is just some beetch and her brat.” I can see that he has a brown face that’s dominated by a tar-black beard. He’s a Hispanic man. Then he speaks. “Chey, you got any good stuff down there?” He hefts a smudgy bottle into my view. It’s got some sort of orange-brown liquid swilling around in it. “We about to go empty.”

Alcohol? That’s what they were after? I move a touch closer to climb the steps, still defensively holding Mo to my side. I’m surprised none of this has stirred him. Getting closer, I examine the Hispanic. I don’t see any guns on him. No bullets neither. Or even a knife. He’s just coated in a layer of dust. Then the regular fella shouts again.

“Well! Duh she got any whiskey!? Rye?” I’m now out of the cellar and I’ve got a good look at my intruders. The regular fella’s got his hand resting on frame of the front door. Actually, it looks like he’s trying to not fall over into my floor. Again. I see no guns, no bullets, just a dusty face and dustier clothes. The Hispanic speaks again.

“Chee isn’t saying a thing.” The Hispanic takes a swig from the smudged bottle. Then I look to his partner and he’s got a similar bottle, except his was drained near to the bottom. These intruders were drunk. Drunk as a two-legged cat. A fly would have better chance at hurting someone than they could.

“Come on, pendejo. We not getting nothing here.” The Hispanic shuffles his way out the front door while his fella wobbly follows him. The Hispanic has to help him onto his horse before he gets on his. And they’re away.

They’re gone. They’re gone. And I had nothing to fear. Oh God, my heart could have sounded a battalion with how hard it was pounding. It’s still a-jumping. Mo? Baby? What’s the matter? They’re gone. Those wasters are gone. Why aren’t you doing nothing?

I carefully press my hand into chest. Just a tiny push. Nothing. Then I put my fingers to his scalp to brush. Nothing. Not a move. I move my ear to his mouth. Not a hint of a cry. Not a whimper. Not a breath.

Oh Josiah.

Forgive me.

END

#short story #tragic ending

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