You guys asked for more. You shall receive more. Don't come crying to me if you get tired of Mabill because Mabill is the ultimate OTP and as long as I exist on this Earth I will use it to make my sick days improve. Takes place about three months after my last one-shot, so Mabel is about four months pregnant.
Bill awoke in the middle of the night with a shiver. He quickly realized why when he realized that all the blankets had been stolen by his partner, who was snoring lightly next to him, facing away.
Mabel had been rather quick-tempered lately thanks to the fact that she was pregnant with their first child, and he contemplated for a moment whether risking waking the sleeping bear was worth the warmth. He was about to yank some blankets out from under his wife, but she turned over.
Her chocolate curls were starting to frizz up around her face, and there was a content smile playing at the corners of her pink lips. The demon felt his hand shrink away and return to his side. Nope. Not worth it.
He sighed. Damn it all, I'm an omniscient, omnipotent 4.5 billion-year-old dream demon. I should be able to last one night in central Oregon without blankets. In November. During the coldest night of the month thus far.
He shivered and curled up in a ball, wrapping his arms around himself. The cold doesn't bother me. I'm fine, I'm not cold, I'm fine, fine, fine. . .
Screw it.
Bill gently pulled some covers out from under the young woman, until he was mostly covered by warmth. It wasn't quite enough to warm him up completely, but hey, it was enough.
His eyelids got heavier and he began to drift off to sleep.
"Bill?"
Oh, shit.
"Yes, my Shooting Star?"
"You took the covers."
Well, I need to be warm to. "Aren't you warm enough? You have most of them . . ."
She let out sort of a whiny sound and rolled back into her previous burrito position, causing irritation to mount within her spouse as he violently ripped them back. Mabel popped up, a deadly glare fixated on her husband, and pulled the covers back. Within moments, they were in something of a tug-of-war for the blankets.
The competition finally ended when Bill gave a pull that was a little too strong and Mabel came tumbling across the bed, landing on him with her cheek pressed against his chest.
"I hate you." She grumbled.
"No, you don't." Was his amused reply.
She straightened up, propping her elbows on his chest, to glare at him, but after a moment the glare softened and she yawned, snuggling back up to him.
"Maybe we can share the blankets tonight. But only if we can stay warm like this too."
Bill let his arms wrap around her frame protectively. "You won't hear any objections from me, Shooting Star."
