With a little bit of Mischeif

Call it mother’s instinct, but your eyes opened several seconds before your heard the sound of the baby crying.

It made Pope dart upright in bed, he was never a heavy sleeper anyways, and he quickly scrambled behind you as you got up and out of bed to go across the hallway and into the nursery. His heart pounded at the thought of what could be wrong, always heading for the worst case scenario.

What if he’s got stuck?

What if he’s hurt?

What if-

“Hey, hey little guy” Pope listened as you cooed and hushed, immediately going to the cot to scoop up your crying child.

“S’he hurt?” Pope quickly, and anxiously asked, moving to flick on the warm night light so he could see the baby for himself.

“No…not hurt” You hummed as you bobbed at the knees, soothing the baby as he gripped his pudgy little knuckles into your oversized shirt (stolen from Pope’s work out clothes drawer) as he cried into you.

Pope swallowed and blinked nervously as the baby cried. Memories were suddenly trying to push their way into his head, the horrible criticizing voice inside of him reminding him of crying when he was a baby and receiving no help. No one to come and pick him up, to take him away from the scary monsters, to kiss the nightmare away.

“I think he had a bad dream, and a lil hungry” you guessed, brushing a thumb back and forth over the baby’s cheek whilst pressing your lips to his sparse, red head hairs.

You looked briefly at Pope, and recognized that look on his face, stiff and anxious. You freed up a hand to press against his warm shoulder.

“He’s okay, I promise” you reassured Pope. “S’normal for baby’s to wake up like this, cranky and hungry…unsure of why it’s all dark and weird looking, why no one is nearby after a full day of faces and voices.” You explained.

Pope swallowed and nodded, yet he couldn’t settle, not just yet.

“What can I do?” Pope asked, frustrated at how helpless he felt, useless to make it better in an instant. He needed instruction. Control. A purpose in order to not spiral entirely.

“Can you grab a bottle from the kitchen please baby?” You asked, moving towards the soft arm chair in the corner of the nursery.

Pope hesitated for a moment, reluctant to leave you and the baby, but eventually he left to retrieve a clean and sterilized bottle, filled up with formula. As Pope let the bottle sit out for a few minutes to come to room temperature, he gripped the counter, the sound of his son crying turning his heart sideways. As he tried to control his breathing, the voice of self doubt clawed its way in.

Why aren’t you fixing this?

You are a terrible father

You have no idea what you’re doing

She’ll leave, with the baby, because you’re fucken useless

Then, the crying dulled. Altogether stopped. Pope looked over his cold sweat slicked shoulder, in the direction of the nursery, now silent. He snatched the bottle and made his way towards the nursery, inside he could hear you, low and quiet, talking.

“You have nothing to be scared of little guy.”

“I know everything is new and scary, and it’s so confusing…but we won’t let anything bad happen…”

“Your Daddy and I won’t let any bad happen.”

“You’re safe…you’re so safe…”

“Daddy and I are here, we’re right here, always here…”

Your words had a profound effect on Pope. It was seeping deep into his soul, talking to your baby, his baby, with so much love and comfort. Pope dreamed of someone like you to be his parent. To tell him no bad would happen, that he was loved and safe, unconditionally.

Pope came out from his hiding spot from around the doorway, slowly stepping into the nursery where he saw you in the armchair, your nose and lips brushing across the baby’s face, now relaxed and void of any distress as his tired eyes slowly blinked up at you. Trusting you.

I wish I had this. I wish I had you when I was little. Telling me all the terrible things wont get me.

“You want me to feed him?” Pope asked, trying to keep his voice low as possible as he watched you yawn.

Despite both of you taking on shared night feeds, Pope knew you were tired, he knew you were still adapting to life post pregnancy, mentally and physically. The toils of motherhood, despite everything, wasn’t lost on Pope.

“If you want, he seems calmer now” You said, taking the bottle from Pope.

Pope nodded and crouched down to help transfer the baby into his arms. He looked dwarfed in Pope’s enormous arms, but that only reassured you that he was safe in them. To Pope, sometimes he feared his strength when holding his son, that something so delicate and fragile lay within his grasp. His hands that had inflicted so much violence and brutality, now used to comfort a baby. His baby.

“You got him?” You quietly asked as you got up and out the chair, freeing it up if Pope wanted it.

“Got him” Pope nodded and slowly rocked the baby whilst he moved around his arms so he could take the bottle of formula from you. “Should go back to bed. Get some sleep.” Pope softly said.

“Y’sure?” You asked as your fingers carefully pressed onto Pope’s forearm to get a final look at your son.

“M’sure” he said, his eyes lingering on your beautiful, sleepy features. “I got this.”

You then looked from the baby and up at Pope, a soft and lazy smile spreading across your face. You didn’t say anything, you just leaned up onto your tip toes and cupped Pope’s cheek to bring him down a tad to kiss him. Pope felt his heart squeeze at the situation; both of you, together with your little one sandwiched safely between you. It was made all the better when your lips left his and went to kiss the baby’s fuzzy pink forehead, as if taking your combined kiss and transferring it to the little one.

“I’ll take tomorrow night’s feeding duty.” you said as you brushed a hand across the baby’s hairline, and the other down Pope’s bicep before turning and heading back to bed.

No you won’t, not if I can help it. Pope smirked crookedly.

He waited and listened carefully for the telltale sounds of you moving into the bedroom, the duvet shuffling as you got comfy…then silence. The sound of his son languidly suckling his formula, his breathing, his little snuffles of content, was all Pope focused on now. He went to the armchair where he slowly lowered himself with the baby into the seat.

“Y’know…you’re a lucky guy” Pope whispered as he adjusted the bottle to help the baby get more. “My mom wasn’t like yours…you got it made with her…n’so did I.” Pope said, glancing up from the baby and out into the hallway where you had left.

“She’s right though” Pope said as he watched the last quarter of formula leave the bottle. “Nothin bad is ever gonna happen to you, or Mom…not whilst Im here.”

The baby let go of the bottle, his lips and gums milky and messy, to which Pope grabbed a nearby linen and deftly wiped the mess away. That was what he was good at, making the mess go away. Making the scary things go away.

After a thorough burping session, Pope delicately placed the baby back down into his cot, resting his little head against the soft mattress. Pope hung over the cot for several minutes, watching his baby settle back to sleep. He briefly hovered his pinky finger under the baby’s nose to give him peace of mind that he was breathing and safe.

“Daddy will keep the monsters away” He said, leaning down to kiss the baby’s head.

he made sure you came on his face at least three times. until your legs were jelly, brain mush, voice hoarse from begging him to stop. ‘i-i can’t’ you had whined, ‘ ‘s too much andy!’. he did it to get you into that floaty head space where you’re babbling mindlessly and lax for him.

and you’re exactly that as pope crawls up your body and settles where he belongs, above you and inbetween your legs. still, you breathlessly slur the question that he despises. “condom?”

he feigns frustration even though this is exactly what he planned. “shit— i left my wallet in craig’s car… i don’t have one.”

your response is a needy whine that morphs into a gasp when he rests his cock against your drenched folds and slowly slides back and forth. “can i just have you like this sweetheart?” pope rubs his thick length upwards, angry pink tip catching your clit with every pressing glide. you whimper through your desperate nods, nails clawing at his shoulders, fusing your knees to his ribs to stay spread for him. such a good girl, he thinks to himself.

he keeps his ruttings short. almost playfully light in order to not get you anywhere besides out of your mind from teasing. just how he wants it. when you start to wriggle beneath him, whimpering a few mindless “please please please”s, he looks down at your aching pussy to see her clench around nothing. poor baby, she needs me so bad, he tells himself.

his dick is so coated in your slick releases that pope ‘accidentally’ notches at your opening. staying in motion, he pushes in ever so slightly. your eyes shoot open in surprise “ohh- andy!” you squeal. frustration bubbles in his chest, but he doesn’t give up. because your panic simmers to pleasure and your mouth forms an ‘o’ as you moan at just his bare tip breaching your wet heat.

he buries his face into your neck to hide his satisfied grin, licking and suckling the skin how he knows you like. “jus the tip sweetheart? please?” he emphasizes his wimpy whines with an inching forward of his hips. your nails tear at the flesh on his back as you shudder. “p-promise?” you croak out in hazy compliance. his reply is strained. “ ‘course honey.”

popes promise — to him at least— goes up in flames when he slips a tiny bit further inside and is met with warm, silky tightness. fuckkk. he groans, muscles tensing and you cry out, eyes rolling back. his thrusts are shallow and unsatisfactory. after a only a few, he’s twitching in need, pathetically trying to inch deeper.

you notice, starting to whine and pant. “you cant andy! i’m not on the pill!” the words almost make pope start to piston in and out of you. the thought of coming in you until you’re swollen with his baby infiltrating his mind. that you’ll be tied to him forever and— oh yeah. that’s happening, he decides.

pope leans down to kiss you languidly. trying to tongue fuck you into submission. your pussy is rapidly fluttering around the first inch of his cock, telling him that you want this just as bad as he does. he uses his words. “you just feel so good sweetheart. need you so bad. need all of you.” a breathy moan slips from you at his praise as you return his kiss greedily.

you pull back and blink up at him with your glossy eyes and kiss bitten lips. when your legs start to wrap around him, crossing tightly at his back, he knows he’s almost home free. “okay... i- i need you too andy.”

you barely get the words out before he hastily pushes all the way inside of you. guttural noises of pleasure are ripped from you both as you clench around him so prettily and he stretches you out so perfectly. it’s searing, intimate and raw. so fucking raw.

as pope starts to thrust in and out of you eagerly, obscene slapping sounds echo throughout the room. he whimpers loudly at the warm, wet feeling of you and the noises your body makes for him.

when you shakily tell him between moans “you h-have to pull out.. okay?”