049×035 oneshots

It Takes Two to Make an Omelet

A fic set in the same universe as Boiled, Scrambled, Fried in which a Valentine's day of love and affection quickly turns into Dýo debating if he is ready for fatherhood. 

A Valentine's Day fic desired by @AskingForCursedShit on Wattpad, Badabingus on AO3, and a lot of people on instagram and tumblr (you know who you are.)

AN. After much debate, I've decided to add an indulgent ship child I designed to THIS AU SPECIFICALLY.  the little owl beast shall never return after this oneshot. Feel free, to all those who dislike ship children, to rejoice. And for those who love them? I am sorry for your loss.

Warnings: tentacle sex, super sappy fluff, weird anatomy, Mpreg, past Mpreg, referenced past self-harm egg laying, Pregnancy, implied/referenced violence, 035 is Jay's supportive step parent and no one is allowed to disillusion me, weird Brothers Death Headcanons, Small death sucks ass as a midwife and shouldn't quit his day job, fisting, difficult labor, ship child

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Peppering his dove's beak with kisses that smeared that pearly white, polished beak with viscous black, Dýo couldn't help hut wonder what he'd done so wonderfully that he'd earned such a handsome, kind, brilliant man.

The Doctor looked exquisite, pampered and spoiled to ruin as all should be, his lips still sweet with the chocolate he'd tried only a few minutes before, his hands resting above his head upon the mattress in a suggestive tease, and his striking, blue-grey eyes looking up at him, pupils dilated and hazed with want. 

'Pin me down' that pose said. 'pin me down and love me until I'm so near to unconscious your heart aches with worry for me.'

The Mask's hand came up to gently cup an angular, chitinous cheek, something lightly scraped, and he took pause, glancing down to his right ring finger at the thick ring of tempered glass.

On the table of the restaurant, a beautifully wrapped gift. Sharp-clawed hands wrung nervously together. "I know you dislike the idea of matrimony" and oh how wrong that phrase was. And oh, how he could never bear to set the misconception straight. He just wasn't ready was all. Especially not with the Foundation breathing down his neck. 'But I swear that's not what this is. I... I was only nervous about it breaking as any other article of clothing, is all. Being so close to the skin surely ought to help.'

He'd opened that box with enthusiasm and, in that moment, had his breath taken away. For all his dove claimed to be untalented in all but surgery he could tell that the elegant work must have been done by the Doctor's hand, the cut, resized, and smoothed glass still sporting it's old beaker number on the inside, stretched out and warped as it was. Around the outside, delicate etchings that must have taken him days on their own went along the band with a sideways '8' shape at the very top. 'what's this?' he'd asked. 

'Infinity. That's how long I'm going to stay by your side, masquer. No matter what it is we're considered to be. Tu es tout pour moi, pour toujours.'

Dýo cried then and teared up now. That bird was too sweet, damn him. "Doc, have I told you how much I love you, today?"

Utter serenity set aside for now, the Doctor softly hummed hands coming down to instead bring the Mask into a hug. "A thousand times, my darling, but I wouldn't mind hearing them a thousand more."

"And I wouldn't mind saying it whatsoever," Dýo hummed, giving his dove a kiss on the beak, "I love you. I love your pretty beak, I love the way your eyes crinkle up when you smile." He stole one of his dove's hands off his back, "I love how your hide feels under my hands, and how easy I can make you blush, and your voice, and your laugh." he leaned down, nuzzling the Doctor's cheek. A wide smile then crossed his face.. "And I love how soft your thighs are, and how you hold back your moans of my name, and the shape of your-"