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You nearly choke on your beverage.

He’s completely unbothered, that easy confidence radiating from him. “A few, I think. Two or three at least. Maybe four.” He glances up, and there’s that warm gleam in his eyes. “What do you think?”

“Varka—”

“I’d be a good father.” Just certainty. “And you’d be incredible. I’ve seen how you are with the younger knights. Patient. Kind.” His smile widens. “Beautiful.”

“Are you trying to charm me into this?”

“Is it working?”

(It is.)

Or he’d bring it up in public, completely shameless:

“We should start trying for children soon,” he says conversationally as you pass the fountain.

Several people turn to stare.

You flush. “Varka—”

“What? I’m being practical.” But there’s mischief in his expression now, the way he leans down to murmur in your ear: “Unless you’d prefer I convince you in private?”

Your face burns hotter, and you smack his arm.

He catches your wrist, grinning. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

His laugh rumbles through you, warm and delighted. “Tonight, then.”

━━━━━

Showing His Desire

When you’re intimate, Varka makes his intentions very clear.

His hands map every inch of you, like he’s already imagining the changes to come. When he pulls you against him—your back to his chest, his arms wrapped around your waist—he buries his face in your neck and breathes.

“You’d be so beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin, hands sliding down to your hips. “Carrying our child.”

His thumbs trace slow circles there, possessive and worshipful at once.

His lips trace your shoulder, your neck, the shell of your ear. Each kiss deliberate.

“I think about it all the time.” His voice drops lower, rougher. “You, round with my child. Knowing I put them there.”

His hands tighten on your waist as he turns you to face him, eyes dark and intense.

“Let me,” he breathes, already backing you toward the bed. “Let me give you everything.”

And when his hands slide under your clothes, when his mouth claims yours with desperate certainty, when he touches you like you’re the most precious thing in the world—

You understand exactly how wild the idea drives him.

━━━━━

When You Tell Him

When you tell him you’re pregnant, Varka is thrilled.

You barely get the words out before he’s lifting you off your feet—hands secure at your waist, spinning you once with a whoop of joy—before setting you down with sudden carefulness. Already protective.

“Really?” His hands frame your face, eyes searching yours. When you nod, his grin could light all of Mondstadt.

━━━━━

During the Pregnancy

He tells everyone.

The knights get daily updates. “The baby kicked today.” “She’s craving grapes lately.” “Did you know babies can hear voices in the womb? I’ve been reading to them.”

Jean looks exhausted by week three.

But Varka doesn’t care. He’s proud. His family is growing, and the world should know.

Grape cravings become his personal mission. He brings baskets from Dawn Winery. You find them waiting on the table, the counter, once even on your pillow with a note: For you and little one.

He feeds them to you sometimes. Sitting together in the evening, his hand gentle as he brings one to your lips. You bite down, and his thumb brushes your mouth, lingering.

“Sweet,” he murmurs, eyes warm.

Then he leans in and kisses you.

“Very sweet,” Varka says against your mouth, and you feel his smile.

He watches you constantly. Making sure you’re comfortable, that you’re eating enough, that you’re not overexerting yourself. His protectiveness cranks up tenfold, but it’s never smothering.

When you catch him staring, he never looks away.

“Can’t help it,” he says simply. His hand settles on your growing belly. Protective. “You’re beautiful like this.”

Whenever he gets the chance, he cups your face and kisses you. “You’re both perfect.”

━━━━━

The First Child

When your daughter arrives, Varka looks at her like she’s made of starlight.

“Hello, little one,” he murmurs, this mountain of a man cradling this tiny person with infinite gentleness. “I’m your father.”

She wraps her tiny hand around his finger, and something in his expression just melts.

From that moment, he’s gone.

Mornings become his favorite. You wake to find him already awake, your daughter cradled against his bare chest as he talks to her softly.

“Your mother is the strongest person I know,” he’s saying, voice low and warm. “You’ll see. She’s brilliant and kind and far too good for me, but somehow she chose me anyway.”

He glances over, catches you watching. He smiles.

“Morning, love.” He shifts carefully, making room for you against his side. “She was fussing. I didn’t want to wake you.”

You settle against him, and he wraps his free arm around you, pulling you close.

Evenings are for sharing everything:

“She smiled at me today,” Varka announces as you’re preparing for bed. “A real smile. I’m certain of it.”

You laugh softly. “You said that yesterday.”

“This time was different.” He’s already pulling you into bed, arranging you against him with easy familiarity. “She definitely recognized me. And she made this little sound—”

He demonstrates, some soft coo that makes you muffle your laughter in his chest.

“Laugh all you want,” he says, grinning. “I’m right. Our daughter is brilliant.”

Varka carries your daughter everywhere on his shoulders. This enormous knight with this tiny girl perched above the world, her hands tangled in his hair as she shrieks with delight.

He makes her flower crowns (surprisingly deft fingers weaving cecilias and windwheel asters). She wears them like a princess, and he looks at her like she is one.

“Grand Master,” one of the knights says carefully, “there’s a meeting—”

“She wanted to see the ducks,” Varka interrupts cheerfully, not even slowing down. “The meeting can wait.”

(The meeting waits.)

Somehow, having a family makes Varka better at his job.

He’s more focused, more efficient. He delegates more easily, trusts his knights more completely. Not because he cares less about Mondstadt—but because he has even more reason to protect it now.

“Happy at home means clear-headed at work,” he explains when Jean asks how he’s managing everything. “My family gives me purpose. Makes everything else easier.”

━━━━━

The Second Child

When your daughter is about two, Varka brings it up again.

You’re settling into bed when his arms wrap around you from behind, pulling you against him. His lips find your neck, that familiar warmth spreading through you.

“You’re incredible, you know that?” he murmurs between kisses. “Watching you with her… you’re such a wonderful mother.”

His hands slide over your waist, your hips, reverently possessive.

“And you look so beautiful. Every day.” His voice drops. “I keep thinking we could do this again.”

You turn in his arms, finding his eyes dark and intent.

“Let’s have another one,” he says simply. Seriously. “Yeah?”

And when you smile, when you pull him down for a kiss—

His joy is palpable.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Two Daughters

Your daughters are different in temperament but equally adored.

Varka indulges them in everything. You find him crammed into a chair far too small for him, pinky raised as he pretends to sip from a tiny cup.

“More tea, Papa?”

“Please,” he rumbles, holding out the cup. “Can’t say no to tea this good.”

He participates fully. Genuine enjoyment. When they want to play knights, he’s the dragon. When they want to braid his hair, he sits perfectly still for an hour.

When they start dancing—spinning in circles, giggling, completely off-rhythm—he joins them without hesitation. Big, clumsy twirls that make them shriek with laughter. He doesn’t care how ridiculous he looks. He’s having fun.

Then he spots you watching from the doorway.

“Oh no you don’t,” he says, grinning as he reaches for you. “You’re dancing too.”

Before you can protest, you’re pulled into the chaos. One daughter clinging to your hand, the other to his, all of you spinning in a messy circle while they laugh so hard they can barely stand.

Varka’s eyes meet yours over their heads, warm and bright and full of joy.

This, his expression says. This is everything.

When they fight over the same toy, he sits down between them with infinite patience.

“You both want the wooden horse?” He looks between them seriously. “Then you’ll have to share. Take turns. That’s what family does. We look out for each other.”

He shows them how, guiding their little hands, praising when they manage it.

━━━━━

At the Knights of Favonius Headquarters

Varka brings your children to work sometimes, unable to help himself. They’re endlessly curious, asking questions about everything.

“Papa, why do you have a sword?”

“To protect people,” he explains, kneeling down to their level. “When someone’s in trouble, we help them. That’s what knights do.”

“Can we have swords?”

His laugh booms. “Wooden ones, for now.”

And then they have wooden swords, and they’re “fighting” him with all their might while he pretends to be gravely wounded, falling dramatically to the ground.

You watch from the doorway, shaking your head fondly.

He catches your eye, and that grin tells you everything: I love this. I love them. I love you.

Then he’s on his feet, crossing to you in three long strides. His kiss is firm and sure and entirely unapologetic, even with the knights watching, even with your daughters giggling and running circles around you both.

“Mama! Papa is kissing again!”

“That’s because I love your mother,” he announces proudly, arm still around your waist. He looks at you then, and the heat in his gaze makes your breath catch even surrounded by giggling children and watching knights.

“Very, very much,” he adds, quieter, just for you.

━━━━━

The Third Child

When the third arrives—a boy this time—Varka is just as besotted.

“Three,” he marvels, holding his son with practiced ease. “We have three.”

He looks at you with such devotion it makes your chest tight.

“You’ve given me everything.”

━━━━━

Teaching Equality

As they grow, Varka treats all three the same. Fighting lessons for all. Chores for all. Expectations for all.

“Doesn’t matter if you’re a boy or a girl,” he says, steady and sure. “What matters is you’re kind. You help people who need it. And you look out for each other.”

He teaches them to fight with equal rigor. His son doesn’t get special treatment, his daughters don’t get coddled.

“You’re all strong,” he says. “And I’ll teach you to protect yourselves. And anyone who needs your help.”

━━━━━

Bedtime with Three

Getting three children to bed should be chaos.

Somehow, with Varka, it’s not.

He’s got your son tucked in the crook of one arm, already drowsy. Your middle daughter is wrapped around his leg, refusing to let go. Your eldest is perched on his shoulders, playing with his hair.

“Alright,” he announces. “Story time. Everyone to bed.”

“But Papa—”

“No buts.” His tone is firm but warm. “You all need sleep. Growing takes energy.”

He settles onto the floor of the nursery, and they immediately pile onto him. Your son curled against his chest, your daughters tucked under each arm.

You lean against the doorframe, watching.

His voice rumbles through the quiet room as he tells them a story. Something about a knight and a dragon and three brave children. His hands stroke their hair, patient as they interrupt with questions, indulgent when they argue about plot details.

One by one, they drift off.

He waits until all three are deeply asleep before carefully, carefully extracting himself. He tucks each one in, pressing kisses to their foreheads.

When he finally makes it to the door, he finds you watching with undisguised affection.

“What?” he asks softly, pulling you against him.

“You’re really good at this.”

His smile is tired but content. “Got a lot of practice.” He pauses. “And a lot of motivation.”

He kisses you. Slow and thorough and full of promise.

“Come to bed,” he murmurs against your lips. “Before they wake up.”

“Impatient?”

“Absolutely.” He’s grinning. “They get you all day. I want you all night.”

━━━━━

Taking Care of You

“Alright,” Varka announces one morning, herding all three children toward the door. “Your mother has been taking care of everyone all week. Today, we’re taking care of her.”

“Where are we going?” your son asks.

“Wherever she wants.” Varka glances at you with that warm smile. “Within reason.”

You laugh. “I want to sit. And eat something I didn’t have to cook.”

“Done.” He’s already moving, children in tow. “Good Hunter it is. Then the meadows. Then home for quiet time while Mama rests.”

He orchestrates the whole day, keeping the children entertained, fed, and happy while making sure you don’t lift a finger.

That night, after they’re all asleep, he finds you in bed.

“You didn’t have to do all that,” you say softly.

“‘Course I did.” His arm comes around you immediately, pulling you into his chest as he kisses your temple. “You give everything to them. To me. Let me give back.”

His hands are already working the tension from your shoulders, and you melt into him.

“I love you,” he says. “More every day.”

━━━━━

Understanding Their Differences

But he’s also fascinated by their individual perspectives.

He’ll sit with his daughters as they play, asking questions. “Why does the doll need a sword?” “What are you building?” Really listening to their answers.

With his son, same curiosity. “What’s your favorite story?” “Why did you choose that color?”

He wants to understand each of them completely. To know how they think, what they love, what they fear.

“They’re all so different,” Varka tells you one night, wonder in his voice. “Three people we made. Three entire people with their own minds and hearts.”

His arm tightens around you.

“Thank you,” he whispers. “For all of this.”

⋆ ✦ ⋆

A/N: Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed it. :) More Varka to follow soon.