#celus monsterfucking CW

[piceuscelus]

don't have to be afraid by piceuscelus

Chapters: 1/1, 3715 words Fandom: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types Rating: Explicit Warnings: Underage Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon/Eskel, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon/Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Characters: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, Eskel (The Witcher), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Demon Eskel (The Witcher), Witch Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Religious Cults, Blasphemy, Prayer, Altar Sex, Dubious Consent, Mildly Dubious Consent, Teasing, Heavy Petting, Non-Graphic Smut, Dirty Talk, Voyeurism, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Barebacking, Monsterfucking, This is Twist's Fault, First Time, Virgin Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, Loss of Virginity

Series: Part 1 of we all have a hunger

Summary:

She prays, every morning and night, and sometimes in the midday, too, instead of taking lunch with the others. She prays, and hopes, and begs for relief from this corruption that lives inside her, and after the nights when she’s sinned, the times where she just wasn’t strong enough, she prays twice as much.

Of course, for all her faith, she never really expects someone to answer.

i wrote a thing! none of my projects. but it is what it is. 

the ever-lovely Twist also wrote a sequel for it, found in the same series :D

#celus speaks #celus writes #dead dove #dead dove: do not eat #celus wrecking ciri #celus pseudo-incest CW #celus monsterfucking CW

[piceuscelus]

loved your ovi fic!! I'd love to see another. Maybe Geralt is sick of Jaskier trying to follow him on hunts so he tries to scare him off by using him as bait for a monster with an ovipositor who pumps him full of eggs. The eggs have to stay inside a host for 24 hrs, so Geralt plugs Jas up and watches gleefully as the grotesquely swollen, sobbing bard has to painfully waddle around after him for a whole day, too big to fit into his fancy clothes. He might just let Jas come on more hunts after all

hi i want to do So Many Things with this and not the least of which is write like 10k of jaskier being stuffed and then paraded around, but i’m supposed to be keeping this short(ish) SO

bless you and your cow, have your dub-con oviposition and geralt being questionable and horny

Geralt expects that the threat will make Jaskier back off, maybe finally make him feel afraid.

Apparently, it’s as fruitless as expecting Jaskier to stop following him.

“If I let you come on this hunt, I’ll be using you as bait.”

Jaskier blinks. “...well,” he says. “I suppose. What do you mean, exactly, by bait?”

Geralt sighs and rubs at his temples. “Exactly what I said, bard, I don’t speak in metaphors and half-truths like you. You’ll be bait. Tied up in the forest to lure the creature in.”

Among other things, he thinks, but doesn’t say.

Jaskier hums. “Well, that seems easy enough. Is this a particularly violent monster?”

“...no.” Geralt shakes his head. “It’s not malevolent at all.”

“So you’re not killing it?”

“No. I’m helping it. Sort of. More helping myself and a mage willing to pay a whole lot of gold for something that’s rather hard to obtain.”

“...alright,” Jaskier says. “I trust you.”

Geralt frowns. You shouldn’t. “Leave your lute and the doublet. It’s not likely to be kind to your clothes or anything else in its way.”

Jaskier nods. Of course, now is when he decides to be obedient.

– – – – –

“So what kind of monster is it? I’ve seen those bestiaries of yours.”

“Elementa,” Geralt answers. “Came with the Convergence. It’s made mostly of slime and tentacles.”

“Disgusting!” Jaskier says brightly. “Should make for a good drinking song.”

Geralt bites back on a snort. “Yeah, sure,” he murmurs.

– – – – – 

Geralt isn’t quite sure which is the worst part of this: the fact that when he tells him to, Jaskier strips naked as if he has no qualms about being entirely bare in a monster-infested forest with Geralt staring at him, or that when he ties Jaskier up, the bard’s cock starts to fill.

His does, too, but he knew that would happen. After a century of life, shame is kind of hard to come by. 

Jaskier is humming quietly to himself while Geralt finishes with the ropes. The bard is standing a few feet in front of a large oak, legs spread shoulder-width apart and arms stretched above his head. There’s rope around his ankles that’s anchored to stakes on either side of him, pulled taut so he can’t close his legs, and the rope around his wrists is secured to a thick branch above his head. 

He’s vulnerable. He’s looking around the clearing as if he doesn’t have a care in the world.

Geralt wants to fucking ruin him, but he knows that the monster will do that for him, so he holds back.

“Is there anything particular I should do to lure the creature out?” Jaskier asks as Geralt begins to pack up. He’ll be close enough to watch, but the monster isn’t likely to come around if it can sense too much silver. 

“No,” he shakes his head. “The smell of you will be enough.”

“The smell of me?” Jaskier asks, and Geralt gives a pointed nod to his half-hard cock.

The bard at least has the decency to flush. “You have very nice hands,” he says, as if that’s any kind of explanation or excuse. “So the monster is, uh...interested, I suppose.”

“Yes.” More than, Geralt thinks. It’ll think you’re the perfect host to lay its eggs. “I’ll be watching.”

He makes no more promises. After all, he’s not withholding the true intent of the monster – or this hunt – for shits and giggles. He’s trying to teach Jaskier a lesson.

“Alright,” Jaskier agrees. “I’ll be here.”

Geralt rolls his eyes, and makes off for the tree he’d scouted before beginning to tie Jaskier up.

– – – – –

It takes barely ten minutes after Geralt’s scent has faded away for the monster to show up. It’s a brilliant blue, looking like the water of a lake at high noon in the summer, and moves a lot like a river might, if water were thicker than it is. At first, it looks like a mobile puddle, really, but then, as it gets to the center of the clearing – finally catching Jaskier’s attention – the tentacles appear. They’re darker in color, more solid, but no less slick and viscous, Geralt knows from experience.

He’s far enough away to not alert the monster, but he’s close enough to see the microexpressions cross Jaskier’s face, to hear his sharp intake of breath. To smell him, just faintly, on the wind. He’s more turned on than before. Go figure.

The monster investigates for a moment, tentacles leaving sticky trails over the ropes first, and then Jaskier’s feet and calves, his wrists and forearms. Jaskier makes an odd, choked sound, then giggles and squirms – ticklish.

Interesting.

Slowly but surely, the monster’s explorations move toward Jaskier’s center, until there’s one sliding curiously over his cock, and – judging by the short, sharp noise Jaskier makes as he rocks onto his tiptoes – his ass.

“Fr...friendly, aren’t you,” Jaskier pants. “That’s – oh.”

Geralt almost wishes he’d tied Jaskier differently, so he could watch the process of the monster slowly working a tentacle into his ass, but he’d only had so much rope and limited options for how to get Jaskier tied properly. It’s an unfortunate loss, but he does get the next best thing, getting to watch Jaskier’s face as the reality of what’s happening starts to dawn on him.

He squirms, feet wriggling in the damp soil, hips twisting. “Geralt, Geralt,” he calls. “This is – are you – ”

Geralt doesn’t reply. He doesn’t need to, not really. He’d said he'd be watching; he didn’t tell Jaskier he would be listening, or that he’d come to the rescue. 

Again, he’s teaching the bard a lesson.

He can see the moment the tentacle breaches Jaskier’s body from the way the bard’s eyes go wide as his mouth drops open. Seemingly against his own will, his hips rock back and then forward again, and he moans, loud and clear.

Well. That’s interesting.

He’d expected Jaskier might, but….

The tentacle sinks deeper, then pulls back and thrusts again; once more, Geralt wishes he could see it properly, watch Jaskier’s hole stretch around the slimy girth of it, but he can’t move now. It will have to suffice to see the movement of the tentacle and Jaskier’s face.

It doesn’t take long to work up to the right point, the tentacle brutally efficient in its job of stretching Jaskier’s ass wide and slicking him up. Jaskier is moaning throughout the process, eyes crossed when they’re not closed, body shaking where the ropes are suspending his weight. His cock is much more than half-hard by now, and as Geralt watches, it throbs and drips a string of precum to the forest floor.

“Geralt,” Jaskier mumbles weakly. “Geralt, you….”

He doesn’t finish. Geralt doesn’t wonder what he was going to say, watching with anticipation as the preparing tentacle slips away and a new one replaces it. Jaskier whines when the first leaves, and then whines again, louder, when the second appears.

“Oh, what,” he mutters, wriggling his hips again. Two tentacles appear at his sides, wrapping tight around him like the rope, functionally immobilizing him. He gasps sharply, eyes flying open wide, and then he’s doing it again as they slam shut again when the new tentacle behind him starts to push inside. 

“Big,” Jaskier whimpers, lashes fluttering. Geralt allows himself a small, nearly-silent chuckle. Big, indeed, he thinks. It’ll get worse.

This tentacle sinks inside with a slow, steady pace, no thrusts at all. Jaskier is panting and whining at the stretch of it, at the fullness, his cock bobbing and drooling as he shifts as much as he can with how captive he’s become. Geralt can tell the moment that the second tentacle reaches the right depth, because he can just barely see the way Jaskier’s belly bulges around it. 

“Geralt,” Jaskier whines again. “What is it – what’s – ”

His eyes go wide again and he properly tries to struggle this time, no more wriggling but instead trying to thrash. He doesn’t get anywhere, held tight with Geralt’s rope and the tentacles still around his waist. Geralt’s eyes flick to the part of the tentacle still resting on the ground, behind Jaskier’s calf, where he can still see it. There’s a slightly darker shape moving through it, up toward Jaskier’s body.

He bites his lip and watches intently, wanting to capture the exact moment that Jaskier feels the new stretch, as well as when the egg is deposited in his guts. 

He catches both. Jaskier’s eyes widen even further somehow, and he chokes out an alarmed noise; once the egg is past his rim, he just squirms fruitlessly some more, and then he’s choking around a deep, startled grunt when the egg slips into his belly. Geralt can see the bulge of it, and his cock throbs in his breeches.

Jaskier is panting. “Geralt, this is – what is happening, this isn’t…. Fuck.”

Another egg makes the journey, and Geralt watches everything repeat, sees the way Jaskier’s cock jerks and pulses as it settles into his belly, too. Another, and then another – half a dozen, a dozen, two dozen. 

Finally, Geralt watches the twenty-fifth egg pump into Jaskier, where his belly is already swollen, lumpy with the eggs and probably aching. Jaskier’s cock is, impossibly, still hard, purpling at the tip and shiny with the wealth of precum smeared over the head. 

There’s a moment where the tentacle pulls out slightly, then pulses one last time before it drops to the ground, and the monster begins its slow crawl away. Geralt watches it go out of the corner of his eye, most of his focus on Jaskier where he dangles from the ropes, exhausted and clearly in pain and still wanting, somehow.

Jaskier whines when Geralt re-enters the clearing. “Hurts,” he rasps. “I – Geralt. They won’t...come out.”

“It’s plugged you,” Geralt explains. “The eggs have to stay in a host for 24 hours. The plug it made will dissolve in about half an hour, but I’ve got another to make sure they stay.

Jaskier’s eyes go wide. “Tw – twenty four hours?” he asks breathlessly. “Geralt, I can’t – this is – ”

“You wanted to come on a hunt,” Geralt shrugs. “I needed bait and an incubator.”

Jaskier whines. “What – what if I hadn’t come along.”

“I’d have done it.”

“...you say that like you’ve done this before.”

“I have. Not very often, but it’s lucrative. I’m going to untie you. Lean on my if you need to, but don’t press your stomach against anything too hard.”

“...fine.”

Slowly, Geralt unties Jaskier – feet first, and then arms, letting the bard lean on him and then lowering him slowly to the ground while he gathers the rope and stores it away. Once everything is packed, he grabs the plug he’d brought and walks back over to Jaskier.

“Legs open,” he orders, and Jaskier squeaks, but does it. His cock has softened, but only just, and Geralt feels his own throb again. He gets the plug into Jaskier’s ass with as much professionalism as he can, then stands and offers a hand out.

Jaskier gapes. “You’re – we’re not going, are we?”

Geralt raises a brow. “Yes,” he says. “We need to get to the next town before sundown. Find an inn.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier says, voice rising in panic. “I’m – my clothes won’t fit like this. I can’t just – we have to camp.”

“No,” Geralt shakes his head. “If I had done this, we’d be moving on – so we’ll move on. Come on, up.”

He reaches out and grabs Jaskier’s wrist to pull him up. Jaskier shouts and stumbles to his feet, groaning loudly as the eggs shift. Geralt watches in fascination as his cock starts to harden again.

He’s clearly in pain, and upset, and a myriad of things that Geralt would think would squash his arousal.

And yet.

“Maybe if you’re good and walk along until we get to the next town, I’ll let you come,” Geralt offers.

Jaskier sucks in a breath, then whimpers when that clearly hurts him. “Geralt,” he pleads, but Geralt just shakes his head, and the bard sighs. He settles a hand over his bulging belly and grunts.

“...okay,” he says. “Help me get my boots back on, and okay.”

Geralt does just that, carefully not letting himself grin.

– – – – –

Jaskier is whimpering three minutes in. Ten minutes in, he’s crying. Fifteen, and he’s sobbing, shoulders shaking as he holds his belly. 

All the while, his cock never flags all the way.

Geralt watches him, pleased, as he sobs and gasps and stumbles, naked as the day he was born aside from the boots. His belly is starting to bruise, mottled from the inside because of the pressure, and his knees are shaking with each step he takes. 

By the time they can see the town on the horizon, the sun casting a gold-orange glow as it sets, Jaskier is gasping, heart rate almost dangerously elevated, and his eyes are hazy. Obviously, they can’t enter the town like this – no matter how much Geralt wants to, wants to see the looks they’d get, a Witcher on his horse with a swollen, bruised bard stumbling along behind him looking well-fucked and ruined, a plug settled in his ass.

So just outside, in a dark patch of trees, he stops, and pulls Jaskier into the shelter.

“Geralt,” Jaskier gasps. “Geralt, please, this is – too much, too much.”

“Nearly a whole day to go, bard,” Geralt says, not unsympathetically. “But I did say I would give you a reward, no? And we need to get you somewhat decent to go into town, anyway. Come here.”

Jaskier lists into Geralt’s arms immediately, whimpering, and Geralt carefully situates him so there’s no weight on his lumpy belly, but he doesn’t have to hold himself up at all. 

It only takes two strokes and a soft murmur of, “Very good, Jaskier,” to make the bard come with a cracked scream.

When he’s done convulsing through the pleasure – likely jostling the eggs around his insides, which either hurts or feels incredible, Geralt knows from personal experience – he goes back to sobbing.

“Geralt, Geralt,” he whimpers. “I, I can’t.”

“Yes you can, bard,” Geralt says. “Just a little more.”

Jaskier sucks in a sharp, ragged breath, and Geralt feels the way the cramp rocks through his body. His own cock throbs heavily in his breeches, but he continues to ignore it. He can deal with it later – maybe even have Jaskier deal with it….

But later, all the same.

“Come on, Jaskier.”

“...o-okay.”

#celus writes #celus prompt fill #celus monsterfucking CW #celus dub-con CW #celus non-con CW #celus oviposition CW #fun fact i used to think i was wholly neutral on ovi but uuhhhhhh i was Very Wrong #Anonymous

[piceuscelus]

Hey, how would you feel about (adult) Ciri developing a monsterfucking obsession? Maybe it starts with a werewolf and spirals out until she’s waiting to see what the contract will be and if she can take it. And then Eskel finds her. An experienced monsterfucker himself, he starts using her as bait, watching her, and she gets off on the humiliation of his threats to tell Geralt? Maybe even breeding/lactation dirty-talk? Not into huge insertion/pain, but if you must!

okay okay okay so i didn’t know i needed this until you handed it to me on a silver platter. i have been thinking about this on a rotation with the rest of the filth and it’s just so fucking good.

more monsterfucking focused than breeding/lactation or humiliation, but i did manage all of it lmao. also, if you’re cool with it anon - or if literally anyone else presents me with one (1) single interest, i have an idea for a continuation of this that’s much more explicitly eskel/ciri.

monsterfucking and the lightest pseudo-incest below~

The first time it happens, it’s a werewolf.

At least, technically.

Okay, so the man isn’t just technically a werewolf, he is a werewolf, but he was born one and he’s old. By the time Ciri comes across him, he’s not a hunt, but a contact; there’s something – or someone – slaughtering sheep, and he would certainly know if there’s any other monsters about.

And he does. But he’s also charming, and handsome for his age – Ciri knows he likely looks much younger than he is – and he’s kind, too. Offers her a room in his home to rest, after her hunt, upon the promise that she won’t try to kill him in her sleep.

Which she wouldn’t. First of all, he’s of no danger to anyone and hasn’t been likely since long before Ciri was born, and Geralt taught her better than to kill first and ask questions later (despite Lambert’s continued attempts to sabotage it). And secondly, well….

He’s attractive. And charming. And he has very, very good wine that he’s willing to share with her, alongside the hospitality of a warm, clean bed.

She’s never claimed to be a saint. And considering the shenanigans she knows Geralt and Yennefer have gotten up to, well – she comes by it rightly.

The thing is, she hadn’t known that sometimes born werewolves aren’t able to entirely shift back and forth.

She’d noticed that he was hairier than the average man, but passed it off as a side effect or maybe just a genetic accident. And she’d noticed the fangs, but realistically, plenty of regular humans had sharp canines – hers were nothing to scoff at, even, and she’d never been anything more than human, disregarding the Source thing. 

But, well – 

“I understand, if you’ve changed your mind.” His voice is gentle and steady and sincere, and Ciri is maybe a little bit tipsy and quite a bit more horny and….

“No, no, wanna try it,” is what she says.

She definitely doesn’t regret it, even if she is limping a little for the next few days.

– – – – – 

That’s where it starts, but that’s definitely not where it ends. 

After, she has another encounter with a born werewolf, this one also unable to transform all the way back – and much more confident about it, even. He knots her, heedless of the fact that it leaves them stuck together for nearly half an hour, and she can’t help but whimper and whine at the rush of cum that leaks from her cunt when he finally pulls back.

He grins exactly like she’d expect a wolf to grin, and she doesn’t say no when he fucks her again that night, or the next morning.

– – – – – 

She would say that she just has a thing for werewolves. Which is – yeah, unusual, but not...not that unusual, considering.

Geralt has a thing for sorceresses who can and will kill him. Eskel likes anything with horns, as he’s said, though he’s never elaborated.

Werewolves aren’t that strange, in the grand scheme of things. And besides, it’s not like she’s out there trying to get railed on hunts.

Until, of course, she...is.

– – – – – 

It’s...mostly unintentional. Mostly. She knows what she’s hunting, obviously, and she’s thinking about it, of course she is. Sue her, the two best fucks of her life have been with werewolves, who wouldn’t think about it. 

And maybe it makes her sloppy, maybe she should have waited another day and gone out when she wasn’t so distracted, but….

Well, she doesn’t do that. 

And then the werewolf gets the drop on her, pins her to the forest floor with an echoing howl, and she expects a bite, expects to be torn to shreds – fuck, what a way to die, she’s certainly not the first Witcher to perish in such stupid circumstances but it’s not exactly a hall of fame she wants to be a part of. 

But the werewolf just...sniffs her. And then nuzzles at her throat, her shoulder, nose cold and wet. It makes a soft noise, like the howl but quieter, more...pleading? It shifts its grip on her, and when it presses closer, she can feel its cock out.

She could get out of this. She could – the werewolf is distracted, and she’s got magic on her side, and she could do any manner of things to struggle out and behead the mangy monster.

She...doesn’t do any of them.

Instead, she shifts back against the werewolf, a gentle encouragement. It gives a soft, rumbling growl, almost like a purr but too rough and deep, and snuffles at her neck again. She leans up on her arms a little – with the way the werewolf moved to press its cock against her thigh, she’s more free to move her arms now – and reaches back with one to push at her pants. It takes a bit of fumbling, not helped at all by the way the werewolf keeps sniffing at her, licking over her lower back and hand and whining.

The feeling of its tongue slipping into the crease of her ass, just barely grazing her asshole, should not make her cunt pulse like it does.

She ignores that, though, and finishes pushing her pants down before slowly shifting, lifting her hips.

For a moment, the werewolf just keeps nuzzling, sniffing and licking and generally being a goddamn tease. And then its tongue sweeps across her cunt, a long, wet lick that should be uncomfortable or gross or any manner of things.

Ciri nearly comes on the fucking spot.

“Oh, oh fuck,” she whimpers, dropping her head and shoulders to the ground and lifting her hips higher. The beast seems to catch on then, making a low, excited little sound as it lets go of her to shift onto its haunches, cock sliding against her thigh, her ass. “Please.”

The werewolf rocks its hips, cock dragging over her ass a few times before it slots between her legs. It takes another few ruts, and Ciri lifting her hips even higher, but eventually the tip catches and slips inside.

She gasps at the pressure, and then doesn’t get the chance to catch her breath as the werewolf immediately starts to rut. This is nothing like the other two – this one is lost to its instincts, all but entirely feral, rutting into her exactly like a dog would rut into a bitch.

“Melitele’s sweet fucking tits yes.”

– – – – –

After that, well...it sort of becomes a habit. At first just on werewolf hunts, or any time she encounters a born werewolf. 

And then….

It’s a succubus that breaks the pattern. She thinks Eskel would either be deeply disappointed or extremely proud, and the fact that she’s not sure which one is funnier than it has any right to be.

At least there’s no fisstech involved in her rendezvous with the very lovely sex demon.

But after the succubus – and the incubus that follows that, and the drowner after that (which was much less gross than she would have expected), she starts to...wonder.

After all, there’s plenty of sentient and semi-sentient monsters – and even aside from sentience, there’s plenty that are easy enough to...well, convince. Some basic alchemy is all it takes, and sometimes not even that, and most monsters are ready to go.

The first time she tries something a little more out there, she’s in Skellige investigating rumors of another Convergence, and instead of the marks of the Spheres coming together, she finds a kelpie. 

Seeing as there hasn’t been any reports of this particular kelpie bothering anyone, she has no interest in killing it. Plus it’s gorgeous, looking nothing like the haggard sea monster she’s seen in bestiaries, and she’s...curious.

The thing must be able to smell it on her, because instead of reacting the way most monsters would react upon her encroaching on her territory, it just tilts its not-quite-horse head and peers at her with one big, black eye through its drooping seaweed mane. All the same, she approaches carefully, skirting around the edge of the water to make sure that it can see her fully at all times. When she stops to stand and just look, it moves closer, and she gets a glimpse of its powerful tail.

And more than that.

She sucks in a breath and takes a careful step into the water, hands already at her breeches. The kelpie’s gaze is intelligent and shrewd, and it comes right up to her, lipping at her cheek and sniffing. She stills and lets it, heart pounding as she looks down between its legs and sees more of its cock starting to peek out from the in-between space of horse and fish. 

It’s exactly as massive as a regular stallion’s cock would be, maybe just a bit thinner, and obviously differently colored. She’d never consider this with an actual horse, but….

Well. But. When the kelpie seems done with its assessment of her smell, it pulls back a little and snorts before tipping its head pointedly down.

Ciri goes without a single complaint, even when she ends up muddy and covered in slimy pond water.

– – – – – 

She should feel guilty. She should feel...just about anything aside from thrilled. Or insatiably curious.

But she doesn’t.

Oh well.

– – – – –

Of course, eventually, the monsterfucking catches up and bites her in the ass.

She knew it would, really. It had to.

It just doesn’t happen the way she expects.

Selkie contracts are rare, because selkies never want to be around humans. And when they are, well – they’re usually not violent, not when someone has their coat. Too much risk.

But this one is reported to be slaughtering fishermen up and down the coast, so she has to at least investigate.

And if she’s honest – after the kelpie, she’s very curious.

It takes several days and a lot of coin given to suspicious sailors to find it.

Him, as she discovers, creeping out of the shadow of boulders at the cliffside to see the creature better. He’s half-human, half-seal at the moment, perched on a rock with the top half of his coat wrapped around his waist as he strokes over his arms.

She can see the way the moonlight glints off the sharp points of his teeth, the way his hands are just slightly webbed. He’s very clearly not human, even at first glance, even ignoring the seal tail.

Ciri swallows, heart rabbiting in her chest, and steps out onto the beach.

The selkie’s head turns to her whip-fast, his teeth bared, but she raises her hands in surrender. Her swords are hidden amongst the boulders; if she needs them, she can get to them, but she’s relatively sure she won’t need them.

“What are you doing here,” the selkie hisses, sliding off of the rock and into the water. 

“Looking for you,” Ciri says, honestly. She gestures to herself. “Witcher.”

“I can and will kill you.”

“I know. But I don’t think you will.”

“Why not?” 

Ciri shrugs. “Gut feeling. I see you have your coat.”

“I do. There are many who wish to steal it from me.”

“Not me,” Ciri assures. “I’m mostly just...curious.”

The selkie pauses, straightening as his expression goes from warily suspicious to neutrally bemused. “...about?”

Ciri figures at this point there’s no reason to bother dancing around the subject. “I’m sure you can guess,” she says, and starts carefully stripping away her minimal armor and clothes. “The only interest I have in your coat is how it feels against my skin.”

For a moment the selkie doesn’t say anything, and then slowly, a wicked smirk crosses his face. “Oh really,” he says. “You know, I’ve heard all kind of things about Witchers…. I didn’t think this one was true.”

“What?” Ciri laughs and finishes with her clothes before wading into the water. “That we fuck monsters?”

“Hm, exactly,” the selkie says, swimming closer. She keeps going until the water is just above her waist, and he meets her there. His hands are cold, but no colder than the water around them, and his smirk widens when she shivers. “Pretty little thing, aren’t you?”

“I’ve been told so before,” Ciri says magnanimously, and the selkie chuckles. 

“Do you know what you’re getting into here, little Witcher?”

Ciri shrugs one shoulder. “I have an idea.”

“Good enough for me.”

Before she realizes he’s going to move, he’s spinning her around and wrapping iron-strong arms around her, and then they’re moving. For a split second she considers being afraid, but when she sees that he’s just headed toward the rock he was perched on, she calms. His little chuckle in her ear means he probably notices, and she pretends she’s not flushing.

After all, she has plenty of reasons to be going red right now. The pulse between her legs is excuse enough.

“On your side,” he orders, once they’ve climbed onto the rock. “Easier that way.”

She hums and turns onto her side, letting him spoon up behind her. His coat is slick and warm, but soft like she’d expect of fur still. It’s an odd sensation, but not an unpleasant one. She shudders as he wraps his arms around her again, one at her waist and the other at her thigh, lifting it up. 

His cock presses up against her ass before slipping between her legs and dragging over her cunt. She shudders and lets her head fall back, until it rests on the selkie’s shoulder. She can’t see it, but his cock feels a lot like the kelpie’s, but it’s got more girth and it’s less slick.

Considering the tightening heat in her belly, slick won’t be of much concern. 

“Gods, you really do want this, don’t you,” the selkie purrs, and she hums her assent as he shifts and his cock drags over her cunt again. She tries to tilt her hips, to make it easier for him to sink inside her, and he chuckles. “Needy,” he murmurs, and after another few teasing drags, the head finally catches on her hole and sinks inside.

Her breath rushes out of her on a shocked moan, eyes flying wide with the stretch and unfamiliar texture. “Oh,” she pants, squirming lightly. The selkie just chuckles again and thrusts, sinking in to the base and then pulling out and doing it again, again, again.

She’s panting and whining inside of a minute, the combination of sensations almost too much – the cold night air on her damp skin against the heat of the selkie’s coat, his thick cock spearing her open with a stretch that matches the stretch in her thigh as he holds it up, the slight chill of his hand over her breast.

“Oh, oh, fuck,” she babbles, head rolling. He just chuckles again and moves faster, breathing going short and rapid. 

“Nice and tight,” he mutters, and it sounds less like praise and more like a comment on the weather, but it sends heat flaring through her all the same. 

“Please,” she whimpers, clenching down as her orgasm starts to take her over. He doesn’t stop, just makes a low, inhuman sound and fucks harder, deep enough that it aches a little, and of all things that’s what pushes her over.

She cries out, eyes open wide with the shock of it, and makes eye contact with Eskel, standing on the shore.

“Fuck!”

– – – – –

Eskel watches as she finishes up with the selkie. She can feel his eyes on them as the creature comes inside her, as he keeps a hold of her to press his fingers inside once he’s pulled his cock out. She doesn’t look, but she knows, and she doesn’t quite know what to do with the uncomfortably shivery feeling it gives her. 

The selkie leaves with a smirk and a kiss to her temple, disappearing into the water. She loiters on the rock for a moment, unsure, but eventually decides that Eskel or not, she can’t stay on this rock in the sea for the whole godsdamned night.

“Hi,” she says, awkward like she hasn’t been since she was a teenager, as she walks past him to get to her clothes.

“I suppose you could make worse choices,” is what Eskel replies with.

“Like a succubus while on fisstech?” she teases, pulling her breeches and shirt on but just picking up the armor and the rest. 

Eskel snorts. “Like a succubus while on fisstech,” he agrees. “Although – ”

“Oh, succubi are fun, I know,” Ciri interrupts, winking.

Eskel laughs properly this time. “That’s our girl,” he says.

– – – – – 

They travel together for a week before Eskel suggests it, a calculating look in his eye.

“Fiend,” he says, waiving the notice in his hand. “‘S in season.”

For a second, Ciri isn’t quite sure why that’s relevant, and then it hits her.

“Easier to hunt that way?” she asks.

Eskel snorts. “No,” he says. “Unless, it’s got something to stick its cock in. They go particularly stupid then, and after.”

Ciri hums, heart already starting to hammer in her chest. Eskel’s gaze flicks down to her chest, and a smirk pulls up one side of his mouth.

“Well?” he asks.

Ciri takes a breath. “Yeah, let’s do it.”

– – – – –

She knows, logically, that she should feel weirder about this than she does. She just...doesn’t.

The fiend pheromones reek something awful, and she can’t imagine what it’s like for Eskel if it’s so bad for her. All the same, she rubs it around the base of her neck and over her collar, and then, when Eskel directs with a not-so-subtle nod, over her thighs and between her legs. 

“It’s already caught the scent,” Eskel murmurs, as she hands the empty vial back to him. “It’s easiest on your knees.”

“I’ve fucked a werewolf before,” Ciri finds herself blurting, even as she goes to her knees and adjusts to raise her hips up high. She’s pretty sure she doesn’t imagine the way Eskel shifts uncomfortably.

“Then you know the stance,” Eskel says. “...wonder what Geralt would think of that.”

Ciri gasps, belly tightening with something that’s somewhere between violent shame and pulsing arousal. “Eskel,” she says, warning. “You can’t – ”

“I could,” he interrupts. “Could tell Geralt all about your adventures out here on the Path. What I saw with the selkie, what you’ve said about the others….”

There’s the sound of a fiend crashing closer through the trees, growling. Ciri tenses and then forces herself to relax, raising her hips further, and it doesn’t take much longer for the fiend to find them.

“Hold still and let it,” Eskel orders, and Ciri can’t help the way her breath stutters in her chest at that. The fiend sniffs her, licks over her pheromone-covered skin, seemingly deciding that she’s good enough as it shuffles behind her. “Don’t tense.”

She does her best, but it’s nigh on impossible to follow the order as the fiend’s frankly massive cock pushes into her cunt, straight to pressing against her womb. It aches fiercely, but in a way that makes her belly swoop, makes her clit throb. 

“Oh,” she gasps. “Oh, fuck, that’s – ”

“It’s going to try and breed you,” Eskel says, and there’s a strain to his voice. “Fuckssake, Ciri, you took that like the loosest whore in Novigrad.”

Ciri whimpers. “I – it – fuck,” she babbles, eyes rolling as the fiend starts to move. Much like the first proper werewolf, it doesn’t give a whit for her, just pistoning its cock in and out viciously. It chafes and each bumping thrust against her cervix sends a flare of ache through her gut, but she’s sopping wet for it, whining and moaning into the forest floor as it rails her.

Something about knowing she’s being watched – knowing that it’s Eskel watching – makes it better than it’s ever been.

“Y’know, they can go a few times,” Eskel says, casual. “Usually kill them in the first lull, but as long as the pheromones are there, they’ll fuck til they pass out. Ever been so full of cum you can’t even put your pants back on?”

Ciri squeaks, clenching down on the fiend’s cock, and it roars, fucking faster. “I – no, I – fuck, fuck, fuck, Eskel, it’s – ”

“Just imagine,” Eskel interrupts. “Could let it fuck you as full as it wants, til you’re covered in it and look like the whore you’re acting like. Go home this winter and tell Geralt all about it – watching you rub fiend pheromones all over your cunt and present for it to breed you. Imagine if it could actually knock you up.”

Ciri shudders, teetering on the edge of orgasm just from the overload of sensation, the humiliation burning in her gut. “Eskel,” she pants. She vaguely hears the slip of laces, the clink of buckles.

“Get you all full of monster pups,” Eskel murmurs. “Watch your tits get all big and leaking. They’d be so sore, you know. You’d just be sore, all full up of monsters and cum. Are you going to come like this, Ciri? Getting fucked by a fiend while I watch? Wonder if your cunt will gape afterward. Probably will….”

“I – fuck!” Ciri screams as she tips over the edge, the pulsing rhythm of her orgasm pulling the fiend with her. It fills her up so much she can feel it inside her, and she whines, drooling into the dirt. “Fuck, fuck.”

“Should I let it go again?” Eskel asks. “It certainly looks ready to. Don’t think it’s ever ridden a better bitch.”

Ciri whines, high and breathless. 

“Yes.”

#celus writes #celus prompt fill #dead dove #dead dove: do not eat #celus psuedo-incest CW #celus monsterfucking CW #Anonymous #wreck ciri anon #monsterfucker ciri verse #celus wrecking ciri

[piceuscelus]

Ciri is supposed to sail to Skellige, to meet the Jarl. En route, the ship gets into a storm and she gets thrown overboard.

When she wakes up, she's along on a tiny, rocky outcropping. Except she's not alone... There are eyes watching her from the water, eyes that reflect the lightning oddly, and when she wakes, there are damp, sandy handprints all over her.

ooooh this one is all mysterious i love it

maybe she’s hurt, can’t really get off the outcropping right away - she can swim to a little island she can see in the distance, but she’s got to heal some first. problem, though: she doesn’t have any way to get food, or water she can drink.

she frets about it, and wonders about those handprints, but eventually falls asleep again. when she wakes up this time, there’s a waterskin and cooked fish and more sandy handprints, this time on her hips and breasts.

she figures it’s fair trade, really, whatever the thing is giving her food and water to keep her alive and getting...whatever it’s getting from her while she sleeps.

that goes on for a couple of days, and ciri is feeling good enough she might be able to head to the island. she falls asleep again after a rather nice dinner - she thinks the fish was even seasoned this time! - except when she wakes up, there’s not just sandy handprints anymore.

there’s bruises, and while that’s mildly alarming it’s not a big deal. the pouch of her stomach and the fact that she feels stuffed full, cunt throbbing sore, though, that’s....interesting.

#celus speaks #celus wrecking ciri #dead dove #dead dove: do not eat #mermay #celus dubcon CW #celus monsterfucking CW #celus oviposition CW #oldandkinky

[piceuscelus]

😱😱😱 it’s monsterfucker Ciri anon (who is also body mod Ciri anon so just Wreck Ciri anon) and...... wowwwwwwwww. Your writing is wonderful? Quite apart from the wowwwwww of that???? That was so much hotter than I could’ve imagined. Please please please share your Ciri/Eskel thoughts!!!! 🥺

hi hello i have mentioned i would die for you, right? wrecking ciri is a good fucking time, okay, and i didn’t even know how much i needed it, god bless you

okay so i will share my Thoughts and then maybe actually write something later

LOOK OKAY i l o v e the idea of eskel having this like, super taboo relationship with ciri. she’s his niece, basically, but she’s fucking gorgeous and sexy and a Slut to the highest proportions so they’re pretty well matched

and fiends aren’t the only monsters that are easier to kill when they’re fuck-stupid, so like.......this is advantageous! ciri can fuck monsters, and eskel can watch and viciously get off and also make sure she’s safe. win-win.

so he comes across a basilisk contract, and he already knows how much he likes seeing ciri stuffed full - they’ve had plenty of time to test that - and basilisks have two cocks.... 

ciri is into it from the start, but when she goes to prepare herself, eskel stops her because fuck if he doesn’t want to take this a little further, and ciri’s shaking and bright red but lets him

so he fingers her open, gets her nice and stretched and slick before plugging her up - it’ll be easier in the long run - and then has the particular pleasure of watching her ride a horse with a plug in her ass. the whole time, from the first finger he got inside her, to when they get to where the basilisk is nesting, he’s spouting dirty talk. talking about how he should tell geralt how tight her ass is, how much she loves being filled, how she begged him for more even while knowing he was opening her up to take two cocks at once and from a monster no less

this time, since the line has already been crossed, eskel is the one to rub the pheromones over her, and he doesn’t even pretend he’s not just abusing it, massaging over her tits and pinching her nipples just to watch her shake, rubbing his whole palm over her cunt to feel how soaked she is and how she instinctively spreads her legs wider to give him room, fucking her on the plug to watch the way her rim stretches, pink and puffy

and the thing is that basilisks are vicious anyway, nasty creatures, so while the thing definitely wants to fuck ciri where she’s ass-up at the entrance to its cave home, because she smells like something it can breed, it’s not nice about it. 

ciri’s crying and sobbing but when eskel asks she just screams for more, and so he lets it happen, watches as the basilisk practically ravages her, her cunt and asshole red and gaping by the time it finally fills her and slinks back to collapse into a stupor. eskel follows and dispatches it quickly, quickly enough that ciri hasn’t even moved by the time he comes back, and he can’t resist her any more than the basilisk could, fucked open and sticky

he makes her cum once, twice, three times before she begs him to please just fuck her, and who is he to tell her no, really

#celus writes #celus prompt fill #celus psuedo-incest CW #celus monsterfucking CW #wreck ciri anon #Anonymous #dead dove #dead dove: do not eat #monsterfucker ciri verse #celus wrecking ciri

[piceuscelus]

[Wreck Ciri Anon] YOU RANG? Howwwwwwww do we feel about monsterfucker Ciri and Eskel going back to Kaer Morhen for the winter, trying to hide what she's been up to from Geralt? But she gets so pent-up, she goes out for a hunt and meets Lambert before she smells quite...right again. And he threatens to tell Geralt unless she lets him watch, too, and the idea makes her so wet... and then Vesemir catches her, wants to "study this," until it's just Geralt who doesn't know...

hhhh babe i love you so much

this one is short but rest assured i have IDEAS and idk if they’ll go anywhere but they’re all filthy and i bow down before you in thanks

Ciri tries to tamp down on her urges during the winter. She does.

It’s just...hard. And she can’t very well get fucked by anyone else, either. She knows Eskel would be willing, but nothing is a secret in a keep of Witchers, and the last thing she wants to do is try to explain to Geralt. Any of it, really – her and Eskel, or the monsterfucking. 

Sure, she knows that Geralt has done his own fair share of getting around with the non-human and monstrous, but this is a bit different.

Eventually, though, she can’t contain it anymore. She lets Eskel know what she’s doing – he can’t follow her, not without more forethought about planning to hunt together or something, but it’s better than just disappearing.

Luckily, the forests around Kaer Morhen are infested with all kinds of things.

– – – – –

There’s a nest of male drowners making a home downriver of the keep. She pulls the right vial from her pouch before undressing and putting all of her things high up in a tree, and then covers herself in the pheromones.

Just for the sake of safety – and because she really is so fucking desperate for it – she also uses the pheromone solution to finger her ass open. It’s not quick slick enough, but it’s good all the same, and she hopes that using the pheromones will make the drowners want her ass, too.

After all, if she can get properly fucked out here, maybe then she can hold out for a bit longer.

The drowners smell her before she even gets to the nest proper, and she finds herself being grabbed by slimy, webbed hands and forced down into the dirt. She goes easily, doesn’t struggle, and the drowner propped over her back makes a low, excited noise before rutting forward against her ass. 

Some are smarter than others, though, and a second one shoves it out of the way to mount her proper, slamming its cock into her cunt without any problems. She buries her face in the mud to scream, entire body lighting up as she’s filled, fast and rough and perfect. 

When the drowner is done, one of its friend shoves it back out of the way to set upon her. She thinks its the first one, but she can’t tell for sure and it doesn’t actually matter. There’s more fruitless, aimless rutting at her for a moment before this one’s cock catches – on her asshole.

She screams again, the pain almost too much, but before she can even adjust, there’s a drowner on the ground next to her, shoving under her body to rut up against her belly, frantic from the pheromones she’s soaked in. Between the one at her back rutting quick and hard, and her own gentle encouragement, it only takes a minute or two to get the bottom drowner’s cock to slip into her cunt.

“Oh, oh, fuck, please,” she babbles, and loses herself to the vicious pleasure for a while.

– – – – –

She’s...better, she finds, as she trudges back to her things, but the itch under her skin is still there. She needs more.

She doesn’t bother putting her clothes back on, just gathers her things and sets off into the wilds to look for more monsters. 

It’s not long before she stumbles upon werewolf tracks. But before she can properly tune in to find the werewolf – likely a born one, but feral, considering the phase of the moon and the location – she finds evidence of something else.

Someone.

“Hey, Ciri.”

Shit.

“Lambert,” she says, and her voice is mostly steady. 

“What are you up to?”

“None of your business,” she says, and he cocks his head with a smirk. 

“Oh really?” he says, and she doesn’t miss the way his eyes trail over her body. She shivers. “So you think I should just go back to the castle,” he continues, “maybe see if Geralt is still awake…? I think he’d like to know if you got accosted by drowners.”

“Lambert, don’t,” she says, heart in her throat.

“I can tell what you did,” he says. “Gotta say, I never thought you’d do that kind of thing, but…. Well. You’re looking for the werewolf, aren’t you?”

“...yes.”

“Let me watch, and I won’t tell Geralt,” Lambert offers, and he gives her another once over.

Ciri sucks in a breath, feeling the heat already pooling in her belly, her cunt. 

“Fine,” she agrees.

– – – – –

With Lambert to help, finding the werewolf is easy.

With the pheromones already on her, even though they’re for the wrong monster, it’s even easier to get it to fuck her. 

She was right, it’s a born werewolf, but a feral one. It growls at Lambert, but can’t seem to take its attention entirely off of her, especially when she goes to the ground, face in the dirt and hips raised high. All it takes, once she’s in position, is an enticing howl – something Eskel taught her how to do – and a wiggle of her ass, and the werewolf is on her.

She sobs when its cock slides into her cunt, bigger than the drowners, more satisfying. “Oh, yes,” she mumbles, fists digging into the dirt. “Fuck, yeah, oh.”

“Shit, Ciri,” Lambert mutters, and Ciri whines as she gushes wet over the werewolf’s cock as it pistons into her, each thrust jarring and making her eyes go crossed. 

“F...feels good,” she gasps out. “Want it to knot me.”

Lambert sucks in a breath. “Can make it,” he says. “If you want.”

Ciri moans, because she knows that, has had Eskel do it. “Please,” she begs. “Please, I need it so bad – ”

The werewolf roars, and she just barely sees the flare of magic before it’s shoving into her, knot and all. It locks easily and she wails as she comes, entire body jolting and shuddering.

“Fuck,” she pants. “Fuck, feels so fucking good.” She grinds back against the werewolf, making it growl at her and jerk its hips. The way the knot tugs at her insides makes her whine.

She turns her head to see Lambert with one hand down his pants, wide-eyed as he jerks his cock to the sight of her caught on a werewolf’s knot. She licks her lips as she watches, and that’s what sets Lambert off, knocking a startled grunt out of him as he spills into his pants.

– – – – –

The night with the drowners and the werewolf manage to tide her over to another few weeks. 

But then she’s back to being restless and itchy. Horny.

She wants to be filled. Properly. 

Problem is, when she goes to the far-out cave that houses several arachas, she finds Vesemir already there.

And just like when she ran into Lambert, there’s fuck all she can do to explain this away; she reeks like arousal and arachas pheromones. 

Vesemir gives her a curious look. “Not a common choice,” he says. She flushes scarlet.

“Don’t tell Geralt,” she murmurs, and Vesemir hums.

“Let me see,” he says. “I think I’ll study it, if you’re going to give me the option – let me see, and I won’t tell Geralt.”

Ciri hates the fact that she immediately soaks her breeches. 

“Y-yeah.”

So Vesemir watches as she strips, as she carefully opens herself up with a special oil, plugging her cunt up with a toy so the arachas can’t push its eggs into her womb. She’s done it before, but she doesn’t think she can handle it right now.

They move deeper into the cave, and it doesn’t take long before one of the arachas catches her scent. Vesemir stays back, close enough to see – and hear, and smell – but far enough to not spook the monster. Ciri takes a shuddering breath and gets into position, just in time for the insectoid to come sniffing, as it were.

Much like any other monster, it gives a cursory examination and then just goes for it. Its ovipositor is large and cold, only a little softer than the toy stretching her cunt, and she can’t help the way she sobs for it, working her hips into the pressure of it. 

The arachas clicks, excitedly, and then moves. As it thrusts, she feels the creep of the eggs along the shaft, until finally they’re pushed into her, deeper and deeper with each new one that the arachas forces into her body. They’re smallish eggs, but they’re hard and heavy, and the arachas is guaranteed to lay at least two dozen. 

She can tell Vesemir is shocked when she comes, even as she sobs at the sensation of being so filled. He’s probably even more shocked that she comes again, and again, and then a fourth time when the arachas is finally done breeding her, leaving her stuffed full of its eggs and in a heap on the floor.

It takes a little bit of maneuvering, but she manages to twist until she can grab the dildo in her cunt and fuck herself with it, quick and hard, and comes a fifth time with a wail.

– – – – –

After that, she notices how Lambert, Vesemir, and Eskel all look at her.

Geralt still doesn’t know.

And she’s still itchy, barely holding on without the ability to get fucked near constantly – by monsters or by Eskel.

But with the three of them knowing, it is much easier to get out to get a fix.

#celus writes #celus prompt fill #dead dove #dead dove: do not eat #wreck ciri anon #celus monsterfucking CW #celus oviposition CW #celus psuedo-incest CW #Anonymous #monsterfucker ciri verse #celus wrecking ciri

[piceuscelus]

On the topic of Ciri being stuffed full: They need eggs to sell, they're a rare ingredient worth an incredible amount, but need to be kept warm and moist or else they'll deteriorate and be unusable. Cue Jaskier and Geralt helping Ciri get pumped full of eggs, helping hold her still and helping spread her cunt open, telling her what a good girl she is, how she's going to be so full and she's just a squirming, overstimulated mess from how the tentacles/vines/whatever are pulsing and bulging inside

hhhhh hi i’m drooling a little

this turned into monsterfucking and oviposition (obvs), but belongs to the world’s weirdest triad series lmao, also womb fucking,,,?

“You don’t have to accept this one, if you don’t want to.”

Ciri fixes Geralt with a deeply unimpressed look. Jaskier, lounging on the bed behind the Witcher, devolves into muffled giggles. Geralt has the decency to look sheepish.

“You need new armor, Roach needs new shoes, Jaskier needs to take his lute to a luthier, and if I don’t get at least a new pair of breeches, I’m going to go back to panhandling because people will assume I’m a destitute orphan on the street on sight. This will pay for all of that twice over.”

Geralt frowns. “Yes, but – ”

“But nothing, Geralt.” Ciri rolls her eyes. “Don’t think I can’t see the state of your pants.”

“Cirilla.”

She smirks, crossing the room to press up against Geralt’s front, hand landing on his thigh just shy of where she can see the outline of his burgeoning erection. “It’s not a secret anymore, Geralt. It’s been years, and you know I enjoy it just as much as you two do.”

“Hey,” Jaskier says, faintly, but when Ciri peeks around Geralt’s side to look at him he’s smirking. She sticks her tongue out at him and then turns her attention back to Geralt.

“I’ll be fine,” she insists. She moves her hand, brushing over the bulge, and grins when his eyes narrow as he shivers. “Besides, you and Jaskier will take care of me, won’t you?”

“Of course,” Jaskier says, soft but immediate. Geralt sighs softly and ducks down slightly to kiss Ciri’s temple. 

She turns her face to catch the corner of his mouth, and he smiles slightly before he turns to kiss her properly.

– – – – – 

“Gotta make sure you’re secure,” Jaskier murmurs, petting over Ciri’s wrist where he’s carefully tying it to a deep-set stake. “Feel okay?”

Ciri hums agreeably. “Yeah,” she says softly, nuzzling against his thigh. He chuckles and pets her hair before shifting over to tie her other wrist. 

“Already a little loopy?” he asks.

“Mhm,” Ciri nods with a sigh. “That shit is strong.”

“It’s a larger dose,” Geralt says. He’s knelt by her feet, fiddling about with a mortar and pestle as he grinds herbs and some oil into a poultice. Ciri watches his muscles shift as he works, already feeling a little shivery, a little hot. Judging from the way Jaskier chuckles when his hand brushes her throat, he notices her elevated heart rate. She lazily sticks her tongue out at him before letting her head drop back, closing her eyes.

Jaskier ties her legs open just like her wrists, and she tries wriggling a little; she can lift her hips and her head, and tip her knees in or out, but otherwise she’s entirely immobile. She groans at the restraint, shifting her hips a little just to feel the pull at her ankles. 

Jaskier chuckles again. “Already desperate for it?” he teases, and she feels the heat of him at her side, hums happily when he pets through her hair.

“Mhm. Geralt?”

“Almost done,” he assures, and she hears the familiar, rough sound of him scraping the poultice out of the mortar with a knife. She shudders at it, and Jaskier pets through her hair again. 

Geralt touches her hip with his free hand in warning, and then he’s shifting that touch down to her cunt, spreading her open. She whines at the feeling of it, clenching around nothing, and Geralt grunts softly when he sees it.

“Already wet,” he murmurs, tracing the edge of her entrance with a fingertip. “You’ll be insatiable once you’re full.”

Ciri giggles. “Aren’t I always?”

Jaskier snorts. “Even when you’re not full,” he says, and leans down to press a kiss to her cheek. She turns her head, blind, and he catches the hint quickly, kissing her sweet and slow. While they’re distracted with one another, Geralt sets to fingering her open, first with his clean hand and then, once she’s a little more stretched, with the fingers covered in the poultice. She jolts when she first feels it, the odd cool-gritty quality of the poultice always strange at first. Jaskier pets over her naked belly to soothe her, and she nips at his lip.

She has to pull back from the kiss to whine when Geralt’s fingers press up against her cervix, a dull ache spreading through her hips that only intensifies as he carefully coats the spongy muscle with the poultice. The ache itself just makes her shudder and moan, and the feeling of her cervix relaxing, the herbal poultice doing it’s job, just makes it better.

“Ah, ah,” she pants, and Jaskier kisses lightly over her throat, hand still resting on her belly. He shifts it down, just slightly, and rubs a little harder, somehow soothing and intensifying the ache all at once. She moans again, arching into his touch and Geralt’s.

“Good,” Geralt murmurs, still prodding gently at her cervix, feeling the way she’s relaxing. “Good, Ciri, just like that. How do you feel?”

“Good – ah, fu – please.” 

Geralt huffs, but a third finger sinks into her next to the other two, and his other hand moves up so he can circle his thumb around her clit. She cries out, hips jerking into it before Jaskier can press her back down. 

“Like this, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “Come on, let go.”

Geralt presses a little harder where he’s thumbing at her clit, and she cries out as the orgasm washes over her, everything going hazy for a moment before she’s coming back gasping, clenching hard around Geralt’s knuckles.

“Oh, oh,” she pants, and Geralt hums as he crooks his fingers, rocking them inside her in a way that makes her stomach drop out. “Ah!”

“Yeah, just like that, look at you,” Jaskier coos, always the more talkative one, “give us another, sweetheart.”

She opens her mouth to say something – she doesn’t really know what – but before she can find her voice past the little whimpers tumbling out of her, Geralt leans down and sucks gently at her clit and she’s doing exactly as Jaskier says. “Ah, Jas – Ger – fuck!”

Time loses meaning for a bit as she rides the wave of what cannot possibly just be one climax, and all she’s really aware of is the feeling of the ache and stretch in her cunt and Jaskier and Geralt’s sounds, soft words and little grunts that set fire to her nerves.

When she finally comes down, Geralt is wiping the remains of the poultice off of his hands and Jaskier is just petting her, lithe hands tracing a pattern from her hips to her throat and then down again. 

“There you are.” He chuckles when her eyes flutter open. “Feel good?”

Ciri swallows and wriggles a little, still tied up and feeling loose and restrained all at once, and in more than the typical ways. “Yeah,” she says. “What next?”

“Geralt will lure the thing here and Axii it so it sees you as a viable mate, and then it’ll lay its eggs.”

She hums. “Okay.”

Geralt kneels down to her side and leans over to press a slow, sweet kiss to her mouth. She sighs softly into it, straining a little closer. Geralt smiles against her mouth. 

– – – – – 

Ciri zones out while they wait for Geralt to return, though it’s easy to hear when he and the creature are nearby. Jaskier hums and leaves her with a stroke to her hair before settling closer to her legs, hand resting on her pubic mound and making her shiver.

The creature itself is grotesque, looking like some kind of disgusting crossbreed between a grave hag and a nekker, but with the basic silhouette of a squid and the many limbs to match, though only a handful look like tentacles. 

“Gross,” Ciri murmurs, but she doesn’t fight the restraints, and just closes her eyes. 

“It’ll feel better than it looks, I’m certain,” Jaskier says, clearly amused. “And if it doesn’t, well – we’ll make up for that. Right, Geralt?”

“Mhm.”

“You’d better,” Ciri mumbles, but there’s no heat to it, and she squeaks when Jaskier reaches down and grasps at her labia to pull her open. The sensations of being spread so forcefully wide and her cervix relaxing open make her stomach flip, and she clenches down on nothing with a little whine. 

She can hear the creature lumbering closer, and then suddenly it’s between her legs, and she jumps a little. Its skin is surprisingly smooth and soft for how rough and worn it looked, and when something slides over her thigh and hip to prod at her cunt, it’s startlingly warm and slick.

“Oh,” she gasps softly, unable to stop herself from jerking up into the pressure at her hole. Whatever appendage it’s prodding at her with is thick, no taper to it like a tentacle, and the idea of it forcing that inside her – possibly clear inside of her womb – makes her whine and gush her own slick to add to the creature’s mess.

It makes some kind of guttural sound – something very clearly excited – and that appendage is pushing at her entrance, thick and blunt. She whimpers, trying to relax, to let it inside, but eventually – when the thing makes another noise, frustrated this time – Jaskier slides his fingers in and hooks them, so he can properly pry her cunt open.

She wails, the stretch of it right on the border of too much, pain that’s sharper than the ache in her center racing through her. “Ja – Jask,” she sobs. “Jask, it – oh, fuck fuck fuck – ”

Her words are cut off in a sharp, high breath as the blunt pressure finally turns into being filled, the creature’s tentacle – or whatever it is – sinking inside her body at last. Jaskier lets go of the edges of her entrance and she whines, clenching down on the creature hard, jolting and moaning at the feeling of fullness as the thing pushes deeper and deeper, until that blunt head is pressed against her cervix.

“Look at that,” Jaskier mumbles, sounding awed, and as much as Ciri doesn’t really want to look at the thing between her legs, she can’t help but open her eyes to see what he’s looking at. And when she sees it, too, she keens, spasming and bearing down on the thing until it pops through the barrier of her cervix with a jolt.

“Ah!” The little bulge in her belly moves, synced with the tentacle-thing wriggling a bit, and then the creature trills, a pleased, excited noise that makes Ciri shiver. She closes her eyes again, focusing on the way her body is pulsing, trying to force the thing out unsuccessfully. Jaskier is petting her side, but Geralt is worryingly silent, and her stomach swoops. “Ger – Geralt?”

“Right here,” he answers, immediate and assuring, and then she feels him settle to her other side, one hand resting in her hair. 

There’s a pause for a moment, and then the creature is moving, its tentacle pulling back just far enough to escape the grip of her womb and then pushing back in, making pain sear through Ciri’s lower body as she sobs. 

Despite that, though, she’s still soaked, and she feels like if the creature would move just a little faster, she could come from this. The thing doesn’t move faster, though, just keeps its slow pace, its tentacle popping in and out of her womb like a metronome. 

“Fuck,” she cries, and tries to thrash, to twist, but finds that she can’t – the ropes. That was the point, after all. “Fuck, fuck.”

Finally, the creature stills, pushed the deepest into her womb it’s gotten so far, and makes a low, dangerous sound. Ciri can feel the way the thing inside her expands at the base, and then that bulge moves, stretching her cunt and her womb wide before it spills out of the tip of the thing. 

Hundreds of tiny, delicate, ludicrously expensive eggs. Ones that she’ll have to push back out, in about a week’s time.

But before that, this thing is going to absolutely stuff her with them

Another moving bulge, and tears spill over as she tries to twist, caught somewhere between animal fright and pain and searing, mind-bending pleasure. She can feel the ache deep inside as her womb fills, as the eggs force her to swell – already visible, and only getting bigger. 

It feels like there’s hundreds of tiny rocks inside her, but...softer. Another pulse of them fills her, and she loses her breath at the way the stretch makes her cunt pulse.

“Ja – Jas,” she pleads, mostly a whine. “W-want – ple – oh fuck.”

Jaskier doesn’t seem to need the instruction or the begging, though. As soon as she’s managed to utter his name – or at least an approximation of it – he’s reaching down to press at her clit, fingertips light at first and then harder as she keens.

Another pulse of eggs, the creature roaring softly, and Ciri tumbles into an orgasm that’s almost more pain than anything else but whites out her senses all the same, the only thing left being the fullness. 

After that she loses track of how many loads of eggs the thing has pumped into her, just whimpering and sobbing with each new one, with each new orgasm Jaskier gives her as she’s stuffed. Eventually, even through tear-blurry eyes, she can see she’s become large – larger than she’s ever been stuffed, large enough that she can barely see the creature fucking her anymore because her distended belly is in the way.

“Good girl,” Geralt murmurs. “So good, look how full you are.”

“Don’t you feel like you’ll burst, sweetheart?” Jaskier adds. “Imagine what it’ll feel like to walk. Once the thing is done, we’ll have to spread you open and make sure none of those eggs escape.”

Ciri wails, another orgasm overtaking her for a breath-stealing moment as another pulse fills her, everything sore and sensitive and startlingly good, the stretch of the eggs bulging through the tentacle and then the heavy drop as they settle into her womb.

“Very, very good, sweetheart,” Geralt whispers, right into her ear, and she whines, turning her head for a kiss just before she finally blacks out.

– – – – –

She wakes to the feeling of Geralt and Jaskier’s fingers both sunk inside her, gently pushing escaped eggs back into her womb, and comes so hard all over again that she’s gone again.

#celus writes #celus prompt fill #dead dove #dead dove: do not eat #world's weirdest triad #celus pseudo incest CW #celus monsterfucking CW #celus oviposition CW #celus overstimulation CW #deaddovedonotyeet #celus wrecking ciri

[piceuscelus]

congratulations on finishing your project! mer ciri knows that good girls don't get all horny and needy, but nobody could blame her if she "accidentally" goes near some kind of sea monster and gets herself so stuffed full of eggs she can hardly swim, right? but it's a little more difficult than she was anticipating to get herself unstuffed again, and eskel agrees to help (she's so embarrassed, begging him not to tell geralt) but between the discomfort and his disapproving tone her whole body tightens up and won't let go of them, even as he presses on her tender belly and massages her slit until it's puffy and oversensitive. he has a suspicion letting her cum would help, but he doesn't have much of an incentive to do so

hrk oh my god

okay imagine tiny ciri, barely 12 or 13 but already with geralt and the others. she’s been told a dozen times or more not to go into the waters at the coast, because there are all kinds of things waiting to eat her out there, “or worse” she keeps getting told

but of course she’s horny curious, especially about “worse”, because she’s heard rumors, so she slips away one night to go investigate and gets caught by something very big with many tentacles and too many eyes, but it can talk to her (she doesn’t know how, she can’t see a mouth?) and it thinks she smells good and looks better and she’s excited by this thing that seems to want her

so it fucks her so full she’s heavy as a rock, barely able to swim back to shore, all round and aching. she lays on the shore for a while just trying to breathe, mindfucked from the experience, from how much she likes being so full

except then she realizes she...doesn’t know how to get them out.

and she panics at first, because how can she go to geralt? but then she remembers eskel, and he’s cool, and she knows he’s done things like this - so she sneaks around to get past geralt and goes to eskel.

and he’s very disappointed in her, all disapproving, scolding her for how dangerous that was, how she could have gotten hurt, but he says he’ll help her get the eggs out, and he promises not to tell geralt as long as she promises not to do something like this again.

and he knows making her come would help get the eggs out easier, but.... well. she’s so pretty all full and crying like this, and he’s considering how hard it would be to convince her that he’s got to fuck her to help, instead of just making her come with his fingers.

he might as well get something out of this, right?

#celus speaks #celus writes #kind of #celus wrecking ciri #dead dove #dead dove: do not eat #mermay #celus monsterfucking CW #celus oviposition CW #celus pseudo incest CW #Anonymous

[piceuscelus]

OK but Geralt & Ciri teaming up to help repopulate an endangered species of mermaid. They're so rare because they need to use another creatures body to incubate their eggs before laying them so Ciri convinces Geralt to let her help them. She's embarrassed at first because no you can't watch!! I can do this by myself!! But he wants to make sure she's safe so in the end he sits on a rock and watches her get filled full of eggs. All of them trying to get their cocks into her at once (1/2)

okay this is already so fucking delicious but how about this: the first time, geralt just watches.

the second time, he helps hold her down.

:D

and eventually ciri’s going to have to get those eggs back out, so please imagine geralt knelt behind her as she tries to lay them, helping her along by massaging her stomach, getting his fingers in her cunt to hold her open, getting her off to distract from the ache of it

#celus speaks #celus wrecking ciri #mermay #dead dove: do not eat #dead dove #celus monsterfucking CW #celus pseudo incest CW #celus oviposition CW #deaddovedonotyeet

[piceuscelus]

Monsterfucker Ciri's arachas egg prevention failing and leaving her to have to find a way to get them out without geralt noticing? Maybe Eskel and lambert help, or maybe they like seeing her like this too much and just help her hide it, reaping the rewards in private

didn’t really do the hiding it from geralt part,,, but eskel fucking ciri while she’s full of arachas eggs happened :D

It happens by accident. 

She’s in the cave again, because she wants to be properly full for a while, and the arachas are in their breeding season now. But somewhere in the haze, something slips.

She doesn’t notice until the arachas’ ovipositor is slamming into her cunt, a fierce pressure on her cervix that turns quickly into forcing her open around it, that something’s wrong. She cries out, unable to stop herself from riding back against the pain, the pleasure, belly tightening as she feels the egg start to push through. 

It drops, heavy and filling, into her womb. The next ones come fast, so fast she’s dizzy with it, groaning as she’s suddenly so full it hurts, belly aching as her womb stretches to accommodate the eggs being laid inside her.

“Fuck, fuck,” she sobs, shaking with pleasure and pain and a myriad of other things as she’s filled. “Ah, ah.”

She loses count, but she thinks the insect pumps nearly thirty eggs into her womb, and then one that ends up lodged in her cervix, holding her open, and one that sits heavy in her cunt, like some kind of plug, too big to just push out by herself. The monster clicks, pleased, and leaves her there, sobbing and stuffed, womb filled past her capacity and no way to fix it.

Fuck.

– – – – –

She’s just lucky that Geralt is away, hunting and getting some space from his family. 

“I can’t – oh, can’t get them out by myself,” she sobs to Vesemir as he carries her back to the castle. “It’s – they’re so fucking deep, fuck.”

Vesemir hums, but he’s smirking when he hands her over to Eskel, and Ciri thinks she won’t be expelling these eggs for a while.

– – – – –

Of course she’s right.

“Been so long,” Eskel murmurs. “Gods, look at you. All bred full. Does it hurt, sweetheart, all those eggs stuffed into your womb?”

“Yeah,” Ciri gasps. “Yeah, hurts, fuck, Eskel, please.”

“Want me to fuck you?” he asks. “Want me to stuff your cunt even more full, see if I can’t get a couple of loads of cum into your womb, too?”

Ciri shudders, clit throbbing as the eggs shift inside her. She’s so full and stretched, heavy with it, body wracked with arousal and pain all at once. “Yes, yes, please,” she begs, because he’s right, she wants it.

She hasn’t had his cock in so long and she’s desperate, wants to hear the nasty things he says to her, about her, while he fucks her stupid. 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Eskel purrs. “When was the last time you got stuffed like this, hm? Two years ago?”

Ciri whimpers. “Yeah,” she nods. “Fuck, please.”

“I know, you need more,” Eskel says, and there’s a rustle as he frees his cock. She can’t see past the swell of her belly, can barely even move, but she moans for it all the same, and he chuckles. “Always need more, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Ciri agrees, spreading her legs. She knows she looks slutty, looks like a whore, but Eskel just groans and rests one hand on her thigh.

His cockhead slides over her cunt for a moment, a tease as he coats himself in the wetness she’s soaked in. She whines and squirms – the best she can, at least – and he just laughs before slowly, slowly pushing his cock in.

They – Eskel and Lambert, that is – helped her get the egg out of her cunt, but there’s still one lodged in her cervix. She whimpers when he grinds up against it, managing to push it nearly all the way inside with the force.

“Shit, Ciri, always forget just how nice your cunt is,” Eskel mutters, his other hand going to her other thigh and shifting her so he can sink a little deeper. 

She just moans, clenching, and lets herself be moved, be used. She’s already on edge, all full up and aching, mind racing with the possibilities as Eskel murmurs filth to her.

“Could just leave you like this,” he says, “all swollen full of monster eggs. They won’t hatch, you know they won’t – you’ll just be stuck with them getting heavier and heavier. Let Geralt see how pretty you are all stuffed and desperate for more, desperate for cock. Think he’d be angry? Or maybe he’d be interested.”

Ciri can’t help the way she shouts at that, somewhere between blinding pleasure and spine-chilling terror, humiliation settling in her belly to make her throb. “Eskel, Eskel,” she groans, trying to thrust her hips to match his pace. She can’t really manage it, and Eskel purrs as he realizes it, one hand sliding along her inner thigh to pet over her slit, toying at where she’s already stretched open around his cock.

“Know Lambert is interested, could bring him in here if you’d like,” Eskel continues. “Vesemir, too. Make a day of it, just using you like a little doll while you whimper.”

Ciri jolts with a high, broken sound, and Eskel grunts. 

“Fuck, yeah – you like that idea? Want all three of us to use you while you’re helpless like this?” 

“Eskel.”

His hand moves again, up this time, his palm resting on her swollen belly, thumb teasing around her clit. She whines, clenching, and he growls, thrusting harder.

“Good girl,” he murmurs. “Gonna come on my cock?”

She doesn’t have words left, doesn’t know if he can even see her head, but she nods vigorously, bearing down harder around him, and he gives a punched-out moan before he’s stroking over her clit, gentle at first and then harder until she tips over the edge with a scream.

#celus writes #celus prompt fill #dead dove #dead dove: do not eat #celus pseudo incest CW #celus oviposition CW #celus belly bulge CW #celus humiliation CW #celus pain kink CW #celus monsterfucking CW #Anonymous #monsterfucker ciri verse #celus wrecking ciri

[piceuscelus]

OMG YENNFRI! YES PLEASE!! Renfri reminds me so much of a cat in that episode where she was drinking/eating at the tavern. What if Yennefer does that thing where she puts *insert beverage* between her thighs for Renfri to lap it up, but then -WHOA- Renfri actually has a tongue of a cat and then y'know what's next ;)) Also, let's just imagine that it's not painful please lol

i have to be honest here, i had to have a whole council of my friends help me figure out what, exactly, this position entailed. BUT we figured it out, and now it’s here, your prompt, brought to you by my unending thirst for my crush who sent me lewds today

Yennefer’s only indication that her ritual took in any fashion, for a moment, is the flare of white light that engulfs the whole circle for a moment, blinding her. She jerks, just slightly, and accidentally spills the goblet she’s holding over her lap, the liquor tingling on her skin, where it pools in the little cup between her thighs and her pubis.

“Shit,” she mutters, and she means to stand, to find a cloth to wipe up the mess, but a low, hissing laugh stops her. 

Her head whips up to find a demon standing in the circle, exactly as naked as Yennefer, but with paler, pinkish skin marred only with smatterings of reddish-brown scales along the curves of them; hips, elbows, cheekbones. 

“Hello,” the demon greets, and their voice is almost delicate despite the throatiness to it, and there’s a power behind it that makes Yennefer shiver. “To what do I owe the pleasure, hm?”

“I’m looking for someone,” Yennefer tells them. 

The demon chuckles. “Not me, I suppose.”

“No.” Yennefer gives the demon a once-over. They have horns protruding from just behind their hairline, large at the base and thinner at the tips, curled gracefully back, and they as well as the long, smooth tail flicking behind their back match the patches of scales. Their hair is wildly curly and chopped unevenly, one side longer than the other, but somehow it looks...right. As far as the appearance of their body, they certainly look like a woman, breasts and just the barest peek of a slit between their thighs, but Yennefer knows better than to assume anything when dealing with creatures that aren’t of her world. “You’ll do, though.”

“Oh, will I?” They take a step forward, and Yennefer resists the urge to squirm at the obvious contained power in their movements. “What’s your name, little witch?”

The term is clearly an insult, but somehow it sounds more like an endearment, and Yennefer can’t help the way she licks her lips.

“Yennefer,” she answers, and watches as the demon’s eyes – properly golden, as if they’re disks of the metal itself, with cat-like slits – widen slightly.

“Daring, little witch,” the demon purrs, and it’s definitely more of an endearment this time. “Is that for whoever you were looking for?” They gesture to the goblet Yennefer is still holding, though she doesn’t miss the way their cat eyes slide over the warming puddle of it still in her lap.

“It was,” she nods. “It can be yours now, of course. If I may know to whom I’m making an offering.”

The demon hums. “You drive a hard bargain,” they say. “I suppose we’ll see just how much studying you’ve been doing, little witch – you can call me Renfri.”

Yennefer sucks in a breath, recognition like s grip tightening on the goblet stem for a split second. Renfri laughs and steps forward again, until she’s almost right at Yennefer’s knees.

“May I?” she asks, reaching toward the goblet. Yennefer holds it out to her, trying to ignore the way she’s trembling slightly. Renfri takes the goblet and drains it in one long swallow, and Yennefer is momentarily transfixed by the sight of her throat bobbing. Renfri tosses the goblet to the side when she’s done, and Yennefer’s eyes snap back to hers.

Renfri smirks. “Oh,” she says, falsely innocent. “It appears I’ve missed some. Wouldn’t do to be rude – after all, you are offering to me, no?”

She’s smart enough to catch the double meaning. Smart enough to know that a demon doesn’t give a fuck about how their acceptance or denial of an offering is taken.

“Yes,” she says, a little breathless, and Renfri’s teeth are sharp and glinting when she grins.

“Good,” she purrs, and slides gracefully to her knees. Yennefer’s heart pounds, and when Renfri’s tail whips forward to wrap tightly around her knees – keeping them pressed together – it only speeds up, a low, hot pulse beginning to echo it in her hips. 

Renfri is tall, enough that she has no problem leaning forward to lap the liquor up from between Yennefer’s thighs. Yennefer trembles, making a soft, weak little noise at the brief flash of a rough tongue against her skin. When she looks down, she finds that Renfri is looking up from under her lashes, eyes half-lidded, the slit of her pupil wider now. She sucks in a sharp breath that tumbles straight back out on a moan as Renfri licks more intentionally.

Her tongue is rough, similar to a cat’s but not painful, no sharpness to the barbs at all. And more than that, it’s long, longer than any creature Yennefer’s ever seen, and just the sight of it as Renfri pulls it back and licks her lips making Yennefer’s belly tighten. 

“There we go,” Renfri murmurs, as she finally laps up the last of the liquor. Her tongue lingers, though, sliding along the line where Yennefer’s thighs press together, then higher, until the tip dips just between. 

Yennefer jolts with the sensation, nothing more than a tickling tease but so much all the same. Renfri laughs, low and rumbling, and her tail slowly unravels from Yennefer’s knees. Claw-tipped hands cup the curves of them and dig in just slightly, just enough to make Yennefer whimper, something caught between startled pain and desperate want. Renfri barely has to press to make Yennefer open her legs.

“Lovely,” Renfri purrs. “Look at you.” She ducks closer, and the very tip of her long tongue trails up Yennefer’s slit, pressing no further than the very edge of her outer labia. Yennefer shudders, legs falling open even wider. “Do you want it, little witch? Want to use yourself as an offering?”

“Yes,” Yennefer hisses, hips jerking slightly. Renfri laughs, and then her tongue is sliding over Yennefer’s slit again, with more intent this time. When the rough of it rasps over Yennefer’s clit, she sobs, feeling impossibly wound up and desperate already. “Please.”

“Begging already,” Renfri teases softly, but her hands slide up, tips of her claws tickling up Yennefer’s thighs, until she can grip into the meat of them to hold Yennefer open. 

Another lick that focuses the roughness of Renfri’s tongue over Yennefer’s entrance, and Yennefer feels the way she’s drenching Renfri’s chin, the chair. She whines and arches up, hands settling in Renfri’s hair first and then wrapping around her horns as she tries to get more.

Renfri makes a low, warning sound, and her tail is suddenly there to yank Yennefer’s hands away and then bind them like it had her knees. It’s long enough to not only wrap around her wrists but to hold them high above her head, all while Renfri continues her exploratory little licks. 

“Please,” Yennefer gasps, trying to shift closer even though she can’t. “Please, I want – I need more.”

“I know, little witch,” Renfri murmurs, the feeling of her lips moving making Yennefer shudder. “I can feel how much you need.” Her tail yanks Yennefer’s wrists back at the same time that Renfri shoves her legs even more open, to the point of pain. 

Yennefer yelps, finding herself even more spread out now, back arched away from the chair, hips shoved to the edge where Renfri’s mouth waits, thighs held open with a grip she knows she can’t break. “Renfri,” she pants, cunt clenching. She’s terribly empty, and her clit is throbbing, and Renfri just laughs.

“Little witch,” she purrs. “Little whore.” 

That’s all the warning gets before Renfri’s tongue is slipping around the edge of her entrance and then sliding in, in, deeper than should be possible. Yennefer feels the way it wriggles, the odd not-stretch of her hole around the muscle, and can’t help the way she sobs for it, back arching even further against the holds Renfri has.

“Please, please, I need – I need it, Renfri, please,” she babbles, feeling too hot and too big for her skin.

For the first time, Renfir just does as she asks. The sensation of being tongue-fucked is unusually intense, making Yennefer’s thighs shake in the demon’s grip, making her hips jerk. She can’t be sure if it’s Renfri’s fault by the nature of being other, or Renfri’s fault because of something Renfri is doing, but she doesn’t care. 

She clenches down on Renfri’s tongue where it’s deep inside her cunt and whines when Renfri just hums, lips pressed around Yennefer’s entrance. “Please, please, need to come,” Yennefer gasps. “Please? I’ll be good for you, please.”

Renfri makes a very pleased, rumbling noise, and when Yennefer manages to pry her eyes open, she finds the demon looking up at her, lips slick and looking obscene with her tongue still buried in Yennefer’s body. Her eyes are even more golden, somehow, and her pupils are wide, dark pools. Yennefer feels as if she might be falling, as she stares into Renfri’s eyes, her peripheral vision capturing the way the demon’s jaw works as she continues to tongue-fuck Yennefer.

“Please,” Yennefer says again, quieter this time, and Renfri’s tail suddenly lets go of her wrists to flash down between them. Renfri pulls back with one last flickering lick to Yennefer’s insides, and the tail replaces her; Yennefer gasps and whimpers, hands flying to the seat of the chair to try and anchor herself.

“I think I’ll keep you, little witch,” Renfri purrs, and rubs the flat of her rough tongue directly over Yennefer’s clit at the same time that her tail thrusts in, deep, deep enough to nearly ache, and Yennefer sees stars as she comes.

#celus writes #celus prompt fill #celus monsterfucking CW #kinda at least? #dead dove #dead dove: do not eat #Anonymous