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muzzlemouths · 1 year

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let your heart be light

December is a hard month and you're being worked to the bone. Good thing you have two sentient animatronics waiting at home to do the unthinkable - give you a very merry Christmas.

Sun/Moon centric // Wordcount: 4582 // AO3 Link

“Three cups of flour?”

“Check!”

“A teaspoon of baking powder?”

“Got it!”

“Salt?”

“Only a pinch!”

“A cup of sugar? One egg?” You fold the old recipe between your fingers, “What about–”

“The butter? A full cup, unsalted. The other things too!” Sun sets a flour-coated palm on your head, dusting it with white, “It’s all there, sweetheart. I haven’t missed a thing.” His fingers smooth over your scalp and bring some ease to your temples, this month already wearing you thin, he offers you a calming smile in your great time of distress, “I’ve got everything taken care of, already, so you needn’t fuss for a moment longer. Moon and I can handle things on our own.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of,” your breath passes between clenched teeth, a grimace falling into place, but Sun’s shoulders fall - you don’t outright say you don’t trust them, but you might as well have - and you’re quickly backpaddling to make up for it, “you know I’m just nervous,” you admit with another sigh, forcing a smile that does, eventually, turn genuine, “But I’m probably worrying over nothing. We’ve gone over this a hundred times, right?” You carefully take his hand away and instead tuck it between your own, holding it tight, “You’ve got this.”

His posture relaxes, eyes softening, “We’ve got this,” he repeats with a nod, “I promise you can count on us. Now, how about that recipe?”

“Oh, right,” you hand over the folded square with a certain wariness, “don’t forget to preheat the oven first, okay? And the air will be hot when you first open it, so make sure you aren’t standing too close–”

“Sunshine,”

“–right, okay. Sorry. You’ve got this!” You spot the time from across the room and mutter a bit, “Fuck, I should have been out of here ten minutes ago.” Spinning around like a dog after its own tail, you frantically dig into both coat pockets and come up empty.

Sun raises your keys by the ring with a silent grin, “Language,” he reminds you all too smugly, “try not to lose your head on the way, love.”

You sheepishly swipe the keys from him and jam them into your pocket - where they promptly fall straight through to the floor from a hole in the fabric with an eruption of metal tings. “Ugh, I keep forgetting about that.”

You bend at the waist and reach for them. Sun gets there first, and your hands collide, faces dangerously close.

But Sun knows you’re in a hurry. He begrudgingly keeps his hands to himself, instead retrieving the keys and handing them back over to you with a little peck on your temple and a flourish, “I’m surprised you don’t lose things more often with a coat so full of holes,” he muses, “you’re sure we can’t patch it up for you?”

“Thanks, but no thanks,” the keys fall into your other pocket with a whisper, “This is the only one I’ve got, can’t afford to let you have it for that long. Maybe sometime in the spring you can take a wack at what’s left.” Eyes finding the clock again, your teeth sink into your bottom lip, and you steel yourself for the day, “Okay, I really have to go now.”

Sun ushers you out the door with a wave of his hands, “Off you go, then!” He blows you a big, wet kiss. You catch it at the door.

“Okay, um,” Nodding to yourself, you take in the kitchen one last time, committing it to memory in case you return to it looking like something else, “I’ll be back around eight.” Your voice lightens, “Tell Moon I said goodbye!”

He nods, big and eager, and shuts the door behind you.

Then you’re off the porch, heading for what is thankfully your last shift of the week, leaving the two behind with a working oven and absolutely no supervision.

And that’s fine. There’s nothing to stress over. You act completely normal about it the entire day, not worrying at all.

Not even when you receive a suspicious text from Sun immediately after getting to work.

“Do we have lights?”

Your face scrunches as you read the message over again, attempting to determine what he means, when a second text comes in.

“The little kind with all the colors.” Oh.

You settle into a chair behind the desk and write back, “Christmas lights? I might have some shoved in a bin somewhere in the garage.” Then, thinking better of it, you send a second message with it, “I don’t mind if we put them up but I don’t think I have time to do it tonight. Can it wait for tomorrow?”

More than anything, his lack of a response is what scares you most. Silence for ten minutes, then an hour, then four hours. It weighs on you for the entire shift and more than once you have to stop yourself from running to the bathroom so you can sneak in a phone call. That would prove you didn’t trust them - and you don’t want to imply that any more than you already had this morning.

It didn’t mean you weren’t completely riddled with anxiety by the time your shift ended and you found your way home again, half expecting to follow a plume of smoke to your address.

To your utmost relief, there’s no smoke and not even the smell of overbaked cookies to welcome you home. Surprisingly, there’s no lights, either. You had been sure that Sun would have taken matters into his own hands by now, but it appears that, for once, he decided to listen.

Your keys slide into the lock and the handle turns. You brace yourself for the worst, just in case.

“Guys, I’m home!” Pushing your way inside, you instinctively reach for the lightswitch - but stop dead. There’s no need for it.

The inside of your house looks like a Macy’s parade. Lights of every color hang over picture frames and wind around furniture, bringing a dazzling shimmer to the walls, and a shine to the floors, the rooms transformed into something magical.

“You’re home!” Sun peels around the hallway corner with a short string of lights entangled in his own rays, “Is it eight already? I only just finished setting everything up.”

You cross the room, taking in the sights with a wide open gape, “Did you do all of this?” You gasp, “I didn’t even know I owned this many.”

“Do you like it?” He sounds positively giddy and more than a little proud of himself. “I spent all day on it. Wanted to make sure you came home to something nice.”

A smile crosses your lips, “It’s beautiful,” you tell him, “though I’m a little confused - why did you string them up inside?” Your finger points to the door, “Christmas lights normally go on the outside of the house.”

“On the…outside?” Sun’s thumbs twiddle together, smile faltering, “O-Oh, well, seems my quick internet search could have been more thorough. We can take them down–”

“No!” Your hands fly to reassure him, “I like it this way. It feels…closer. More homey.” You empty your keys onto the kitchen counter while shaking the shoes from your feet into their usual corner, and then take a whiff of the air, suddenly growing suspicious, “Huh. I thought the house would smell like cookies when I got back.”

“Ah…” Sun trails off before he even begins, pointer fingers now pressing together in his thumb’s stead, “About that… I never actually got around to making them.”

“What? Why not?”

“I told you, I’ve been doing this–” he gestures all around, “–all day! B-Besides, this way we can decorate them together!””

Your coat is tossed onto the nearest chair. “What about Moon?” You ask, “Couldn’t he have baked them?”

“Moon’s been busy, too.”

“With?”

Sun’s head lolls to the right with a little sideways smile, excitement building in the jittery line down his arms until he can barely contain it, “Well, it’s a little too bright out here for his liking, you know.” He straightens, then, and gestures for you to follow him down the hall, “Come on, I’ll just show you.”

Following him further into your house, the sight that greets you is something a little less traditional than Sun’s attempt at holiday cheer, but still cozy, nonetheless. The very description of the word, in fact.

There is a pillow fort in your livingroom.

A colossal structure, it spans the entire size of the room, reaching half of Sun’s height - and most of yours - and presumably uses every feasibly available blanket and pillow in your entire house.

Curiously, there’s an extension cord leading from the bathroom and tucked between two of your kitchen chairs with a blanket overlapping them. You can’t imagine that Moon would have the same extensive number of lights inside this humble abode, but the idea of him using electricity in there for anything else is beyond you.

Sun bends to reach the ‘door’ and gives it a few hearty taps, the usual sound of a knock lost against the swaths of blanket, “Moon, dear, they’re home!” He calls out, “May we come in?”

“Not yet.” Comes the immediate answer, muffled from inside. He doesn’t bother to grace you with his presence.

Of course, Sun’s face twists at this with a roll of his eyes and a scold just on the brink of escaping, “Come, now, it’s rude to keep us waiting.” His eyes meet you, that gentle smile seeping in beneath his eyes, “He hasn’t even let me inside yet, you know, so this’ll be a surprise for both of us.” Returning his attention to the door again, he gives the blanket a more sturdy knock, and says, “I’m coming in whether you like it or not!”

A minute later, Moon appears at the mouth of the fort. His red optic peers, narrow eyed, through the crack he’s formed by pulling the door aside, “Impatient.” He scolds with a tsk, “Fine, I’m done.” The blanket returns to its place a minute later as Moon recoils into his fort and out of sight. “Don’t get your rays caught on the top.”

The two of you share a look. A laugh bubbles from your throat and catches him off guard, but then Sun is laughing, too, and retracting a couple of his rays in an honest bid to do as Moon asked. He bunches the door away and politely gestures for you to enter first, and you do, tucking yourself at the shoulders before making your way inside with Sun on your tail. The door falls back into place behind him.

Your feet meet carpet - or, rather, a solid pair of blankets acting as such - which soften the floor and keep things cozy. Pillows border the sides with a few being scattered on top of more loose blankets, and a number of your stuffed animals have even made their way inside.

Over your head, lights cling to the ceiling blanket in clean lines of sparkling blue. Paper stars and snowflakes hang in between with the evidence of their creation - a pile of scraps and a pair of scissors - still bunched in his corner of the fort. "Try not to be too impressed," Moon smirks over his shoulder. But his attention is elsewhere, hunched over something that you can't see until you're climbed over to his side. "Wait, is that my laptop?" "No," says Moon, readjusting your laptop, "just let me finish this." "Ohh, did you get it working?" Sun, bowed at the head to properly fit, claps his hands together with excitement, “I sent you the link to my favorite one.” A minute later your screen comes to life with a weak crackle - not your failing battery, for once, but the specific crack of old, burning wood - the image of a cozy fireplace coming into view a moment later.

Your shoulders bounce with a snicker, “That’s clever,” you tell him, “but–” your smile dims as you look at the two, “are you sure? It’s pretty and all, but I don’t want something like this to make you uncomfortable - what with the, um,” you gesture towards the screen, “with the fire, and all that.”

Sun gets himself settled into a cozier position and Moon follows soon after, Sun with his legs crisscrossed, hands in his lap, and Moon slumped lazily against a mound of pillows with one of your blankets tossed haphazardly around his shoulders.

They share a look, but it’s Sun who speaks up first.

“We’re sure, sunbite,” he reassures, “Moon and I talked it out beforehand. It’s not so scary like this - being just a screen - and if it becomes too much we can always turn it off.”

“Besides,” Moon cuts in with a lazy hand wave, “We’re not doing it just for you. Sun wanted to try out the traditions and this just happened to be one of them.”

“Hey! Don’t give all of my secrets away.”

You blink, all the puzzle pieces clicking into place, “Wait, is that why you were asking about the lights?”

Sun gives you a hearty nod, “Righto!”

“And the snowflakes, too? Does that mean you have–”

“Presents?” Moon finishes for you.

“That’s right!” Sun answers.

They exchange a grin with each other. “It was Sun’s idea,” Moon admits.

“But I only thought of it this morning, after you left for work–”

“We were a little pressed for time.”

“So don’t expect anything big!” Sun winks at you and shifts onto his knees, then half-walks, half-crawls past where you’re sitting, “I’ll go and get them,” he squeals, giddy like – well, like a kid on Christmas — “Moon, can you get the music?”

“I thought we agreed you would do that?” he grumbles.

“Well, now I’m getting the presents, so you’ll have to put Mr. Pout away and find Mr. Happy Holiday Cheer, instead.”

Your hands fly up, “Wait, wait,” Sun disappears out of the fort a minute later, so your attention turns to Moon, who’s already (begrudgingly) fiddling with something in his system, “It’s sweet that you two got me presents - I mean, it really wasn’t necessary, you know that, right?”

“Sun insisted.” Moon shrugs.

“I’ll thank him for it later, however” you pause, attempting to go about this question delicately, “how, exactly, did you get me a gift? I’ve been stuck at work all day.”

Moon doesn’t answer immediately. He avoids your eye and tucks the blanket closer to his shoulders as a way to fill the silence, knowing you’ll figure it out on your own if he only gives you a minute. And you do. It takes thirty-two seconds for it to dawn on you.

“You–” Gasping, your eyebrows scrunch together, “you snuck out, didn’t you? What did I tell you two about leaving the house on your own?” Your exasperation is justified, you think - it would take all of a minute for a company like Fazbears to retrieve their state of the art equipment if they were spotted out in the wild.

“Don’t lecture us,” Moon rolls his eyes, “He wore a disguise the whole time and was only gone for half an hour. Popped into a convenience store and was back here before anyone noticed a thing out of place.”

“He– ” The strain in your voice goes from annoyance to straight panic and you clutch at your head, eyes wide with disbelief, “He went alone?”

Sun’s head pokes through the entrance a second later. “I took the time to get those cookies in the oven, so they’ll be done in just a few minutes now!”

There’s presumably only one gift in his hand; a medium sized box, wrapped in blue christmas paper and folded neatly at the corners, the bow on top small but beautifully pearlescent. His smile disappears (along with his rays - sucked in the second he lays eyes on you) when he enters the fort to the sight of your eyebrow twitching. Immediately, he turns on the other, “Ah, shnookerdookies, Moon! You weren’t supposed to tell them I snuck out!”

“I didn’t,” Moon answers somewhat honestly, hands up in a show of peace, “and they would have found out eventually.”

You exhale with a pinch to the bridge of your nose, wishing and hoping - praying, at this point - that the two of them would stop giving you heart attacks on the daily. “Sun, what would make you think it was a good idea to sneak out? And beyond that - to do it alone!”

“Well… I really wanted to get you something.” Sun again sits down across from you and begins to tap - the pointer finger on both hands - against the wrapped box in his lap, a pingpong of sound from one finger to the other. You learned not too long ago that it’s calculated, this nervous habit of his, not just brainless noise. Less of a need to fill the silence and more of a way to get his feelings out without the exposure - like swearing in a language the listener couldn’t understand.

You could understand it, was the thing - had been extensively training yourself to, actually, not that you’d had a chance to tell them yet - and you count out the zeros and ones he imitates with each tap like you’re lipreading.

“And,” he continues, “I didn’t know how to ask you for a drive to the store without telling you why.” 1100111 1110101 1101001 1101100 1110100 1111001 “I didn’t go far though, pinky swear!”

Your shoulders deflate some as the letters count themselves out. Sighing, you try not to sound too angry with him. Because you’re not - angry, that is - you’re just scared.

These boys meant the world to you. It would be crushing if you lost them over something as trivial as a present. It’s obvious, however, that Sun doesn’t view it that way. The present is important to him. And he is incredibly important to you. So that meant, of course, that you would be lenient.

“Why didn’t Moon go with you?” You gesture for him. Moon is back to cutting stars out of paper, and he barely spares a glance towards the conversation.

Sun’s rays droop with a more dramatic flavor this time, and when he speaks it’s with a whine, “He already had a gift ready for you,” - this, of course, has Moon freezing in place - “but I wanted to get you something, too!” 1101110 1100101 1110010 1110110 1101111 1110101 1110011 ”I think you’ll really like it. I - I hope you do, at least. But it’s okay if you don’t!“

His behavior - that is, the heat on his cheeks and subtle spin of his rays - leads you to believe it’s not something easy or practical.

You could take a deep dive on what all that suggested, but right now your focus is glued to Moon, who is practically hidden behind his knees with how far he’s slumped into the pillows. A wolfish smile crosses your face. “Moon, you had a present for me this whole time?” You coo, “Why didn’t you say anything?”

He shoots Sun a glower - it’s received with a knowing smirk, taps falling silent - and he tosses a paper star into your lap, “Don’t get a big head about it,” Moon huffs, “I made it in my spare time. It just so happens that I finished it this month.”

“Wait,” your expression turns from smug to soft in an instant, “you made it?”

His eyes grow like saucers and he freezes, attempting to backpaddle, “It’s not important,” he’s quick to say, looking back to Sun, “Why don’t we talk about Sun’s present instead?”

Snorting, his counterpart shakes his head with an all too warm smile, “Ohhh, no, buddy, we’ll have plenty of time to talk about my present afterwards. Why don’t we have them open yours first?”

A noise crackles from Moon’s chestplate - static, then a melody, the lyrics to ‘You're a Mean One, Mr Grinch’ tuning in soon after - all three heads turn to look in its direction. Evidently, his music has decided to interject at the funniest possible time.

You roar with laughter - Sun loses himself in a fit of giggles, too, and it isn’t long before Moon is joining in with an undeniable snicker. It feels a little ridiculous. Here you are on Christmas eve, in a pillow fort of all things, laughing under blinking lights as these two rile each other up. “Okay, enough teasing,” you say through the laughter, “hand over the present already. I’ll open that one first.”

Sun gently slides it across to you, still lost in his laughter but clearly excited for this moment to happen. Moon, on the other hand, has already returned to silence and looks ready to bury himself beneath a pile of blankets.

Plucking away the bow, you gingerly pull apart the wrapping paper and then spring the box’s lid open with a vocal pop. Your hand digs through a mountain of tissue paper before finding the treasure hidden inside and drawing it into the light.

It unfolds piece by piece to reveal a granny square sweater - knitted by hand - each square a different color on an expanse of dark blue. The yarn is soft between your fingers, its weight comforting. Your arms fall only enough to look at him behind the gift. “You…you really made this?”

Moon won’t look at you, but you can see the color spreading across his cheeks from here. He rests his chin into the palm of his hand and decisively looks anywhere but in your direction. “Maybe.” he grunts, “You can toss it out if you don’t–”

“No!” You clutch the item close to your chest, flattening it against your heart, “It’s beautiful, Moon.” Already, you’re swinging it over your shoulders and slipping your arms into the sleeves, “I love it, I really do. I can’t believe you would go out of your way to–”

“Just in my spare time,” Moon remains you - at least now, he’s looking your way again.

“Right,” you smile, “Well, either way, I’m really grateful.”

He shifts, looking briefly unsure, then a small grin sneaks into his expression, “Your old one’s gone to shit,” he says, “It hardly keeps you warm anymore. So - maybe you’ll finally be able to toss it out.”

Nodding, your smile only widens, “I’ll be sad to see it go, but you’re right. Besides,” you give yourself a squeeze, feeling the warmth of the yarn hug back, “I think this one will be a wonderful replacement.”

His eyes soften, smile warming, and he makes a noise like there’s more to be said but then falls silent eyes suddenly shifting to the other side of the room. The fond look on his face turns into a sneer. “Your turn.” he coos at Sun, who - for all intents and purposes - looks twice as nervous now.

“A-Already?” He asks, fumbling over himself, “Maybe we could wait until after the cookies–”

Your hand reaches for him, fingers winding between his own, “Sunny, I’m going to love it no matter what,” you assure him, “I promise. Now, let’s see that gift!”

Sun lets out a whiiiiiiine, long and procrastinating, then finally he relents. His spare hand dips into the pocket of his apron (still caked with flour, mind you) and draws from it a small plastic bag with santa and his reindeer printed across the front. “They said paper wrapping might damage it,” he sighs, “but they gave me the bag for free! It’s–” His fingers pinch together beneath the bag handles, eyes flickering between his knees and you, “–well, I just hope you like it.”

“I told you already, didn’t I?” You take the bag and settle it into your lap, one hand to steady it while the other dips inside. It’s featherlight - and you think, for a moment, that maybe it’s a practical joke and he’s wrapped up air - but then you feel it. “I’m going to love anything you give m–” Leaves. A ribbon.

You pull mistletoe from the bag.

Looking up with a start, you find both of them looking in opposite directions, “I–”

“We don’t have to do anything with it,” Swiftly, Sun assures you, “We can just throw it in the trash! I – we will understand.”

Your heart thunders like a persistent drum against your chest, all at once, your cheeks and all the way up to your ears feel flush with heat, and your hand curls sweetly around the small plant in response, “I was just going to say,” their eyes snap to meet you, looking hopeful and worried at the same time, “that if you wanted a kiss that bad you could have just asked for one.”

There’s a pause, a moment of quiet where you’re sure their systems are buffering. Then, suddenly, Sun leaps from his seat and practically scrambles over your crossed legs, swiping the mistletoe in a heartbeat, it’s barely above your heads before he melts against your lips.

You fold under his warmth and give into it, tasting sugar. Sun pulls away only to crane his neck in another direction and plant a kiss there, too - the space beside your mouth, then another to your cheek, and another, still, at your jawline, touches that pepper down your throat with unyielding fondness until you are quite literally swept away –

into the arms of Moon, who sits where you were a minute ago and tucks you into his lap, arms wrapping around yours, he makes an impatient noise against your ear before dipping his head low and going about your skin himself - a kiss to the cheek and the cusp of your ear, one to your temple - then he wraps a firm hand beneath your chin and tilts it to meet him, discovering the warmth of your lips.

Sun’s hands replace his a minute later, the warmth in them drawing you out of the haze they’ve caused, he’s already closed the distance and shows no intention of stopping.

“Guys–” you gasp, breathless, finding yourself pulled back into soft laughter, you feel paper-light and happier than any holiday card could ever make you feel, “Hey, st– come on,” another laugh escapes you, “you can’t tag-team me like this, that’s not fair–”

But Sun finds the space beneath your chin and Moon dips himself against the back of your neck, embracing you in perfect tandem, and the sensation lights you up like a christmas tree. Engulfed in endearment, every kiss, every eager caress sends a warm shiver down your spine.

Then an alarm blares from outside the fort - the screech of an oven - and Sun shoots up so fast his ray nearly rips a hole in the ceiling. “The cookies!” He scurries from the fort with a shrill of panic.

Moon’s own enthusiasm doesn’t come to a stop all together, but he slows, allowing you a breather to the distant sounds of Sun fussing over and arguing with the oven. He gingerly tucks away the sleeve of your sweater and slips a kiss to your bare shoulder, then sets his chin against it, looking up at you with a smile. Shimmering blue lights reflect in his eyes like stars in the sky. “Having fun?” he asks.

“Very much so,” sighing somewhat wistfully, you allow your full weight to relax against him, “you’re both big saps, you know.”

“Mh,” his arms hug tighter around you, hands pressing wordlessly into yours, “Merry Christmas,“ he murmurs, ”our dearest star.“

#drabbles #sundrop #moondrop #fnaf sun #fnaf moon #sun x reader #moon x reader #HOPE Y'ALL ENJOY #HAPPY HOLIDAYS MERRY CHRISTMAS ETC ETC #okay now thati ts posted i'm just gonna- [fuicing passes out]/

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sweetgrimm · 9 months

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Creature (Equine) Comfort (AU drabble ~980 words)

You take Sun to one of your favorite places to introduce him to one of your favorite things. A silly drabble for @lavenoon and your amazing Accidentally Undercover AU. Please enjoy!

The fence creaks as you lean on the old worn wood. The wind blows, but it brings little relief in the evening sun. You made sure to choose a sturdy board. Wouldn’t want to break one while showing someone around. Speaking of…

Sun stands next to you; his focus is forward on what you wanted to show him. After Moon’s first introduction to Storm going…less than smooth, you thought you’d start smaller with Sun. Plus, you know for a fact that his rays are not safe in Storm’s presence. So, you stand against the fence that holds the mares and foals.

“Do you want to meet my kid?” you say after several minutes of soaking in the sun.

“Your kid?” Sun asks, an inflection of curiosity in his voice.

“Ah, well not mine technically, but I found him and I work with him the most so…effectively…” You shrug. “Plus, nobody likes his mom except me. They all say she’s mean, but you just have to pay attention to her boundaries and she’s fine, sweet when she’s really feeling it.”

He hums. “Sounds like someone I know.”

“Rude!” You swat at his arm, losing yourself in laughter. “Come on.” Taking his hand, you lead him to the small wooden gate. It swings open with little resistance as you drag Sun behind you.

The mares look up as you enter, enticed with the prospect of more food, but quickly lose interest and return to their grazing. Not surprising. You make your way towards one of the hay piles, gesturing for Sun to follow.

“Where’s my little candle head, huh?” you coo.

The small chestnut colt lifts his head at your call. To your excitement, he moves towards you.

Sun tilts his head, watching as the colt lumbers your direction. “That’s an interesting nickname.”

“His star looks like a little candle flame, see?” You point to his forehead, where the irregular shaped star sits.

It does the more he looks at it, a little cartoon flame right in between his eyes. An inkling of fascination settles in his chassis as he watches the colt stop just a few steps away, his ears perked forward expectantly. “It does.”

“He’s not as cuddly as some of the others. He has his moods just like his mom.” You step closer to the colt with open hands, an invitation. One he doesn’t have to accept but usually does. “He had to go to the hospital after he was born and as you can imagine it…wasn’t the best experience. He didn’t want to be touched for weeks after he got back, but now he enjoys a good lovin’” At your gesture, the colt steps even closer, touching your side. You lean over the colt’s back and hug his neck, petting him all the while. The colt stands contently, soaking in your affection.

“I’m sure you had nothing to do with that, did you?” Sun says with a sarcastic draw. But there’s that fascination again. Watching you cuddle something that he knows has hurt you, yeah, he remembers those stories and the bruises, just sits a certain way in his mind.

“Nope, not at all,” you counter. “Come here.”

He hesitates.

“Just hold out your hand and let him take a sniff.” You scratch the colt’s back, chuckling as his lips begin to twitch.

Slowly, Sun moves in front of him and extends his hand. The reaction is immediate. The red colt reaches out and aggressively nuzzles his palm. The animatronic chuckles, perplexed by his behavior. “He’s awfully forward.”

You move from his back to his stomach, watching as the colt begin to bite at Sun’s hand. “Oh, he’s an aggressive mutual groomer. He’ll do this all day if you let him.”

Finally, the smile you see from Sun is genuine. He gingerly reaches out and pets between the colt’s ears. You stop scratching. His ears immediately fall back. Sun stops.

“No, no, keep going!” you gasp. “That’s his favorite spot!”

Sun sputters. “But I thought ears back meant they were angry?”

You wave your hands to expel some of your excitement. “Usually, but he does that when you scratch his forehead too. He’s not mad, he loves it. I promise.”

“Okay…” Slowly, he brings his hand back between the colt’s ears and begins rubbing. As you expect, the colt pins his ears and drops his head, bobbing up and down in the slightest. Sun’s eyes dart back to you.

You give him an assuring nod. “Sweet, isn’t he?”

He nods, not looking away from the colt as his free hand moves to scratch his chest. Your heart swells at the sight. The colt lifts his head, nuzzling Sun’s shirt. Sun, in turn, leans down to his level. He teases the young foals wispy, nonexistent forelock all while the colt soaks in the attention. The knot in your stomach loosens. You have no doubt Moon told him about his little escapade through the field in the dark. And while being open to the idea of coming up here, you could see the stiffness in his form.

You step back and lean against the lone tree in the lot. “So, ready to meet my actual kid?”

That stiffness returns in an instant. He stops petting much to the colt’s displeasure. After a couple of angry stomps and a not-so-subtle bump to the hip, Sun takes the hint and places his hands on the colt’s back. “I don’t know about that…” He runs his hands up and down the length the foal’s spine in place of wringing his hands together.

“Oh, come on, he’s a big softie. A sweetheart really. The only difference is that he’s roughly seven times this guy’s size.”

Memories of Moon’s rant come to the forefront of his mind, but he pushes it aside for your sake. “Aha, heh, well, I suppose, as long as you promise he’ll be polite.”

You smirk. “I promise.”

Thanks for reading! (also if you're curious, this was Moon's introduction that is hinted at)

#This is really silly I apologize #I just love squishing my favorite things together #it gives me happy chemicals #please enjoy #accidentally undercover #lavenoon #dcamv #fnaf dca #fnaf sun #my writing #I hope I tagged right #I'm still getting used to tumblr

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