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“Gods, I just wish I wasn’t his Child Surprise so he’d fuck me.”
Geralt shouldn’t think about it. He should put it aside, like any number of confusing things he’s heard in his long, storied life, and move on.
Ciri was drunk. They were all drunk. And she’d been clearly talking to herself, face downturned and muttering into her drink.
But he’d still heard.
And he can’t stop thinking about it.
Eventually, he has to do something about it. He can’t get it out of his mind, the sound of her muttering those words, how upset she’d sounded. He wants to know what she meant.
Because it seems so clear, but certainly, it can’t be that. It just can’t be. Even if he’s had those words on a loop in his head for weeks now, burned into his consciousness – he could have misheard, right? Or just misunderstood. Somehow.
He spends an additional week trying to figure out how to bring it up, how to ask, but each idea he has is worse than the last until he lands on his last resort.
It’s his last resort for a lot of reasons, not the least of which is the fact that the sinking, sick feeling in his gut at the thought is laced with more thrill than it should be. But more than that it’s – it’s a breach. He’s never done anything like this to anyone he considers his family, never done it to his brothers or Vesemir or Yennefer...and yet the idea of doing it to Ciri has him adjusting his pants.
She’s his Child Surprise. His daughter, no matter how unconventional their relationship or her upbringing had been.
But.
Well.
He casts Axii before Ciri can see him, because he knows she’ll stop him if she sees the beginnings of the Sign. Another thing that sits in his gut with a little too much pleasure, but he pushes all of that aside.
“I need you to answer me honestly,” Geralt murmurs. It’s not the clear direction or order that he was taught to give with Axii, but he can’t quite make himself do that here. Not with Ciri.
Ciri blinks. Nods.
“Good,” he praises, almost on automatic, and he doesn’t miss the sharp breath Ciri takes, or the way her fingers curl into fists at her sides. “Do you...want me to fuck you?”
There’s a pause, and then Ciri sighs like a weight has been taken off of her shoulders. “ Yes, ” she says. “I wish I wasn’t technically your daughter so you would. ”
Geralt swallows heavily. “How long have you wanted that?”
“Years,” Ciri answers, and even under Axii it sounds a little evasive. Geralt swallows again.
“How many?”
Her hands flex. “Over a decade.”
He can’t really help the low, shocked sound he makes at that, the realization hitting like a punch. All the same, he shakes his head to clear it and takes a deep breath to ask one more question.
“Would you still want it if I told you I want it too?”
He breaks the Sign and takes a step back – even if he’s relatively certain Ciri won’t punch him, he’s not taking the chance, she has a nasty right hook and the ferality to follow through.
Ciri gasps like she’s coming up from water, blinking rapidly for a second before her eyes widen and she’s staring Geralt down like she’s never seen him before. He glances down to see her hands flexing again, but now they’re trembling, too.
“You – ” Ciri swallows. “How did you know?”
“You said it,” Geralt murmurs. “Weeks ago, at dinner.”
She flushes a vivid red, and for the first time Geralt allows himself to really look, to study the way the blush spreads clear down her throat, to her collar, disappearing under the edge of her blouse. Lets himself think about if it goes any further than that, if her tits flush, too.
“I – fuck, ” Ciri hisses, covering her face with her hands. “You heard that, and – and just…. Fuck. ”
Geralt can’t help the way his nostrils flare on his next inhale, looking for any clue as to what Ciri is feeling. Somehow, he’s still entirely unprepared for the sweet arousal he finds in the air; now it’s him clenching his fists, focusing on the pain of digging his nails into his palms to stop himself from reaching out and touching her. “Nothing has to happen,” he says. “I just – I had to know.”
Ciri makes a soft sound that Geralt would classify as needy, but if he thinks too deeply about that right now he’ll lose the battle against staying still.
And then she says, “Geralt, please, ” and blows all of that effort right out of the water.
It only takes one large stride to be close enough to sweep her into his arms, and then he’s reaching up to push her hands away from her face. She’s still wide-eyed and flushed, lip bitten red, and he can’t help the quiet growl building in his chest.
“Nothing has to happen,” he repeats, softly. “That doesn’t mean I don’t still want it to, little swallow.”
He watches from close-up as she gasps, lips parting and pupils blowing wide, and then they’re kissing.
His hands drift to her waist, pulling her closer, while hers tangle into his hair, and then he’s moving, pushing her back until she’s pinned between him and a wall. Some conscious part of him that’s no longer in charge knows that he should tone it down, probably take a step back; this is too much, and he’s practically trapping Ciri –
But Ciri just moans when her back hits the wall and jumps up to wrap long, strong legs around his waist, the scent of her arousal flooding the air around them. Geralt groans right back, sliding one hand down to palm at her ass, her thigh.
She bites at his lip before pulling back with a heaving breath. “I – I want – oh. ” She cuts off with a shivery sigh, legs squeezing tighter around his waist when his other hand slides up to palm at her breast. He waits, nosing at her throat, but she doesn’t seem inclined to finish her sentence.
“You want?” he prompts. “Tell me. Give you whatever you’d like.”
Ciri whines. “Fuck, now you decide to – fuck. ”
Geralt chuckles. “Wanna make up for never spoiling you,” he says, a little quiet because certainly this could land poorly, but –
“Oh,” Ciri pants. “ Oh. Fuck...you – ” she pauses to take a deep, shuddering breath, and Geralt kisses over her throat as it moves, “ now you want to spoil your baby girl, huh?”
She’s breathless as she says it, a little wide-eyed – interested, clearly, but unsure, too, and Geralt has to swallow hard against the lump in his throat at that. He leans in and brushes a kiss to her cheek.
“I do,” he says, sincere. “I’m sorry if it ever seemed like I didn’t.”
There’s a pause where neither of them breathe; Geralt terrified to break the moment, and Ciri likely processing what he’d said. And then her hands in his hair are tight, grip almost painful, and she’s dragging him into a vicious kiss.
“Well,” she says when the kiss breaks, still pressed close so that Geralt feels her lips move against his as she speaks, “I suppose you did already claim me – should do it right, shouldn’t you?”
Geralt makes a sound that's more animal than man, and grips Ciri’s thigh so tightly her pants begin to tear. When Ciri’s only reaction to that is to whimper and grind her hips forward into his abdomen, he leans into it, fingers catching in the tiny holes and pulling.
She whimpers again at the sound of fabric tearing, then moans when his hand comes back, sliding over her now-naked thigh and grabbing hard enough to bruise.
“ Please, ” she mumbles, lashes fluttering. Geralt groans and bites at her collar for a moment, squeezing her thigh just to feel the way she trembles, before he’s grabbing her more securely and moving. He only makes it as far as the furs in front of the hearth before Ciri is pulling him back into a kiss and he has to stop; when she eventually breaks away to breathe, he decides here is as good as any.
“Oh!” Ciri cries as they drop, but she doesn’t let go of Geralt, and she relaxes when he hushes her. Heat settles at the base of his spine that has nothing to do with the roaring fire, and as soon as she’s settled into the fur covering the stone floor, he’s kissing her again, hands wandering.
With her pants already ruined, he doesn’t feel bad about tearing them further until they’re out of the way. Her blouse goes the same way, to the sound of Ciri whimpering into his mouth and rolling her hips up, questing for friction. He groans right back before pulling away just to drag his mouth down her throat.
“Oh, fuck,” Ciri gasps, hands drifting to his shoulders and pushing, encouraging him down. He chuckles and resists the push, lavishing attention over her throat and shoulder until he’s pinned down all of the sensitive places there – just behind her left ear, a spot halfway down the pulse of her jugular, the join of neck and shoulder on both sides, the place just before her collar bone juts from the skin. By the time he does finally move down, she’s squirming and panting, but not quite begging.
He trails soft, open-mouthed kisses over her collarbone and then down, tracing along the curve of her breast. She whines sharply, nails digging into his shoulder, and he just gives a low, rumbling sound in response. “You never finished telling me what you wanted,” he murmurs. As he speaks he moves and begins trailing kisses along the curve of the opposite breast, carefully avoiding where she’s most sensitive and clearly wanting, nipples pulled tight and hard.
She squeaks at that, and Geralt tips his head further up to look at her, and finds that the blush is back and darker, now. She’s rolling her lip between her teeth, too, looking almost...nervous.
“Ciri?” he asks softly. “What is it, little swallow?”
“ Shit, ” Ciri murmurs, and Geralt shifts, leans back up so they’re face-to-face again. He brings one hand up to cup her cheek, stroking his thumb over the rise of it, and her lashes flutter slightly as she lets go of her lip and sighs.
“What is it?” Geralt repeats, and Ciri turns her face into his hand, nuzzling at his palm.
“It’s…,” she starts, trailing off. Before Geralt can prod again, though, she’s reaching up and grabbing his hand, manipulating his fingers until they’re crudely positioned into the beginning of Axii. “Just….”
Geralt swallows. “You want me to use Axii?” he clarifies. “To make you say it?”
Ciri’s lashes flutter again and she moans softly. “Yes,” she answers after a moment, and Geralt can feel the way her pulse speeds. His cock throbs in his breeches. “Like – like before. It was….”
She blinks up at him, owl-eyed, and he can’t resist the urge to kiss her, focusing for a moment on the slick slide of their lips together, how she opens up for him. “You liked it,” he says, and Ciri nods.
He shifts, leaning up more and casting Axii, watching with his breath held as she falls willingly under its influence, shoulders relaxing as her eyes slide half-closed.
“Tell me what you want,” he says, and Ciri’s opening her mouth almost before he’s even finished demanding it.
“Breed me,” she says. “Want you to fill me ‘til you knock me up.”
Geralt makes a sharp, punched-out sound and ducks back down to kiss her again, almost more teeth than anything else, but when the Sign drops Ciri is gasping and giving just as good as she’s getting, rolling her whole body up into his. He shifts so that she’s actually grinding into something, feeling the heat of her cunt even through her smallclothes and his pants.
“Please?” Ciri asks when he finally lets her breathe, moving on to marking a trail of hickeys down her throat. “Please, I – you’re the only father who’s ever mattered, want to be yours, please – ”
He can’t help the way he growls at that, teeth sinking into her shoulder. She jerks and whines, but when he starts tugging at her smallclothes she lifts her hips to help, and then she’s reaching out to try and get at the laces of his breeches. He shoves her hands away so he can just tear them open like he tore hers, not concerned about anything except getting closer to her. His shirt goes the same way, and then he’s leaning back over her, sucking a nipple into his mouth as he grinds his cock over her slit.
She sobs, breath hitching, and tips her hips so the head of him catches on her hole, a split second of pressure before he slides away because of how wet she is. He plants a hand on her hip to still her wriggling.
“I’ll give you what you want, little swallow, but you have to be patient, ” he growls. “Can’t just take you like this.”
Ciri whines. “Please?” she begs. “Want it so bad, please, I promise I’ll be good.”
Geralt groans, leaning down and nipping sharply at her ear. “Eager little thing,” he murmurs. “I have to get you properly worked up, sweetheart, or I’ll hurt you.”
The sound Ciri makes is cut off, swallowed down but almost pathetically needy even with so little of it escaping, and Geralt groans again.
When he leans up, she’s blushing again, looking almost caught. “Do you like that?” he asks, half-accusing and half helplessly turned on.
Ciri chews her lip and nods. He growls and kisses her again.
“Let me make you come at least once,” he compromises, breathing the words into her mouth, and she just whimpers back, but when he trails his hand from her hip to her cunt, fingers sliding along the edge of her folds, she doesn’t protest.
She’s slick and swollen under his fingers, and sensitive, too; he can feel the way her pulse skips and speeds, how her muscles tense and she lifts her hips up, just slightly, into the touch. He gives in to the silent request, firming his touch as he pets over her, fingers sliding easily with how soaked she is.
Her whimper when his fingertips ghost over her entrance is desperate, but the sound she makes as he circles the pad of one finger around her clit is almost more of a scream, if something so quietly breathless could be called that. He can’t help but chuckle, thrilling at how responsive she is; he teases for a moment more before pressing gently directly over her clit.
“ Oh! ” she shouts, hips jerking as her head falls all the way back. He takes the chance to kiss at her neck, mouthing over her pulse and the bruises he’s already left.
“Tell me what you like,” he says, and Ciri moans.
“Harder,” she instructs, and Geralt’s cock drools between his thighs at the demand in her voice.
He presses harder with the finger over her clit, even as he makes miniscule circles, and she makes a low, guttural sound, back arching.
“ Yes, ” she hisses. “Fuck – f-fingers, please, want something inside.”
It’s easy to switch the press on her clit to his thumb, twisting his wrist so he can sink one and then, when she’s already so wet and open, two fingers into her. She whimpers and clenches hard around his knuckles, bucking into the pressure.
“ Move. ”
So he does. Slowly at first, cataloguing her reactions as he spreads his fingers, curls them, rubbing along her walls, and then faster as he gathers what she likes, what makes her feel the best. All the while, he keeps up rubbing at her clit, tiny little circles with the harder pressure she requested.
She’s fucking stunning as she falls apart.
“Just like that?” he asks, and Ciri makes an assenting sound as she writhes into his touch. “Good, fuck, you look incredible, sweetheart – want you to come, little swallow, want you to feel good.”
“Do, I – I do,” Ciri gasps, head rolling against the fur. “G- gods, please, fuck. ”
Geralt hums and leans down, careful to keep up with his hand, and licks teasingly over one nipple and then the other. Ciri whines and arches into it, cunt clenching down on him, so he pays them more attention; long, luxurious licks and gentle sucking, just the hint of teeth along the edge of her areola. She whimpers and moans and shudders, legs trembling, and he twists his wrist again before curling his fingers, a come hither that’s pressed right up against her walls.
She wails as she comes, gushing slick clear to his wrist, cunt trying hard to milk his knuckles as she shudders through it. He’s practically purring, still moving his fingers just to feel the way her inner walls quiver, and she makes a weak, broken little noise.
“Want – fuck, want your mouth, please, ” she begs, suddenly, and Geralt can’t help the way he whines through gritted teeth at that. He doesn’t need to be told twice, either, shuffling down to bury his mouth in her slit before she can so much as pull in enough breath to ask again.
He moans at her taste, sharp-salt and musk but sweet all the same. He cleans up the mess she’s made of herself first and then sucks at her swollen folds, avoiding her clit for now as she comes down from the first orgasm. She slings her legs over his shoulders easily, pressing him in with her thighs, and he moans into her, sliding his still-wet hand up to toy with her breasts, pinching her nipple and tugging lightly, catching the renewed wetness on his tongue.
After a few moments more of that, just teasing over her folds and licking her clean, she reaches down and threads a hand into his hair. He follows where she directs, dipping down and offering his tongue when she thrusts against his face, shuddering at the sound she makes, at the feeling of her clinging to him. He slides his hand down from her chest to her hips, wrapping around them to shift her up, so he has the perfect angle to tongue-fuck her.
She keens, grip going tight enough in his hair to sting and throb, and he just growls back, dragging one hand from her hip to her cunt to trace around her clit.
“G – ah, fuck, oh – Ger – dad! ” she shouts, and Geralt feels like he’s been kicked in the gut at the sound of her calling him that in such a needy, pleasure-soaked voice. Her thighs tense around him, trapping him against her as she trembles, and he just moves faster, ignoring the ache in his jaw. He stops teasing around her clit and instead rubs at it, gentle at first and then harder when Ciri moans for it.
He can feel the moment she tips over the edge, the way her muscles all go tense before suddenly going lax while her cunt pulses around his tongue, her fingers clenching the same rhythm in his hair. He groans into her, drinking down the slick she covers him with, unable to stop himself from rutting his cock into the floor just to take some of the edge off.
“I, ah, fuck,” Ciri pants. He slows his movements until he’s just licking around her entrance, flicking his eyes up to see where she’s almost propped up on an elbow to look down at him. She squeezes her thighs together, muffling his hearing for a split second, and gives a breathless little giggle when he just rumbles approvingly.
“ Shit, ” she sighs, collapsing back down before arching her back and rolling her hips into his face. “Mm, more. Want more. Please?”
He hums, ducking to give one last long lick along her slit, savoring the taste of her, before he sits up and wipes his face. “Yeah,” he agrees. “I said anything you want, sweetheart, and I meant it.”
Ciri makes a sweet little sound, squirming against the fur. “Since when, with the fucking – pet names, ” she mutters, but reaches up to wrap her palm around the back of his neck and pull him down into a kiss. He goes, sliding his hands up and then back down her body while their mouths move together. She shivers and presses into each fleeting touch, making soft, needy noises when he pets along the sides of her breasts, and again at her inner thighs.
He grins against her mouth, moving them until they’re pressed together again, his cock grinding teasingly over her cunt as her legs tighten around his hips.
She tips her head back with a whine, grinding up and gasping when his cockhead slides over her clit. He kisses from her mouth to her ear, still grinning.
“Always thought of them,” he says. “Sweetheart, our littlest wolf. My baby girl.”
“ Oh, ” Ciri gasps. “Oh, you can’t just – please. ”
“Please, what?”
Ciri wraps her fingers in his hair again to pull him up, til their eyes meet. She’s smirking softly, the wickedness somehow intensified at the same time it’s belied by the softness in her eyes. “Please fuck me, Daddy?”
Geralt grunts, hips jerking and smearing his cock over her hip. She giggles through a moan, arching up into him and wriggling around enticingly. He presses her down with one hand, pointedly, and she giggles again but stills, and then he’s grabbing at the base of his cock and pressing the head against her.
He revels in the little gasp she gives as he starts to push in, in the shiver that rocks her body. He leans close, pressing their foreheads together so he can watch her eyes roll and go hazy, feel her wet, panting breaths against his own mouth.
“Oh, oh, oh, ” she babbles. He chuckles and presses a kiss to her cheek, her nose, her forehead, then her mouth, all chaste and feeling. She whines. “Ger – fuck, Geralt….”
“Okay?” he asks, petting soothingly down her side, over her belly.
“Knew – knew you were,” Ciri stammers, swallowing heavily, “knew it was big, but – fuck. ”
Geralt has to bite his lip near bloody to keep his control. “Knew?” he asks.
Ciri gives something like a laugh, all breathless and panting. “ Yeah, ” she says, “wasn’t a – oh, oh… . Wasn’t a well-kept secret.”
He hums, brushing their noses together as he sinks as deep as he can get. Ciri makes a high, broken sound when he settles there, thighs spasming. He can’t help but groan at the sensation, her soaking and hot around him, the way she smells. “Tell me when,” he murmurs, still petting over her side. After a moment he moves to her breasts, cupping the curves of them and squeezing softly, massaging.
She shivers again, hips lifting. She’s still clenching, as if trying to feel out the size of him, and he swears he’s going dizzy with it.
“Ciri,” he murmurs. “Little swallow. My little girl…. You feel like heaven, sweetheart.”
She moans, sounding almost choked and more than desperate. “Geralt,” she pants, “Geralt, you – daddy, please. Please?”
Geralt growls softly, kissing her as he carefully rolls his hips, groaning into her mouth at how tight she is, how she shudders and whines softly and clenches down, as if she wants to keep him inside.
No matter his best intentions, it’s not long before he’s moving faster, harder, but Ciri doesn’t protest. In fact, all she does is give a long, heartfelt moan as she rocks up to meet each thrust, sweat beading on her brow and along her clavicle as they move. Geralt ducks down to lick it up, trailing kisses over to her shoulder and then back down, until he can suck at her nipple. Her nails score marks into his shoulders, his back, and he just shivers, moving a little faster.
“Oh, oh, fuck, ” Ciri is muttering, “oh, please, fuck, please – Geralt, daddy, please – ”
“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” Geralt soothes, adjusting the angle slightly until he feels her spasm, sees the way her eyes widen and then roll. “I’ll fill you up, just like you asked.”
“ Please, ” she gasps. “Please, I – all of it, please? Want it, want it so much – ”
Geralt’s rhythm stutters as those words settle, and he grunts. The next thrust is a little too hard, but Ciri lifts her hips and he sinks just a little deeper, feeling how she opens up for him. He growls and leans back up to kiss her, grinding his hips forward just to feel her clench down on him, right at the base of his cock where his knot will pop if he lets it.
“Know what you’re asking for, wolf cub?” he asks, and Ciri whines.
“Yes, yes, I do – please?” she nods, and he traces the curve of her lips with the tip of his tongue, smiling when she chases after his mouth.
“Say it, then, sweetheart,” he says. “Tell me what it is you want.”
Somehow, the blush over her cheeks and throat darkens, and Geralt growls as he chases the spill of color, ending up right back at her pretty breasts. The color spreads to them, too, and he can’t help but suck at the curve where they meet her body, leaving his own blood-risen mark. She keens and arches into it, hips bucking.
“Breed me,” she repeats, surprisingly confident for the way he can feel her shaking. The next words aren’t as confident, though, and he barely catches them with how distracted he is with her squeezing around his cock. “Want you to fuck me full and – and knot me, dad, please?”
He growls again, low and long and dangerous, and Ciri just whimpers, tipping her head back as if to bare her throat. Invitation or not, he takes it, mouthing along her pulse point and almost purring, a constant low rumble in his chest as he starts moving his hips again.
“Whatever you want,” he reminds. “Pretty little swallow, you want to be caught on my knot? Keep you right where I want you so I can fill you til you’re round with it….”
“ Yes, yes, please!” Ciri almost sobs it, and one of her hands slides between them, fingers pressing hard into her clit. “Please, please, daddy, I – I need, need it, please breed me.”
Everything is a bit of a blur, then. Geralt knows he moves faster and harder, more than he ever would if Ciri wasn’t begging for it so prettily, knows that she clings and scratches bloody lines down his back when he bats her hand away to stroke over her clit himself. Knows that she spends long moments making no noise but gasping breaths and pleading murmurs of his name and daddy.
But he knows the moment his knot pops, the moment he thrusts inside and then can’t pull out anymore, and the piercing scream Ciri lets out as she comes around the bulge of it matches rather well with the growling shout he gives.
“ Big, ” Ciri gasps, slurred and clearly out of it. “Big, fuck, so full….”
Geralt just makes a vaguely assenting, agreeable noise, and collapses down onto his elbows, nuzzling at her throat and gathering her close as he grinds his hips. She tightens her arms and legs around him and nuzzles right back.
“Little swallow,” he manages to rasp, and Ciri hums back, mouthing over his pulse. He doesn’t even have anything more to say, just wanted to know he had her attention, even if it’s plainly obvious he does.
They lay there panting for several more minutes before Geralt manages to swim back to the proper use of his words. He shifts and slides one hand underneath her, palm resting over the small of her back and pulling her a little closer while he drops one leg flat and then rolls.
She squeaks but easily braces on his chest once he’s beneath her, lifting up slightly and humming, pleased, as she grinds back on his knot.
“Full,” she repeats.
“‘S what you asked for,” Geralt mumbles, reaching up to pull her back down. They kiss lazily for long moments, mostly tongue, even as Ciri keeps rocking her whole body so her tits drag over his chest and their hips grind together. He laughs tiredly when she pulls back to sit up again. “Needy little thing,” he murmurs.
There’s a sound, a door clicking closed. Geralt turns his head and finds Yennefer standing in the doorway, arms crossed and looking smug.
“Do you think she’s caught yet?” she asks, and both of them whimper at that, Ciri clenching down on his knot like a vice as she stares, wide-eyed, at Yennefer. “Hm, probably not. Should go another few rounds, don’t you think?”
“ Fuck, ” Geralt hisses, at the same time that Ciri moans, high and sweet, “ Yes, please?”
Yennefer chuckles, and crosses the room to stand next to them. She pets through Ciri’s hair while she looks down at Geralt, eyes burning with curiosity and lust and – pride.
“Of course,” she says softly, clearly to Ciri. “You want to be bred, so your father will breed you up. Such a good girl, aren’t you?”
Ciri whines and clenches down again, making Geralt jolt. Yennefer chuckles again.
“Such a good dad,” she tells him. “Giving her a baby like she wants. Like I want.”
“ Yennefer, ” Geralt moans, at the same time that Ciri leans over and mumbles, “Mama,” against Yennefer’s hip.
They don’t move from that spot for quite a while.