#i swear its a coincidence. just a really oddly suspicious one.

[great-cats]

One of these is going to be an absolute bomb drop for some of you folks. Have fun interrogating anything out of me because I've kept this quiet for over two years.

[iwantutobehapppier]

We Will Wake Up

Pairing: Dark!Steve Rogers x Reader Summary: Steve and Bucky seemed to be everywhere you looked, certainly this familiarity between the three of you would only bode well when you seek refuge at their place during the Shutdown.  Warnings: 18+ Only, Dark Steve Rogers, somnophilia, dubcon bordering on noncon. Please if any of this bothers you read no further. There will be more fics for Festival of Smut with little to no dark themes.  Word Count:  2,536 A/N: Happy 2nd night of Chanukah! I give you some dark/creep Steve. I have been tinkering with this one for a long time now. @sapphirescrolls​ really helped fuel this along with Tyler by the Toadies.

You know Steve’s there. He’s always there now. He knows you know. He parades around as if his presence is pure coincidence. It is equal parts laughable and concerning.

Looking out the corner of your eye you catch the tall bulky frame of his best friend Bucky beside him as they wait for their coffee. Bucky a man of little flourish in coffee grabs his cup and sits right across from you at the table outside of the little coffee shop. Outside seating more comfortable for you given the current pandemic. But your two shadows didn’t have any worry about the pandemic with the Super Soldier Serum.

Steve and Bucky were great people. Working with them when it came to PR had its challenges but overall a joy.  Not only that but you were pleased to become friends with them. That was months ago. Now they were showing up everywhere you went outside of the regular

Compound encounters. However, you had noticed Steve was sans his pal more often than not in recent encounters.

“You should stay in the compound with us,” Bucky offers a solution to your current dilemma. You frown at his suggestion. Steve’s waiting for his drink inside of the coffee shop they both happened to show up to this morning.

A coffee shop you had never gone to before in an attempt to test your theory about being possibly followed. The results, worrisome

“I mean,” Bucky leans over his cup keeping eye contact. “You’ve said it yourself, they’re starting the shutdown soon and you’re not sure how long you can spend being completely alone.” You look away at his intense gaze only to catch Steve’s eye as he sits next to you at the four top.

“What are you two talking about?” An easy smile falls over Steve’s face before he takes a sip of his coffee.

“Just that she should stay with us,” Steve nearly spits out his drink, and Buck chuckles at his expense. “You know, staying with us would be much more entertaining than being alone.” Bucky leans over the table looks at Steve directly when he stops.

Steve nods his head, taking the lead.

“You know the Compound ground fairly well,” Steve continues. “It’ll be fully stocked to last the shutdown and then some.”

Nibbling on your bottom lip in equal worry and contemplation you worked out in your head, ways to refuse the offer without coming off as a heinous bitch. 

“Wouldn’t you guys be coming and going during missions?” You scrunched your face up. “I think that would put me at risk of contagion.”

“That’s the greatest part about it,” Bucky leans back in his chair, crossing his arms behind his head. “We’ll be there too. Unless the worst happens, and then we’ll get testing to make sure we’re not carriers before we come back home,” he pauses looking at Steve then you, “to you.”

Steve clears his throat shifting in his seat you tilt your head to the side watching him. “Are you okay Steve?”

“Mm?” he looks directly at you for longer than fleeting seconds. “Yes,” he pauses. “I really think you should consider the offer.” His hand rests on your knee, the heat emitting off him almost too much for the end of March in New York City. 

“We have a spare room in our apartment there,” He watches you nibble on your lip once again, he shifts to Bucky who just nods his head towards you. “We’ll get it set up just the way you want and I swear we won’t leave dishes in the sink.”

Bucky chuckles, “I agreed to no such thing,” Steve cuts his eyes at his pal. “Fine,” Bucky huffs folding his arms over his chest pouting.

You can’t help but laugh at the two of them, much like a married couple. Maybe having their banter around would be helpful to ease the worrisome a pandemic causes? Perhaps the following was because the two had so few friends outside the compound as is and they’ve often said how welcoming you make them feel. Without letting yourself fret any more over the decision you made your choice.

“Okay,” you nodded your head, Steve’s hand on you clasping around your knee. “When can I move in?”

The smile that illuminates Steve’s face bright enough to light up the sky of NYC you were sure of it. However, the grip on your knee makes something in your hindbrain whisper “Be careful.”

You had been doing so well, it was a month in and the situation was proving rewarding for all parties. You had a nice state of the art abode, they had a personal chef in you and you all had each other for company. 

Working from home was not an issue at all, they left you alone when you were working. You only saw them when you’d pause for lunch, where they always seemed to in the kitchen waiting for you. After work would normally be some type of movie to watch for them to catch up, sharing music or the rare occasion Steve drawing you as you read. 

It was nice and oddly domestic bliss but it seemed to change one drunken night when you kissed Steve. It wasn’t meant to be anything, you were drunk feeling good and he was making you feel good. With his compliments and attention before you knew it your lips were on his. He didn’t respond which left you feeling completely foolish. 

Not that you wanted anything to happen between you and Steve, you didn’t, right? He was handsome, and god knows he was packing with what your eyes have beheld when he comes back from his work on in his grey sweats. So maybe you did? Or was it the cabin fever?

However, after that, it’s a fat chance anything would happen as he avoided you the next day. Bucky told you it was just his nerves that “He’s never had a hot dame like you into him.”

Luck was on your side two nights later when Steve ventured out of his room for a movie night. A romance on no less, and Bucky suspiciously dipping out early claiming he was exhausted. That left you and Steve miles apart on the couch until Steve slid down to your side, his arm wrapping around your shoulders. He pulled you close and when you tried to pull back for some space for civility you couldn’t budge him. 

When the romantic duo of the film finally kiss you can’t help but look at Steve from the corner of your eye. Steve is staring at you, a light blush on his cheeks. He leans forward, and before you know what’s happening his lips are on yours. You’re quite shocked given the drunken kiss you gave him.

It takes only a moment for your lips to soften on his. The pleased sigh he emits warming your body up almost more than the kiss. With tentative movement, his tongue trails only your bottom lip, and your open your mouth on reflex. Then the flood gates are open, he’s pulling you into his lap, arms holding you secure as you both make up for the last quarter of the film.

As the credits roll you finally part, lips chapped and swollen. You feel your cheeks warm as you look away. Well, this certainly wasn’t your plan. Steve clears his throat and you look back at him.

“I had wanted to do that for a while,” You give a shy smile in response.

“I think,” you pull yourself off his lap. “It was worth the wait and just enough.” Needing to keep your distance before you let this go farther than it should. Sleeping with someone who was kindly housing you rent-free was not the smartest move in your opinion. 

Steve nods in agreement though his brow furrow with agitation. He was fairly certain his night would go somewhere else and the uncomfortable tightness of his pants had to be dealt with.

“I suppose you’re right,” he shifts on the couch and you pretend not to see the bulge in his pants that you had without a doubt felt just a moment underneath you. “I say we call it a night.” Steve veining confidence to take control of the night.

Nodding in agreement. “Good night Steve,” as you go to turn he stands up and grabs your wrist pulling you into him capturing your lips one last time. 

Letting you go when you pull apart he smiles. “Just had to have one more,” tucking your hair behind your ear you can’t help but smile, “Sweet dreams.”  He releases your hand as you turn once more to retreat to your room.

His eyes glower at your disappearing figure, eyes tracing the flare of your hips and lush back side. He wasn’t sure he could wait for another night to continue this path you two were on. One he desperately wanted. 

You were awake and abruptly so.

You felt, full? Oddly so? An ache and stretch in your lower abdomen the first sensations as you wake up. Then it’s the way you feel your pelvis flex against something. Eyes opening the room is still dark, your eyelids feel heavier than usual when awoken in the night. Are you sitting upright? What’s the warmth radiating at your back?

Warm muscular arms wrap around your body from behind, you yelp in fear. Your bareback is forced against a fuzzy chest. Wait, are you naked? Thick thighs flex below you and that ache in your lower abdomen is clearly all the way to your pelvis becomes clear. Your gasping for breath as panic sets in, your voice cracks in your attempts to call out for help. Who is this?

“Ssshh,” lips press against the shell of your ear. You’re cocooned in warmth and you’ve never been more afraid in your life. This sensation should be comforting but-

“Knew you’d feel so tight around me,” You’re bounced up by the thighs beneath, and the moan that pulls from your lips is involuntary. The thick cock lodged so deep inside you feel too good. It shouldn’t feel this good. The bulbous cock head brushing against that special spot with each re-entry. 

“Ste-Steve?” you get out between your shock and pleasure. He holds you down, still as can be, you can feel the steady thump of his heart against your back. Lips the press against your ear slowly trails down your neck resting at the nape. His breath pushes hot air across your bare chest with a forceful exhale.

“It’s me,” His words a whisper on your skin. “I’ve got you, sweetheart.” You try to find his words comforting, recalling how gentle he is with you, how attentive and soft the first kiss was earlier this night. How had it escalated so quickly?

Your nails dig into his forearms, his large hands holding your waist lifting you up and down as if you were light as a feather. It was disorienting. He drops you down and as your mouth opens his large sweaty palm mutes your scream.

“Normally,” Steve grunts pushing up into you. “I’d want to hear your beautiful voice,” He lifts you once more, his hands so warm and tight against your skin. His super strength made you feel like a sack of potato at the most. Slowly lowering you down his pulsing shaft you can feel the way he pulls at your walls, the sponge feel of the tip of his cock hitting your cervix.

“But I don’t want Buck to hear.” He grunts pushing his hips up and down, his thighs moving you without your aid. “These noises are mine.” He growls. His hand slips from your mouth to between your slick folds to rub softly against your little nub.

When you inhale to moan Steve shushes you, resulting in you bitting your lip trying to muffle your moans. “That’s my good girl,” his words warm against your skin as he sets a steady pressure on your nub in a circular motion.

Your walls fluttering around him he muffles his groan. “Fuck, baby girl,” his fingers digging into your hip. Steve’s hands move to lift you up, almost completely off his cock the wide tip sitting at the opening. For a brief moment, you think it’s over whatever this violation of your body is.

Then you’re falling, the push of his thick and long shaft into you makes your head jerk back. His chin resting on your forehead. Steve’s bulging arms wrap around you resting under your breast. “You feel me here?” a hand slips down to push on your lower abdomen. A soft moan pulling from your lips at the feeling. 

Looking down you gasp seeing the slight bulge, no wonder it felt like he was splitting you in two. Watching the hand slip down further, two fingers slide down to capture your clit, giving a gentle squeeze. Your body shakes, biting your lip to hold in a moan tilting your head back once more. 

Your hands grip his large forearm trying to pull his hand back. The sensory overload too much from being woken up in such a jarring manner. Trying to get hold of whether you wanted this or not was becoming difficult with each touch. 

Steve tut’s in your ear, his hand pulling back to slap your pussy. Your whimper following the slapping noise. “Don’t hide how much you’ve been wanting this.” He bends his head, lips resting on your forehead. Then touch intimate and far more gentle than what he is doing with your body. 

“I know you’ve been waiting so patiently for me to fill your pussy,” His crass words scrap against your forehead. You go to shake your head but pause when he rotates his hips. 

“It’s okay,” his tone saccharine, “We’ve got plenty of time to make it up before Bucky wakes up.”

[ardenssolis]

@caemthe​ said (inbox):

[ fantasy, conall ] It had been more than a few months since Conall made the oath to give his life for Ozymandias' safety and, while it was no surprise that the majority still were wary of him, the mactíre surprisingly managed to get along with a few soldiers and their families.

Well, it was during one of those times where he was invited over for dinner, that his friend's younger sibling began asking oddly specific questions about his relationship with their king. Of course, his friend quickly tried to change the topic but, after pushing for answers, he learned that there was a romance saga whose characters happened to have a lot in common with him. It was just a coincidence... And yet, Conall couldn't help it but feel oddly suspicious. The feeling didn't get when he actually went to purchase a copy of the first volumes and he swears the bookseller nearly passed out when he placed the books on the counter.

Now, much everyone's surprise, or rather, concern, Conall was in the library. Had been in there for over 28 hours. The even darker circles around his eyes showed that he had skipped sleep. He looked lost in thought, barely taking his eyes off the book for a moment to acknowledge his partner. "Does 'The Prince and His Wolf' ring a bell to you? It was a bestseller for 5 years straight here, but had an abrupt and 'tragic end'. Apparently finally got a much-awaited sequel a few weeks ago so it has been crazy good for the book-selling business lately. I've even seen a few of the maids sneaking away just to read this thing. It's quite... uh... precise in certain things." Conall said as he handed the 'book of doom' to his lover.

     OZYMANDIAS HAD GONE ABOUT his day as per usual, doing all that was necessary to ensure that the kingdom ran smoothly, although he really, honestly, did not need to. The kingdom’s affairs were primarily handled by officials, but he felt if he did not keep track of what they did and ignored them, all kinds of issues could potentially arise in the future. Thus, he made sure to be busy – looking into what was spent, where it was spent, and anything else where a slip on his end could result in another taking advantage. When all was said and done, however, he was exhausted and glad to finally have a chance to breathe and enjoy well-earned relaxation. Making his way down the hallway, he eventually reached the library where he heard that Conall had been spending quite a large amount of his time as of late. So much, in fact, most, himself included, had not seen the man. How…unusual for him to be this interested in what lied within vast room with its many bookshelves. The Mactíre did like to read, but like this? Not quite.

     Stepping inside with a faint creak of the door, he looked around for a moment before closing it behind himself and stepping further within. ❝So this is where you were. I heard that you were researching something, but that is a bit…of an odd statement.❞ Conall, researching? That was a weird thought. As soon as his gaze met the other’s, lips turned downwards into a concerned frown. Were those dark circles beneath those eyes? When had that happened? Ozymandias was sure that Conall was actually sleeping nowadays instead of staying up into ungodly hours of the night. So, why…

     ‘Does ‘The Prince and His Wolf’ ring a bell to you?’

     Huh…that was…unexpected. ❝It does, yes.❞ He leaned closer, attention shifting from them to the textbooks on the table. Why were there so many volumes? Wait a minute…had Conall read all of these? Was that why he was in the library for such a long time? Ozymandias almost laughed, his hand even lifting for a moment to cover his lips and hide the amused smirk that tugged upon their corners. ❝I was not aware you were an avid reader! Is the book that good? I have heard things about it, so did intend to read when the opportunity arose.❞ Accepting that offered book, he opened it, lazily shifting through its many pages, pausing when he encountered a paragraph that was…questionable. He flipped through the book again, stopping once more on another page that also sounded…strangely…familiar. ❝Hmm…why do these situations and words bring a sense of déjà vu?❞ Ozymandias said that, yet each paragraph began to fill him with dread. Familiar was a rather loose way of saying that this seemed very much like his interactions with Conall.

     Eerily so.

[jowritesthingss]

A Fondness for Rabbits

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Pairing(s): n/a

Rating: Teen (for swearing)

Content Warning(s): rabbits, food/drink, mild(ish) swearing, not!Sasha,  eldritch beings, spoilers through late s2 / early s3-ish

Length: 3,538 words

Brief Summary: Jon isn’t particularly keen on the Archive’s new rabbit mascot. (It would help if you read this first! But it isn’t required.)

AO3 link in reblogs bc Tumblr is annoying!

*

If he could, Jonathan Sims would absolutely be firing one Timothy Stoker right about now.

Unfortunately, it seems that for the moment, the both of them are stuck in some sort of limbo, working down there in the Archives.

Them and that damned rabbit Tim brought in to work.

Jon is certain, absolutely certain, that Tim only brought the thing into the Archives to bother him. It happened all too soon after they had their falling out and discovered that none of them can physically quit; there’s no way that it isn’t a coincidence.

Tim swears up and down that it’s only at the Institute because his flat doesn’t allow animals, and that it’ll be gone as soon as he can find a permanent home for it, but naturally Jon is suspicious—and rightfully so, he thinks. Perhaps Tim isn’t the one who murdered Gertrude, but that doesn’t free him from all suspicions. Jon still doesn’t know why he applied to work at the Magnus Institute. For all he knows, the rabbit could be the next step in some horrid plan of some sort.

Regardless of any possible ulterior motives, Jon knows one thing for certain—he does not want this animal in his Archives. He wants it gone, and he wants it gone yesterday.

He stresses as such to a seemingly uncaring Tim: “The moment you find it a different home, it goes. The moment.”

“Sure thing, boss,” Tim agrees placidly, and Jon huffs at that, satisfied enough for the moment.

Oh, but then Martin comes in, and Jon is tasked with the lovely job of explaining to Martin why Tim’s rabbit is allowed to stay when his stray dog wasn’t. And hell, Jon regrets this already.

He stares into the beady red eyes of the rabbit as it slowly, contemplatively munches hay in a corner of the break room. Well.

There’s nothing to do but avoid the break room from then on, yes?

-

...No. Unfortunately.

As the last person to leave at night, and the first person to get in to the Archives in the morning, Jon becomes the reluctant caretaker to the ridiculously furry animal that has begun to take over his Archives and win over his assistants.

Tim wheedles him solidly for a day, popping in at random times until Jon finally agrees to feed the rabbit every morning when he arrives and every night before he leaves. And Jon would say no, he really would, if it weren’t for Martin, annoying oaf he is with his big pleading doe eyes and his irritatingly effective pout. Jon feels the silent judgement radiating off of him every time he pops in bearing tea.

Of course, even if he can’t avoid the animal in entirety, Jon still tries to make his trips in to care for the thing as quick as possible.

He times it once out of curiosity and boredom while he waits for his laptop to finish a surprise update—he’s managed to get the whole routine down in under five minutes. Considering the routine consists of giving it hay, getting it a scoop of pellets, tossing it lettuce from the fridge, refilling its water, and tidying the litter box, he feels almost a bit proud.

It’s somewhat relieving, honestly, having something normal to express distaste at in between investigating his coworkers on possible murder charges and fighting weird worm people and stabby hand people and other supernatural stuff. It’s kind of nice, actually.

Jon’s not too sure he likes the way the rabbit looks at him, though. It’s a rabbit—it’s not like it’s all that smart, right? But something about it just seems so...so knowing. So otherworldly.

He’ll get the routine down to three minutes, Jon resolves. Anything to avoid the rabbit’s unblinking gaze.

-

The rabbit becomes Jon Jr, and Jon (now apparently Jon Sr—which, don’t get him started on that bit) becomes irritated. Well, even more irritated than he generally always is nowadays.

And yet...the rabbit seems to sense that it has been named after Jon, almost. It seems to take particular fascination with him, and he cannot for the life of him figure out why.

Whenever Jon is in the break room, the thing follows him everywhere, demanding pets and snuggles and gently nibbling at the tips of his fingers if he lets them drop low enough. So he goes into the break room less and less, expecting for it to lose interest in him or hopefully forget about or ignore him the few moments he does pop in—but the rabbit seems to become even more fiercely attached.

He knows the creature isn’t like this with the others. The rabbit doesn’t particularly like Sasha—it ignores her most of the time—and it outright bit Elias the one time he chanced in on it. It seems to like Tim and Martin a fair amount, but the moment Jon walks through the doorway it bounds over, refusing to leave his side and even trying to follow him out of the break room on a smattering of occasions.

Staring into those empty, beady red eyes, Jon could swear there is something ancient and eternal and knowing. But Tim refuses to get rid of the thing, and Martin would cry, and Sasha or Elias or probably all of them would corner him and lecture him unnecessarily about being too paranoid yet again.

Although, he could always take it to an animal shelter. The rabbit very literally eats into the Archive’s budget—the thing eats an absurdly large amount of hay. Then Martin keeps buying toys for it instead of getting the office supplies Jon has asked for just about twenty times (“what if he gets bored in there, Jon? did you know rabbits can get depression? I can’t let him get depression!”), and Tim’s determined to fatten it up with copious amounts of fresh fruits and vegetables (“only the best organics for my furred son!”).

He’s certain that he could logic it out—that if he reasoned and fought it, Elias would nod neutrally and let him get rid of it. Elias, for all he is suspect in Gertrude’s murder, seems to be the only one with a modicum of sense left in the place. Surely he’ll be on Jon’s side in this.

But when he casually asks Elias his thoughts on the matter, the man adopts an oddly amused expression and says he has no objection to an animal to emotionally support the Archives team (“especially considering the incident involving Jane Prentiss, Jon, it really might help boost employee morale”).

Jon is fairly certain that this is Elias’ stance only so that he doesn’t have to be held accountable for providing his traumatized employees with actual therapeutic aid, but he doesn’t mention it. Instead he angrily bites his tongue and excuses himself from Elias’ office before he says something stupid.

As he goes back down to the Archives and continues about his day, Jon puzzles through his predicament.

The shelter is still sounding like his best option, his coworkers’ opinions be damned. He’s always the last to leave at night and the first to arrive in the morning...perhaps he could wait until everyone is gone and take it to a shelter? Or maybe he could ask around the other departments to see if anyone needs a pet or—well, or snake food.

Although...some very small part of Jon hesitates at the thought of turning Jon Jr over to Artifact Storage or a snake or anything of the sort.

The rabbit seems almost scarily in tune with his emotions—perhaps more in tune than Jon himself—and it doesn’t seem to mean him any harm. Certainly it hasn’t attacked him with parasitic worms or stabbed him with ridiculously long, sharp fingers yet or anything like that. And, well, what could it even do if it did intend harm? Bite him? Pee on his shoes? Steal his lunch?

...Speaking of lunch, Martin keeps spilling chicken from his wrap on his pants. Jon doesn’t have the heart to tell him that the mayonnaise has also started to escape.

Abruptly, Jon stands up from the couch, throwing away his napkin and shooing the rabbit away with a foot as he wriggles his way out of the door to the break room.

It has to be because they named it after him, Jon concludes. That’s why he’s starting to get attached. That must have been their plan, and dammit, it’s working.

He’ll give Tim an ultimatum, Jon ultimately decides as he goes back to his office. Tim doesn’t have to know what Elias thinks about the situation. And he did promise that the rabbit would go when he found it a home. So either Tim finds the rabbit a home by this Friday, or it goes out to a local shelter.

...The rabbit has a home by Friday: Jon’s.

-

Jon can pinpoint exactly when it happens.

He works himself into a panic when Basira Hussein quits the police force, and he loses any chance he might’ve had at getting the rest of Gertrude’s tapes. And at this point his panic (and his bad luck streak) really isn’t all that surprising, but something about this one particular panic is bad. Really bad.

It’s late at night, and everyone has gone home (except perhaps Elias; Jon has no idea what Elias’ hours look like). Since there’s no one else there to notice him appearing even more frazzled than usual, Jon chances out of his office and into the break room for a glass of water. It ought help his scratchy throat and his shaking limbs and his buzzing head.

Of course, he’s forgotten about the rabbit entirely.

Upon shoving the door open and flicking on the light switch, Jon nearly jumps out of his skin to see the rather unpleasant reminder of the Archives’ pesky little visitor. It’s sitting directly in front of the door, staring expectantly up at him, almost as if it’s been waiting for him.

Unnerving as ‘Jon Jr’ is, the actual Jon’s exhaustion and want for water outweighs his suspicions in the given moment, so he continues forward, shuffling into the break room and very nearly staggering towards the counter.

Once he’s managed to get a cup down from the cupboard, Jon fills it with trembling hands, dropping it into the sink once and nearly dropping it across the counter once too. He turns around and nearly trips on Jon Jr, sloshing even more water out of his cup.

Despite being rained on, though, the rabbit doesn’t seem all that put out; rather, it follows him over to the break room couch, waiting almost patiently for him to sit down and get situated before it hops up and unceremoniously deposits itself in his lap.

“What?” he manages to sourly mutter at it, but he can’t muster up the energy to shoo the thing off of his lap.

So Jon sits there, in silence, drinking his water and attempting to ignore the rabbit.

His attempt does not go well. A few minutes into the stillness, the rabbit shifts, moving to face Jon. It presses its nose towards his torso, wiggling its way under the hem of Jon’s rumpled collared shirt.

Choking on a particularly large gulp of water, Jon makes a startled noise as the rabbit’s wet nose comes into contact with his bare skin.

Coughing violently, Jon tries to flinch away, falling sideways on the couch. His cup flies out of his hands—thank god it’s one of the plastic ones—and water splatters everywhere.

However, the rabbit doesn’t seem to be deterred by the sudden motion and his attempt to get away. It simply follows him, weaseling its way from his lap up towards his face. Its bright red-eyed stare burns into Jon.

Jon flinches as the thing looms in front of his face, sucking in a desperate breath. Oh, god. There’s no one for him to call out to, no help to be had. Oh, god. Is it truly some sort of—of monster—after all? Is this it? Is he about to die?

The rabbit presses forward...

...and begins to lick his nose.

As Jon lies there, frozen into some sort of terrified shock, a vague part of his mind recalls a memory of the rabbits that his grandmother’s neighbor had kept, all those decades ago. Licking someone is a rabbit’s way of kissing them, and licking someone’s nose...that’s one of the ultimate signs of love, isn’t it?

The rabbit continues to lick his nose—nothing more, nothing less. No biting, no clawing, no attacking. Just licks. Just kisses. Just...love?

Jon’s racing heartbeat slowly begins to calm down. He lets out a shaky breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding, and he allows him to fall back into the couch, relaxing his tense limbs.

The rabbit follows him as he leans into the back of the couch, clambering up onto his chest.

For a moment Jon tenses up again, unsure of what it’s planning to do, but all the rabbit does is settle comfortably onto his chest and resume licking his nose. The weight of the animal on his chest somewhat reminds him of the Admiral, back when he’d lived with his former girlfriend Georgie, and it feels...nice. Calming, almost, soothing and lessening the sheer panic he’s been feeling for the majority of the day.

“You’re not....” Jon’s voice cracks; he inhales a shaky breath before trying again. “You’re not so bad after all, are you?” He licks his lips before he cautiously tries out the rabbit’s name. “...Junior.”

Jon reaches a wobbly hand up towards Jon Jr. He stares intently at the rabbit, waiting for any sign of alarm or ill will. Seeing none, he places his hand hesitantly on Jon Jr’s back. When the animal shows no sign of startling or moving to dislodge his hand, Jon slowly begins to pet him in short, stilted strokes that quickly become more confident as the rabbit kisses his nose more fervently.

“I suppose...I suppose you can stay for...just a bit longer,” Jon murmurs into the rabbit’s warm fur. He cautiously strokes Jon Jr’s cheeks, chancing a small smile when the rabbit closes his eyes in pleasure.

And if he falls asleep there on the break room couch, there with the comforting warmth and weight of the rabbit he’d set out to hate and instead fallen hopelessly in love with—well. Nobody was there in the Archives to see it, now were they?

-

Too much happens all too fast, in a blur of time and terror. Melanie King limps in on Jon acting much too immature (in his defense, Jon Jr is...difficult to resist when he wants kisses), but the worry over whether she’ll ruin his reputation or not is quickly washed away by the cold terror of realizing that Sasha is not Sasha.

Suddenly there’s an axe in his hand and an oddly swirling tabletop in his sights, and then suddenly Tim and Martin are interrupting him mid-swing, Jon Jr nosing around their ankles.

Then they’re surrounded by splinters of wood and the grotesque, distorted yells of the thing that is not Sasha, the thing that was not ever Sasha, and there’s a yellow door, and a thing with too-many-too-long hands holding out for a deal.

And then they’re running.

Martin gets lost, Jon isn’t entirely sure when—was it back in the twisting halls of Michael’s domain, or down in the twisting tunnels of Smirke’s creation? everything is blurring together at edges tinged with fear—

—and then it’s just him, and Tim, and Jon Jr, and the thing that had been, had been wearing his assistant’s life like some sort of costume, and oh. This is it, isn’t it? They’re about to die, aren’t they.

At least Martin will survive to tell their tale, Jon hopes, feeling a rush of remorse at how abruptly and patronizingly he’s treated his poor assistant. He could’ve been—he could’ve been dead and gone, replaced like Sasha, and Jon never would have known. And now—now Jon is the one about to die. Him and Tim.

God, Tim. He doesn’t particularly like Tim. Tim has been satisfactory enough as an assistant, he supposes—had almost been a friend once, back in their research days—and now....

Now they back into a dead end, practically hugging the wall as not!Sasha slowly approaches them with a look of manic glee on its face. And Jon...he wouldn’t wish this on anyone, regardless of how much he does or doesn’t like them. Certainly he wouldn’t wish this end on Tim...even if a small, selfish part of him is glad that he’s not alone in the end.

It’s just him and Tim. Just like it was back with Prentiss.

Mouth falling slightly open, Jon turns towards the man in question—perhaps to weakly comment as such, he isn’t really sure—only to see Jon Jr leaping out of Tim’s arms.

“Junior!” The word is tugged out of him, unbidden. Dammit, he’s grown attached to the rabbit. And dammit, there are tears prickling at the corners of his eyes as the rabbit obliviously makes his way towards the hungry thing that had pretended to be Sasha. Dammit, dammit, dammit.

Only—

Only then, the rabbit isn’t a rabbit.

It happens much too fast for Jon to really get a good glimpse at what their rabbit becomes. But there’s a loud cracking noise, then a monstrous blur of gray and limbs and mouth and teeth, then another crack and then...nothing. Not even not!Sasha remains. Just a smallish white rabbit in the middle of the now-empty tunnel, sitting primly and licking at one paw.

Jon and Tim gape at each other and at the rabbit, but one thing is for certain:

“...We’re keeping the rabbit,” Jon murmurs, light-headed.

“I—yeah.” Tim nods, and he slumps back against the wall and slowly slides down to the floor of the tunnel. A hand reaches out and snags Jon, dragging him down with, and there, leaning against the wall and each other, the two stare at the not-quite-a-rabbit.

“We’re keeping the rabbit.”

The rabbit-but-not-a-rabbit blinks his innocent red eyes up at them before flopping over to rest, and honestly? Jon thinks Junior has rather the right idea there.

-

And so the rabbit is kept, and Jon and Tim stagger out of the tunnels minus one not!Sasha but still with one not!a rabbit.

Come to think of it, they’re still down one Martin as well, which is admittedly worrisome.

Neither Jon nor Tim is exactly keen to go back in the tunnels so soon after escaping certain death within them. Jon has never been the most athletic of people—he’s an academic, he’s supposed to be sitting behind a desk all day, for christ’s sake—and his legs feel like jelly beneath him as they debate over calling the police.

Tim is of the mind that they should call the police, or at least Basira, whom he stubbornly still refers to as Jon’s “girlfriend” (and Jon is much too tired to dispute that at this point). Jon, on the other hand, doesn’t think even section thirty-one officers would listen to “we went into a door a monster created in a wall and we lost our coworker in a maze of endless passageways.”

Thankfully, it turns out that they needn’t have worried, because Martin turns up not too long after, dizzy and dragging two other people behind him.

One of them is a familiar face—Helen Richardson, whom Martin apparently had picked up while stuck in Michael’s spiralling labyrinth, and who seems quite content to latch onto Martin and sit firmly in one spot in the center of the place, refusing to pass through any doorways whatsoever. But the second person is an unfamiliar face—an aging, gray-haired man who seems impeccably polite, incredibly calm, and increasingly out of place among the dinge of the tunnels and Artifact Storage.

Then the man introduces himself as Jurgen Leitner, and Jon nearly drops Jon Jr.

But Jon is much too tired to deal with that in the moment, so when Martin tentatively suggests a slumber party of sorts in the Archives to ease his, Helen’s, and Leitner’s worries all in one, Jon gives in without the fight he normally would put up.

As the others assemble bedding and piles of pillows and cushions pilfered from the library chairs, Jon manages to snag the break room couch once more for himself...and for Jon Jr.

Jon has absolutely no idea what, exactly, he’s supposed to do now. There are clearly bigger things at play here—or, at least, Leitner seemed to think so, from the little he said before Tim shut him up and sent him to bed—but as he watches Jon Jr nibble on a cucumber peel, Jon feels a bit better, at least, knowing that one of those bigger things might at least be on his side.

(Or, well. Hopefully he can bribe mister “bigger thing” with enough carrots to stay on his side. That is yet to be seen.)

Fin

First || Next

*

I just have so many stupid ideas for this ridiculous AU that I couldn’t just let them live in my head...so I might as well scrawl them out and let y’all enjoy them with me, right? (Or you can tell me to shut tf up if these get too dumb or annoying for you asdhjkl)

But yeah, as you can tell, Jon Jr’s presence will be messing around with canon, because I take any and all opportunities for fix-its. I just really miss my boy Tim and also my wife Sasha ok so sue me

Want to chat or be added onto any of my taglists? Shoot me an ask or a message here or via my other social media!

[darlingpetao3]

Great Scott, Barry! (Chapter 2/9)

Oh, what a night! You're still revelling in the greatness of last night, even on your way to work the next morning. Iris' friends are so unbelievably kind, so funny. And her brother/best friend? Damn. After spending all that time with Barry Allen at the club, you officially have it bad. They don't make guys like that anymore. It may sound completely weird, but even just simply being in his presence made you feel safe.

And you met the guy freaking yesterday!

Okay, but seriously, you think. I can't think about the guy all day. I have to plan my first movie review for CCPN!

Once you arrive at work, you immediately pull up the search browser on your laptop and check the movie listings in town. The theater a few blocks away is showing that one movie you've been dying to review since its trailer first came out. Galaxy Plunders, directed by J.J. Abrams, features actors Dean Cain and Ezra Miller as a father and son duo in the profession of space piracy.

Iris walks by your desk. “Space pirates, huh? I heard about that one. It's a little out there, don't you think?”

“I dunno,” you say, twisting around in your swivel chair. “It sounds right up my alley.” Iris sits down across from you, takes a sip of her coffee, and taps around distractedly on her phone. “Now to figure out when to see it...” you say mostly to yourself. You click around the site for dates and showtimes, but before finally settling on one, your phone chimes, alerting you of a message. When you check to see who the text is from, the name on your screen makes your heart skip a beat.

Hey (Y/N)! Had such a fun time with

you last night. Was wondering if

you might want to do something

tomorrow night? With me? Maybe

a movie? How do you feel about

Galaxy Plunders?

You make a suspicious “hmm...” sound and raise an eyebrow at Iris, who, of course, is attempting to look busy. And failing.

“It's Barry,” you tell her.

“Oh?” she says, feigning surprise. “What does he have to say?” She's still not looking at you. So we're playing this game, are we?

“He wants to go to a movie together. He suggested Galaxy Plunders. That's one hell of a coincidence seeing as I only mentioned it like, two minutes ago. Wouldn't you agree, Iris?”

“Well, Barry does have an astounding intuition.” You stare her down in this charade, then you both break out in giggles.

I'd really like that, Barry. I've

been dying to see that movie. It

will be my next review!

Awesome! I'll pick you up

tomorrow at 8?

Sounds lovely. Can't wait! :)

Honestly, tomorrow night can't come fast enough. You didn't mean to let out a dreamy sigh after sending that last text, but it happened. You look up and catch Iris trying to hide her righteous grin while she is so suddenly invested in her work notes.

After purchasing the tickets and the concession snacks, Barry (ever the gentleman) asks you to choose the seats. When you find a pair of seats, you remark how extraordinarily comfortable they are compared to those in Hazel City. These are pure luxury! You could get used to coming here.

In the few minutes before the movie starts, Barry asks you all kinds of questions regarding your reviewing process.

“How do you decide what movie to cover?”

“What do you look for as you're reviewing it?”

“Do you normally bring a pen and paper with you for notes? I'd probably have to do that, I could never remember all my thoughts!”

You appreciate him asking questions about your process and procedures, finding him terribly cute while doing so. The lights dim down before you can ask him anything about his job as a forensic scientist. Like, come on! How cool is that?

During the first half of the film, you are so into it, taking many mental notes for later. But then, a couple of things happen that make your heart race like crazy and become distracted from the events occurring on screen. When you reach into the popcorn that Barry is holding for the two of you, your fingers brush his, that are also grabbing at the buttery snack.

Your cheeks heat up like a furnace and you feel appreciative for the darkness. You cannot believe how much you're acting like a total school girl. Out of the corner of your eye, you think Barry is looking straight at you, but you are far too tense to check if that is the case. You lean back into your seat and fidget your hands in your lap, trying to concentrate back on the movie to calm yourself down.

Several minutes later, however, you're back to feeling stomach flips when it happens. It's like all happens in slow motion: Barry stretches, and sure enough, his arm drapes across the back of your seat. Oh my God, he just pulled the move! And though you'd think this would send you flying off the Cliffs of Nervousness, it doesn't. In fact, it kind of relaxes you, puts you at ease. You can't help the ridiculous smile that curls on your lips. Now turning to see Barry, he's wearing a matching smile directed at you. That sunshine smile... Feeling more comfortable than ever now, you rest your head against him. A yell comes from the screen. Wait, how did that alien come to be strapped to Dean Cain's back?!

The walk back to your apartment was a heart fluttering affair (a now common occurrence around this man), something straight out of those cheesy romantic movies you secretly love. You walked side by side each other at a nice, leisurely pace passing underneath the fully bloomed cherry trees. They looked beautiful in the moonlight. So did Barry.

At one point, Barry somehow sneakily got much closer to you during the walk and takes your hand in his. You're pretty sure Barry blushes just as hard as you in that moment. But naturally, all good and wonderful things such as this must come to an end, as you both reach the door to your apartment building. You wish so much that this night didn't have to end with him.

“I had a really great time with you, Barry.”

“Yeah, I did with you too, (Y/N).” In these silent and awkward couple of seconds, you swear he has that look in his eyes like he wants to kiss you. Oh please, please, Barry...

He moves in closer and he smells so incredibly good it's intoxicating. Please. He pushes a strand of your hair back behind your ear.

“Can I k-” Barry's phone suddenly chimes loudly from his pocket and he reflexively checks it. His face drains of the flushed colour that was once there. “Call you? Can I call you later? There's an emergency. I'm so so sorry but I have to run.”

“Okay-” Barry turns and sprints, but oddly enough it almost seems like he's holding back.

“I'll call you, I promise!” he shouts back to you.

You continue to stand there in your spot outside the apartment building after he's gone. You're perplexed. You really, really like Barry, but you can't help but wonder if he doesn't feel exactly the same way. Him leaving like that didn't make you feel too hot. Was that some kind of excuse? Was it you? Did you do something wrong? Maybe that was his way of letting you off. Ugh, this was going to drive you crazy. You tell yourself to go inside and work on your review. Surely that will be enough of a distraction from Barry's weirdness and these horrible, plaguing, second-guessing thoughts.

Part 3