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fauustic · 10 months

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something new, something that scares me

gender non-confirming reader (implied afab due to pregnancy) x miguel "spider-man 2099" o'hara

angst. comfort. with a secret hanging over the complicated relationship the both of you have, miguel is faced with his rot.

warnings: pregnant reader, discussion of sickness (throwing up, fatigue), discussion of loss of child, miscommunication, allusion to (reader's) past relationship trauma, heavy angst. not beta-read.

words: 5644

Your apartment echoed with your choked gags, the bathroom lit aflame with artificial light soon after the hurried stumbling of yours trailing from your bed. Sleep blurred your gaze, gross and sticky yet you couldn’t bring yourself to wipe the gunk. Your bones felt heavy as your pajama shirt slipped up your belly, exposing the soft flesh to the coldness of your home. The sensation made you suck a sharp breath through your teeth, as miserable and alone as ever.

This great big universe of yours was quaint and quiet, only ever needing to go out on your patrols at night. Sleep was gratefully given during the day, only ever interrupted by the gruff–staticy voices seeping into your apartment from the walkie-talkie that leaked codes and warnings of crime– you’ve never been the one to get sick. Not until this absolutely beautiful morning at the ripe time of 4:27AM.

The entire week leading up to today was filled with waves of nausea, interrupting the time you spent to yourself when months grew dull and delicate. Work was never really needed, graciously, as you lived off your success in the medical field. This allowed you to wallow in the comfort of your duvet, bedridden and hungry and moody. As another pitiful cough wracked your form and bile strayed on your tongue, the watch you kept hidden away in the bedside drawer began to illuminate the corner of your room in an orange hue. The warm sweat against your forehead almost stung painfully when the blood from your face drained in anxiety. The warm color and murmur of muffled words that would normally fill your lungs with a crash of adrenaline and mild irritation instead left your palms slipping off the toilet in panic.

You haven't been beckoned to join alongside a mission with another member of the Spider Society in a while. And you would accept one in a moment's notice if you weren't slumped against the cold tile floor of the bathroom.

There's never been a moment where you didn't answer Miguel's check-ins, whether he was asking for your presence for affection or actual help.

The relationship between you and Miguel, to say the very least, was complicated.

You were like the calm before the storm; the soft tide of an ocean meeting the shore with a gentle embrace. Your voice came out like raindrops meeting the morning dew of grass, yet when met with dire situations– it is as if someone brought forth a lighter to your skin and burnt you aflame. You knew how to hold your own, something others didn't expect of your quaint, observant temperament.

Miguel, was– an enigma within himself. He was a shadow of what he once was, you had learned through the stories he had told you during the nights where your watch felt too heavy on your wrist, drowned away in the bedsheets of your lover that held you as if you were going to leave at the mention of another universe– gone without any evidence that you even existed in the first place.

Ever since you learned, the insecurities that plagued his words in the darkness of the room you crashed in every now and then held greater weight. The white headband and blue wrapping bow resting upon the nightstand, gathering dust by each passing day, caught your eye more than it did not. As Miguel met your lips with his own in sleepy desperation, wrapping his arms around your waist to bring you even closer– the trauma haunting his gaze whenever he recollected his thoughts flashed behind your eyelids.

Your first mistake is that you grew to love the shadow of what he once was, grew too attached to a man that wasn't under your protection of a universe that was your own.

The babble of sentences seeping through the cracks of your bedside cabinet had your heart lurching, an all-too-familiar voice passing through the silence like a knife striking through air. His voice was tentative, an exhausted repeat of your name before he heaved another "voice-mail" (or whatever is equivalent to such a thing on a universe-hopping device) into the technological watch. You can already imagine the dark bags right underneath his eyes, framed by definition of his features and wrinkles conjured through stress and age. His hair would be swept back with his claws, you're sure of it. Around this time in your universe it was roughly the same to his, perhaps an hour or two before him. But time didn't matter to the man who put himself in charge of a society full of clones of the same guy, give or take an infinite amount of variations alongside said-same-guy.

As your chin pressed down on the toilet seat, skin damp with sweat from the constant cycle of insomnia and sickness– you allowed yourself the indulging selfishness of imagining Miguel comforting you. But you were afraid of how he'd react to the secret you've kept under the wraps for a couple weeks now, skillfully and hopefully subtly avoiding him. Now you've been homebound, and letting him see you in this state would surely encourage him to come through that apartment door himself.

The problem was, you and Miguel were not officially together. It was complicated, with him dancing into his life and hooking up with you– spending nights wrapped in your embrace as soft huffs of his breath would meet the shell of your ear. And then he'd disappear for a month and fade back onto nothing more than a coworker, a person you'd nod to in the offices because Miguel was not one to wave.

And to tell him you were most, no– definitely pregnant, you were unsure on how he'd respond.

Miguel has never bared his teeth towards you unless in bed, his fangs grazing the juncture where your neck meets your shoulder in the soft lull of a long day– but you knew he was not one necessarily subject to change. Something out of order. A situation abrupt and unexpected that would change the future and possibly everything that followed.

His past was never foreign, he'd let bits and pieces of himself slip past that guarded exterior of his in the safety of your blankets and pillows and kisses– but that's why fear shot up your spine and settled back down into the pit of your stomach. Miguel has tried more than once to create his own reality of what a family should be– and lost the only thing that has ever truly been important to him twice. Your baby would never be Gabriella, and you couldn't allow your future bundle of love to be put under that expectation.

And, and plus, you weren't even sure if you wanted to keep it. The idea of parenthood had you swallowing back spit like you'd just been dunked into freezing water, the circumstances unknown and dangerous. A father from a whole entire universe? That was stupid. Miguel would call you stupid, too. You knew it. Just like the one who treated you before.

Wetness blurred your vision before you even had a chance to get up, stumbling into the kitchen for a glass of water. You knew you looked like shit, eyes puffy and lips chapped as you pulled at your pajamas to get more comfortable. As you down half a water, a knock vibrates your apartment. It must be a neighbor, you thought. You were probably too loud with these fits you’ve been having, slumped over a toilet and being miserable.

Opening the door, your blood runs cold and the sweat that was finally beginning to stay away after wiping your face came back worse. It was the man that’s been haunting your every living moment, both in wake and in dreams. He looked absolutely wrecked beyond the facade he tried to put up– sunken eyes and unruly hair. “You’ve ignored another call of mine.” Was all he said, pointed and brooding.

“Miguel,” you began as you brought yourself inviting him in before you could even catch yourself. He had that stoic yet bothered look on his face, one that’s almost permanently etched within the few expressions he can muster.

"Why have you been avoiding me?" Miguel's voice, confused and raising ever so slightly as his muddled gaze scanned over your pacing form. No hellos, how are you doing, direct as always. When your nails met your teeth in a nervous habit, Miguel exhaled heavily as if he was trying to calm himself down. "No reason, no call– just pure radio silence! I came here because I thought something happened– Dios mío–" He sounded pained, accent growing ever thicker as he shuffled a long-sleeved, futuristic athletic shirt off. The top part of his suit met your eyes, and you had to rip your guilty stare off his form as you remembered who the both of you are; two lines on a graph, who should have simply stayed parallel to one another. Intersecting with a man who has flipped your world upside down and spawned so many opportunities just to disappear the next night– you couldn't take it anymore.

His sweatpant-clad ankles met your downcast attention as Miguel came closer, his touch contrasting that irritated voice of his. Index meeting the skin of your jaw just right to your chin, he guided your eyes to his own. A frown tugged at his features, winning the war when he so desperately tried to be stoic. Without a word, Miguel scanned the splotches on your face and dried wetness coating your cheeks. He knew you had been crying, he always does.

His touch is so inviting, so welcoming that you just want to surrender your entire being to him. To crawl right into the ribcage you were level with and to create a home, nestled as close to his heart that he tried to keep at bay.

People who aren't lovers shouldn't be holding one another like this, you thought as his thumb met the corner of your lip and his index rested upon your chin. Miguel's lips carved themselves into a deeper scowl as a choked sob erupted the silence following his question, his own hardness beyond that gaze of his shattering like an unlucky mirror.

Miguel has never had to put up with you in such an emotional atmosphere. You thought you were scaring him away, but he only took your hands in his and rubbed the flesh of your knuckles as you cried.

Guilt struck your lungs and constricted your breathing, "we shouldn't be doing this." You were full on crying now, you felt the tears rolling down the hot shame igniting your cheeks. You heard your voice crack under the pressure of avoiding him, of depriving your life of the one you loved the most. You snatched your hands away from his grasp, and the moment he let you, you regretted it.

"I shouldn't love you."

"You love me?"

The question tumbling from his agape lips was nothing less than sincere as you snapped your neck towards his shell-shocked expression. You didn't mean to say that– too caught up in emotions and memories and it just came out–

So instead you covered your mouth and shook your head rapidly, stepping away yet never turning away from him. Your sobs wracked your body for the millionth time that night, reminding you of the emptiness you felt on your knees, slumped against the toilet and fending off sickness. A flash of hurt made itself apparent in his gaze, but Miguel knew you were lying.

He stood there like a statue in the middle of your cozy living room, looking like he was sculpted to be here. To be at home, with you.

If you were two other people, the both of you would be snuggled on the couch that cost way too much at a furniture store going out of business, buttery fingers accidentally intertwining in a bowl of chile-lime seasoned popcorn– having pointless debates on whether or not the next character to die in a B-listed horror film would be the clueless jock or stereotypical book-nerd. Miguel would be complaining "Why are we watching this, anyways? Película de mierda, should have listened to my recommendations from the start."

"I do not want to be stuck at home on a Friday night watching documentaries with you."

And he'd give you a side-eye with a scowl he truly didn't mean, before hitting you in the forehead with a piece of seasoned popcorn.

But this was not another universe where the two of you were intertwined, birthed on the same Earth and time that had you sharing classes and awkward, immature conversations. You would never be granted the experience of that pining phase, dancing around one another under sweet circumstances that consisted of healthy households and loving parents. You were you, holding your stomach in anticipated nausea. And he was Miguel, clenching the claws into his palms with his grey streak hovering uncharacteristically over his eyebrow.

The couch was empty, the television was not on. It was cold.

"We can't continue doing this." You sighed, daring to keep your darting eyes from that rare, broken expression painting his features and daring him to look older. "I'm tired." You fumbled with your hands, bruised and battered from the anxious picking and nights you stayed glued to the toilet. Miguel's eyes met the marks lining the flesh, and he challenged the empty space between the both of you. You knew that he knew he preached to never interfere with what's bound to happen in one another's worlds, that everything is supposed to keep itself flowing without the interference of even one, single organism from another universe. Yet here he was, fighting to keep this situation in the palms of his shaky hands. To hold onto you and never let go. "I'm sorry l, I'm sorry." He whispered into your hair, ruffled from the rough evening you've had. "Perdóname, por favor."

The mention of cutting this, whatever this was, had him crumbling into your frame that hugged the wall that met your back. His hands snaked themselves around your waist before tiredly settling on the softness peeking from your rumpled pajama shirt. His forehead met your shoulder, hunching into the warmth you omitted like he was a freezing man starved from fire. Miguel shifted so his nose met the crook of your neck, dampness meeting the tendons there as he inhaled deeply. "I'm, I'm sorry." He chanted like a broken vinyl, voice breaking into barely above a whisper.

Miguel thought it was because of all those times he had left you hours after he kissed the bruises littering your skin, the marks he branded into your flesh like a possessive sigil. And he wasn't wrong, Miguel was absolutely terrible for that.

But the pain that tore open your heart and festered into the valves was the aching lit aflame from the nights ruined from sick, never soothed from the one who loved like he was starved and accepted affection like he was desperate, but never given the opportunity of you seeing the morning rays meet the stress dotting his relaxed forehead in the peacefulness of slumber. That was the breaking point.

"Miguel," a sigh escapes your lips before you could contain it. "Please leave." A desperate plea that you didn't fully believe in. All that you gained in response was his hold growing tighter, no words exchanged.

"No, no, no." He breathed into your being, mixing himself into you until you couldn't tell where you ended and he began. "I can't go, not until I know this is back to right again."

You shook your head, cheek grazing further into the curls that threatened to tickle you with each motion. "It can't be, Miguel. Just go back home."

"And why is that," Miguel says your name, fumbling slightly as he almost murmurs a pet name in the vulnerability of the moment. "This, what's happening– we can fix this as long as you tell me what's going on, angel. Just tell me and I'll fix this." It almost came out as a whine, the urge to keep everything in order oozing out from the ulterior of his words. "Nosotros podemos salvar esto. Please, please, please." He was at a loss, anxious and scared and trying his best to keep as calm as he possibly can– Miguel's native tongue always slipped into conversations at his most emotional, trying to convey his feelings as easily as possible.

Miguel's body pulled away only so he could grab your face gently, as if you were the most fragile thing in all the universes despite your life of busting noses and cleaning up the scum off every city, his suited palms met your skin and it was a bittersweet reminder of the lives you both had. The reason you two were never able to have that happy ending of yours.

"I can't bring myself to tell you," you mumbled, the furrow of his sharp eyebrows accompanied with the squint of disbelief had you wishing you could just scoop him up in your arms and tell him that this was just one big joke. He wouldn't talk to you for months, cold shoulder and all.

"You can tell me anything. Siempre." The last came out as hushed, a promise you've never heard from him before. Miguel has never truly given you more to work with other than physicality. It hurt knowing you could have had this all along.

Nightlife bled into your apartment, the vibrant lights fighting against the blinds you drew closed. A soft glare of yellow met a mole just below his lip and traced his nose before disappearing as if it was never there at all. A honk flooded the taut tension, almost making you jump in the light grasp he held onto you. You were wondering if he thought you were going to wash away the moment he let go of you, as if you were a sailor lost at sea and he was the broken anchor trying its best to keep you grounded.

Your teeth met your lip, rolling it around before metal met your tongue. The pain kept you in the moment, the soft echo of “tell him, tell him, tell him,” sounding throughout your head like an urgent emergency alarm. It was all too much. You couldn’t do it anymore.

One breath. Holding it, your confession came out a bit choked and ashamed. “I’m pregnant.” The second it left the confinement of your mind and left your tongue, you just wanted to go back into your room and dig a hole from your bed into the ground. The hold on your cheeks fell slack in shock, before Miguel’s claws that threatened to peak from his fingers trailed down the flesh of your collarbone and settled on your shoulders.

His habit of keeping eye-contact slipped, failing to keep up with your ever-changing gaze. Instead, he stared at you as if he was just something that defied both life and science itself, staring off into nothingness until finally knocking his forehead in the junction right above your heart– nose brushing your armpit. “¿Qué?” Was all he could bring himself to say, and you misconstrued his disbelief with disappointment.

You brought yourself to repeat what you had held back, tears falling from your puffy eyes. “I’m, I’m pregnant.”

“That’s–” A loss of words, must be trying to fabricate his anger into words. You had messed up, right? Maybe you deserved this–

“I’m sorry, Miguel. I’m sorry–” You cut him off, panic setting into your skin and wiring your brain to go into flight mode. “I was on the pill, and I made sure–”

You couldn’t bring yourself to say another word because the next thing you know is that Miguel’s surrounding you, hands wrapping around the back of your head in a messy tangle of curls wrapped around large fingers as your teeth clashed with his, lips intertwined with your own– your slightly chapped skin meeting his plush mouth. Spit and tears became one until you couldn’t tell anymore, and when the both of you separated a string of saliva was left in its wake. You were dazed from the abrupt need of touch, as Miguel huffed and stammered into your mouth over things he didn’t know how to express.

“No, stop. None of that, none of that matters.” He heaved, and you weren’t sure if the shine glazing his eyes were tears because the wetness clouding your gaze almost had you seeing double.

Confusion set in, replacing the prepared rambling you had of excuses. “You don’t?” You felt stupid for questioning him, but he only hissed an exhale through his teeth and shook his head as if the tension within him began deflating like a balloon.

“Never.” He assured, forehead meeting yours. “We’ve just never spoken about this before.” It almost came out sheepishly, a light shrug bumping your shoulders before his eyes drifted off. But they rested back on you within a blink.

Miguel breathed in deeply, as if he was having to take in oxygen and breathe out manually. His muscles within the constrictions of his suit rolled as he held himself hunched over you, trying his best not to be drafted away in thought. Something he found himself doing frequently whenever met with his computer panels.

A laugh couldn’t help but leave your throat as you bit back a sob. “Because you never wanted to.”

Nothing was said in response, and as you surveyed his darting gaze from your stomach to your lips, and finally your eyes– you felt as if you said something wrong. But he only sighed, nodding ever so slowly against your flesh.

“I was..” He fumbled with what he wanted to say, before finally screwing his eyes shut and hissing out; “scared.”

You stayed quiet for him to organize his thoughts, in which he slid his forearms around your back in gratitude and wrapped you in a hold that felt as safe as a weighted blanket.

“You, you are something else entirely. Me recuerdas al aire que respiro, algo sin lo que no puedo vivir. The rapture in my veins, the photo I find myself staring at often as if somehow you’ll jump right from the screen and engulf me with that warmth I cannot ever get enough of.” It was cheesy, but you knew he was trying his best in describing even a fraction of the amount he cared for you. “I just never knew how to go about it.”

“But you got me pregnant,” You teased weakly into his shoulder as you slid away from his forehead, the eye-contact he craved to contain grew overwhelming with the newfound emotion he had for you locked away.

“Christ,” he mumbled as he mirrored your actions, fangs finding their way to graze the skin just within the crook of your neck. “I heard you, you said you love me.”

“I shouldn’t.”

His movements still, embrace going rigid until you were the one to spill your feelings.

“We, we were never even supposed to meet. We’re from completely different worlds, the people are different and the places don’t add up–” You tripped over the thoughts you finally revealed as well, desperately trying to claw your worries out from the lump in your throat. “What about everything you said, are you willing to risk it all just for this? I don’t want you to stay awake at night when it comes to contemplating the idea that what had once happened before could happen again.”

Give yourself this, you wanted to say. You’ve worked so hard, just give yourself this.

Miguel stares at you, back and forth– each eye and giving it the same attention when his lip curls downward into a genuine wobble. He shakes his head, whether it be in incredulity over his final decision.

“I’m in love with you, too. Love you so much it hurts. Was just too afraid to let myself have you. Eres lo más preciado que tengo en el mundo, no matter where the Arachno Humanoid Poly Multiverse puts us.

“You are such a hidden nerd it hurts.” You find yourself joking with him, and you feel the smile against your skin.

“Only for you, I think.”

Silence enveloped the living room, an exhale of relief allowing itself to escape from your lips. A yawn followed, tiredness seeping into your muscles. “You’re stuck with me if you really do stay.”

The both of you get lost in the embrace of one another, Miguel hunched over into your form until your snores finally fill his ears and he scoops you up as gently as he’s ever handled you. “Te amo, mi lucero.”

“Te amo más,” you had mumbled sleepily as your arms found security around his neck.

And when you wake that morning, your face is met with his chest and your legs are tangled with his. His breath, stifling and hot, tickles the sleepy furrowed brow that creases your forehead. One of Miguel’s arms had found its way to become one with the pillow while the other presses you further into his chest on the small of your back. When he stirs, he blinks away sleep and takes your face into his calloused fingers, sweetly locking his lips with yours in a brief kiss. “Buenos días, mi cielo.” He whispered into the softness of your duvet. Your heart melts at the sight of it all.

He finally stayed.

You make him breakfast that morning and he makes sure your hair stays out of the way when you need to empty your stomach out of morning sickness.

He was a beautiful thing, you knew it from the first peek into his crying eyes. Auburn with a hint of crimson, Miguel's former genes trying its best to win a losing fight.

“Thank you,” you whispered into the delicate moment, watching your son wail softly in your tired embrace.

Miguel’s lips met your cheek bone, fluttering and sweet and different. His hand shakily cupped yours cradling your baby’s head. He was quiet for a long time, no huff of attitude that would meet your off-handed sweetness that secretly melted his heart ten-times over. You peered up at him, an exhausted yet bashful grin ebbing your features as each babble sounded throughout the hospital room. Miguel’s hair had gotten longer throughout the last eight months, curling at the end of his neck and almost brushing his shoulders. Glasses adorned the curvature of his nose, a twinkle that’s accompanied his crimson gaze ever since you cried out “I’m pregnant,” snot and tears and all. He hasn’t let go of himself perse, just more adamant to take care of himself for the sake of you and his family.

His family. If you had told him such a thing merely two years ago, he would have thrown a computer panel aiming straight for the nose and chased you around Nueva York like a rabid animal for such a cruel joke. Miguel almost winced, the baby fawn-like expression of his newborn son almost reminding him of the boy he did the exact thing he just described. After gaining a consciousness, he’s almost apologized in every possible way (not verbally, mainly by giving him an easier time) to that kid and his mom that almost beat his ass back on Earth-1610B.

As his gaze carved into his son’s own, it was like everything felt right. It was like every obstacle that got in the way of the both of you was worth the struggle.

“Gabri. Gabriel.” He breathed, nodding as if it made the most sense in the world.

Your laugh, airy and heavy but lighthearted all the same. “What?” Miguel couldn’t help himself when his hand moved on its own accord, swiping through your unruly and unwashed hair. You had been through it these past couple days, but to him you were nothing less than an angel. Had your hands not been occupied with the newfound bundle of joy the both of you had just welcomed into the world, you would have done the same to his curls. Down the same path, tugging on the grey streak that he stopped dying after months of your persistence.

The baby had Miguel’s eyes, but he had your lips. Your son had Miguel’s nose, but he had your chin. He coughed and snorted and did everything a baby would do, but with every little motion his hands could muster the energy for– had you forgetting every worry that had clouded your mind once before.

“Gabriel,” he repeated as he brought the tip of his index to tickle the palm of his, your son. “Gabri for short.”

“Miguel,” you sighed, with just as much weariness as you had when you asked him to leave your apartment that night. “You know it’s okay that you’re thinking about her–”

Miguel cut you off with a kiss, abrupt and short and sweet. It shut you up right away, a squeak coming out in surprise. His lashes were on full display as his gaze traced your lips before dipping back down to his baby in your loving hold. “Gabriel after my brother. I was going to name Gabriella after him had it been that way.” His brow furrowed faintly at the mention of his late daughter, yet a tiny turn of his mouth contrasted the subtle sorrow. “Namesake sort of thing, I think my mother would have liked it.” He confessed, a mellow fluster brushing his cheeks. Miguel was never one to talk about his parents, too much baggage that was locked away in the late nights of fluttering kisses and achingly tight holds. “Esto es importante para mí, por favor. Please, mi corazón.”

A little giggle of sorts interrupted the heartfelt communication, ripping your scanning, concerned gaze from your husband’s face. “Sé que es importante.” You murmured as a response, settling further into the near-uncomfortable fabric of the hospital bed. After complaining just a little to Miguel though, he had demanded you had the utmost care. He had brought you pillows from your own shared bed, alongside a new duvet from the hospital staff. You didn’t care to make another comment, knowing he’d break down the entire building in search of any aid to soothe your needs.

After a moment of contemplation and mainly just building suspense to get more of a reaction out of Miguel, you shook your head yes and grinned lazily. “Gabri. Lovely, baby.” You echoed your son’s name, hearing an intake of breath right next to your ear in a mixture of rare excitement and contentment that tickled the angle of your jaw and brushed hair upon your nose. Miguel must had seen the scrunch of your nose, as he had grazed where the hair had rested before.

Downright fatigue plagued your movements, wanting to celebrate this moment with Miguel but you had used all your energy in the process. So you leaned up only for him to usher you back down, using no words like he usually did. Quiet thing, he was– just a different atmosphere around his very soul nowadays.

“What can I do for you, my love?” He whispered into your hair, leaning down and getting on his knees to level himself with your exhausted expression. “Just say the word.”

“I need some sleep,” you huffed happily, wanting to trace the skin on his cheek as if he was the night sky and you were pointing out constellations. But you kept your fingers tucked safely around Gabriel until he reached out, allowing you to daintily place him in his own hold before another word between the both of you was uttered.

The dark hue of midnight black bled into the array of purple and pink, blessing the sunset with another hour of rest. It was fairly late already, judging by the amount of coffee cups Miguel had collected on the bedside desk like some kind of coffee connoisseur. When you had teased him about it earlier, he brushed you off with a faux frown and side-eye before laying his head back down on your thighs, giving into another nap before the baby was due.

“Get some rest then, cariño. Me and Gabri will be here, won’t we?” He practically cooed into the space of the newborn, where he was just met with a series of spit-filled babbles and prattle.

You couldn’t help but just nod, overtaken by the lull of sleep and comfort. Here Miguel was, sitting not even a foot away and practically spilling into the bed. He was a clingy thing whether he admitted or not, basking in the warmth your skin brought like a cat drawn to sunlight.

He was quiet as your breathing even out, watching his son like it was a dream he didn’t want to wake up from.

It wasn’t until you began snoring that he spoke to his son like an imagineer telling stories, light and fluttery yet raising in octaves to bring forth a squeal of tired excitement that Gabriel couldn’t grasp. And soon enough, Gabri was consumed with sleep in the embrace of his father who couldn’t stop shaking.

Was it nervousness? Disbelief? Fear? Miguel thought it was a scary concoction of all three filling his veins and causing his palms to grow clammy. But as a light gurgle escaped the small little thing in his hands and begged to be patted on the back, every insecurity that plagued his mind and consumed him washed away without a second thought.

A small, selfish part of him wished Gabriella was here to bask in the shared excitement between the both of you– but he knew she was gone. And you were here, and Gabri has come along too.

And that’s more than he ever thought he deserved.

#i had to write something before i exploded i missed writing so much .. please GIVE ME REQUESTS RAHH #ive been so busy and my sleep schedule SUCKS because i finally got a job #forgive me for no fics!! i feel so bad #into the spider verse #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara comfort #x gender neutral reader #spiderman 2099 #x comfort #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #comfort #x angst #angst #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara #miguel o'hara angst

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the-hole-in-terzos-shoe · 1 year

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Taking Care

Papa Emeritus IV x Nanny/Sister of Sin!Reader

TW: smut obviously, cheating, mentions of alcoholism and drug use, child does get hurt at one point but they are okay!, mentions of pregnancy, breeding smut, mentions of condoms in case that makes you uncomfy. Let me know if there's anything else I need to add, things get a little heavy in this one.

Word Count: 10.4k

This started off as a dirty little scandalous idea, actually based on a previous fandom I used to write for, and it turned into a big thing... As all of my fics do. I don't think I'm capable of writing anything short anymore. Also @sweatandwoe came up with the title 😉

Anyway! Papa IV has a horrible Prime Mover who is never present at home, and it leads to him developing some feelings for the nanny. Enjoy!

𝘓𝘢 𝘢𝘮𝘰... Copia thought to himself as he fondly observed the sight before him, framed by the paned glass door leading to the balcony: his little one bouncing on your hip as you cooed at him, trying to get the bambino back to sleep. The antipope had returned home late from the ministry offices, as he often did, entering his suite completely exhausted, kicking off his shoes to let his aching feet relax, perking back up a bit upon laying eyes on you.

Eyes glossed over as a cheery little smile came to his face, he simply watches as you saunter back and forth, his progeny lulling back to sleep in your arms. Before he even realizes, his sore feet carry him right out to the balcony, making his presence known.

"Oh! Good evening, Papa!" you whisper, not wanting to rouse the little one.

"No need for such formalities, 𝘚𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘢..." he mocks you with a wink.

A faint blush colors your cheeks; always so charismatic, even when he's as tired as he looks. Luckily before you can put more thought into it, baby Giovanni stirs a little, sitting back up and eyes popping open.

"Sh, sh, shhh..." you hum pressing a kiss to his little head.

"D-deh..." he whines reaching out towards Copia.

Letting out a little shocked gasp, you feign, "Who's that? Who is he, huh? Is that Daddy?"

With the sweetest giggle, the little one exclaims for his Da-da, reaching out again.

Copia swoops right over, playfully bending down to smooch his only son, getting a bit of black face paint on the soft fuzz of the little one's head. "Whoopsies, we'll have to wash you up, piccolino," he runs a finger delicately over his little cheek.

As Copia stands up straight again, and his baby stretches right back out for him.

"I think someone wants Daddy, yeah?" you try to urge your boss to take the bundle in your arms.

Instead, he does the unexpected. Wrapping an arm around the small of your back, he pulls you flush to him, cocooning his son between you. You and Copia both have an arm supporting the baby, as he holds you both close to him.

"Someone wants Daddy, sì?" he asks, and you're not sure if that was for you or Gio. Either way, it draws another blush to your cheeks.

Copia looks you over, eyes softening now that his little one is safe between you. In your avoidance of eye contact, you didn't see him lean in, only feeling his lips press softly to your forehead; surely you would have a mark as his child did. The softest gasp escapes you; it isn't lost on you that things had not been well for some time between him and his Prime Mover...

Maybe you were reading too much into it. Perhaps he was just being affectionate. You knew he could be handsy, and he'd had a long day; he was probably just seeking a moment of comfort before bed.

"Let's go put him down for the night, eh?" Copia motions to his baby boy.

You were so lost in thought, you hadn't even noticed he drifted back off. Snapping back into action to take him to bed, Copia stops you, scooping the bundle from your arms, giving you a warm smile as he disappears back inside to the nursery connected to his bedroom. You trail behind the man to make sure he won't need help with anything.

Laying the little one in his basinet, Copia offers him one last goodnight kiss and jokingly promises not to disturb him again. The man turns to see you standing in the doorway, illuminated by the soft glow of the night light in the room.

"I should retire to bed before he wakes again in a few hours," you dutifully remark, eyes cast down and thumbs twirling together.

Gloved fingers brush your hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear, "It's a blessing having you here." Softly he cups your jaw, while his other hand grips your waist, effectively pinning you to the door frame. "May I kiss you, cara mia?"

Wide eyed, you stare up at him as about a million thoughts race through your mind. 𝘞𝘩𝘰 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴 𝘗𝘢𝘱𝘢? 𝘓𝘦𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶... 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳. 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘔𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳? 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬? 𝘐 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯... 𝘴𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘴, 𝘴𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘵𝘺𝘱𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘬. 𝘞𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘻𝘦? 𝘉𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘴, 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘤𝘩 𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘶𝘪𝘭𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘴𝘪𝘯...

Copia inhales and starts to straighten up, "It's quite alright if you don't want to, cara. I do apologize if I made you uncomf-"

Snapping out of your thoughts, your arms snake around his neck and your lips crash into his. Immediately, his hands cradle the back of your head and your waist, keeping you flush against him. The way his mouth moves against yours is sinful to say the least; he's quick to use his tongue, tracing it across your bottom lip before giving it a quick nip with his teeth. It was masterful really.

Within seconds, your mouth was giving him access, his tongue desperately wanting to meet yours, which drew a small whimper from you. While he moved excitedly within your mouth, you were more hesitant. Stupid as it may sound, you weren't sure you wanted to tempt him more; you had already totally crossed the line and disrespected your Prime Mover.

You know Copia isn't the kind to cheat, but he's been so miserable lately, always arguing with her, only for her not to remember a thing because she's so intoxicated. She was always out at parties and hardly ever home, and when she was in his suites, she was practically out of her mind. He's been trying so hard to get her the help she needs, but she won't take it. She likes the money, the power, the drink and drugs her position can afford her more than the life she's made here in the Abbey. It's sad really, especially with the baby involved.

The heat of the kiss had simmered down a lot and Papa slowly pulls away from you, searching your eyes for what went wrong. "I'm sorry, Papa, I shouldn't have- It was completely inappropriate of me to-" You try to pull away from him, but you only manage to slide your hands down to his chest before his grip on you returns, holding you close.

He swiftly pulls you outside the child's nursery and lightly clicks the door shut, so as not to disturb him.

"Papa, I'm- I'm so sorry..." It barely comes as a whisper.

"For what, tesoro? Giving me the kiss that I offered to you first? Now that's the real slight against me," he quips playfully, giving you a warm smile.

You hated to admit it, but it felt so nice being held so close to him. He always smelled of expensive cologne, it was heady getting to take in the scent at such proximity. All that consumed your mind in that moment was laying your head on his chest, so you did. Forehead in the crook of his neck, your eyes flutter closed and take in the soft moment.

Rubbing gentle circles into your back, his voice rumbles against your ears, "You're probably sleepy, piccolina. Let's get you to bed." Without another word, he leads you right down the hall to the guest room that was all yours. You never really returned to the Sisters of Sin quarters since you were the full time caregiver to the Emeritus heir.

It could get lonely at times, so you were grateful for the days when other Siblings would be assigned to work with you, whether to give you a break or to take Giovanni on an outing like a picnic or to the beach. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘰 𝘧𝘶𝘯, 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘗𝘢𝘱𝘢 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘶𝘪𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳... Sleepily, you yawn as you arrive at your door.

Copia opens the door for you, stopping at the threshold. A gentleman even in his own home. "Goodnight, cara mia."

"Goodnight, Papa," you mumble, hands returning to his chest.

He couldn't help himself; he leans in pressing another kiss to your lips, fingers tangling in your hair for a brief moment before pulling away again. You may have whined at the loss; you aren't sure in your sleepy state. Looking up at him, the man bites his bottom lip, and only then do you realize how smudged his face paint is, especially around his mouth. Copia simply nods at you one final time before closing you in your room, and you let out a groan, knowing you should wash all the black and gray off of your face before bed.

• • •

The next morning you emerge from your room a little earlier than normal and in a bit of a tizzy, because Giovanni is already crying and that's not like him. Turns out he just needs a diaper change, but of course he's hungry afterwards. 𝘐 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘺 𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘴 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩, 𝘩𝘦'𝘭𝘭 𝘥𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘋𝘢𝘥𝘥𝘺.

Baby in tow, you head to the kitchen to warm up his bottle. You pass Copia in the living space, adorned with a little couch and TV, as he's having his morning coffee and reading the newspaper; he really could be a stereotypical old man sometimes. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘨𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴.

"Up so early, you two?" He sets his mug down, promptly following you to the kitchen.

"Yes, he was extra whiny this morning, so I couldn't put him off any longer," you explain.

It was pretty rare to see Copia before he left in the morning. He was always up so early and home so late. This morning he was already dressed and face painted; you were sure he was getting ready to walk out the door any minute.

As you reach for the kettle to warm some water for the baby's bottle, you feel a large hand on the small of your back, and suddenly you're acutely aware of the fact that you are only in your silky nightgown. You hadn't had time to put on your habit this morning.

"Let me help, Stellina, I don't get to do enough for the little guy," Copia chuckles at the little one, pinching his cheek before moving to warm up the water.

You turn your attention back to keeping the little one calm, as he could get quite cranky when he's hungry. The antipope stops to admire the sight before him as the kettle heats up: your undivided attention on his child, the curve of your hip holding him, the bare skin of your collarbones and shoulders. It has his mind drifting to all the places he'd like to mark on you; you were just so motherly, even though you had none of your own... He'd like to be the one to give you one, or many.

Just as the pot starts to spit and sputter, before it can reach boiling, Copia quickly pours it into a large bowl, submerging one of the many bottles you kept ready in it to warm the formula up.

You lightly press a kiss to baby Gio's head as he laughs at his father for some unknown reason.

"What's so funny, huh?" he turns and gets right in the baby's face, eyes wide and smile big.

"Who's that?" you coo.

"Da... D-" he babbles; he was still learning his first words.

"Close enough, eh?" Copia giggles before gasping and covering his face with his hands.

"Oh no, where's Daddy?!" you feign looking for him.

A burst of laughter comes from the little one when Copia reveals his face again. Peekaboo always did the trick.

By now the bottle would be warm enough, so the man slides an arm under his child, taking him from you. Quickly tossing him up in the air, the baby squeals happily, as he settles into his father's arms. As Copia reaches for a towel and the bottle, the infant points at you, "Mama!" It was the clearest word he'd ever said.

"Oh no, sweetie, I'm not-" you start, but Copia finishes it.

"Sì? She is kinda like your Mama, yeah?" He bounces the baby and gives him the bottle.

"Copia... I'm not his mother. She'll be pissed."

"She's never here. You're all he knows. Satanas, 𝘐'𝘮 not even here as much as I'd like to be. You'll be the only reason he turns out right," he ponders out loud, face looking forlorn at the thought.

"Well... Maybe we should plan something? Give him a Daddy son day, yeah?" you suggest.

"I shouldn't only be around for the fun times. You deserve more help, and he deserves for at least one of his parents to be here for him," Copia asserts, leaving no room for argument. "I'll go in late today. I want to help you get him ready this morning. And tomorrow, I'll come home early."

You weren't sure how Sister Imperator was going to like that, but it seems he's made up his mind, and you certainly weren't going to complain about seeing him more.

• • •

Copia kept to his word and stayed through the baby's entire morning routine, burping him, getting him washed up and dressed for the day. And of course he didn't leave you without a kiss.

The next day, he arrived to his papal suite early, just as he said, and helped you fix dinner. Normally it was just you and the baby, so you ate whatever was around; you weren't above eating sliced up hot dogs and applesauce. But since Papa was home and wasn't used to eating that way, he helped you cook, making pasta, alfredo sauce, and some broccoli and zucchini for a side.

You spoon fed Gio a jar of baby food while Copia worked his magic at the stovetop. Sleeves rolled up and apron donned, he checks every pot and pan diligently, tasting and adding ingredients where necessary. He really was built for this; it's a shame he isn't able to be home more.

Once he was done, your Papa insisted on you taking it easy for the evening. From pulling out your chair at the dinner table to fixing your plate, you weren't doing a thing. It felt unreal, like you shouldn't even be there if you weren't doing your job, but it also felt nice to have him doting over you, even if it was wrong. Copia even chopped some noodles really small for his son to try; Gio was going to be a mess later, but he needed a bath anyway.

Which after the delicious meal, Copia handled that too. He was perhaps a little inexperienced and ended up covered in water himself, but he was so happy to kneel next to you on the bathroom tile and take care of his little one. And seeing Copia holding a bundle of towels afterwards was probably the cutest thing ever.

"Go wash up yourself, Stellina. I'll put il bambino down, I picked out his pajamas and everything. Meet me back in the main room for a movie, hm?" The man softly grabs your hand, kinda like he was asking you on a date.

"Oh, o-okay," you bite your lip.

"You do not have to if it would not make you happy, tesoro." You were both treading new waters.

"No, no. I'll be there." You offer him a smile.

He returns it, happy you accepted his offer. "Bene. See you then," he gives you a wink before heading off to the nursery.

• • •

After your respective showers, Copia relaxed on the sofa in nothing more than a pair of silk pajama pants that left little to the imagination. You try to avoid eye contact with a certain... outline, as you enter the room, donning a few more layers than him. He didn't wear a stitch of paint and his hair was still damp.

He admires your look of cozy pajama shorts, a tank top, and a short robe loosely tied over top. Moving to lie on his side, Copia pats the spot in front of him, meaning you need to squeeze in right next to him on the little seat. It seemed especially small now at the thought of having to share it with him.

And it's not that you don't want to. You just knew what it could lead to, and that makes you hesitant. The thought of cuddling up next to your boss, your Papa, and his Prime Mover could walk in the door at any moment, although it was unlikely.

"Is okay, tesoro, I'm nervous too," the man admits to you, "but I desire to be closer with you." Apparently, he means physically closer as he slides an arm around your waist as you sit next to his lounging form. He quickly catches your hand, kissing your knuckles. "C'mon, cara, get comfortable," he urges you, "Lie down with me if you'd like."

You oblige him, laying on your back with him still on his side beside you, faces mere inches from one another. "Hey," you greet him, a nod to the nearness.

"Hi," he replies, looking over the features of your face that he adores so much.

You'd never really gotten to look into his eyes like this before and take in the lack of pigment in that white iris; it's fascinating the way it nearly glows, and so well balanced by the warm golden hues present in his green eye.

"You're a good dad, Copia." You're not sure what prompted it, but after all the work he'd put in this evening, he deserved to hear that. And you could tell the work wouldn't end there; he wanted to be more present in his child's life.

"Grazie, Stellina," he gingerly lays his arm across your waist, "I couldn't do it without you."

Between his praises and his fingers tracing shapes along your side, your cheeks betray you and blush a deep shade. Scanning your face for any indication he should stop, he slowly presses a few small pecks to your jawline, and he catches you in a passionate kiss before asking what movie you'd like to watch.

After settling in on a classic you'd both seen before, you turn to your side, so Copia is spooning his body against yours, propped up just so that you can both see the large screen. With his warmth settled all around you, worry crossed your mind that you may not make it through the entire movie...

He was just so soft and warm... inviting... His breath at the nape of your neck soothing your heavy eyelids-

𝘐𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵- 𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘦... 𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘸?

Keeping your eyes glued to the screen, you subtly arch your back, pretending to stretch, feeling out the... 𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 behind you. When you receive a stifled groan from your Papa, feeling his erection pressed tight against your backside, your inquiry is answered.

His arm draped around your waist tightens its grip, keeping you oh so close to him; you feel him let out a hot shaky breath before pressing a kiss to your neck. The feeling immediately sends a spark running through you as his mouth warms up your sensitive skin.

Your fingers lace with his as your ass wriggles against him again, earning a wanton moan from your Papa.

"Dolcezza... Look what you do to me," he whispers next to your ear.

"Papa," you breathe out, turning to catch his lips in a fierce kiss, the movie long since forgotten about. Quickly into the kiss, you're shifting onto your back, fingers tangling in his hair, to give him better access to your body.

His fingers delicately trace your jaw and neck, a sharp juxtaposition to the way his lips attack yours, needy and starved for attention. His lips deserved to be kissed like this every day; you couldn't understand why his Prime Mover would throw away the opportunity. Speaking of...

"Copia," you pull away from him suddenly, chests heaving as you both seek to fill your lungs again.

"Sì, bella mia? What is on that pretty little mind?"

Between the way his words make your heart swell and the shaft trapped against your hip, what you need to tell him fumbles on your lips. "We, uh... Copia, we- we shouldn't."

"Mm..." he grunts, "we shouldn't." He leans up to kiss your forehead, "But I want to. I want you. What do you want, cara mia?" He caresses your cheek again.

"I-" you look up for a minute, taking a deep breath, "I want you, too," you whisper, looking right into his eyes, like you were afraid to admit that you wanted your boss. But you do. He's damn near perfect! He's your Papa. He's the one you swore your vows to when you became a Sister of Sin. He's so devoted to his work, to the church, to his followers. He's a good dad. Damn it, you can't understand how she doesn't want him.

If his Prime Mover wasn't going to take care of him, then you would.

Your lips crash back into his, fingertips raking along his scalp harshly, causing him to rut his hips against you, desperate for your touch. As you moan against each other's mouths, his hand explores your body, sliding down your side, your hip, your thigh. Fingers trail up inside your shorts, teasing at the fabric of your panties.

You nearly whine in anticipation, only just now realizing how much you wanted his fingers inside you. Taking your little noise as a good sign, Copia slides his hand between your legs, urging your thighs apart and fabric out of the way as he runs two fingers through your slick folds.

Just to accentuate his actions, he draws your bottom lip between his, nibbling at your swollen flesh, which leaves you room to let out a breathy moan. "Cara..." he pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes blown wide with lust for you, "so wet for me..." He bites his lip, pushing those two fingers deep inside you. Gasping loudly at the feeling, your hands roam his bare skin across his neck, collarbone, chest. He ruts into you at the same pace that he pushes his fingers in and out, eyebrows furrowed, clearly fighting the urge to rush right into things.

"... feels so good, Papa. So good," you praise him, fingernails scratching at him.

"Sorella... I could say the same to you," he pants, brows softening as he presses a kiss to your cheek. How he managed to be so soft yet build such a fire between your legs made no sense to you, but you revel in the dizzying feeling of it all. You feel your walls petal around his digits thats he works in and out of you, thumb frequenting your clit, making you arch for him. "So tight, so warm, Sorella. I can't wait to feel you fully, amore."

"Copia," you drag his name out, "Copia, I need you." His duochromatic eyes search yours, and when your hand snakes down to grip his hot girth, he doesn't have to be told twice.

He curls his fingers sharply one good time, making you mewl out his name again, and pulls them out of you. Quickly, fingers rush to shove your too many layers off to the floor; first the robe, then the shorts, before he pulls you up off the couch, walking you backwards towards his room, lips never leaving yours.

Upon the back of your knees hitting the foot of the bed, the antipope shoves you back on the lofty mattress. Immediately he's on top of you, moving you back onto the pillows. After throwing your tank top across the room, his mouth latches onto your collarbone, sucking a sizable love mark there, fingers tangling into your hair. His other hand found your nipple, rolling it between his fingers as his eyes flicked up to yours to make sure he wasn't going too far.

Your fingers grant him permission with a gentle scratch on the head, and his mouth moves to suck on the soft flesh of your bosom. Toying with the waistband of your panties, he tugs them down, sitting back on his haunches as he flings them off. He leaves you on the bed to free himself from those devilish silk pants, erection springing free, heavy with lust, as he reaches into the bedside drawer to pull out a condom.

𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴? 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘵𝘩𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘵'𝘷𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘪𝘯 𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘶𝘵. 𝘔𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘢 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘎𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮; 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘶𝘮𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘴 𝘴𝘰 𝘧𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦...

"Are you ready, cara mia?" he prompts, almost like a nervous teenager doing it for the first time.

Scanning over his body, completely bare to you from his messy hair to his flushed chest, bushy happy trail, and leaky shaft, you nod your head, looking up at him through your eyelashes. "Please, Copia."

Without another word, he ripped the little package and rolled the protection onto himself before climbing back on top of you. It felt good to have him there, like he belonged this close to you.

Wrapping your legs around his waist, he lined himself up with you. He worked gently, as if he might break you if he did what he really wanted to do. Really, it was romantic the way he rocked his hips ever so slowly, cradling your head in his hand, his eyes fluttered closed as he exhaled what felt like all the air in his lungs, nose nuzzling against the side of your neck.

You whine for more as he languidly fills you, his girth pressing on all your walls; you were grateful to have been partially stretched by his fingers earlier. Looking down at him, you bite your lip before pressing a light kiss to his forehead. He meets your eyes, pressing a kiss to your jawline in response.

Finally, it feels like he's bottomed out in you, and his knees dig into the bed as he gives one final push, that last little bit feeling so much more sensational than all the rest as he makes contact with that sweet spot his fingers teased earlier. Letting out an airy whimper, your eyes screw shut as he stays put, taunting the spot without moving.

"P-p-mmm... papaplease-" you whine for him to end his torture.

His cock twitches inside you, and a wicked grin forms on his lips, knowing what he's doing to you. He hasn't even moved yet and you've probably already forgotten your name. It may have been a while since he'd gotten any action, but he was happy to see he hadn't lost his touch.

After what feels like an eternity, he pulls out a bit, relieving the pressure on that spot deep inside you. You let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding, and he slides right back in, his tip kissing your sweet spot. Gasping as your thighs tighten their grip around him, he grins again, this time settling just above you to kiss your nose as you take on his assault.

Moving slowly at first, he relaxes into the pleasure of you: the way your delicate fingers curl into his hair, the way your jaw hangs open in pleasure, your eyes looking up into his longing for one another... How long you'd pined for one another without even realizing it; he'd wanted you from the moment he'd met you, seeing the way you cared for his progeny better than anyone else could.

With each thrust he wants you to know how much he cares for you, wants for you, needs you. Tears of lust and longing stain his lashes as he loses himself in the feeling of you surrounding him. As if to add to what he was already feeling, you pull him into a sweet but spicy makeout. His hips pick up pace, needing more.

"Dolcezza... I don't think I'll last..." he lets you know.

"Me either, Papa. Touch me, please."

Obliging you, his hand snakes between your bodies, the rough pad of his middle finger sending a jolt through you as he finds your clit. Between that and the treatment of your g-spot, you're cumming in seconds, growing impossibly tighter around his length each time your muscles convulse.

His lips find yours again, hating to muffle the sounds coming out of you, but desperately needing to kiss you. "Stellina... Ti amo, Stellina. Così tanto... Ho bisogno di te nella mia vita," he cries out for you as he spills into the condom and goes limp on top of you.

You cradle his head against your chest, and for a moment, he wasn't unlike his little one sleeping in the next room, needing your affection. You kiss the top of his head, nuzzling into his messy hair, and he returns the sentiment by nibbling on your earlobe, earning a giggle from you.

With a quick peck on the cheek, he rolls off of you, heading to the bathroom to grab a warm washcloth to clean you up. His aftercare is nearly as good as the lovemaking, as his lips trail behind the terry cloth, leaving a kiss wherever he wipes and soothes your skin.

"Did you mean what you said earlier?" you blurt out.

"What is that, cara mia?" Copia tosses the rag aside and wraps an arm around your waist, cuddling into you.

"That... That you love me," you bite your lip, "and I think you said something about your life? I don't know Italian as well as you obviously..." you trail off.

"Mi dispiace, tesoro, I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable," he caresses your cheek, searching your eyes.

"No, no, you didn't," you tell him, also stroking his cheek.

"I just lose control of myself when I, uhhh, when mia signora makes me feel good," he smiles and taps his fingers on your collarbone, "I hope you know, cara, that I-"

"I love you, too." You stare at him like you'd just been caught with your hand in the cookie jar.

"Oh, Stellina... I didn't know you would feel the same," he admits.

"Of course, I do, Papa. You're... perfect. Who wouldn't love you?"

"Well, I can think of one person," he gives a disgusted half smirk before chewing on his cheek. It wasn't lost on you all the times Copia's Prime Mover had walked out on him, but not before screaming and arguing at the top of her lungs about how much she hated him.

"Hey, hey, don't let her ruin your night. She's ruined too many of them already." You pull him closer, seeing him fight off the anger.

He looks up at you, face softening, "You're right. I'm letting her get to me, when I should be confessing my love to you," he chuckles softly, fingers walking up your arm.

"Yes, you should, Papa. Confess away," you sigh and lean in for another kiss.

"Ahhh, ti amo, principessa mia," he starts dramatically, "sei la mia vita, the very breath I breathe..." You both share a laugh at his little act. "Really, cara mia, I've loved you a long time. And it's supposed to feel wrong, but instead it just feels like... Like what it should've always been. Like you should be the one I'm with. Like you should be il mio bambino's mother."

"Copia," you whisper, tears welling up. You know he shouldn't say things like that, but admittedly it felt nice to hear it. Actually, it made your heart soar.

He pulls you in for another fierce kiss, one that's let's you know exactly how much he means it.

• • •

"Mmm, cara mia... I think I'm calling out of work today," your lover chuckles, squinting in the bright morning sun.

"What's that, old man? Four rounds and the baby crying got you worn out?" you jab at him.

"Did we go four rounds?" He looks impressed with himself.

"Did you lose count?" You both laugh, him groaning at his tired headache. As you wiggle out of bed to go get the little one ready for the day, Copia grabs your wrist.

"Let him sleep. We should too," he begs.

"Are you really calling out today? I'm sure Sister Imperator won't be happy."

"That woman is never happy. Now get your ass back in bed," he pulls you back under the covers, holding you flush against him. "Your 𝘴𝘦𝘹𝘺 ass." He grabs your backside to accentuate his point, leaning in to kiss your neck.

"I thought you wanted to go back to sleep..." You bite your lip with a cheeky grin.

"Maybe we go for round five first, sì?"

• • •

"Sh, sh, shhhh... It's okay, baby boy, it's okay," you whisper into Giovanni's ear, kissing his head repeatedly to calm his tantrum.

Copia's Prime Mover had come home, which means everything is a mess. You'd had a peaceful few days navigating your newly admitted feelings for your boss, and he was settling in to a new routine of being home more for the baby. Of course it was an added bonus that he got to spend his nights with you. But now everything felt like it had been turned on its head.

"Oh, so you think you're the best Daddy in the world since spending more time at home, huh?! Look at you all high and mighty! Making me out to be horrible!" She screams at him, loud enough that you can hear every word from your spot of the balcony. The sound had been driving the baby crazy, so you brought him out here to try to drown it out. It wasn't working as he cried and cried against you.

"Someone has to be here for him! My being here for him says nothing about you. Your own absence says it all," Copia cuts back at her, but it was the truth.

"So... you do think I'm a horrible mother?" She shrinks, wrapping her arms around herself. You try not to look, but you can't help but be concerned for your Papa.

"Of course not, tesoro..." There it is. The little shred of hope he still has for the mother of his child. He steps towards her, gently rubbing his hands over her arms. "You need help. It's not your fault, but you need help. All that stuff you pump into your body isn't good for you. Please let me help."

Finally, the little boy in your arms starts to settle down. You just hoped they wouldn't start shouting again.

She really was a beautiful woman, Copia's Prime Mover. Tall, looks that kill, charming; she really had been a great match for your Papa. Of course that was before the pressure of her position got to her. You suppose you'd be upset too if you got forced into a marriage; you'd probably go off the deep end as well. Copia had his whole life to prepare for that fate; she had a few months, and so she makes herself numb, she runs as far as she can, she resents all of it, especially him.

• • •

You wake early the next morning to a light knock at your guest room door. The sun wasn't even up, so you immediately got worried something was wrong with Gio.

Flinging the door open, you're met with the sight of a broken man. "Papa? What's wrong?"

"She's gone... She left again." He wasn't even blinking, but tears streamed from his mismatched orbs.

"Oh, Copia," you pull him into a hug, supporting him as best you can.

"She said I could get her help. She was going to get help, but she ran away again." He rests his chin on your shoulder, staring off at nothing as you lead him to sit on the edge of your bed.

"Copia... You do everything right. You try so hard for her. And for him," you nod to the nursery, "You can only help her as much as she'll let you. If she doesn't want to change, then she won't. It's not your fault; I hope you know that it isn't your fault."

He takes your hands and nods at you. He didn't have much else to say. He'd dealt with this so many times, he was almost numb to it. Almost.

You look at the clock, seeing that it was only 4am. "Let's get some more sleep, Papa. You need to rest." You stand up to lead him back to his room, but he just sits, looking up at you like a lost dog.

"Can I stay with you, cara mia?"

The simplicity of the question cut you deep; he yearned to not be alone. He didn't want to wake up to a cold empty bed once again.

"Of course, you can."

You climb back into bed, Copia happy to spoon your body. Sitting in comfortable silence, he drifts back off, getting the deepest sleep he'd had in the days since his Prime Mover had come home.

• • •

"Knock knock!" you chirp, entering Papa's office with baby, diaper bag, and picnic basket in tow.

He looks up from something he'd been reading over, a smile spreading across his face at the sight of you, "Ahhh, to what to I owe the pleasure? It's a long trek across the Abbey just to come see me." He stands up from his desk, taking the diaper bag and picnic basket from you and setting them down.

"Da-da!!!" the little one exclaims; he was getting much better at his words.

"Oooh, piccolino, come here," he replies, scooping him up too.

"He wanted to see you," you start, "and I did too... I know you haven't been able to be home as much as you want because of work, so I thought maybe we would bring lunch to you."

Paperwork had stacked up since he was taking more time to be home; he was taking this week to just try to push through as much as he could. But he's also making a plan to hire several assistants and delegate as many of these menial tasks as he can.

"Dolcezza... That is so thoughtful of you," he cups your cheek, giving you a quick peck on the forehead. "I think I could sneak away for a little while." He gives you a wink, bouncing the baby on his hip.

"It's okay if you can't! We can eat in here too. I don't want to get you in trouble with Sister..."

"Silly girl, when are you going to learn I don't care what she thinks?" He smirks at you, returning to his office chair to sign a few more papers before heading out. Somehow him holding the baby while working made him even cuter. "Besides, technically she answers to me."

Out in the gardens, Papa plays with the child, keeping him occupied while you set up lunch. Watching the little one doddle across the grass, Papa towering over him but offering his fingers as support, warmed your heart; Copia had been trying to get him to take his first steps on his own, and he was hellbent on not missing it.

"Okay, boys, time to eat!" you call over to them.

Copia immediately scoops the child up, tossing him high in the air, watching him giggle the whole way. He does it a few more times as he makes his way over to you and the picnic blanket. "Sorella, this all looks so good. Grazie. I wish I could've been some help to you," he offers his gratitude as he sits next to you, baby in his lap.

"It's okay, Papa. We know how hard you've been working, and without you, this whole Abbey wouldn't run, so really I should thank you for making it so wonderful here."

He nods his head at you, silenced by your sweet words. "Still, grazie, cara mia."

Lunch goes by peacefully, enjoying the warm sun and the image playing out before you: Copia trying to get Giovanni to eat some cut up strawberries and the little one sputtering red mush everywhere, making a mess of himself and his father.

"You'll have to change your clothes after lunch," you giggle, taking a bite of your sandwich.

"Mm, what a shame... Won't he be taking a nap then?" Your Papa gives you a smug look.

You blush at his implication and look around to make sure no one could hear. "Papa..."

"Oh, don't be so coy, Sorella. You certainly weren't shy when you went down-"

"Papa!! Hush!" you whisper yell at him, hiding your face in your hands.

He waits for you to peek through your fingers at him, and you both burst out in laughter.

• • •

What was supposed to be a quick stop back in his suite of course turned into a heated make out session on the kitchen counter.

"Cazzo, Stellina, I would take you on the fucking dinner table right now if I could," he grunts, biting at your bottom lip.

"Hmm, guess you'll just have to daydream about it in your office, huh?" You tease him.

"I'll have you there, too, if I have anything to do with it." His hands pull harshly at your hair, smashing his face against yours again. Your tongues dance with one another as your fists crumple the fresh shirt he'd put on.

When you can no longer wait for air, you push yourself off of him, breathing heavy. "You're gonna have to fix your paint, you know that?" you chuckle.

"I can see that," he wipes some gray from your lip to show you.

You both fall into giggles again, staring into each other's eyes as you reluctantly release one another to return back to your duties.

• • •

"Mm, we've probably got a few minutes before little Gio wakes up, right?" Copia grumbles into your cleavage.

You swear this man will be the death of you. He finally gets a day off, to sleep in if he wants, and the first things on his mind this morning is pounding you into the mattress... Again. Like he didn't do that all last night.

"All you ever think about is sex," you chuckle, kissing the top of his head.

"When it's as good as you are, amore mio, sì. I think about it morning, noon, and night," he starts pressing kisses across your chest, grinding his growing hardness against your thigh.

"Copia-" you start, hearing a couple thuds down the hallway, "What is that? Do you hear that?"

Seconds later, a loud shriek comes from the baby's room. In an instant you're both jumping up to throw on some clothes.

Copia slips on some pants before bolting out of his room with you hot on his trail, tying on his robe. In the hallway, you're both confronted with Copia's Prime Mover with Giovanni on her hip and diaper bag slung over her shoulder.

"What are you doing?!" The man steps right in front of her to stop her from shoving further down the hallway.

"I'm taking him and we're going!! You've got some new life now, so we're gonna move on too!" She is clearly out of her mind, her eyes bloodshot like she hasn't slept in days and bruises all up her forearms.

"What are you talking about??" Copia attempts to grab the child from her, but she snatches him away, which only eggs on his crying.

"Oh, please! You think I don't know you're fucking the nanny?! I saw the condoms in the trash last time I was here, and now she's in your robe!"

Tears of anger build up in his eyes as he turns to look at you; he felt totally helpless.

It gives his Prime Mover just enough time to push past him and into the living area. "You just want to put me away so you can move on to your new life with your newer, younger little whore!"

"Do not talk about her! She cares for your child more than you do!! While you're out on the streets strung out, she's here, doing the job you took vows to do!" he shouts to defend you.

"That was before I knew you ran a cult! All of this is just some facade to make you famous! You're a selfish bastard, leading the blind just so you won't be lonely like when you were a kid," her words cut deep.

Copia clenches both fists, a fire you'd never seen in his eyes before, as he very evenly doles out, "Give me back my child and get the fuck out."

As if on cue, the little one reaches out for you, face red as tears stream down his face, "Mama! Mamaaa!!"

You step closer to her, wanting to reach out for the squirming little bundle in her arm.

"So you think you're his mama now?" she cuts her eyes at you.

"No, I- I tried to teach him... I would never," you stammer, not knowing what to do, "Please. Please just give him to me."

"What? Let you have my husband and my baby? I think not, bitch." She moves towards the door, but you move with her, body acting on pure adrenaline now. The child reaches out, little hands latching onto your robe, and you wrap your arms around him to slip him away from her, but her fingers lock tightly around his thigh, making him shriek once again.

"Please. Please don't hurt him!! Don't hurt him!" You raise your voice at her, holding the baby tight to your chest.

The next thing you know, Copia is letting Aether and a couple other ghouls in the room, and they swiftly pounce on her, pulling her away from you and the baby you care so much about. You look down to see that his little leg was already bruising from where she'd grabbed and twisted at his skin.

You held him tightly, bouncing him around and humming something to drown it all out as Copia and the ghouls dragged her out into the hallway. The antipope was absolutely seething, and you didn't care to know what he was screaming at her.

Looking out to the sunny balcony, you feel the urge to walk out there. Honestly it was probably to soothe you as much as it was for the screaming one in your arms. Before you can move a muscle, your lover bursts back into the room, making a beeline for you. Without a word, he wraps his arms around you and Gio, resting his chin on top of your head. Fighting back tears, he holds you like that for a while.

Finally comes a soft, "I am so sorry, cara."

Pulling away just enough to look up at him, you reassure him, "It's not your fault. Are you okay?"

"I will be. Please tell me she didn't hurt you," he brushes his fingers through your hair.

"No, she didn't, but we may need to have this looked at," you motion to his son's bruised leg.

A series of emotions flash across Copia's face upon seeing the injury. Part of him blames himself for ever letting that woman get close to either of you. But he also knew that without her, he wouldn't have either of you in his life.

"Well, she's not coming back. I won't let her hurt anyone here ever again. She needs help but I can't keep letting her come back, not when I have a son who needs safety and stability."

• • •

Months went by, and it felt like a whole new chapter for all of you. Copia officially separated from his Prime Mover, announcing it at Black Mass; he always felt transparency was important in his congregation. You had moved into his room permanently, and Copia had even hired another nanny to give you a break from time to time. He didn't want you feeling like caring for his son was the only thing you were good for. He also hired assistants for his office, Siblings of Sin who were honored to take some weight off their Papa's shoulders.

Now that the two of you had less worries, you almost didn't know how to fill your time. Almost...

"Your sidekick has Giovanni out in the gardens... What do you say we have our own playtime, eh?" Copia chuckles next to your ear as you recline back against his chest on the sofa.

"Do not call her my sidekick," you laugh at your lover, "She does just as much work as me, she deserves more credit than that."

"I don't know, dolcezza... She doesn't spend the night like you do."

"Oh, and look how much trouble that got us in," you smirk, turning to catch him in a kiss. "You're not going to start sleeping with the new nanny again, are you?"

"No, no, no, no, amore mio," he whispers right in your ear, "Il mio cazzo belongs to you alone."

You huff out a laugh, "That's all? Just your 𝘤𝘢𝘻𝘻𝘰?"

"Well, perhaps il mio cuore, too..."

"Perhaps, huh?" you tease him, turning to get on your knees in between his legs. Leaning forward, you give him a single chaste kiss. "Don't I deserve a little more than 'perhaps'?" You sit back on your heels, unbuttoning your shirt slowly.

"Dolcezza..." Copia pants, already excited just from seeing your lacy bra.

"Ah, ah, ahhh. Don't 'dolcezza' me," you wink at him.

"Please-" he whines in a way that was a little unbecoming of a Papa.

Your shirt drifts slowly to the floor, and Copia reaches out to touch you, but you swat his hands away. "I don't know, Papa. Maybe I don't mean enough to you. Maybe I should just go take care of the throbbing between my legs all by myself, huh? Make you sit out here and listen while I cry out, making a mess of myself..."

He feels his cock twitch at the thought of you touching yourself in his bed.

"Stellina, please, you know I love you so..." His eyes roam your body hungrily.

"How do I know you mean it, Papa? That you aren't just saying that? For all I know, you tell the other nanny that all the time..." You grin at him, leaning forward and propping yourself up on your knees. With your elbows propped on his shoulders, he has a nice view of your cleavage spilling out of your bra just the way he likes.

"No one else is worthy of those words, no one else is worthy of these feelings I have for you." His arm snakes around you, hand resting on the small of your back. "Let me show you, cara mia. Let me prove how much I love you. Only you."

You bite your lip. It felt good to make a powerful man like him crumble, to have him rock hard without even touching him. Your little teasing game is fun, but you know his words are serious.

"Take me, Papa. Make me all yours. Prove I'm the only one for you."

With that, he wraps his arms around your thighs, carrying you right to his bedroom and kicking the door closed loudly. Your back hits the bed and your torso is met by his hot mouth tracing all your curves. Impatiently, he pulls at your tight pencil skirt, needing to feel more of your skin.

Reaching down, you undo the zipper on your hip, "There." Another wink.

The skirt finds its place in the corner of the room as Copia kisses at the top of your panties. "Mia dea... ti amo con tutto quello che ho. Sei la mia dea."

A blush tints your cheeks, you'd learned a bit more Italian in the last few months.

"Worship me, then."

He looks up to meet your commanding eyes, freezing for a brief moment before working his own shirt to the floor and positioning himself between your sinful thighs. Kissing at the supple skin there, he hooks one of your legs over his shoulder. Hungrily, his fingers grab at your skin until they hook into the lace at your hip. A tearing sound rings out and you feel his breath on your core.

"Hey! I liked those!" you whine.

"I'll buy you another pair, principessa," he looks up at you through his eyelashes while placing a sloppy kiss right to your clit. You can't help but buck up into his mouth at the sensation.

He grips your hips firmly to hold you in place. You had taunted the beast and now you would reap what you sowed. His mouth latches onto you, sucking on your already swollen clit. The feeling is so intense, you instinctively try to push him off you, but he is having none of it.

"Oh!! Papa!" you cry out, one hand tangling in his hair and the other gripping his satin sheets.

He offers you some reprieve by backing off of your bundle of nerves and instead opting to flatten his tongue against you, licking a stripe. His tongue then traces your folds before teasing your entrance, threatening to push inside. And he does just that. Eyes rolling back in his head as he stretches you with his tongue.

It has you mewling his name and arching as much as his grip will let you. When his nose makes contact with your clit, your hand in his hair tightens as you practically fuck yourself on his face.

His lips move back up to suck on your clit again, and you whimper at the loss of his tongue, but it is quickly replaced by two fingers curling deep inside you, as deep as he can reach. 𝘎𝘰𝘥𝘥𝘢𝘮𝘯𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘦. Devious eyes watch your face as he curls his digits, scratching that spot that he finds so well.

"Papa- damnit! Satanas, Papa, I'm gonna cum," you warn him, but he's ready for it, only sucking harder at your words. You let out a needy moan as your body shudders around his fingers, juices coating his hand and chin. He doesn't stop until you're done riding out the wave of your orgasm.

Unexpectedly, he snatches you up in a kiss, forcing you to taste yourself on him. "Do you taste that, amore? You on my mouth. There will never be another, you are the only one, I could never want for anyone else." He has your head reeling; he's never been so possessive, and it's hot.

Pulling him down, you both fall back on the plush bed together. His fingers lace with yours and his erection presses against your thigh, still trapped in those unholy tight jeans. Wanting to offer him some relief, you tease your fingers over the large bulge, cupping at it and earning a groan from the man. Clearly, he was in need of some attention, so you pop open the button and slide the zipper down, taking his girth in your hand.

"Cazzo, baby, I need you," his eyebrows knit together as he begs for you.

"Then, take me, Papa," you wink at him, "No need to keep me waiting!"

He chuckles and gives you one more kiss before kicking off his jeans. "This needs to go," he snakes a hand behind your back to unhook your bra, banishing it to the corner with your skirt. His mouth gently teases your nipples as he stretches for the bedside drawer, fumbling for a condom.

Suddenly, he sits up, looking a little frantically at the empty box in the drawer. "Fuck!" He groans, head falling in his hands, "I forgot to send Aether for more..."

"Oooh so that's who does your dirty work, huh?" You tease, sitting up next to him, and giving him a kiss on the cheek. "It's okay, ya know... Maybe we don't need one."

He gives you a confused look.

"Maybe... maybe it's about time for little Gio to be a big brother, hm?"

His eyes widen, eyebrows raised drastically. He dips his head slightly, reading your face for any sign that this was a joke. "A-are you... Are you s-sure, amore?"

You love those funny little moments when the stuttering Cardinal jumps back out of him again. "Yes," you chew on your bottom lip, cupping his cheek, "I'm sure. Let's have a baby."

For a brief moment, it looked like his brain was short-circuiting. "O-okay," he nods his head, eyebrows softening and a big smile spreading across his face. "You're really sure, Stellina?" He takes his face in your hands, looking all sappy, "You want to have miei bambini?"

"Sì," you nod at his little switch to Italian, kissing him on the nose, "Now are we gonna get all lovey dovey about it, or are you gonna get me pregnant?" Your fingers tease at his erection, still standing proudly.

"Mmm, maybe a little of both, sì?" His lips catch yours again, and the weight of his body pushes your back down onto the bed. You spread your legs for him to get between them, but he simply shakes his head, flipping you over instead. When you look over your shoulder at him, feigning a snooty look, he chuckles deeply before growling in your ear, "You intend to be bred, do you not, Sorella?"

His words make your stomach do flips, and you clench your thighs together at the thought.

Now with you flat on your stomach, Copia's strong hands works the muscles in your back, slowly massaging up from the small of your back to your shoulder blades. "I need you nice and relaxed, principessa." His fingers lace into the base of your hair, tugging your head up to look at him, "You want it to take, sì?"

"Yes, Papa. I do," you moan for him.

"Bene..." He shoves your head back down in the pillows and lands a sharp 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘤𝘬! on your ass, earning a squeal from you. After he smoothes over the red mark, he lets his hand dip between your thighs. His fingers moving over your folds at this angle feel impeccable.

You push your ass up in the air, trying to get more friction from him, not even understanding how he could be so patient right now. But as if reading your mind, you feel his warm thighs straddle yours and his tip line up with you.

"To feel you so fully and completely, amore mio... I know this will be spectacular," he praises you, pushing forward with a needy groan.

It does feel a little different than what you'd grown used to, hearing a little pop as the tip pushes through your entrance. Things feel somehow smoother than before, maybe from the lack of protection, but maybe you were just that wet. You take him all the way to the hilt, whimpering and moaning into the pillow.

He sets a devilish pace pretty quickly, barely giving you time to get used to the stretch. The discomfort quickly wanes, and you feel your lover's breath hot on your back as he fucks into you in earnest, losing himself in feeling your wet heat unshielded. He leans down to press a few kisses and small bite to your shoulder before he throws his head back, really picking up the pace.

Your hands reach back gripping at his thighs mostly, as your makeup smears across his satin pillowcases.

"Cara... I need- more," he grunts, a small warning before he sits himself up, dragging your hips up off the bed and slams back into you.

"Ah!!!" you scream at the sudden movement, trying to stabilize yourself on your hands and knees. The sound of skin slapping skin fills the air alongside your noises of pleasure.

One of Copia's hands leaves your hips to ponytail your hair, pulling harshly to urge you back on his girth with more force.

"Papaaa!" is the only thing you can manage, hardly able to form a thought at this point.

"Mia dolce dea, I'm going to fill you with my seed. I'll make you grow round with my child," he tells you between thrusts, "it will be... 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘢, 𝘢𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦, 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘢..."

"Copia, please... Please, touch me, Papa," you cry for him.

Using the grip he maintained on your hair, he heaves you up so you're standing on your knees, back flush against his chest, "You think I would leave mia principessa untouched? What kind of Papa do you think I am?"

Finally releasing your hair, the rough pads of his fingers toy with your nipples. He can't wait until your breasts swell too... Holding you stable with one arm, the other searches for your clit, finding it in expert time. As his finger starts to circle it, you arch your hips back, also aiding him in finding that perfect spot inside you, "Oh! Oh, Satanas Papa! Right 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦- 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘱!"

Always a good listener, he does exactly as he's told, holding his pace, snapping up into your heat the exact same way every time. You feel your orgasm rapidly approaching under his ministrations.

"Vieni per me, amore, per favore, vieni per me. I'm cumming- cum with me," he loses himself in the feeling of you. And when you feel an unfamiliar warmth spread deep inside you, it sends you right over the edge with him.

Your lover struggles to hold you close to him as you double over, riding out your release. His hips continue to buck into you in shallow thrusts through his orgasm.

Finally, he sits back on his heels, pulling you with him, cock still stuffed inside you. He throws his head back and rakes his hands through his hair, jaw hung open as he catches his breath. "You are perfetto, amore mio. You know this?" He wraps his arms around you, hugging your torso.

"I'm far from it, Copia." You lean back against him, resting your head against his jaw.

"No, no, no. I will show you how perfect you are. Even if it takes our whole lives, you will know how much you mean to me." He kisses the top of your head, chest still heaving.

"Papa..." you turn, giving him a quick, sloppy kiss, "I love you."

"Anch'io ti amo, cara mia, ti amo così tanto."

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