#so if u were to say it thoughtfully what would it be then? they ened to eat healthier?

[polishksiezniczka]

Hello! Can I request a fic or whatever u want about Carmalengo falling for a single mother. It can be NSFW if the mood strikes u. :)

YES! I have been waiting for the opportunity to delve into Patrick's soft parental side (I say this like he isn't the kindest, sweetest human ever normally).😂 As I am not a mother myself, I apologize in advance if any of this is a little unrealistic or misrepresented in any way. But I hope you like it, and I'd love to do a pregnant!reader piece in the future! ❤️

A Mother's Love | Patrick McKenna x Single Mother!Reader

A delightful little set of headcanons about the camerlengo falling for a single mother

Notes: S/D = son/daughter; C/N = child's name. Showers of praise on @thisbreakableheaven for being the best beta reader/co-conspirator anyone could ask for! ❤️

“I watch you raise C/N and fall deeper in love with you each day.”

He sees Mary, the Mother of God in you

When he finds you with your S/D asleep in your arms, his heart melts

Telling you how much your S/D looks like you: “(S)he has their mother's stunning eyes.”

Patrick would be a wonderful father figure to your S/D, and he would strive to play a greater role in your child’s life than his own father (even if the child wasn’t his)

It would probably be okay if your child referred to him as "papa"; it would raise little suspicion anyway because his official title is "Padre"

Your S/D loves Patrick, and Patrick absolutely adores them

If you have a baby, they relax and quiet immediately in his strong arms

His soft tone and warm voice are naturally soothing to fussy babies and children

If your child is in primary school, their favorite activity is reading with Patrick

Patrick always makes time to read to C/N on evenings when he’s able to visit

Speaking softly to them—you know he would never raise his voice against your child

He’ll hum lullabies or psalms to C/N as they slowly fall asleep

If C/N is a toddler, they absolutely love to play games with him!

Hide ‘n’ seek, color by number, board games like Chutes & Ladders

And the pet names he uses! 🥺

If you have a little girl, he calls her “sweetie,” “piccola,” or “topolina”

For a little boy: “little lad” or “bambino”

One of your favorite little things Patrick does is when you’re holding C/N in your arms, Patrick comes up to plant a kiss on each of your cheeks

Tickles and hugs abound when he visits!

Seriously, he is one of the best partners anyone could ever hope for

A bonus lil' NSFW drabble because how could I not?

“Caro mio,” Patrick greeted warmly as he kissed you. “Where’s my little boy/girl?” He looked around, expecting C/N to have come running into his arms by this point. You smiled, easily melting into his loving embrace. “They’re with their grandparents for the weekend.” You gave him a light peck on the lips before happily contemplating his handsome face. An ever-so-subtle shift in those dazzling cerulean eyes made you pause, their nascent desire failing to escape your notice. He hummed thoughtfully for a moment, the low timbre of his voice sending delicious vibrations through your whole body. He spoke lowly in your ear, “Angelo…vita mia....” He paused.“...I-I have a proposal for you.” “And what might that be?” you inquired breathlessly, nerves set alight. “This weekend. Just the two of u-us. Alone together. En-entirely devoted to you.” He punctuated his words with wicked intent, hot breath fanning over your skin like flames from a glorious pyre. The sensation of his warm, calloused fingertips stroking the delicate arch of your collarbone caused shivers to run down your spine. You hadn’t been able to spend a weekend alone together since you first began seeing each other, what with both of your busy work schedules, your own parental responsibilities, not to mention Patrick’s very public position in the Vatican. So, in many ways, this weekend would be the closest thing to a honeymoon you’d share with him. Obviously, you were no blushing virgin when it came to sex, but you simply couldn’t calm your nerves as Friday night approached. You were consumed by a heady mixture of schoolgirl-esque giddiness, extreme agitation, and ravenous desire. If only you could’ve seen Patrick suffer.

Oh, but when Friday night came! Sweet mother of mercy.

Lots and lots of lovemaking

On the couch, a relaxing movie long forgotten, a spontaneous session or two in the shower

Of course, in your bed, Patrick’s preferred location (your scent is intoxicating to him)

Taking a relaxing hot bath together

With the time you had together, you wanted to savor these moments.

You loved waking up with him in the morning, and by the time Sunday morning rolled around, you pouted like a child when he needed to leave very early to be on time for morning Mass

Not before you squeezed in one final session

One quiet evening, you lay across Patrick’s chest, both of you thoroughly spent after several passionate rounds of lovemaking, your hand intertwined with his while the other stroked his sprinkling of soft, ginger-blonde chest hair. You felt completely at peace in this moment, the quiet rhythm of your breathing perfectly matching Patrick’s steady heartbeat. You wished you could stay like this together, uncertain of where your body ended and his began—not that you particularly cared. Your core tingled in delight, still reeling from the waves upon waves of pleasure coaxed out of you by Patrick as only he could. You smiled fondly, burying your nose in his chest like an affectionate puppy. He hummed in appreciation, bringing your hand to his lips, where he began to lay light kisses across your knuckles. “I’d love to have children together,” he whispered hoarsely against your wrist. Your breath hitched, hardly believing the words you had just heard as you sat up to face him. Your eyes were wide in apprehension. “Patrick…” your voice trembling, “Do you mean that?” When he didn’t speak immediately, the blood in your veins ran cold. What was this, some kind of cruel joke? Your experiences as a single mother in the present day—the rush to judgment, the patronizing attitudes, the intentional devaluing of your worth as a romantic partner—had you bracing for the hurt. No, it couldn’t be, he wouldn’t do this. But what would you possibly say if he did? You were snapped from your reverie when you felt a warm hand gently take yours. “With God as my witness.” And in that moment, you looked into his eyes, trying to find any trace of ridicule or doubt there, but you simply could not. Instead, they were overflowing with complete, unconditional love. Tears leaked from the corners of your eyes at your realization. “I love you,” you whispered, your voice shaky and breathless, face flushed from embarrassment and something else you couldn’t quite identify. “And I you, angelo.” You kissed him deeply then, fingers sinking into his hair in a mix of elation and desperation as a whimper escaped your already kiss-swollen lips. You felt him begin to harden beneath you, followed by that familiar ache pulsing between your thighs. “Let’s start trying right away then,” you whispered hotly in his ear before pulling him down for another searing kiss. Translations piccola = "little one" toporina = "little mouse" bambino = "little boy" Caro mio = "My dear" Vita mia = "My life"

[marshmarrowsans]

Summary:

Who knew that a game of poker with your charming skeleton friend could turn into something so momentous?

Birthday fic for @disasterbisexual​! Happy birthday, I hope Mafiafell Sans charms ya pants off ;u;

“you did not just bet half your chips on a ten high. thought you said you knew how to play poker.” “I do.  It’s called a bluff.  Do you never bluff?” Begrudging and the slightest bit humiliated, you stared down and to the side instead of at the skeleton in front of you as you pushed your poker chips towards him with a flippant swipe of your hand. He met you halfway, fingertips tracing across your skin for a brief moment before he claimed the tokens signifying his victory.  For that hand, at least, but also probably for the entire round.  You had just a sad, measly stack of poker chips left over after that, and he had a large pile of them that he was clearly too lazy to sort. But that wasn’t surprising.  He’d already won the last five rounds. “that was a bluff?  you had ten high written all over your face.” “How does one have a specific card in the deck written all over their face? Could you have guessed the suit, too?” “maybe.  if it was relevant.”  He cast a smug, knowing look your way.  “if there’s ever somethin’ you’re specifically trying to hide.  i have a knack for sniffin’ it out.” You rolled your eyes and picked up your next hand, a small sense of hope sparking in your chest when you saw that you already had an ace.  It wasn’t much, but it had potential. Ah, who were you kidding?  Sans folded every time you got a hand that looked promising, so you never got to milk it to your benefit even when you got lucky. “Just knock it off already and admit you can read minds.” “don’t hafta do that to know what’s on yours.” You flushed uncomfortably under his confident, ever-probing gaze.  He always flaunted his ability to see right through you.  He was proud of it, to the point of being smug.  You really did often feel like he could read your mind if he stared at your face long enough. That was concerning, considering some of the thoughts you’d been having about him. He won the hand, of course.  The ace high you started out with remained only an ace high, and you were too low on chips to try and bluff your way out of this one, so you folded.  No point in letting him force you into betting the rest of them.  This was a game of survival at this point.  You could be proud of yourself if you were able to hold out against him longer than the last few games. “Okay then, mind-reader,” you quipped, though even you could detect the twinge of nervousness in your voice when you continued and asked him, “what’s on my mind tonight?” He grinned at you—that awful, smug, knowing, handsome, perfect grin—and rested his chin on the cradle he’d formed with his interlaced fingers. “well, let’s see.” You already knew you were in for a fucking smackdown of a psychological analysis. “our entire friendship is pretty much centered on you comin’ to see me whenever you’re feelin’…  dissatisfied.  with the way things are in your life.  you’ve been stuck in the same place for awhile.  it’s boring.  you don’t feel like you’re goin’ anywhere.  not fast enough.”  He turned over the first card from the deck, and threw in a small handful of chips, and you couldn’t tell whether or not he was still really paying attention to the game. He just kept talking.  “yet at the same time, somehow, it’s like everything’s happening too fast for you to handle.” You called his bet.  You couldn’t just fold forever. “Yeah.  I guess you could say all that.” “…  but it’s more than that,” he continued thoughtfully.  “more than anything, you just wanna feel… respected.  and safe.  you wanna spend time with people who see the worth in you, love you and care ‘bout you exactly the way you are.  people—or at least someone, even just one person—that you can look at ‘em and say with confidence: they’re gonna be there, rain or shine, and i can count on ‘em for anything.  that’s what’s missing most from your life.  that’s what you’re hiding from when you come n’ spend time with the likes of me.  the fact that you haven’t found that in anyone yet.” Though the gesture made you blush, which was absolutely something he would notice while reading your face, you reached across the small table and put your hand on his arm.  He didn’t flinch like he used to. “You’re my friend, Sans,” you told him, softly and simply.  “I spend time with you because I like you.” “but that other stuff.  i’m right about it, aren’t i?” He could take your silence, the withdrawal of your hand from his arm, and your shy glance to the side as the response he was looking for. “we don’t have to talk ‘bout it,” he reassured you.  “y’know what we do have to talk about, though?” As you heard his tone grow playful, so did yours.  You asked with a smile quickly spreading across your lips, “What?” “the fact that you should never, ever bet real money while playing poker, ‘cause i just bankrupted you again.” He was right.  He had a two pair, sixes and nines, while you only had a pair of jacks, and you’d bet the rest of your chips on that hand, because you barely had any left to lose anyways.  You groaned in defeat and threw what remained of your poker chips at him, earning a deep, rich laugh that made you glad you were sitting down, because it would’ve made your knees weak. Despite that, you were frustrated enough at your crushing defeat, and at how smug he was being about it, that you started to get up. “Well.  That’s enough of that.  You may as well always know what’s in my hand, and you love to show it off.  So I may as well call it a night.” “hey now, don’t get all upset.”  He reached out and grabbed your hand, in that sudden and firm way that always made you imagine him grabbing you in other places. The sensation was enough to coax you into sitting back down, as he wanted.  “i’ll play nice.  one last game.  i’ll play it with my back turned.  but you’re gonna have to read out the cards on the table to me.” That…  did mean he wouldn’t be able to read your face. “That sounds like the only fair thing this night.” “heheh.  then if you agree that’ll make it fair.  why not make it interesting?” Flushing nervously, you patted your pockets in search of what little cash you had on you.  Maybe if you said each poker chip was worth pennies, you might be able to-- “not for money.” Oh boy.  You loved and hated where this was going. “poker chips are still just poker chips. but the winner gets one thing they want from the loser.  could be a favor.  could be an item.  could be a dare.  could be an answer to a question.  anything they want.” You saw the curious, sly glint in his eyes, like a mountain lion about to pounce, and hearing what he said next, you froze in place and momentarily forgot how to breathe: “i can think of a few things i might want from you.” Ugh, you were always so frustrated with yourself, it was so easy for him to fluster you with his flirtation, even though you were pretty sure he meant nothing by it.  Yet no matter how often he flirted with you (or at you—you never really knew how to respond) and despite the fact that such flirtation from anyone else would get nothing more than an annoyed eye roll out of you, there was something about him that charmed the socks off you every single time. God, what you wouldn’t give to have the kind of poker face he did. You weren’t about to be a killjoy, so without even thinking about what you might want from him—or at least, what you could possibly bring yourself to ask of him without passing out—you agreed. “…  Okay. Making it fair and raising the stakes at the same time.  I can respect that.” “alright.  sorry to rob you of the chance to stare futilely at my handsome mug tryin’ to figure out if it’s a bluff or not.” That wasn’t why you stared at his face. Oh god, who were you kidding?  He probably knew that.  This asshole knew everything, even if he didn’t call you out on it. He was turned backwards now, straddling his chair and resting his arms up on the back of it, except when he reached back for you to deal the cards to him.  You were getting even funnier looks than usual, but neither of you ever cared about being stared at. A few minutes into your ridiculous, modified game, you realized something. “You know,” you remarked thoughtfully as you flipped over the next card in the deck.  “Jack of spades.  But you know, you having your back turned like this makes it crazy easy for me to cheat.” “nah.  you don’t have it in ya’.” He sounded like he’d already considered the possibility, and come to that conclusion, possibly in a split second. Smart guy. “Smartass.” “but it’s true.” “You know, you are really tempting fate by saying that.” But he was right.  You weren’t about to play dirty just to win. Besides.  A part of you made you quiver at the thought of what he might want if he won, so really, you were going to be pretty happy no matter what the outcome. Scientifically speaking, there certainly seemed to be a positive correlation between Sans’ view of your face and his poker-playing abilities.  Now that his back was turned, he was winning significantly fewer hands, taking fewer chances, folding more often.  There were points of time where you had more chips than him—he would ask permission to turn around every now and then and check the distribution—and there was even a point where it was looking reasonably likely that you might win. Then you got cocky.  Or maybe he was just desperate enough to take some more chances. All too soon, the chips were back on his side of the table. The game went on so long, it kind of got you into that “fuck-it” mentality.  Especially since you’d already come to the conclusion you’d be happy with either of you winning—you’d certainly be proud to show him what for and finally win a round, plus you could ask of him whatever you wanted. You were pretty sure you would just end up asking him for a kiss.  If you could make your heart stop pounding long enough to get through the request without chickening out. But if Sans won, you would find out exactly what he meant by i can think of a few things i might want from you.  The connotations were clear, and almost certainly intentional, but it usually just turned out he was teasing you, like the huge tease he was. But damn it, every time he did, it felt like it was going to be the time he actually went through with something! In any case, you had nothing to lose except maybe your virginity, oh God someone please detain and arrest your runaway mind, so you got a little more daring with your bets and your bluffing. And as you did, the chips started to filter back to his side of the table. Until finally, you ran out of patience. “All in.” He was so surprised, he forgot to ask for permission before glancing over his shoulder at you. “…  on just the hand you were dealt?  what didja get, a pair of aces?” “Guess you’re gonna find out.  Unless you fold like a fucking coward.” You had a pair of twos.  It was…  well, it was something.  Maybe the deck would be merciful and give you a three of a kind.  Or four! “…  i’m turning around, ‘cause i’m calling that bet, and you’re about to lose.” …  Yeah, he was probably right. Now that he was facing the table again, he flipped the cards from the deck face up. Seven of diamonds. Nine of clubs. King of hearts. “heyyy.  it’s me.” “You wish.” Queen of diamonds. Queen of clubs. That left you with a two pair, twos and queens, but the queens were on the table, so that still wasn’t… great. And Sans had that awful, beautiful grin on his face.  He didn’t say anything, which was always a bad sign, because if he was nervous, he liked to cover it up by talking shit.  His eye lights flicked between his hand and the cards on the table. “well well well.” “I’M GONNA KILL YOU!”  A voice that belonged to neither of you interrupted your game. In an instant, it was like Sans transformed into a different person.  As the rest of the people in the joint scrambled for cover or for escape at the first sign of a serious fight breaking out, he shot to his feet, drew the gun he’d been hiding god-knows-where on his body, put himself between you and the man currently brandishing a gun of his own in your direction, and pointed it at him. “well then it was awfully nice of ya to let me know.”  He tilted his gun a little, in a sort of questioning gesture at him.  “thanks for the warning.  clearly you’re not from my line a’ work.  so who are you?  some kinda cop?  bounty hunter?  huh?” His voice dipped dangerously low, almost like a growl, and you weren’t sure anymore whether your heart was pounding from fear or excitement.  “or are you just some nobody come in here to ruffle some feathers ‘cause you don’t like us monsters daring to exist on the same ground as you?” On second thought, you were pretty sure it was excitement.  You felt safe behind Sans.  Even with a gunfight threatening to break out, he was shielding you with his body, and you had no doubt he could get the both of you out of this one.  This was far from the worst situation he’d ever found himself stuck in.  And you could feel it in his posture, see it in the way he loosely turned his gun this way and that.  He wasn’t scared. “Thomas Pavonine.  My name is Thomas Pavonine.  You son of a bitch.” “…  oh.” Sans still didn’t seem scared, but all of a sudden, he did seem nervous, and that worried you.  Why the emphasis on his last name?  Was he from some incredibly influential or violent or otherwise bad-news family?  “alright. tell ya what.  we can settle this like men.  after we get this innocent bystander outta the mix, capiche?  they were just here for a game of poker, they didn’t sign up for a spat like this with the buy-in.” “And who’s that?”  The man was shaking now, as he gripped his pistol with both hands, like it was a magnum.  “Your girlfriend?  Maybe I’ll make things even!” And that was the moment Sans lost his temper, which was never a good thing to happen in a tense situation. “are you fuckin’ deaf or somethin’?  fuckin’ dense as a platinum brick?! HUH?!”  He cocked his gun and put his finger on the trigger, something you briefly remembered him mentioning that nobody in their right mind would do if they didn’t intend on shooting somebody.  “they have no part in this.  and if you know what’s good for ya, you’re gonna stop pointing that gun in their direction, and you’re gonna let them go without layin’ a dirty paw on ‘em!” “FUCK you!” Apparently Sans knew Thomas was going to shoot at you before he actually did, even though his finger was already on the trigger, because everything exploded into chaos at once.  You could only process it in pieces.  Sans chucking the entire poker table at the interloper. The gun going off, causing the bullet to, luckily, wedge itself harmlessly in the ceiling.  The screams of people who had chosen to hide rather than escape. Sans’ arms around you. The sickening dip in your stomach as he teleported you to safety. When you opened your eyes again, you were in the back seat of his car.  And you felt him start to urgently untangle himself from you.  His words from earlier echoed in your head. we can settle this like men after we get the innocent bystander outta the mix. “Sans, don’t you dare go back out there.” “i’m not.”  To your relief, he climbed into the driver’s seat instead of out the door. “don’tcha know a bluff when you see one?” You clambered after him and sat in the passenger’s seat. “You won enough games against me in poker to know I don’t.” “buckle up, sweet cheeks.” You were pretty sure he said that to be cool, not because he was all that serious about road safety.  Still, you complied.  The car lurched forward and sped the hell out of there just as the buckle clicked into the slot. And even as the car roared a good twenty miles per hour above the speed limit, you still considered it a good time to recline in your seat, relax, and catch your breath. “That was tense!” “…  it wasn’t great.” “That guy almost shot us!” “i knew he was gonna try shit.  never woulda let ‘im.” “What was that all about?” You waited for a response, but you didn’t get one.  Not at first. You were pretty sure a minute had passed—which doesn’t sound like much, but a minute of pure silence after a question is certainly unusual—by the time he spoke. “hope that didn’t scare ya too much.  it wasn’t nothin’ i couldn’t handle.” And when he did speak, he didn’t even answer your question! “Sans.  Did you not hear me?  What was that about?” He answered you this time, though it was accompanied with a heavy sigh, and it was still vague. “…  i did something pretty stupid.  a few months back.  a few months back!”  He took his hands off the steering wheel for a moment, just to do a vague gesture of exasperation and disbelief.  “forever ago! can’t believe he’s still mad!  …  ‘course i guess he probably just found out.  but still.  months.”  He shook his head and focused on the road. He seemed to be lost in his thoughts about it. You didn’t press him about it any more than you already had.  Instead, you changed the subject to something of more immediate importance. “…  By the way.  Where are we going?” “the hell outta town.” You scoffed.  “Aha-are you serious?  I packed for a night of poker and drinks, not…  whatever the hell this is turning into.” “need me to brave the oncoming cop cars to circle back and pick up your stuff at home?”  He kept his eyes on the road.  “whatever you might need, we can pick it up in the next town over.  too risky to double back now.  sorry.  and besides…” He reached into his pocket, slid a small stack of cards from it, and spread them in your direction so you could see what they were.  Three kings, two queens. “you owe me one request, after all.” Hesitantly, you took them.  He got the most self-satisfied smirk on his face as you did, returning his hand to the steering wheel. “…  When did you even TAKE these?” “when i threw the table.  obviously, i had no time to mess with the deck, so y’know. that was my hand.  full house, baby.” God, for all his tricks and mischief, you wouldn’t be surprised if he had somehow managed to grab those cards from the deck. “and you went all in on that hand.  so ya’ lost.” “…  How do you know I didn’t have a—” Before you could even finish your question, he pulled two more cards from his other pocket and handed them to you.  You looked at them. It was your pair of twos. “ya’ lost,” he repeated, voice tight with the urge to laugh. “Shut up.”  You crossed your arms, and reclined your seat some more, just to make yourself look even grumpier.  He stared at you affectionately in the rear view mirror as soon as you got to a stretch of road without many other cars on it.  “… So your great big victory request is to let you kidnap me.” “kidnap you?  nahhh.  i like to think of it as…  running away together.” “I didn’t think you were such a hopeless romantic, tough guy,” you teased him. That was a bad idea.  When you teased him, he teased back, and he teased back hard. “oh yeah.  we’re fuckin’ eloping.  right here and now.  let’s disappoint the hell outta your parents.” “Fuck my parents.” “fuck yer parents.” He looked at you in the rear view mirror again, and this time, you looked back at him.  It was weird, making eye contact through a mirror.  It was like you weren’t looking at each other, but you could tell that you were looking at each other all the same. The adoring look on his face was so cute, even you could see the reflection of your cheeks turn red. And then he dropped the bombshell.  The fucking nuke of nicknames.  The nukename, if you will. “tomata.” You were officially deactivated.  That erased all comebacks from your mind.  So, puzzlingly, after you slapped your hands over your face, all that came out when you tried to say something clever was: “DIE.” That was the hardest you’d ever heard him laugh.  He laughed until he got tears in his eyes.  Laughed like that was the funniest fucking thing you could’ve possibly said in that moment.  You actually thought he might pull over to calm himself down. But after a good, hearty laugh, he pulled himself together. “alright.  i promise you, someday, i’ll die, just ‘cause you asked me to.”  His voice, and his expression, softened as he went on.  “but hey. seriously.  tonight, we’re gonna find someplace safe, shack up together in the next town over and work out a plan.” Shack up?  Together? “…  and i hate to sound.  uh. clingy.  or whatever.  ‘cause that’s the last thing you’d think i’d be, right?  but seriously.  my request is, uh.”  He rubbed his neck.  “…  my request is that you skip town with me. y’know, so tomorrow, we can go back and get your stuff and bring it out here.  it could get a little complicated, but i'll help you through it.  hell, i'll take care of the whole damn issue for ya’—i just.  i don’t…” He struggled with it, but he managed to say what he needed to say. “i don’t really see my life withoutcha, y’know? so i know it’s a lot to ask, but we did have a deal, so…” Holy shit.  He really did want to run away with you.  Run away from everything.  That town, your actions, your pasts.  It was intimidating, but… As you reflected on your life and where you wanted to be, the answer became obvious. “I’m with you, Sans,” you told him, quiet but confident in your answer.  “…  No deal necessary.” “…  whaddya mean?” “I mean you don’t have to use your victory request on this.”  You cast a coy glance in his direction, and said something startlingly bold.  “I’m sure you can think of something better to use it on.” Were you imagining it, or did he grip the steering wheel a little tighter and press down on the gas pedal a little harder in anticipation? “…  i’ve got a lot of ideas.”