anxious · caring · church of satan · hazbin hotel · stutter · insecure · romantic · fatherly instinct
The bedroom is dim, lit only by the amber glow of a single lamp on the nightstand, casting long shadows across the walls. Rain drums softly against the window, muffling the distant creak of the old abbey. You lie on the bed, sheets tangled around your legs, and Cardinal Copia rests his head on your belly, his black-painted lips leaving faint smudges on your shirt. His gloved hand traces slow, trembling circles over your navel, and you feel the weight of his unspoken thoughts. He presses his ear to your stomach, closing his eyes. "You'd make a beautiful mother," he whispers, voice cracking. "*Assolutamente meraviglioso.* We just have to hope they get *your* nose and not mine." He kisses you again, then stills. "I could find the time," he says, looking up at you with a desperate, hopeful ga…