Ways in which your kid calls his dad. Will he get to hear a ‘papa’?
ft. Scaramouche/Wanderer, Albedo, Xiao, Childe, Kaeya, Neuvillette x gn! reader.
cw/genre: pure fluff. Reader is referred to as ‘mama’, you and the character have a child. They’re all girl dads.
a birthday present for my dearest @bunny-rambles 🩵 i’m wishing you the best day today and always, hun ! ilysm, thank you for always being by my side. I hope we can celebrate many many more birthdays together, mwah <3
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ note: about this fic… i struggled quite a little with it, and i’m sorry it’s not my best piece… this was a totally new concept to write for me, but i still hope you can enjoy, bunbun, dear ♡
if you enjoy this, reblogs and comments help more than likes !
✧ SCARAMOUCHE
Wide indigo orbs meet his furrowed gaze.
Scaramouche is not amused.
Or at least that’s what he wants whoever sees him right now to believe. Namely, you.
Tiny hands cup the Wanderer’s cheeks, big eyes, so similar to his, staring up at him in wonder. The little girl in his arms squeezes his face, a pout forming on her father’s lips. Giggles erupt from her smiling lips, the corners of Scaramouche’s mouth unconsciously tilting upwards.
“You’re amused, huh?” Your husband asks, rocking the baby in his hold. She stares at him, her little arms flailing upward, giggling happily.
“Moochie!” She babbles, trying to stand on the wanderer’s knees, her hands reaching for his hat.
“Hey, hey, now!” Kunikuzushi pouts, securing his hat. “That is not a toy and I’m not Moochie…”
“Moochie!” His daughter repeats, poking his cheek.
He sighs.
“Not Moochie…” Scaramouche’s ears take on a rather rosy tone, especially when your giggles are not exactly inconspicuous, your attempt at keeping hidden just outside the living room, obviously half-assed.
“Pa-pa. Not Moochie.” He repeats, bopping his little one’s nose. “And here, play with this.” He offers, handing his baby a doll curiously identical to himself.
Your eyes soften from your spot when you observe the fond smile on your lover’s face. He might feign annoyance, but when it came to your baby, all the facade was scattered to the winds. Storm clouds and lightning seemed so far away when he was surrounded by the blue skies and birdsong that dawned with your daughter’s hand grabbing his finger.
“Pa..” The little one begins, lifting the doll, as if indicating that it indeed represents her father.
“Pa…” Your wanderer prompts, as he points to the cloth mini version of himself.
Then, the girl’s eyes focus somewhere beyond her dad, tiny hands wiggling and waving, the plush doll still in her grasp.
“Mama!” She exclaims, making to reach for you, trying to climb over the sofa’s backrest, where it not for your partner’s protective hold.
Finally stepping out from your hideout, you walk towards them.
Familiar warm arms wrap around the no longer broken puppet, as your precious baby rests between your two heartbeats. Yours, steady, undeniably human. His, bloomed anew, thanks to you; with a newfound tune, sweeter, gentler, thanks to his little one.
Scaramouche closes his eyes, lashes of now starlit midnights resting on his perfect cheekbones. His head leans on your shoulder, your lips feather-light on his dusky hair, as your hands gently lift his hat a bit.
Your girl grabs one of her father’s fingers once more, the handmade mini wanderer kept close to her chest.
Yes, storms were definitely over for days to come.
✧ ALBEDO
A tug on the leg of his pants and familiar unintelligible noises pull the alchemist out of his task.
Albedo’s features soften when he spots the cause of his distraction.
Putting the notebook he was currently scribbling on aside, he crouches down.
“And who do we have here?” The chalk prince asks, smoothing the golden locks on his baby’s small head.
“Mama?” She replies, her tiny hand pulling on her dad’s clothes.
The gesture is followed by one of Albedo’s gentle chuckles, eyes like northern stars on clear nights bright at the sight of his daughter.
“Mama’s not here now, little princess.” He explains, as he picks the baby up. “They will get home soon, though.” Your child stares at him as if unsatisfied with the answer, head slightly tilted to the side. “How about we have some fun in the meantime?”
Giggles that always reminded Albedo of sunshine days at dragonspine are the answer that follows.
Taking his little one’s two hands in his, the chief alchemist helps his daughter take a few trembling steps, the baby happily padding on the wooden floor.
“There we go, princess!” Your lover chuckles, sitting the girl securely on the beige couch. Teal eyes flecked in emerald follow your partner’s movements, as he rummages through your living room’s drawers.
A few seconds later, more incomprehensible joyful babbles follow, when he sits by your daughter’s side, his hands expertely setting the supplies he retrieved on the low table. She stares at him intently, her gaze drawn to the vibrant crayons cluttering the tabletop’s surface.
“What should we draw today, my princess?” Are Albedo’s words, as he hands his child a light blue pencil, its tip dulled so she can’t hurt herself.
“Snow!” She exclaims, her tiny feet kicking back and forth in excitement, eliciting chuckles from her dad.
“You want to paint snow, my little cecilia?” He asks, combing through her blonde strands. “Alright, how about we paint you, mama and papa building a snowman?”
“Yay!” Your baby reaches for the blank paper, wonder and excitement written all over her rounded features, her tongue sticking out the corner of her small mouth. She always loved to draw and paint, especially when it was with Albedo. And even if her pictures often ended up turning out as just criss-crossing lines or messy splotches, you and your husband always kept every single one of them, displayed as priceless masterpieces on the fridge’s door, the living room walls or your study.
After a few minutes of focused work, three figures start taking form over a background of messily drawn blue snowflakes.
“Look, dearie.” Albedo calls. “Who are these?”
His girl looks up at him, a huge smile on her face as she bites the pencil.
“Mama! Me! And Papa!” She answers proudly, pointing at each of the figures.
Albedo’s eyes widen, gilded sparks reflected in the cloudless skies of his irises at his daughter’s words.
Those last two syllables.
His own pencil falls out of his grasp, clattering to the carpeted floor. In this moment, nothing else exists, save for the jingling echo of his daughter’s angelic tone.
“Papa?” She asks, tugging on his sleeve.
Albedo picks the little girl up, rising her as she laughs, unaware.
“Can you say it again, little princess? ‘Papa’.”
“Papa! Papa!” Giggles leave her throat.
Softly, Albedo places a kiss on her kid’s forehead, hugging her as the both of them lay down on the sofa.
When you got home, silence greets you, broken only by even breaths. Smiling to yourself, you brush a kiss against your husband’s and your daughter’s hair, a new painting adorning the walls after you gently throw a blanket over the sleeping figures of your two treasures.
✧ XIAO
“Do you want to hold her, Xiao? She’s been looking at you for a while.” You chuckle, your gaze softened when it sets upon your yaksha.
Golden eyes, not unlike the child’s currently on your arms, shadow in fear and shame for a moment.
What if he hurts the baby? What if his karma taints her somehow? What if-
“Xiao.” Your hand finds his gloved one, centuries of bloodshed written in the concealed scars. “She’ll be okay.” You reassure, a gentle squeeze, as your fingers slot between his.
The adeptus glances in his daughter’s direction, her round amber eyes curiously observing him.
Your husband’s jaw sets, his lips drawn in a taut line. If someone were to look at him now, they may think he’s sulking, the furrow of his brow apparently an indication to steer clear.
You, however, know better.
“Here, I’m with you, love.” You softly utter, placing your daughter in her father’s arms.
The baby stares up at her dad in awe, her little hands fiddling with the necklace he always wears.
She’s so small… such a pure and precious being… will she be safe with him?
Just as these thoughts plague his mind, the girl curls up in his embrace, nuzzling against his toned torso.
“See? She adores you, Xiao…” You tell him, knuckles brushing against your baby’s soft full cheek. “Isn’t that right, sweetie?” She turns around, a smile drawing on her lips, as she buries herself further into Xiao, whose cheeks have gone as red as the carmine lining his eyes.
“H-hello, little qingxin…” Xiao greets her, awkwardly rubbing her back.
In response, his baby tilts her head slightly backwards, the molten suns in her stare illuminating her father’s rusted gold gaze.
“Papa!” She goes, a little clumsy, it sounding more like ‘dada’.
The vigilant yaksha’s eyes widen, his heart feeling like a million bright lanterns floating towards a starry sky.
“Xiao! She said ‘papa’! See? She loves you!” You excitedly chant, hugging your husband’s waist, as you pepper kisses all over his face. “You are her first word, dear, our baby adores her dad so much. I knew she would!” A smile tugs at your lips, lids fluttering closed as you rest your cheek on Xiao’s shoulder.
His hands hover around his daughter, his hold on her delicate, as if she was a newly bloomed flower whose petals could vanish if the wind blew too strongly.
“Papa…” The girl repeats, her chubby cheek squished against’s Xiao’s form. Her eyes are droopy, a little yawn escaping her as she settles more comfortably in her father’s embrace.
Your adeptus heaves out a sigh of relief, the warmth of a familiar fireplace swarming all around him, as if candid candle flames were running through his veins when the soft snores of his daughter reach his ears.
The conqueror of demons’ mask would be shed for tonight.
✧ CHILDE
Small hands are glued to the window’s glass panes, a pair of bright blue eyes staring awestruck at the image currently taking place in your garden.
Flashes of crystalline cyan flit across the air as Childe wields his double blades, merging them into a spear, his muscles taut at the effort.
The little girl’s tiny hands curl into fists, as she leans forward in anticipation, marine gaze following her father’s movements.
He reminds her of the illustrations she’s seen in the picture books Teucer has shown her before.
She must get closer.
Looking over her shoulder, your daughter makes sure you’re busy with something in the kitchen.
Her plan can be put into action now.
Crawling towards the door on all fours, she realizes she’s nowhere near tall enough to reach the handle.
Oh, but she takes after you, and will not be deterred by something like this.
Silently, the baby makes her way towards the dog you took in. He’s big and fluffy and very peaceful, often keeping company to the little girl. With a gentle pat to his side, she looks up at him with those big blue eyes and, despite his instinct to keep her safe, the puppy obliges to her demand.
Folding his paws, the animal lowers himself to the ground, allowing your daugher to climb. A vivid spark flashes through her ocean eyes, tiny hands securing on her companion’s fur.
And just as she was about to reach the door opening to the garden, a familiar voice that’s lulled her to sleep many a night stops her in her tracks.
“And just what do you think you’re doing, little lady.” You stand a couple feet away from her, hands on your hips, your concern masked with masterfully feigned anger.
Your baby stares up at you, that oceanic gaze puppy-like, much like her father did when you were mad at him.
“Mama…” She mumbles, her little hands signaling to where Childe is training outside, sounds you can’t understand leaving her pouty lips.
You sigh, kneeling to pick her up, rubbing your dog’s chin gently.
“So you want to see papa training, don’t you, little troublemaker?” You prompt, smiling as you tickle her belly. She giggles, wiggling her legs in your hold. “Alright, just this once, and because he’s almost finished with his routine.” You warn, softly pinching her cheek.
Once outside, you both stare at the harbinger, you, with heating cheeks; your daughter, in admiration and wonder.
Then:
“Papa!” She calls, energetically waving to her father, as you have to struggle so she doesn’t fall out of your grasp.
Suddenly, Ajax’s hydro blades vanish, a rare glow present in the eyes that are so like his daughter’s. A wide grin spreads across his sun-kissed features, arms opening as he runs towards you and his baby.
“Papa! Papa!” His daughter repeats, as your husband hugs the both of you.
No matter how cold Snezhnaya’s blizzards blew, Ajax would always have his personal patch of sunshine in you two.
✧ KAEYA
Calla lilies surround the scene, their russet-hued petals aglow in the blue shimmer of the statue of the seven standing amidst the lake.
Dusk approaches, the sky still dyed in shades of tangerine and cherry blossom, the sun, a glimmering halo right above the horizon.
Over frondous grass spotted in sun and shadow, a blanket lies, its baby blue pattern fading into the multiple colors of the snacks scattered above it: portions of cake you baked the afternoon prior; sandwitches carefully cut in triangle shapes; handpicked apples and sunsettias, cut and placed into plates by your lover.
But perhaps the most vivid color of them all was that of the couple sitting atop it.
A couple and their daughter.
“You really liked this pie, didn’t you, little lily?” Kaeya coos at his baby, her chubby cheeks littered with crumbs of the soft cake she’s been devouring all afternoon. Two pairs of ice blue eyes meet each other beneath the setting sun, the girl’s giggles eliciting a chuckle from her father’s lips as he carefully wipes her face. “Mama will be mad if you stain your dress, little princess.” The cavalry captain points out, in mock scolding.
His reprimand is met with a bashful smile and his kid cuddling into him, her tiny hands clutching his clothes.
“Kaeya, don’t tease her!” You swat at his arm playfully, soft laughter leaving the both of you as your husband smooths over your girl’s hair, placing a soft kiss on her head.
“Don’t pay any mind to papa, now.” You reassure her, tenderly brushing over her chubby hands. “He’s a little silly sometimes.”
The girl looks up at you, those iceberg toned eyes wide in wonder at the world that she still has to discover around her.
You ruffle her hair, as she turns around in Kaeya’s embrace, settling on top of his legs, staring up at him.
“Papa!” She announces, taking ahold of Kaeya’s long braid, playing with it. “Papa… prince!” She points out, as she grabs one of the dolls she brought: a boy wearing a crown.
With a knowing grin, you shift closer to your lover, leaning against his side.
“Yes, little sweetheart, you’re right, papa is a prince.” Kaeya’s hand locks with yours over his shoulder, fingers laced together, the warmth of his touch so paradoxical, given the freeze he commands.
“And that is why you’re our little princess.” The knight tells your baby, as he places a stray calla lily on her hair.
“Princess!” She happily babbles, rising her arms.
Instances like this… they truly stoked gentle flames around the captain’s heart, oftentimes concealed behind apparently crystalline walls of frost. As long as he had the two of you, at least during brief moments like this, there would be no need for practiced facades.
Across the distant horizon, even dusk seemed to delay, allowing a few more seconds of luminous skies for the family sitting below it, a flickering smile crossing the anemo archon’s face of stone.
✧ NEUVILLETTE
Slate skies expand above him, his opal eyes restless oceans in the tears they contain, painted lashes dripping in midnight droplets.
Rainbow roses seem to weep too, their petals downcast, the sunrise shades of their blossoms muted in the downpour.
Neuvillette stands alone, the garden of your shared home melancholy; the trees too bare, the grass ashen, the flowers wilting.
Save for the pitter-patter of rusted silver droplets, silence reigns the scene.
The hydro dragon’s mood had a tendency to be mirrored in the heavens over Fontaine, after all.
Sighing, the Chief Justice takes a sit by a bush of lumidouce bells. Fitting, for someone whose shoulders slump not unlike the petals of the periwinkle hued blooms.
“Neuvi, love.” A familiar voice calls him, gently. “What are you doing out there in this weather, dear?”
Long argent locks of hair shift, like seafoam by moonlight, when he turns around, water, from the rain, or his tears, or both, running down his cheeks.
“Someone has come to see you, my love.” You softly utter, beckoning your husband towards the porch, the impending cacophony of his racing mind and falling downpour partially silencing.
Neuvillette’s features warm up a bit the moment he realizes who you’re talking about.
A little girl placidly rests between your arms, eyes of crystalline dusk looking up at her father. Unlike his, hers are rounded, lacking the dark circles frequently etched under your lover’s.
“Look who’s here, little rainbow.” You coo at your daughter, who tries chasing after your wiggling fingers, right as you playfully poke her belly. “Papa is here, do you perhaps want to play with him?”
The baby looks at you, one of her tiny fists on her mouth, as her eyes crinkle up in crescents. Then, she turns towards her dad, arms reaching out.
“Papa! Papa!” She laughs, inclining her flexible small torso towards him.
Neuvillette’s gaze widens, placing his hands around his little girl, protectively cradling her in his embrace.
“Papa is here, sunshine.” Your lover assures her, as he leans down to kiss her nose.
In the distance, a familiar arch shoots across the heavens, the violet of goodbyes and separations shifting into rosy affection.
Golden replaces dull steel, flecks of it dotting the grass, remnants of rain clinging like emeralds to the verdant stems.
+. CWs —» f-reader, s!her pronouns, m-masturbation, implied accidental voyeurism, subtle undertones of perv!kaveh & bottom-dom!kaveh, wet dreams, mention of al-haitham; word count — 0.8kish.
+. PRECIS —» Kaveh can’t help it, you are just too much for him and hence he decides to keep you off his mind.
+. NOTES —» phew! The way he has me in a chokehold. . . also I'm trying a new style of writing so feel free to send me kaveh thoughts:> you can read my works via NAVIGATION LINKS.
In his memory, Kaveh has always found her engaging as well as entertaining even if he had bleak chances of talking to her. It is true that he is often teased about her, especially by al-haitham, whenever he catches those cherry eyes lurking over her, looking for her.
But lately, she has been frequenting his mind more than before, more than in one way and all because of a lucid dream. The first time when he saw her in his dreams, in a white nightgown laughing before extending her arms towards him , he gasped and woke up from his sleep thinking why it had to be her?
And since then, he has been attracted towards her, romantically perhaps and hence he stopped visiting the library during her work shifts. He wanted to stay away from her, now more than ever since he hated the feeling of loneliness that lingered underneath his skin every time he dreamt of her, thought of her.
Yet here he was, submerged in her thoughts and far away from this world. Kaveh should not, he really should not since he knew that if he did this once there is no coming back.
Moreover, chances are there that she will be more vivid than before in his dreams, in his mind and every time she passes by Kaveh at the workplace. But now, it is too late to think of what might be the consequences of his thoughts. The strain in his pants has already become unbearable.
Kaveh slides his right arm under his vest grazing his lower belly thinking for the last time, but eventually, his arm slipped into his pants, his fingers clamping around his length, and finally, a soft groan escaped from his mouth. The tip of his tongue kisses the corner of his lips as he takes out his cock that was coated with a warm white fluid, pre-cum.
For a moment, he is surprised, and then he is not. There is a crescent along his lips as he taps the tip of his cock, smearing the reddened end with its pre.
“Oh fuck. This feels so much better.”, he huffs looking over his shoulder to check if al-haitham is really asleep or not. Kaveh thinks he is sleeping, he better be otherwise the worst case that could happen is that she would not smile while looking at him but rather avoid him if there were any eye contact to happen henceforth.
He palms his member, a little harder this time trying to imagine how it would feel to be sheathed by her gummy walls. He starts to pump his cock as his pants were clustered at the bottom of the chair while his legs were trying to give space as much as possible by spreading them further.
He revisits his memories, memories where she and her beautiful body were in abundance: the first time you smiled at him, the accidental touch when she was handing him the papers he asked for, that late evening when he caught you bathing, naked and gleaming in the moonlight.
He picks the last one, where he watched you scrub yourself, your plush body, your boobs, and hardened nipples. He remembers how he felt his cock twitch at that moment and now he is pumping his cock rashly, the hem of his vest being buried in between his teeth, muffled moans escaping his mouth as the squelching noises become louder and louder.
His other hand gradually makes its way towards his nipples, pinching and circling around them thinking of her lips on his. “Oh fuck.”, he hisses as his toes curl, his hips buck up with a force as he thinks how euphoric would it be to have her soft calloused hands on his cock, to have her warm lips in his, to have her boobs pressed against his bare chest, pronounced nipples grazing against each other while Kaveh’s cock is hitting her sweet spot with precision and all he could hear is the blend of desperate moans, of his and her.
He squeezes his eyes shut as his hands move up and down his swollen cock, hitting his girth with calculated thrusts. He paces up as he feels his orgasm approaching, huffing and panting, not caring how vocal he has become until the coil at the core of his flat belly snaps making him dizzy, his hand movements sloppy, and his inner thighs closing in slowly.
Kaveh’s chest rises up and down frantically as he finally opens his eyes watching the spurs of milky white fluid all over the floor and his study desk. A heavy sigh leaves his body as his breathing normalizes.
“If only I could tell her . . .”, he mumbles before closing his eyes and thinking of you, again. He takes a few moments to relax before cleaning the mess.
Is it just me that gets this wave of sadness looking at my following list and seeing writers that disappeared w their last posts being like what, 2 years ago and deactivated accounts. I always hope they're safe :cc
tw: heavy smut, dubcon elements, size kink, medical play, possessiveness, slight yandere Dottore, reader is described as physically delicate/fragile, overstimulation, fingering, penetration, creampie, aftercare turned into round 2
Oh darling… you really thought you could hide how badly you tremble when he looks at you?
Picture this: you, so small and breakable, perched on the edge of Dottore’s cold examination table in his private lab. Your thighs are already shaking and he’s barely touched you yet. He towers over you in that damned mask, coat half-unbuttoned, gloved fingers tracing your collarbones like he’s deciding which part of you to dissect first.
“Such a fragile little thing,” he murmurs, voice low and amused, two of his fingers sliding between your folds without warning. You’re soaked. Embarrassingly so. He chuckles darkly when your hips jerk and a broken whimper slips out. “Look at you. One wrong move and you’d snap like a porcelain doll… yet here you are, dripping for a monster.”
He pushes those long, skilled fingers deeper, curling them perfectly against that spot that makes your vision white out. Your hands clutch at his coat, knuckles white, because you’re scared you’ll actually fall apart. Dottore leans in, teeth grazing your neck as he pumps faster, thumb circling your swollen clit with ruthless precision.
“You can take it,” he growls against your skin. “You’ll take everything I give you.”
Next thing you know he’s spreading your trembling thighs wider, lining up his thick cock and sinking in with one brutal thrust. The stretch burns so good you cry out, nails digging into his shoulders. He doesn’t give you time to adjust— he never does. He fucks you like he’s running experiments on how many times he can make you cum before you pass out.
Every thrust jostles you on the table, your fragile body jolting, tits bouncing, tears slipping down your cheeks. He drinks in every sob, every gasp of his name like it’s the sweetest data he’s ever collected.
“Mine,” he hisses, hips snapping harder, mask finally pushed up so you can see that wild, hungry look in his eyes. “This fragile little cunt is mine to ruin.”
You cum so hard you nearly black out, clenching around him, and he follows with a low groan, flooding you until it leaks down your thighs. But Dottore doesn’t pull out. He just gathers your limp, trembling body against his chest, pressing soft kisses to your hair like he didn’t just fuck you senseless.
“Rest, my delicate flower,” he whispers, already hardening again inside you. “We’re only getting started.”
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