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“Oh, I think the fun uncle is usually the role that I’ve been finding myself slipping into a little bit. Yeah. Jaskier has got a lot more to do in this season in terms of the political machinations of the Continent. In terms of this found family and fighting for them and finding his own purpose within that. But on a personal note, it’s been really rewarding because I’ve had scenes with the big men [Henry Cavill] and I’ve had scenes with Anya, and this is the first time where we’ve got to hang out. And, thankfully, Freya’s lovely and incredibly talented.” {X}
Joey Batey and Freya Allan
THE WITCHER SEASON 3 | Promotional & BTS
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All Ciri wants for Christmas is for Geralt. Maybe she finds slutty holiday lingerie and slips into his bed Christmas morning.
i decided to turn this into a valentine's day prompt since i never finished the christmas version of it, and also combined it with another christmas prompt i didn't get to:
geralt / ciri / jaskier, underage (ciri’s about 16-17), ft. a brief glimpse of dara, who doesn’t even get any, he’s just a sucker.
happy valentine’s day! 💗💗 💗 😘
“Please?”
Ciri gives her best kicked puppy impression, all wide doe eyes and pout, bottom lip sticking out and trembling just slightly.
Dara squints at her. “Don’t. Don’t give me that face.”
“Come on!” She lets her voice go higher and a little whiny, still pouting and giving her best friend big, sad eyes. “You don’t even have to pay for it, I have the money – I just need you to take the money and go into the store to buy it for me. That’s it. Please?”
He continues to squint, but she can see his resolve starting to crumble in the way he shifts, eyes darting away from hers for a second before they’re back, his mouth starting to turn down into a frown.
“...godsdamnit, Cirilla,” he mutters, but he holds his hand out. “Alright, give me the money then, and tell me what I’m buying.”
She squeals, jumping up to hug him tight around the neck before she’s digging her wallet out of her purse and doing just that, ignoring the way he’s muttering something about stupid puppy eyes get me every fucking time.
– – – – – –
She gets up early on Valentine’s Day, early enough that when she sneaks into the kitchen for a light breakfast she can still hear Geralt snoring from his and Jaskier’s bedroom, despite the fact that he’s a chronic early riser.
Then again, she also knows exactly what he and Jaskier got up to last night, because she’d been pressed to their shared wall with a hand inside her panties just hoping to hear something. And she definitely heard something. Much more than that, even.
She shivers and finishes her breakfast before hurrying back to her own room and bathroom to get ready.
The lingerie Dara helped her acquire is still folded neatly in its boxes, hidden under laundry in her closet. She digs them out and puts them on the bed, trembling slightly from – excitement? Nervousness? She’s not entirely sure.
But she can hear Jaskier starting to stir in the next room, so she doesn’t stop to consider it for very long.
Getting into the lingerie is easier than she expected it to be, at least; it seems that picking something less strappy than the other Valentine’s Day options has paid off. All the same, she stands in front of her mirror adjusting and perfecting for a not-inconsiderable amount of time anyway.
At least it looks good on her. The white gives her some contrast, makes her look less deathly pale, and the pink and red of the embroidered roses is a nice pop of color. It’s really a very pretty set, the top definitely meant to mimic the look of a corset if nothing else, and the minimal straps making it all look a bit more risque instead of virginal like white lingerie often implies.
Of course, she is technically a virgin, but that’s beside the point.
She stares at herself in the mirror for a moment longer, listening to the vague sounds of Jaskier and Geralt grumbling their way into wakefulness, and considers the mannequin she’d seen the set on originally. It’s a split second decision, but a good one, when she looks in the mirror again – the deep red ribbon that had held the box closed, matching the darkest of the red embroidery, tied in a neat, pretty little bow at her throat.
After another moment of consideration, she also adds some lipstick, which makes her face look less out-of-place above the ribbon collar. Finally, when she looks in her mirror again, she feels like it’s complete.
And just in time, too, because she hears Geralt say something and Jaskier grumble back, just before there’s the creaking of pipes that signals their shower turning on. She shoves all of the detritus from unpacking the lingerie back into her closet, heedless of the neatness, and darts back out of her room and down the hall before she can talk herself out of it.
She stops at their door, listening carefully, but all she can hear is the sound of running water and murmuring, likely Geralt and Jaskier talking to one another, or maybe it’s just the water hitting the shower tile. She can’t be certain of that, but she can be certain that the two of them are well distracted in their usual morning routine.
It’s easy enough to slip into the room. The door itself is silent on its hinges, well-oiled because Geralt can’t stand the sound of squeaky hinges on anything, and so all she has to worry about it closing it softly enough that they can’t hear it click shut in the bathroom. She’s probably overly cautious about it, making sure she’s turned the knob so there’s no click, and closing it as slowly as she can manage without just freezing in place entirely, but she tries not to focus too much on it.
Door closed, she tiptoes over to their bed, still mussed from the night, and climbs on. The sheets are still a little warm, even, and they smell of Geralt and Jaskier and – sex, the musk she’d pinned at probably an alarmingly young age.
None of this is shocking, obviously, but it makes her belly swoop and her cunt pulse all the same.
“Fuck,” she breathes. It takes a moment of wrestling with herself to not just faceplant directly into Geralt’s pillow and put a hand down her pretty new panties, but she manages herself eventually, and instead arranges the pillows so she can lay comfortably on them and face the bathroom door.
Of course, once she’s settled, the real nerves slam into her.
She sucks in a sharp, reedy little breath, barely avoiding making a sound as she slaps a hand over her mouth to cover that, and for a split second she considers bolting.
They’d never know, she’s sure – they’re an observant pair, but not the sheets are different than we left them after tumbling out of bed observant, and all she’d have to do is go back to her room and strip off the lingerie, hide it in the closet, and pretend to wake up in about twenty minutes. They’d be none the wiser as long as she acted natural, and it would be fine.
But then she takes a deep, deep breath, and is confronted with the smell of them again, entwined as it always is, mixed with the smell of sweat and skin and sex, and she has to turn her head to muffle a whimper into the pillow at her shoulder, pressing her thighs together as if that would relieve the pulse in her clit.
“Fuck,” she breathes again, eyes flickering to the bathroom door as she hears the water stutter and then shut off. “Fuck.”
She stays right where she is.
�� – – – –
It only takes ten, maybe fifteen minutes for one of them to emerge from the bathroom after the shower turns off, but it feels like a small eternity as she lays in their bed and breathes them in. In fact, by the time Jaskier’s fluffy hair pokes out of the door, followed by his heat-pinked, pretty face, she’s given up on behaving and has a hand between her legs, petting over the wet spot slowly spreading through the fine mesh of her panties.
Jaskier stops in the doorway and makes an odd sort of choked noise, more breath than anything. His blue eyes are as wide as saucers, fixed at first on Ciri’s face before they flicker down, over the rest of her.
He makes that same choked noise again.
Ciri whimpers, just slightly.
Clearly, even their resident wordsmith can become lost for words, because Jaskier opens and closes his mouth several times before he apparently surrenders, letting it hang open silently. His eyes keep darting from her face to her chest, and then lower, to where her hand is between her legs, but each time he jerks his gaze back up to her face almost guiltily.
Her heart is thumping in her throat, nerves making her entire body tremble, but she doesn’t move. Instead, she focuses on her breathing, and keeps looking at him, meeting his eyes when they aren’t wandering and hoping she looks – enticing. Or at the very least that she doesn’t look ridiculous.
“Geralt,” Jaskier finally says, more of a rasp. He turns slightly, as if to turn back into the bathroom, but his eyes stay glued to Ciri. “Come here.”
Her stomach drops and her heart skips a beat, making her gasp; Jaskier clearly notices, if the way his eyes flick back to her face again is any indication.
She hears Geralt grumbling, but then there’s the tell-tale sound of his steps, too light to slap but unmistakably naked skin on tile. Just before he comes into view, though, Jaskier continues.
“It seems we have an…intruder in our bed.”
“An intruder?” Geralt asks. “What are you talking about, did Yen – ”
His voice sputters out on what Ciri thinks was meant to be come, which does all kinds of things to the heat between her thighs and her heart rate, but still she doesn’t move.
There’s a tense pause.
“Cirilla.”
And she expects it to be a reprimand, to be anger or disappointment or even exasperation, but it’s…that’s not what his tone implies, not at all.
In fact, he says her name in the exact same way she’d heard him say Jaskier’s name last night after dinner, just before they’d made it from the hallway into the relative privacy of this very bedroom.
He sounds like he wants.
She does whimper this time, and then moans when jerking her hips up against her own palm spreads fire up her spine. Before she even realizes they’ve moved, both Jaskier and Geralt are climbing onto the bed with her, jostling the mattress in their haste.
“Ciri, fuck,” Jaskier rasps, and his hand lands on her waist, on the strip of skin between the panties and the bodice of the lingerie, and she jolts with a hicupping moan, turning toward him. He’s there, right there, their noses brushing when she arches toward him.
“Jaskier,” Geralt murmurs, and she doesn’t know what it’s meant to mean, but barely seconds after he says it Jaskier is kissing her and she stops caring.
Jaskier’s good with his mouth, just like she knew he would be, because the lot of them make entirely too many jokes about it to be anything except cheeky, but knowing and experiencing are two entirely different worlds. For a moment, she even forgets that Geralt is in the bed with them, too focused on the way Jaskier’s tongue twists around hers, how he keeps pressing closer to kiss her impossibly deeper.
Of course, then Geralt gets his hands on her too, one on her waist and the other at her throat, just under the pretty little bow she’d honestly forgotten she’d tied there, and she’s reminded very clearly that it’s not just her and Jaskier here.
“Ah, ah, fuck,” she pants softly when Jaskier finally breaks their kiss. For a split second, she irrationally expects to be reprimanded for the language, but instead Jaskier just laughs and ducks down to press his mouth along her jaw, then to her ear.
His tongue is just as clever here as it was in her mouth, of course, and she’s distracted again for the space of a breath before Geralt gets his hand around her jaw and tugs her around to face him.
His eyes are burning, and if she didn’t know better she’d think he was angry, his mouth pressed into a thin line and that particular furrow between his brows usually a familiar indication, but his pupils are blown and as soon as she’s opening her mouth to say – something, she doesn’t know, whatever tumbles out first – he’s kissing her, instead.
“Fuck,” Jaskier groans, right into her ear, but she’s entirely too preoccupied at the moment.
Jaskier is clever with his mouth, but Geralt is domineering, his grip on her jaw not quite painful but so close it’s making her head spin. His tongue is the same, and she quickly stops trying to kiss back like she had with Jaskier, just whimpering into Geralt’s mouth and letting him have his way with her, until she’s twitching from the lack of air.
“This what you wanted for Valentine’s Day, Princess?” Geralt rumbles when he finally lets her go with a nip to her swelling bottom lip. “Or is this just our gift, hm?”
“Yes,” she hisses, because the answer is both, that this was all she wanted for Valentine’s Day and that she’s offering herself as a gift. Jaskier groans into her ear again, and then Geralt is using the grip on her jaw to turn her head back to him while he ducks down, dragging wet, open-mouthed kisses along her throat, teeth tugging at the strap of her lingerie.
“Look so pretty, sweetheart,” Jaskier murmurs before he’s prying Geralt’s hand off her face just to kiss over the red marks left. “All sweet in our bed, fuck – how long have you been planning this?”
“W-weeks,” she gasps out, squeezing her eyes shut and whining when Geralt’s teeth scrape over the corner of her jaw. “Want – wanted it for years, oh shit, Geralt – ”
She jerks helplessly when the hand on her waist slides down, petting over the embroidery on the panties and then landing on her thigh, fingers just short of where she really wants them. She opens her mouth to beg, but before she can even find the breath Jaskier is kissing her again, tongue stealing her air and her mind.
“Such a pretty little present,” Geralt murmurs against her throat, teeth tugging at the ribbon still tied there. “Fuck, Ciri.”
“Please,” she gasps as soon as Jaskier allows her, throwing her head back and jerking into their hands, Jaskier’s now wandering over her belly and chest, petting over the embroidery, while Geralt is still flirting with the apex of her thighs, his other hand buried in her hair now. “Please, I – ”
“Shh, shh sweetheart,” Jaskier soothes, kissing over the arch of her throat. “We’ve got you. Isn’t that right, Geralt?”
“Mm,” is the only response Geralt gives, but it’s followed up by him licking over Ciri’s nipple through her lingerie. She almost shouts with the sudden spike of pleasure, even with the sensation muffled through the mesh and lace.
Jaskier chuckles, but copies the movement on her other breast, until the two of them are working in tandem to set her to writhing.
“Please, please, oh, shit, please, fuck, please – ”
She doesn’t know how it happens, doesn’t even care, but suddenly Geralt is between her legs, his hands pressing her thighs open to make room for his bulk. Jaskier helps, getting a hand on one calf to pull her open wider, the other busy with tugging at her bodice until one of her breasts is bared and he can get his mouth on her properly.
From there all it takes is Geralt sliding one large, hot palm from her inner thigh to press almost chastely over her cunt, and she’s coming, squeaking her embarrassment before the pleasure sears away anything that isn’t it and the rush of her blood for a long, earth-shattering moment.
When she finally comes back to her body, Jaskier has moved so he’s lying against her side, grinding his cock into her hip, and Geralt is leaned close over her, mouth tracing fiery paths along her collar, down to her chest to tug the other cup of the bodice down to nibble at her.
“Fuck,” she pants.
The both of them laugh, but neither say anything in response, clearly too busy with kissing and biting at her. One of Jaskier’s hands wriggles underneath her back to deftly unclasp the top so that Geralt can pull it off of her and toss it aside, and the casual show of wordless cooperation has her gasping again, hips jerking up where she can almost feel Geralt’s body, hovering just far enough away to be a frustrating tease.
“Pretty,” Jaskier whispers, and this time when he grinds his cock against her hip it’s copiously wet at the tip, and the realization that it’s because of her, because of seeing more of her body sends her shuddering.
“Fuck, fuck, please,” she whimpers, fumbling to lean up and forward until she can grasp at Geralt and pull him closer, down, til they’re pressed together from hips to chest. “Fuck, yes, Geralt – Jaskier….”
“Tell us what you want, Princess,” Geralt murmurs, fingers plucking at the elastic of her panties as she squirms against him. “Want to hear you say it.”
“Yeah, sweetheart, tell us,” Jaskier encourages, his fingers also finding their way to her panties, but with much more intent. Instead of just tugging teasingly at the elastic, he hooks his fingers around the crotch of them and pulls it to the side, baring her to the air – and more specifically, Geralt’s cock, blood-hot and twitching between them.
She keens. “Fuck, fuck me, please fuck me, oh my gods, please – ”
Geralt is smirking when he catches her mouth to kiss the rest of the pleas out of her, and she doesn’t even care, arching up into his body, nails scoring lines into his back and Jaskier’s, too, as she tries to somehow pull them closer.
Jaskier chuckles, but it’s a broken, breathy thing, and Geralt just echoes it with a growl as he bites at Ciri’s lip.
“Yeah, we can do that.”
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all the eskel whining makes me really dislike the character.
I'm sorry to hear that, anon. Feel free to blacklist the negative stuff you're seeing/reading about the character; it's not worth your mental and emotional well-being. Take care of yourself first, ok?
#dreamer speaks#this will be the last time I'm entertaining asks about eskel#it's gone on long enough don't you think?#let's just focus on the good stuff now :)
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My biggest problem with the Eskel Choice™ is not that he got turned into the Leshen or even that he got killed off.
I still would be disappointed and potential wasted opportunity bcs they already changed things so who knows if any other witcher might serve as a side character in a future episode in the seasons down the line, but I am mad how they did it.
Like Lauren tweeting out that Eskel is the heart of Kaer Morhen and than he is just some fucking asshole.
Like they could have kept his character and still do the Leshen thing or a heroic sacrifice in the end battle.
But that would have needed more scenes over time, make the viewer like Eskel and see how important he is to Geralt and everyone else, or if no "time" for that a flashback (before he is killed) to Witcher Adepts Geralt and Eskel being kids/teens together, to show them before they got ragged by the Path and how long they were important to each other. That way the viewer might not be emotional invested in Eskel, but in how important he is to Geralt and his Death is meaningful because of that.
As it is the viewers don't see the tragedy that Geralt has to kills him, because the show hasn't shown any reason. We only see a few antagonistic interactions between Eskel and Everyone and then he is killed. Like buh huh, are the viewers suppose to feel bad about that Character Death?
Like one of the shows biggest flaws is presented here, we are told that it is a big deal but we aren't shown. And the flashback in the next episode is like that's why that why it was a tragedy what Geralt had to do, but it doesn't do anything for the emotional impact of the Eskel Death Scene, because that's already over.
Just all in all, I am frustrated with Eskel in the Show, because it goes against what the Creators promised, it makes book and game fans disappointed, and it wasn't even worth it because of the bad storytelling! Like I don't get how they thought this would be a good idea.
All in all I still really liked and enjoyed the season! I just think Eskel encapsulates lots of the flaws of the show, so it's a bit "glaring".
Hope you have a great day
#im so sorry I just logged back in again#but yeah posting this bc it's valid#love hearing other ppl's insights about twn eskel#dreamer speaks#I know it's late but I hope OP I hope you don't hate me for only getting back to you now#😔#it's been a heck of a week#anyway spread love not hate#have a good weekend everybody
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i get that people can absolutely adore very minor characters and get attached to them, trust me, i do - i do that a lot, actually!
but people should be reasonable about it. i think the fandom needs to realize that eskel only appears in like 15% of one book from 8 book series and doesn't do much in that time. He gets one ep in an 8 ep season, which is 12,5% of the season so that roughly checks out, and i'm willing to argue he's actually more important to the plot in the show than he is in the books.
usually people claiming that netflix did eskel dirty point to the books and want the adaptation be more faithful to them, but forget that most of their attachment to eskel probably comes from the games (and, let's be honest, fanon).
Oh I agree, anon, and like I said earlier, to each their own.
I can't speak for everyone, obviously, but from my side, what really disappointed me was how they handled Eskel's characterization as a whole. While I get that he played a very minor part in the books, and was a bit more involved in the games (I haven't finished playing TW3, forgive me), I just can't grasp why they decided to write him like that. He wasn't the Eskel I fell in love with, and while I understand that not all adaptations are going to strictly follow the original source material, I felt that it was disrespectful what they did to the character, is all.
Story-wise, if they had gone with the original character instead of Eskel, it wouldn't have the desired impact. But because they scrapped that and made it Eskel instead, his death served its purpose by advancing the plot. It carried weight, so to speak. This part, I also agree with you.
Anyway, we all have different interpretations and different opinions on this subject matter. I don't want to start a fight -- it's the least I want to do, tbh -- and I do appreciate you reaching out to me in a decent manner. :)
I still enjoyed watching TWN, and I do believe Basil did a fantastic job playing the role to the best of his abilities, with the material he was given.
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I'm doing quite good actually. After way to many set backs (not my fault!) I'm finally preparing to write my bachelor thesis. So I'm quite busy with that. Still angry with how TWN treated Eskel. And now I'm watching Vox Machina. How are you doing? -🐭
That's wonderful to know, darling! Wishing you all the best on your thesis - I'm sure you'll do really well. 😊 Also yes, I agree, TWN did Eskel so fucking dirty, I can't even. Then again, S2 had a lot of good bits and bad bits, so to each their own.
I'm doing really well, thank you! Thinking of slowly integrating myself back in the community but work's been keeping so busy so I'm not sure how I'll manage, but we'll see. Thanks for the message and hope you have a good weekend. ❤️
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it’s been a long damn time. happy new year, all.
how’s everybody doing?
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Good morning! I’m salty.
I think we, as a general community, need to start taking this little moment more seriously.
This, right here? This is asking for consent. It’s a legal necessity, yes, but it is also you, the reader, actively consenting to see adult content; and in doing so, saying that you are of an age to see it, and that you’re emotionally capable of handling it.
You find the content you find behind this warning disgusting, horrifying, upsetting, triggering? You consented. You said you could handle it, and you were able to back out at any time. You take responsibility for yourself when you click through this, and so long as the creator used warnings and tags correctly, you bear full responsibility for its impact on you.
“Children are going to lie about their age” is probably true, but that’s the problem of them and the people who are responsible for them, not the people that they lie to.
If you’re not prepared to see adult content, created by and for adults, don’t fucking click through this. And if you do, for all that’s holy, don’t blame anyone else for it.
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Hi!! Can i request Geralt rimming Jaskier after a good fucking? Bonus points if Jaskier sucks Geralt too,thank you very much!!: D
I know this is super late, anon, but I hope you enjoy this. :D
thanks a lot for sending this prompt! I had so much fun writing it and damn, this is absolute filth and I love it hahaha.
~*~
There’s nothing Geralt loves more than pleasuring his lover. It’s a given that he enjoys fucking Jaskier, enjoys the tight clench of the bard’s hole every time he slides into him and gives him a proper pounding. Geralt’s no stranger to being on the receiving end, either. He enjoys it particularly when Jaskier goes a little wild on him, his much leaner frame manhandling Geralt’s bulkier form.
But there is one thing Geralt loves more when it comes to carnal pleasures, and it’s going down on Jaskier.
And no, not sucking cock. Though, he does love that, too.
No.
Geralt takes great pleasure in eating out Jaskier’s ass. He loves the earthy taste of his bard, tongue probing and fucking in and out of the most private place nobody will ever have access to except Geralt himself. He prides himself in his ability to reduce Jaskier to a drooling, babbling mess using only his fingers, mouth, and tongue. He dick throbs in the confines of his breeches when Jaskier thrusts his hips when Geralt’s face is buried in his ass, sucking and rimming his puckered hole until Jaskier is sobbing and begging for him to fuck him.
But Geralt ignores him most of the time, preferring to have his lover come while his tongue is in him, probing that little bundle of nerves. It always leaves Geralt dizzy with arousal when he feels Jaskier clench on the muscular organ, and most of the time, after Jaskier has come at least twice, that’s the only time when Geralt finally takes his cock out to give him what he wants.
Then it only takes him at least a dozen thrusts before Geralt is coming, thick, hot spurts of come painting Jaskier’s walls. He doesn’t even wait for his cock to soften, Geralt just pulls out and nearly bends him in half before he buries his face once more in Jaskier’s ass to eat him out, groaning at the combined taste of his come, the odorless oil, and the unique taste of Jaskier.
~
“Gods, darling, just like that.”
“You like that?”
“Fuck! Yes, don’t stop. Don’t you fucking stop!”
Geralt ignores Jaskier’s whine of protest as he quickly pulls out of the bard, only to flip him on his stomach and pull Jaskier’s hips up before sliding his thick, dripping cock back inside his lover with a punched-out groan.
They’ve been at it for hours now. Jaskier has come twice already while Geralt has only come once, and he can already feel his second orgasm approaching. But he wants to wait until he makes Jaskier come one more time because Geralt’s generous like that.
The coarse sheets of the inn they’re staying at is a lost cost at this point, drenched in their sweat and combined bodily fluids. But Geralt doesn’t mind, and so does Jaskier, who’s too preoccupied with moaning wantonly and begging for the White Wolf to fuck him harder. Geralt is pounding roughly into Jaskier, whose arms are stretched out and clutching the headboard to avoid hitting his head. His hips are pistoning in and out of the bard, the loud squelch of their coupling obscene and spurring the witcher to thrust in a little deeper, a little harder.
A mix of come, oil, and saliva is dripping down Jaskier’s thick, hairy thighs, and when Geralt spreads his cheeks apart, he’s unable to hide his groan of pleasure at the sight of his cock -- long, thick, and veiny, the blunt head a purple-red hue as it appears and disappears past Jaskier’s loose hole. His lover is gaping by this point, and Geralt revels in the fact that even after being impaled on a wooden dildo for hours, then followed by Geralt’s own huge cock earlier that evening, Jaskier is somehow still tight.
“How can you still be so fucking tight?” Geralt remarks almost to himself, voice raspy and chest heaving.
Jaskier keens when Geralt manages to hit that particular spot, so he circles his hips and maintains that angle as he repeatedly pounds Jaskier’s prostate, the bard wailing in pleasure as he comes untouched.
“Fuck,” Jaskier sobs, his body wracking with aftershocks as his arms give out and he slumps to the bed, almost spread-eagled.
“You okay?” Geralt asks, slowing his pace. He picks it up when Jaskier makes a noise of protest.
“Mmph,” Jaskier mumbles incoherently. He turns his head to the side, face slack with pleasure and exhaustion, and then adds, “Come on, witcher. I want you to cum in me again.”
That seems to do the trick.
With a growl, Geralt adjusts his hold on Jaskier’s asscheeks, nails biting into the meaty flesh as he chases after his second orgasm. He alternates pulling Jaskier’s cheeks and slapping them until they’re an attractive shade of red, and all the while he maintains an unrelenting, brutal pace.
“Fuckfuckfuck,” Jaskier chants, his voice muffled by the pillow.
“So fucking good, Jask,” Geralt growls, and he leans forward to bite and suck bruises on Jaskier’s shoulders and neck. “So tight, my little songbird.”
“Geralt,” Jaskier whines, breathy and wanton, and it’s the witcher’s undoing.
Fingers tightening on his hold of the bard’s hips, Geralt thrusts in once, twice, and with a howl, he’s coming in thick spurts inside Jaskier. It takes a minute before Geralt feels his cock start to soften. Quickly, but gently, he slips his half-hard cock from Jaskier’s red, swollen hole, and Geralt moves down the bed until Jaskier’s ass is in front of his face.
He further spreads his cheeks, his lover moaning in protest but doesn’t wriggle away or stop Geralt from burying his face in his sore, leaking ass. Geralt starts with kitten licks on the swollen rim, fascinated at the sight of the winking, gaping hole twitching every now and then.
Gorgeous, Geralt thinks reverently before he gently thumbs Jaskier open. He licks his own come that’s slowly dripping from the abused hole, humming in pleasure at the combined taste of his ejaculate and Jaskier’s earthy taste. No matter how often Geralt does this, he doesn’t think he’ll ever get over how delicious they taste together.
Geralt groans, and he leaves a few kisses on the outer rim before slurping more of his spend that’s leaking from Jaskier.
“Fuck, Geralt,” Jaskier hisses at the overstimulation, but he moves his hips languidly to have more of the witcher’s dexterous tongue inside him. “Fuck, you’re so good at that, sweetheart. Eating me so well.”
Geralt hums, his chest rumbling with pleasure as he swirls his tongue inside Jaskier’s walls, not caring that saliva is dripping down his chin. He pulls out with a deep breath in, only to kiss a trail down Jaskier’s taint and his balls before licking his way up to his crack and slurping more cum from the bard’s gaping hole.
“So good, Jask,” Geralt rasps out as he continues to eat out his lover. “So fucking delicious.”
It’s no surprise when Jaskier comes for a fourth time that night.
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Wreck Ciri 2k21 let’s gooooooo ✊🏼
hiiiii I've been binge-reading your fics and fuuuuuck holy shit your eskel/ciri fics are TOP NOTCH GOD TIER HHHNNNNNG thank u for blessing us with your talent <33
aaaaaaaaaaaa thank you so much!!!
i really did not know how much i needed to wreck ciri but like........hhhhh it’s so fun
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more ciri / eskel, written so a friend would have motivation to do her job 💜
Keep reading
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A bunch of retirees cosying it up at Corvo Bianco
(Whole pic behind the link)
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Hey! How are you? I'm glad you're back. No pressure but I really miss your writing. D: Is it ok if I ask when you'll be able to post another one? I hope things are ok on your end and you're taking care of yourself. (pls don't feel pressured, ive just been reading through your fics multiple times now lol) <3 <3 <3
hello, anon! I'm doing better thank you. :) I'm sorry that I went AWOL again. Ironically, work’s been toxic bc the team I’m with are a-holes 🙃 so I've been in the process of job-hunting.
aaaah I haven’t written much actually, but after reading a lot of fics I missed here (hello god tier pairing that is Ciri/Eskel 🥵) I can feel an itch to write again. no promises, but I hope I get to publish some filled-out prompts sooner than later.
thank you for your sweet message!!! you just cheered me up 💛
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Those Eskel/Ciri posts from yesterday got me Fuckt Up and now I can't stop thinking about them. Imagine Ciri, overeager teen that she is, seeing his giant cock and immediately trying to push him down onto the bed to climb on but he's like no, you can't just shove it in like a maniac, you need prep first. So he spends hours working her open with his fingers until she's an overstimulated mess, begging him to just fuck her already and when he finally fucks her it's still nearly too big for her
Honestly mood.
As soon as she sees whats behind that codpiece she is on him and Eskel whos so unused to affection and someone genuinly wanting him is just like immediately into it as well.
Nevertheless as soon as she's on top Eskel has to stop her from choking and damaging her throat around his cock, but it's just how eager she is to get all of him in her mouth that has Eskel fighting off his orgasm.
And then she tries to sit on his cock and Eskel is probably bruising her hips from his grip to stop her but shes just whining and pulls one of his hands to her cunt to show how wet and eager she is. Eskels a weak man okay and he does toy his cock around her cunt for a bit, pressing in just the slightest bit but when Ciri tries to push down he's flipping them over.
Eskel would be happy to eat her out, finger her whatever she wanted but Ciri wasn't having anything less than his cock in her cunt and it would be tonight.
But yes Eskel just sucking on her clit as he fingers her open enough to slip his fist in if he wants, his hand down past his wrist is soaked, the bedding too as Ciri shudders through her fifth orgasm begging for his cock now, ans when she pouts and flutters her lashes he really cant resist.
He takes it slow and despite being able to fit his fist in her she is still so fucking tight around his cock he has to pause and breathe to take himself off the edge.
Ciri comes again before he's balls deep in her and in the beginning he does take his time to slowly fuck her because he knows she's going to be bruised and sore tomorrow but he's so focused he cant stop her flipping her over or picking up a quick rhythm to fuck herself with and well Eskels a weak man, given how shes going quick and rough now it doesn't matter if he does too and Eskel has to physically hold Ciri up as he fucks her until finally he's coming.
He spends way to lkng watching her hold clench and gape around nothing after he's pulled out, watching hos come slowly apill out to dirty the sheets and even in the morning when he decides to wake her up by eating her out he can still see her open and wet.
For weeks Eskel still has to work her open for ages and its slow and torturous most days but eventually there is one day when Ciri just uses a couple of fingers before sinking onto his cock and Eskel swears he has some sort of holy experience.
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fun scenario to think about if it's your jam (geralt/ciri hands on sex ed):
ciri at kaer morhen training and a horny young teen, but with no knowledge of masturbation and little of sex. she starts humping her pillows bc it feels good, though its also frustrating bc it feels like she's heading somewhere she can never quite get to.
geralt coming in her room to get her for something and immediately smelling what she's been doing. asking her about it and getting all the details from her even though she's so embarrassed. geralt explaining some stuff and being v patient/a good teacher! and then deciding that the best way to show her how to masturbate more successfully would be to show her.
anyway this turning into ciri sitting in geralt's lap while he holds her hands in his (much bigger ones) and shows her how to make herself feel good. playing with her nipples, petting her cunt, rubbing her clit, fingering her. telling her she's doing a good job, teaching her what each of her parts are called as they touch them together. gently guiding her into her first orgasm while she squirms in his lap. offering to teach her about his parts too
(feel free to ignore if this is indeed Not your jam, i will not be offended, this scenario has just been living in my mind rent free lately and iknow you like ciri!)
anon this is so my jam i am SCREECHING
just. holy fuck. what’s it like to be galaxy braining all the time, friend.
He notices the fidgeting first.
It’s just unusual enough to catch his attention; Ciri, as a rule, sits rather still. It’s the royal upbringing – some things can’t ever be forgotten. Occasionally, she will be full of energy and movement, but then it’s always obvious, more flinging arms and getting up to bounce around before sitting back down.
This is...different. It’s proper fidgeting. As if she’s uncomfortable in some way, but doesn’t want to – or cannot – fix it. So she just...wriggles. Wrings her hands, tucks her hair behind her ear, chews her lips. Rocks slightly in her seat.
He notes it, but doesn’t bring attention to it. After all, she’s a teenager; there could be any number of reasons that she’s fidgeting, and as long as she manages to keep up on her training, Geralt doesn’t have to be concerned with anything she doesn’t want him to know.
But then he notices that she is distracted. Not quite enough to disturb her training – she’s still wicked quick with a blade, still fervently enjoys climbing to and jumping from dangerous heights – but just enough to notice.
Her eyes, distant for a split second before she spins and parries an attack from Vesemir. A slightly slower movement while practicing with a bow. Zoning out for a few moments while studying a bestiary.
Nothing detrimental, nothing Geralt feels he needs to bring up or bother her about, but there, all the same. Something he keeps noticing, alongside the fidgeting.
He wonders, of course, but there’s nothing he can see that should be concerning. So he keeps his mouth shut, keeps an eye on her, and lets it go.
– – – – –
It isn’t until Ciri is late for breakfast one morning that Geralt puts all of the pieces together.
On occasion, Ciri will sleep in. For the most part, they allow it, since she really only sleeps until nine or ten, and then is up and ready to go for the rest of the day. But today, it’s nearly noon, and she still hasn’t appeared from her room.
Mostly, Geralt is worried she might be sick.
But when he knocks on her door, he hears a squeak and then her scrambling, as if trying to hide something. He frowns, but waits for her permission to come in – after all, invading her privacy is hardly a good way to get her to trust him.
“C-come in!” she stammers, after a moment more of shuffling.
He opens the door and nearly stumbles. It smells so strongly of arousal he can taste it, and when his eyes land on Ciri she’s sitting up in bed, face flushed and hair a mess, clothes askew. Just to the side of her bed, he can see the very edge of a pillow, and when he subtly scents the air, he can tell that’s where most of the smell is coming from.
That pillow, and Ciri herself.
The puzzle slots together in his head.
“Are you feeling alright?” he asks, tone level, and Ciri squeaks again before nodding.
“Yes,” she answers, and Geralt hums.
“Are you sure?” he asks, stepping into the room. He circles to the side of her bed – the one the pillow she’d clearly been riding against isn’t on – and leans a little closer, intending to feel her forehead. She sucks in a breath, eyes wide, but doesn’t flinch from his touch.
She’s warm – of course she is – but they both know she’s not warm enough to be sick. He hums again and leans back.
The thing is that the room smells of arousal, of slick, but it also smells like frustration. Bitter and dark, the same way anger is, and it is coming from Ciri and Ciri alone.
He’s not sure how he could address it. He’s not sure he should.
But he breathes in, smells how desperate she is, and how clearly unfulfilled she is, too, and he just can’t resist.
“What were you doing, Ciri?”
The flush on her face deepens, goes from a ruddy pink to a proper red, and he sees the way it spills down her throat, over her collar. “I – nothing,” she lies, badly, and Geralt chuckles lightly.
“It’s okay,” he says, sitting on the bed. He slips out of his boots so he can turn and face her fully. She pulls her knees up, shrinking a little, but doesn’t look away from him or try to bolt. “It’s entirely normal.”
Ciri frowns. “I know that,” she says, and then pauses. “...I think. It is normal, right? Not just for…,” she gestures, “...Witchers?”
Geralt laughs again. “Yes,” he says. “It’s a human thing. Or, well – I supposed elves and dwarves do it too, but yes, it’s entirely normal.”
There’s a pause, and Geralt lets that information settle for a moment before he reaches over and picks up the pillow, ignoring the rush of scent it brings with it and the way it makes his cock twitch. “Tell me what you do?”
Ciri’s blush darkens again. “I – it…. I…. Geralt.”
“You don’t have to,” he murmurs, soft and sweet. “I just want to help.”
“...I just,” she gestures to the pillow, then down at her legs, “between my legs, and….”
“Rock your hips?” Geralt suggests, and she nods, chewing on her lip.
“Yeah.”
“Does it feel good?”
Ciri shivers. “Yeah,” she nods. “...but….”
Geralt gives her an encouraging smile. “But?” he prompts.
Ciri looks away. “It – it’s not…. I can’t…. I don’t know. It’s just….”
“It’s okay,” he soothes, seeing how she’s becoming agitated. “It feels like it’s building, but nothing happens, is that it?”
“Yeah!” Ciri brightens a little. “You – you know?”
Geralt nods. “I do,” he confirms. “So you rub yourself against this,” he lifts the pillow slightly, “but it’s not quite enough. Tell me everything else. Do you keep your clothes on? Do you think of anything?”
Ciri makes a high, winded little sound, then covers her mouth, eyes going wide as she squirms a little. “I – it’s…. Geralt.”
“It’s alright, Ciri. I just want to help, remember? Tell me.”
She squeezes her eyes shut, but slowly lowers her arms and takes a deep breath. “I – I keep my smallclothes on,” she mumbles. “And my sleep shirt. I don’t...sometimes I think about...uh….”
Geralt scoots a little closer, putting a comforting hand on her knee. “It’s okay,” he murmurs. “I won’t make fun of you or judge you, okay? You can tell me anything.”
Ciri shivers, but when Geralt goes to take his hand away, she reaches out and grabs it. He allows her to pull his hand into both of hers, lets her hold it and fiddle with his fingers.
“I think about – th-this,” she says, more breath than word.
Geralt bites back on a purring growl. “Of me?” he asks.
Ciri nods, biting her lip. “It’s...the…,” she holds up their hands, “this. And...sometimes Eskel, too. And that boy, down the mountain, in the village? And….”
Geralt squeezes lightly at her fingers. “And?”
“...his sister, too,” Ciri mumbles. “I like...holding hands feels good. And hugs, and when – when I sit on your lap….”
“Touch,” he murmurs. “How much do you know about sex and your body, sweetheart?”
The pet name slips out mostly on accident. He usually doesn’t use it, because he’s afraid it seems infantilizing, and while she is barely more than a child, she’s not a baby – and he wants her to know that. He sees her as the growing young woman she is.
But she shivers at the word, eyes popping open again to reveal widened pupils.
“Not...not a lot,” she admits softly. “Grandmother was…,” she frowns as she clearly considers her words, “perfunctory.”
Geralt can’t help the way he grins a little at that. “She was,” he nods. “Tell me what you know?”
Ciri’s blush, which had receded a bit, comes back with a vengeance. “Sex makes babies,” she says. “People have sex for pleasure, too.”
“Both correct,” Geralt nods. “But I’m guessing you don’t have any details?”
Ciri shakes her head. Geralt hums and squeezes her fingers again.
He has an idea. And it’s – well, he shouldn’t, but Ciri is so sweet in front of him, with her wide eyes and flushed face, and she’s beautiful, too, he knows that much.
“I want to try something, sweetheart,” he murmurs, and Ciri chews her lip but nods. “Will you get up and take off your clothes for me?”
Her breathing hitches, and for a moment Geralt thinks she’ll say no – and of course he won’t push it, he wouldn’t – but then she’s nodding, looking shy. She lets go of his hand, almost reluctantly, and crawls out of the bed to pull off her haphazard clothing. While she does that, Geralt shifts to take her place, sitting up against the headboard and watching.
She’s skinny and pale, but not unhealthily so. Geralt knows she’s well fed, because they’ve made sure of it, and she gets plenty of sun and fresh air; it’s just her natural shape and tone, he supposes. Despite that, though, he knows she’s stronger than she looks, and he can see it in the barely-defined muscle of her belly, in the hardness of her legs and shoulders. Even with her so slim, she’s built well.
The hair on her body is the same color as her hair, pal white-blonde, so light and thin that it blends in near perfectly with her skin, and he’s sure it’s equally as soft. Once she’s bare, standing to the side of the bed shivering, he beckons her back onto the bed.
“I want you to show me,” he says. “Just so I know. What you do with the pillow.”
The flush in her face travels all the way down her chest, to the tops of her perky breasts, nearly to her nipples, which are already hard. He swallows discreetly and nods to the pillow, and she climbs back onto the bed, shifting around clumsily until she’s straddling the pillow and facing him.
He gives her a smile. “Go on,” he encourages, and shifts so his erection isn’t as obvious. She shivers but nods, chewing her lip still, and starts rocking her hips.
She has to adjust a handful of times, spreading her knees and centering her weight, moving the pillow more forward and fluffing the front of it, but eventually she seems to find the perfect angle. She makes a soft, breathy little noise, lashes fluttering as her mouth falls open, and Geralt bites the inside of his cheek bloody. She looks like some kind of erotic painting, flushes pink clear to her belly, white-blonde hair spilling over her shoulders as she rocks her hips. Past the pillow, he keeps getting the barest glimpses of her lips spread around it, and his mouth is watering.
“Oh,” she gasps, eyes flying open as her hips jerk faster. “Oh, oh.”
“Good, Ciri, so good for me,” Geralt murmurs. “Do you feel good?”
She whines softly. “Yes,” she gasps, eyes a little wild when they find his. “Yes, yes, but…. Ugh.”
Her hips still suddenly, thighs tensing, and she angrily readjusts the pillow. Geralt smiles.
“Not enough,” he says, nodding. “I know. Here, come sit in my lap. I’ll help.”
Shyness and embarrassment apparently forgotten, she tosses the pillow to the side and scrambles up into his lap. He grins and kisses her cheek before settling gentle hands on her waist and turning her. She lets it happen, moving her legs as needed, until she’s sitting with her back to his chest, legs spread over his.
“Just like this,” he says. “Now. Did you know other parts of your body can feel just as good as between your legs?”
Ciri shakes her head.
“They can,” Geralt says. “Here. Give me your hands.”
She offers her hands up, and he laces their fingers together before leading them up to her throat. “Everyone has sensitive places,” he says. “All over their bodies. It feels good to touch them. Sometimes in a specific way – light, or hard, maybe with your mouth. And everyone has different ones, but there’s a few really common ones.”
Ciri hums her understanding, and Geralt carefully guides her to petting lightly over her own throat, from her jaw down to her collarbone, along her shoulders. He notes the places that make her gasp, and then when they’ve explored everything, he revisits them.
He can smell the gush of her slick, nearly hear it, as he leads her into petting over one of the sensitive places. She gasps and arches a little, fingers tightening around his and pressing a little harder at the spot, which just makes her shudder and get wetter still.
“See?” he asks. “It feels good, right?”
“Yeah,” Ciri sighs. He drags their hands to another spot, and then another, and by the time he’s revisited all of the noticeable ones, Ciri is shivering in his lpa, lashes fluttering as she sighs and rocks her hips unconsciously.
His mouth is still watering. He swallows, goes to ask a question and move the touching on, but Ciri interrupts him.
“You said – with a mouth,” she says. “Some of those spots. Can I – will you….”
“You want to know what it feels like?” Geralt offers, and Ciri nods vigorously.
“Please,” she says, and Geralt just barely manages not to grab her hips and grind his cock up against her.
“Of course, sweetheart,” he coos, and lets go of one of her hands so he can reach up and push at her jaw to tip her head back further. With her leaned back, he can reach one of the spots high on her throat, just under her jawline.
First, he just brushes a dry, chaste kiss over it. Ciri squeaks with a little jerk, hand tightening on his, and he smiles. The next touch is a tease of wetness, an open-mouthed kiss that he still keeps chaste, and Ciri gasps, loud and shocked. More of her arousal floods the air, and when he glances down the slope of her body, he can see her folds all slick and pink and swollen, her clit standing out of its hood. It’s larger than he’d expect, and something about that makes him want to touch even more.
But other things, first. He drags his lips over that spot, then his tongue, and Ciri moans, soft and needy and right into his ear.
“That – oh,” she pants, and his smile widens. He gives her a light scrape of teeth, reveling in the way she shudders, and then he gently sucks at the spot; not enough to leave a mark, but enough to feel as if it might.
Her thighs tense and tremble hard, and her back arches away from his chest to press her throat closer to his mouth, her ass shifting teasingly over his cock. He can’t resist the tiny little growl that seeps out as he licks over the barely-there red mark he left, and Ciri whimpers.
“I – I want more of that,” she says, back to timid, and Geralt gives that same tiny growl again.
“Later,” he says, even though all he wants to do right now is mark her up, make her whine and squirm with nothing but his mouth on her throat.. “I want to show you more, first. Okay?”
“O-okay,” she stammers, and grabs his hand hard when she finds it again. He smiles and gives one last little peck to that spot before shifting so he can watch their hands.
“Have you ever played with your breasts?” he asks, and Ciri gives that adorable squeak he’s starting to associate with her being taken off guard by embarrassment.
“No,” she admits, almost accusatory, and Geralt chuckles.
“You should,” he says. He guides her hands until they’re just holding her breasts, not yet a handful but still growing, Geralt can tell. Ciri lets out a little gasp at the touch, and then another as he manipulates her fingers so they’re squeezing lightly, just massaging at the light heft.
“Oh,” she murmurs. “That feels…. Mmm.”
“Mhm,” Geralt agrees, and firms their touch a little. Ciri pants and squirms, arching into it and whimpering softly. “Do they ever feel sort of tight? Sensitive?”
“...yeah.”
“That’s when you should pay attention to them,” he instructs. “Soft touches, massaging like this. It’ll feel even better then.”
“Better,” Ciri mumbles, a little incredulous, and Geralt chuckles.
“Better,” he confirms, and shifts their touch up, until her palms slide over her nipples. She gasps and then moans, fingers spasming lightly within his grip. “Sensitive?” he asks.
“Y-yeah,” she mumbles. “I didn’t – didn’t know.” She sounds almost ashamed, and Geralt tuts softly.
“None of that,” he murmurs. “It’s okay that you didn’t know. No one ever told you.”
She makes a quiet, almost reluctant sound, and Geralt decides to drop it for now. Instead, he leads her to pet over her nipples, dragging circles around her areola and then in to stroke the hard points. She wriggles in his lap and moans, nipples tightening further as she tries and fails to grind her cunt against anything.
“Nipples and areolas – the darker skin around the center points – are a very common sensitive spot,” he tells her. “Even on men. On women, they’re used to feed babies after birth, but that’s certainly not the only thing they’re good for.”
“Y-yeah, yeah,” Ciri babbles, tugging her fingers away from his to pinch at her nipples and tug. He groans quietly and lets her, watching as she slowly pieces together what she likes from trial and error alongside his help. She’s wet enough at this point that she’s dripping, starting to soak his pant leg.
“You like that?” he asks, watching as her nipples darken and swell slightly with the way she’s playing.
She nods with a little sound. “Y-yeah,” she manages to slur after a second.
“Good, I’m glad,” he says. “People can use their mouths there, too, and it can feel good.”
Ciri jolts with a little whine. “Will – ”
“If you want me to, I will. But later, okay?”
She whines, clearly disappointed, but she nods her agreement and doesn’t resist when he grabs her hands again. He slides her palms down her belly, pressing lightly over her ribs and thrilling at the way she arches into the pressure, the same over her hips. He finds more sensitive places along the edge of her hip bones, and helps her press into them.
“Want – want,” she pants, legs spreading wider as she jerks her hips up, trying to tug his hands to her cunt. “Please?”
“Okay,” he agrees, and leads one of her hands to her center. Just the edge of the outer labia first, though. “Do you know what this is called?”
“Cunt,” Ciri mumbles, and the sound of her sweet, timid little voice saying that word makes Geralt cock jerk painfully.
“That’s one word, yes,” he says, voice straining a little. “There’s a lot of them, really.”
“Pussy,” Ciri offers, still timid, and Geralt can’t help the way he grunts.
“Mhm.”
“I like cunt better,” she murmurs.
He takes a deep, steadying breath. “Okay,” he nods. “But you know the more...acceptable term, too?”
Ciri nods. “It’s – vagina. Or...vulva?”
“Both,” Geralt says, chest easing slightly from the gut-punch of arousal. “I’ll explain.”
He drags their fingers from top to bottom of her outer labia, smiling slightly when she giggles about her pubic hair tickling her palm, and then pushes in, dragging over her inner labia. She keens softly and shudders, and he feels the way she clenches, making him shiver.
“All of this,” he says, “is the vulva. The outer parts. The vagina,” he pushes their fingers down and in, until they’re just resting on the edge of her entrance, soft and slick and very tempting. “Inside.”
Ciri hums agreeably, understanding, but it’s shaky, and her hips are working in short little jerks. His smile widens, and he pulls their hands up. “This,” he continues, “is your clit. It’s the most sensitive part – and it’s most of what feels so good when you ride that pillow.”
Gently, he drags one of her fingers over the swollen bud, curving over the head of it and tracing down to where the hood is retracted.
The sound she makes is loud and desperate, almost a wail. “Geralt!”
“Shh, shh, it’s okay, sweetheart,” he murmurs, pressing a trail of kisses along her temple. “Too much?”
“Just – just,” Ciri gasps, chest heaving, “it – fuck.”
“I know, I know,” he says gently. “It can be a lot. Here, I want you to try something.”
He guides their hands back down to her entrance and then lets go. “Push one finger inside.”
She sucks in a nervous little breath, but does what he asks. “O-oh,” she gasps, hips flexing. “That – oh.”
“Feel good?”
“Y-yeah. A little...weird.”
Geralt chuckles. “Mm, yeah. Focus on the good part though. Move that finger in and out.”
She holds her breath and does it; the breath stutters out on a shocked little moan. “That – oh.”
“Mhm. Try adding another finger.”
He can see where her thin fingers sink into her body, but he can also hear it, and it makes his stomach twist to know she’s so responsive. She groans at the feeling of two fingers, and starts moving them without instruction, faster and a little deeper until she’s properly fingering herself, panting and gasping as she melts back against him.
“Feels – oh, oh,” she murmurs, turning her head to tuck her face against Geralt’s jaw. He shifts to give her the room, one hand still on her hip tangled with hers, and the other sort of hovering near where she’s fingering herself.
“Good,” he murmurs, a finish to her sentence and also praise. “So good, Ciri.”
She whines softly. “It’s – still not, still not enough.”
“I know, sweetheart. Here.” He takes their still-entwined hand and presses one of her fingertips just above her clit. “Want to try touching it?”
“I – y-yes,” Ciri stammers, and slowly pulls her hand away from his. He lets her, resting his palm along the curve of her inner thigh instead, watching raptly. The fingers she has inside herself stutter and still while she touches her clit lightly, gasping sharply and then groaning, thrusting hard with her fingers once, probably reacting to the way she’d clenched down. “Oh.”
“Keep going,” he encourages. “See what feels best, what you like.”
Ciri makes a soft sound and does exactly that, working her fingers first around the hood of her clit, then along the bud of it itself, sighing and moaning and whining the whole time, trembling and jerking. Geralt holds her firm, making sure she’ll stay on his lap as she explores, and she presses back into him.
“Feels, oh,” she breathes, “it’s – oh, oh, G-Geralt, I – ”
“Shh, go on,” he murmurs, right into her ear. “Keep going, let it build, sweetheart. Just like that.” He tightens his grip on her thighs just a little, knowing she’ll likely thrash, and keeps purring encouragement into her ear. “Go just a little harder with both hands, yeah, such a good girl.”
“Geralt,” she whimpers, the sound of her hands obscene. “I – oh, I need – just – fuck!”
He turns his head and sucks gently at one of the sweet spots on her neck, and she jolts and starts to quiver, hiccuping through a series of long, high moans. She soaks his pant leg and the bed beneath, making the sounds of her hands even more slick and obscene, and Geralt has to take a deep, deep breath to keep his teeth to himself.
“There you go, sweetheart, yeah,” he murmurs. “Doesn’t that feel so good?”
“Yes,” Ciri sobs, turning her face into his throat again. He bundles her closer, gently pulling her hands away from her cunt so she doesn’t overstimulate herself.
“Good girl, so good sweetheart,” he murmurs. “Did so well.”
Ciri just makes a soft, needy little sound, and starts twisting in his arms. He lets her, but instead of moving away from him as he half-expects, she turns around and settles right back into his lap, straddling him now with her arms around his shoulders. He pulls her in, wrapping his arms tight around her middle, and pretends that he can’t feel the heat of her through his pants, that he’s not blindingly hard underneath.
“Thank you,” she mumbles.
He hums. “Of course,” he says. “I’m glad I could help.”
Ciri hums as well, almost a mimic but not quite. “Is...is there...more?”
Geralt chuckles. “Plenty,” he says. “None that you have to learn right now, though.”
“...you said…,” she squirms a little, burying her face into his shoulder, “you said I could have...more. Later.”
He has to take a slow, deep breath at that. “If you want it, sweetheart. Want me to play with your neck more?”
Ciri whimpers. “Yes,” she whispers. “And – my...my n-nipples, too?”
“Anything you want,” Geralt promises. “Whenever you want it.”
She squirms a little. “I – what about – if….”
He waits, but she just trembles in his arms silently. “Hm?” he prompts, petting up her back. She shivers at the touch but presses closer.
“If you can use your mouth on – on those places,” she mumbles. “Can you...on...o-others?”
Geralt swallows hard. “Are you asking me to put my mouth on your cunt, sweetheart?”
She squeaks and then whines, squeezing closer to hide her face more but grinding her hips unconsciously forward at the same time, soaking the lap of his pants. “I – I...please?”
He can’t help the way he growls, almost more of a purr, long and low, turning to mouth along the curve of her neck. “Absolutely, sweetheart.”
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