°˖✧ The Night Shift ✧˖° [Wander]
「 ✦ "Hi, I'm Wander! Here to help you SMILE! 😊🌟💖"✦ 」
╰┈➤ Wander x Female Reader ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆
> Having Wander as your boyfriend - the (almost) full experience. > Suggestive themes (as per usual), but nothing smutty happening > It's PROBABLY going to have a second part (yes it's going to be a lemon); not sure yet, we'll see
The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed like a swarm of sleepy bees, casting their cold glow on the otherwise deserted Blarpee's convenience store. You strolled behind the counter, the scuffed linoleum floor sighing under your boots, and plopped into the cracked vinyl chair that had become your throne during these lonely night shifts. Grabbing a magazine from the rack—a glossy mess of articles that no one but night-shift employees ever bothered to read—you leaned back, one leg casually crossed over the other. But barely two sentences into an article about "Top Ten Reasons Blorpberries Will Change Your Life," you heard it: the unmistakable sound of someone applying their face—enthusiastically and with zero shame—to the front window. Your expression didn't even flinch; your soul sighed, though.
Turning your head slowly, you spotted the culprit.
Wander. Of course.
His tangerine face was plastered against the glass like a starry-eyed sticker someone forgot to peel off. His hat flopped comically to one side, and his wide grin looked about ready to burst with excitement. He waved a hand with all the subtlety of a neon sign, his eyes sparkling like he had just spotted the universe's last Thunder Blazz.
You stared at him, expressionless, your magazine dangling limply. "Seriously?" you asked, your voice as flat as the expired gum stuck under the counter.
Yes. Seriously.
His breath fogged the glass as he wiggled his eyebrows dramatically. "Can you see me? Can you see meee?" He shouted the last part like it was a one-man concert for the most inconvenient time of the night.
"Wander. Door," you said, jabbing a finger in its direction without moving from your seat.
"But this is more fun!" His voice was muffled but carried that same unrelenting cheer. He flailed his arms like a starfish caught in a rave. "Bet you didn't think you'd get front-row tickets to this performance, huh?"
You sighed, turning back to your magazine. "If you keep at it, I'm charging admission."
"What's that? I can't hear you! Too much glass!" He pressed himself even harder, smushing his hat in the process. You were half-convinced his hat brim was sentient and rolling its metaphorical eyes at his antics.
"Just. Use. The. Door." Your tone was drier than the snack aisle, which, considering the state of Blarpee's inventory, was saying something.
Finally, he relented, disappearing from the window with a goofy spin before bursting through the door like a confetti cannon, bell jingling above him. He practically skipped to the counter, his sky-blue shoes squeaking on the linoleum. "Good evening, my favorite Blarpee's employee!" he announced, leaning his elbows onto the counter and giving you a crooked grin. "How's my gal doing tonight?"
You quirked a brow at him. "Oh, you know. Thrilled to be here, living the dream. Totally don't want to lock the doors and run for the hills."
Wander chuckled, the sound warm and sweet like syrup on pancakes. He tilted his head, puckering his lips dramatically. "Smooch tax," he said, waggling his eyebrows again. "You know the rules."
You leaned forward just enough to plant a quick kiss on him, your lips brushing his with a precision that screamed, we have done this too many times before. "Satisfied?"
"For now," he said, grinning so wide you wondered if his face had hinges. "But don't be surprised if I come back for seconds."
With a small amused huff, you got comfortable in your seat again, resting your elbow on the counter. "You don't have to come here every night, you know. I can handle myself."
"I know," he said, hopping onto the counter like it was the most natural thing in the world. Then, he looked around the store like a captain surveying his ship. "But I'd feel bad if something happened to you while I was off gallivanting around the galaxy. And besides..." He gave you a sly look. "You secretly love it when I show up."
You snorted, closing your magazine with a snap, placing it on slightly dusty surface of the furniture in front of you. "Oh, yeah, nothing gets my heart racing like hearing you shout at the window like a deranged mime."
Wander gasped, clutching his chest as if you had struck him. "Deranged? My darlin', that cuts deeper than a bargain-bin pizza slicer!"
"Good. Maybe you'll think twice before smearing your face on my windows again." You got up, already heading to the back to grab a mop. If he was here, chaos wasn't far behind, and you might as well be prepared.
Your precious boyfriend followed you of course, practically bouncing on his heels. "So, what's the plan for tonight? Midnight snack thief? Random galactic weirdo stumbling in? Or maybe..." He wiggled his fingers dramatically. "...a daring heist involving canned Blorpberries?"
You paused, looking over your shoulder at him. "My bet's on you getting your hat stuck in the slushy machine again."
He gasped, tugging his hat defensively. "That was one time!"
"Sure," you said, lips twitching ever so slightly. "One time this month."
He grinned, falling into step beside you. "Aw, you know you love it. Admit it."
You rolled your eyes but didn't argue. It was the truth after all.
And honestly you weren't even surprised when he darted into the supply closet before you could even grab the object you were looking for. That closet was like his personal treasure trove—unofficially, of course. When he emerged, your lips quirked upward. Wander had wrangled himself into one of the Blarpee's employee shirts—a white tee with a red stripe—and it hung off his small frame like a toddler wearing their parent's shirt for dress-up. It stopped just above his knees, making him look like the universe's most adorable cinnamon roll. The effect was only enhanced when he grabbed a marker and a blank name tag from the counter. You watched as he leaned over the furniture with intense focus, his tongue sticking out in concentration. He scribbled on the tag, making exaggerated skrt skrt noises as the marker swirled and squeaked against the surface. When he finally slapped it onto his chest, it read:
"Hi, I'm Wander! Here to HELP you SMILE! 😊 🌟💖 "
Complete with doodled stars, hearts, and what appeared to be a tiny stick-figure version of himself holding hands with a much taller figure (presumably you).
You raised a brow, crossing your arms. "You do realize you're not actually an employee, right?"
Wander grinned at you, the picture of innocence—which, let's face it, you knew better by now. Behind that sweet smile was a certified freak who had had you up against the storage shelves more times than you cared to admit. "Not officially," he said, spinning dramatically, the oversized shirt flaring like a cape. "But in spirit? I'm Employee of the Month!"
"Sure you are." You leaned against the counter, crossing your arms over your chest. "When they start awarding that title for 'Most Chaos Caused in a Single Shift.'"
"Pfft! I'm not chaotic—I'm proactive." He puffed out his chest, the shirt swallowing his frame even more. He hopped onto the counter, feet dangling like a kid waiting for storytime. "Now, what's first on tonight's agenda? Stocking shelves? Wiping down counters? Or should I stand by the door and greet customers with my winning smile?"
You gave him a deadpan look. "How about you don't scare off the three people who'll actually walk in tonight?"
He gasped, clutching his heart dramatically. "I would never! My smile is welcoming! It's like...a warm hug for your soul!"
"Your smile is a lot of things," you said, heading to the small room and grabbing the mop he had neglected in favor of his self-appointed 'uniform', before emerging from the small space yourself. "Subtle isn't one of them."
Wander hopped off the counter, practically vibrating with excitement. "That's why it works! Blarpee's deserves five-star service, and tonight, I'm here to deliver!" He struck a heroic pose, pointing to the ceiling like he was about to declare war on dust particles.
You sighed, dragging the mop across the floor with practiced apathy. "You still know more about this store than I do, don't you?"
"Maybe," he said, winking. "I mean, who else would know that the Blorpberry pies expired two weeks ago, the Thunder Blazz display wobbles if you bump it, and there's a loose tile in the snack aisle that squeaks like a baby Sneezlefruit?"
"You do realize you've basically been spying on this place, right?"
He grinned wider. "Spying? No, no. Observing! There's a difference!"
"Sure." You glanced at the Thunder Blazz display, which did in fact wobble ominously. "Should I start calling you Captain Blarpee's?"
He gasped like you'd just crowned him king of the universe. "Ooooh, I like that! Captain Blarpee's, defender of convenience stores everywhere!" He spun around, the hem of his oversized shirt flying like a cape again.
You shook your head, hiding the faintest hint of a smirk. "If you're done playing dress-up, you can help me wipe down the counters."
Immediately, he saluted at that with exaggerated gusto, the name tag on his chest slipping slightly. "Captain Blarpee's is on the case!" He grabbed a rag, darting behind the register with the speed and determination of someone about to rescue kittens from a burning building. And as he worked, humming an upbeat tune under his breath, you couldn't help but watch him for a moment. Beneath the chaos and theatrics, there was something undeniably endearing about his energy, even if it drove you up the wall sometimes. But you would never tell him that, of course.
At least, not while he was wearing a name tag with doodled hearts.
Mostly because he tackled the counter with the kind of enthusiasm reserved for game show contestants or people who find out their favorite snacks are on clearance. He scrubbed the surface with an unnecessary amount of elbow grease, his uniform swishing as he leaned over dramatically, tongue sticking out like a dog riding a car window.
"Wander," you said, pausing mid-mop to watch him. "You're cleaning like the counter insulted your ancestors."
He glanced over his shoulder, his face lit up with mock shock. "Are you suggesting that I shouldn't treat this fine establishment with the respect it deserves?!" He pointed the rag at you, his expression so over-the-top serious you couldn't help but raise a brow. "Blarpee's counters are sacred. Do you know how many snack crumbs have met their untimely demise here?"
You let out a long, slow sigh, dragging the mop in a lazy arc. "Pretty sure most of them came from you."
He paused, staring into the distance like he was contemplating life's great mysteries. "That... is probably true," he admitted, scratching his chin with the corner of the rag. "But hey, it's a snack store. That's what it's for!"
You snorted, leaning your weight on the mop handle. "Uh-huh. Just don't bust out a eulogy for the crumbs. We've got enough weirdos wandering in without you scaring them off."
Wander gasped, clutching his chest again. "I would never scare off the fine patrons of this humble establishment!" He looked around conspiratorially, lowering his voice to a loud whisper. "Besides, if anyone causes trouble, I've got a secret weapon!"
"Let me guess," you deadpanned. "Your hat?"
"Nope!" He struck another dramatic pose, arms spread wide. "It's me."
You blinked, your expression flat. "Your secret weapon... is you?"
"Exactly!" He gave you finger guns and an exaggerated wink. "Who's gonna mess with a guy wearing a name tag this cool?" He tapped the tag proudly, the doodled hearts somehow glinting in the harsh fluorescent light.
Before you could retort, the bell above the door jingled, and you both turned to see a tall, hulking alien stomp inside, his eyes darting suspiciously.
Your humor drained as fast as the guy's boots squeaked on the linoleum. Wander, of course, stepped up, chest puffed out like a scrappy little bodyguard and employee in one, his outfit moving lightly with his movements. Then, he looked up at the alien like the cute little cutie pie he was as the massive guy's shadow practically swallowed him whole. "Howdy, friend! What brings ya to Blarpee's tonight? Lookin' for snacks, drinks, or maybe some good ol'-fashioned friendship?"
The alien—easily seven feet tall and built like someone who bench-pressed meteorites for fun—stared down at Wander. His crimson eyes squinted, his lip twitching like he was trying to decide if this was a joke, a fever dream, or a hidden camera show.
Your boyfriend, in true obnoxious yet lovable cartoon fashion, remained undeterred. "Ooooh, you've got the look of a fella who's on a mission! Let me guess..." He tapped his chin with exaggerated thoughtfulness, then snapped his fingers with a grin. "DING! You're here for the Thunder Blazz, aren't you? It's the drink of champions!"
The alien blinked, his massive hands twitching by his sides. "Uh... no?"
Wander gasped, clutching his hat. "Not the Thunder Blazz?!" He spun dramatically, pacing a few steps before pointing a finger at the guy like he had just uncovered a conspiracy. "Wait—don't tell me—you're here for the Blorpberry pies! They're two-for-one this week!"
"No," the man grunted, his brow furrowing. "I just need—"
"Wait, wait, wait," The nomad interrupted, holding up a hand and stepping forward until he was practically nose-to-stomach with the guy. "Let me guess one more time. You're here for... socks!" He gestured toward the endcap display of novelty socks featuring questionable slogans like Keep Your Tentacles Warm and Galactic Toes Rule.
The alien's confusion deepened, his mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air. "Why would I—no! I just need a—"
"A mystery customer!" Wander cut him off, clapping his hands and spinning in place. "My favorite kind! Don't worry, friend, Captain Blarpee's is on the case!" He darted behind the counter, practically vaulting over it in his oversized shirt. "Okay, okay, lemme guess—do you need batteries? A map? Oooh, some travel-sized shampoo?" He rummaged through a basket of clearance items, holding up random objects with glee.
You leaned on your mop, watching the scene unfold with the same bemused detachment you reserved for late-night infomercials. The alien, meanwhile, looked about one more question away from imploding. "I just need a pack of gum!" he finally snapped, his voice booming like a thunderclap.
Your partner froze mid-rummage, the clearance basket balanced precariously on his head. "Gum?!" he said, as though the concept had never occurred to him. "Why didn't you just say so, buddy?"
"I tried—"
"Great choice!" Wander interrupted again, dropping the basket onto the counter with a clatter. He darted to the gum display like a blur of orange and green, grabbing a pack and holding it up triumphantly. "Minty fresh! It's a classic! Perfect for a guy with your... uh... mysterious, brooding aura." He paused, squinting up at the alien. "Unless you're more of a fruity flavor kinda guy? Or maybe you're feeling spicy? Ooooh, they just got a cinnamon kind that'll knock your socks off—assuming you're wearing any!" He laughed, leaning in like they were old pals.
The alien's jaw worked silently, his shoulders visibly tense. You bit your lip to keep from laughing, the mop squeaking faintly as you leaned on it. This poor guy had no idea what he'd walked into. "I'll just take the mint," he growled finally, snatching the pack from the unofficial employee's hand like it was a lifeline.
"Excellent choice!" Wander beamed, darting back to the register. "That'll be two credits, and don't forget to grab a receipt—it's recyclable! Captain Blarpee's cares about the environment!" He pressed buttons on the register with exaggerated precision, but humming a quick tune as well, grinning up at the customer the whole time.
The guy fumbled with his money, dropping a coin that clattered to the floor.
As he bent to pick it up, Wander turned his attention toward you and cupped his fuzzy hands over his mouth, before whispering loudly, "I don't think he's wearin' socks!"
You snorted.
The alien slapped down a handful of credits, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, 'This place is cursed.' Yet as he turned to leave, Wander waved enthusiastically. "Come back anytime!" He called. "And remember—smiles are free, but good vibes are priceless!"
Not giving any sort of response, the man left, the bell above the door jingling as he stomped out. The moment he was gone, you let out a low chuckle, shaking your head as you resumed mopping. "You really know how to make an impression."
Wander turned to you, grinning like he had just won Employee of the Decade. "What can I say? It's a gift!"
"A gift for awkwardness," you said dryly, but the corners of your mouth twitched upward despite yourself. "That guy's probably gonna tell his friends to avoid this place forever."
"Or," He started, leaning on the counter with a mischievous glint in his eye, "he'll tell them about the charming little Blarpee's with the world's best customer service. You'll see."
You snorted again, shaking your head. "You're something else, Wander."
"Something amazing," he corrected, puffing out his chest.
Before long, the both of you got back to cleaning up the place, a few teasing jabs and smooches from the nomad himself landing your way. He, still in his oversized "uniform," got back to scrubbing the register counter like it owed him rent. His tongue peeked out from the corner of his mouth, wiggling in time with the circular motions of his rag. If effort alone could make the counter sparkle, this place would look like it belonged in a sci-fi movie, not a run-down convenience store. "So," he piped up after a moment of comfortable silence, without looking away from his self-appointed task, "are we going to your place or mine after your shift?"
You paused mid-swipe with the mop, leaning on the handle. "Wander, you don't have a place."
"Sure I do!" He straightened up, rag held triumphantly. "The universe is my home, the stars are my ceiling, and any planet with snacks is my pantry!"
You shot him a look that could have withered a houseplant. "You're a hobo with a hat."
"A charming hobo with a hat," he corrected, grinning. "And hey, don't knock it. Sleeping under the stars is romantic!"
You raised an unimpressed brow. "Romantic until we're naked on a blanket, an owl's watching us, and you're waving at it mid-thrust."
Wander snorted, his shoulders shaking with laughter. "Oh, c'mon, that owl wasn't traumatized. I helped it! Remember? I gave it a little flashlight from my hat so it wouldn't be scared of the dark!"
Tilting your head, you deadpanned. "While you were still going at it."
"Hey, multitasking!" He held up his hands like it was the most logical explanation in the world. "You were moaning, the owl was hooting—it was a beautiful harmony. And I made sure both my lady and my feathered friend were happy!" He puffed out his chest, looking ridiculously proud.
You stared at him for a long moment, then shook your head with a smirk you couldn't entirely suppress. "You're impossible."
"And you love it!" He shot back again, winking.
Ignoring his ridiculous antics, you finished mopping and headed for the fridge. The icy air nipped at your face as you grabbed a Thunder Blazz, cracking it open with a soft hiss. Slowly you walked back to the register, throwing a few coins inside with practiced ease. Leaning against the now-cleaned and shiny counter, you took a sip, the sweet, fizzy drink hitting your tongue like liquid chaos. Your back was to Wander, but you could feel his presence, his happy humming growing louder as he shuffled closer. But before you knew it, he was on his tiptoes, his arms sneaking around your waist from behind the counter. His touch was warm, his fingers curling over your stomach as he nuzzled against your back, his hat squishing slightly against your shoulder blade.
"Hi," he said softly, his voice dripping with affection.
You glanced down at his tiny hands encircling you, then tilted your head to look over your shoulder. "Hi."
"Guess what?" he asked as you leaned back a bit, squishing his cheek against you and grinning up like a kid waiting to share a secret.
"What?"
"Smooch tax," he said, puckering his lips dramatically.
You rolled your eyes but turned, bending slightly so you could press a kiss to his lips. He melted into it like butter on a hot pancake, his hat tilting precariously to one side as he smiled against your mouth. Maybe showing affection during work hours wasn't exactly the best thing, especially since there were cameras, but it wasn't like you would get fired. The store didn't have many people lining up for the night shift. But you did line up, and it ended with you meeting a particularly cute nomad, who was now your boyfriend. Life was good. So pulling back just enough to look at him, you noticed how his name tag was slightly crooked, the tiny hearts and doodles somehow making him look even more ridiculous—and ridiculously lovable.
"Better?" you asked, smirking.
"Always!" He beamed up at you, his eyes twinkling with that endless optimism you pretended to find annoying.
"So, yeah," you said, taking another sip of your drink. "It's my place after the shift. I'm not risking another wildlife therapy session."
"Fair," Wander said, resting his chin on the counter when he released you and looked up with a lazy grin. "But you've gotta admit, the owl thing was memorable."
You snorted, shaking your head as you finished the beverage. "Yeah, not sure that's the word I'd use."
"Well, then," he said, hopping down and twirling his rag like it was a victory flag, "let's make some new memories tonight—indoors, owl-free, and with plenty of snacks!"
Now that sounded nice.
After that conversation, you plopped back down on the creaky chair behind the register, leaning into it like it was a luxury recliner instead of a sad excuse for furniture. With a soft yawn, you propped your elbow on the counter, your chin resting in your hand. Night shifts had a way of making time feel like molasses—slow, sticky, and just a bit miserable. Wander, however, was the living embodiment of a sugar rush. He began roaming the aisles with boundless energy, humming a tune that sounded suspiciously like a mash-up of banjo music and elevator jazz. His oversized shirt swished with every step, the hem brushing against the linoleum sometimes when he crouched down as he grabbed snacks and drinks with a level of excitement you would reserve for finding buried treasure. He called out as he went, his voice echoing faintly in the quiet store. "Ooooh, Blorpberry Swirlies! Your favorite!" He tossed a bag of the gummy candy into his makeshift pile in his arms. "And—oh, they restocked the caramel-pretzel-moonchips! Those are for me, but I'll share," he added with a grin, his words as sweet as the snacks.
You smirked, watching him from your perch. "Generous of you, Captain Blarpee's."
He spun around dramatically, balancing his snack pile with one hand like he was auditioning for a circus act. "I am a man of the people!"
"Uh-huh," you said, trying not to laugh when a bag of chips teetered dangerously close to falling.
With that he continued his snack safari, darting into a new aisle. A moment later, he called out, "Hey, what's this?" You leaned slightly to see him holding up a bizarre, neon-green can that seemed to vibrate faintly in his grip. "Thunder Blazz MAX?!" he exclaimed, squinting at the label. "What's 'MAX' about it? Is it, like, extra fizzy? Or maybe it glows in the dark? Oh! What if it's got superpowers?!"
You rolled your eyes, stifling a grin. "More likely, it just gives you heartburn faster."
Wander tilted his head thoughtfully. "Hmm. Well, only one way to find out!" He tossed it onto his pile, which now resembled a snack-based Jenga tower. "Oh, and look at this!" He held up a tiny bag of what looked like dehydrated alien fruit. "It says 'Xtreem Astro Chews—Warning: May Cause Temporary Levitation.' You think they're kidding?"
"Do you want to risk floating into the ceiling again?" you asked flatly, raising a brow.
He shrugged, tossing the bag on top anyway. "Hey, I've always wanted to hover dramatically during snack time."
"Your funeral," you said, leaning back with a smirk.
Finally, he waddled up to the counter, his snack pile stacked so high that only his hat and the tips of his shoes were visible beneath it. With a triumphant "Ta-da!" he dumped everything onto the counter in a glorious, crinkling avalanche.
You raised a brow, grabbing the scanner. "Planning a snackocalypse, are we?"
"Only the best for my favorite gal!" Wander said, leaning on the counter, chin in hand. His eyes sparkled as he watched you scan each item, the scanner beeping rhythmically. Every time it beeped, he whispered, "Boop," under his breath, like it was the funniest thing in the universe.
You shook your head, biting back a smirk. "You know, for someone who doesn't get paid here, you're weirdly invested in making me work."
"Hey, somebody's gotta keep things interesting!" He grinned, not even pretending to be sorry.
Shaking your head fondly, you scanned the last of his snack collection and leaned on the counter, giving him a flat look. "Anything else, Captain Blarpee's? Or should we start installing snack shelving in my kitchen?"
He opened his mouth, likely for some quip, but his eyes wandered to the shelves of "personal items" in front of the counter. A spark of realization lit up his face. "Oh! We're out of, uh... supplies, aren't we?"
At that you stifled a laugh, watching as he took a step back to examine the colorful array of products on display. The shelves were a carnival of absurdity, they were those with the last-minute buys that somehow always got someone to pick something, featuring items like "Extra Blorped Galactic Glow Condoms" and "Astro-Resistant Ribbed Rockets." Your boyfriend tapped his chin, squinting at the labels like a seasoned critic at an art gallery. "Hmmm, we've tried these before," he said, pointing at a pack with glowing stars on the box. "They were pretty neat. I liked how they glowed—added some ambiance, you know?"
At that you tilted your head. "You spent more time playing shadow puppets than—well, you know.”
He chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. “Okay, fair. But hey, those shadow puppets were really good.”
“They were giraffes, Wander.”
“And you were impressed!” he shot back, pointing a finger at you.
You sighed, shaking your head as he continued his exploration. This was routine by now—Wander treating the condom shelf like it was a treasure hunt, and you trying not to laugh at his commentary. His enthusiasm was infectious, even if you had already tried most of what was on offer. Suddenly you heard him snicker, picking up another pack and reading it aloud. "'Astro-Lube Compatible—For Your Meteoric Pleasure.'" He tilted his head back at you. "What's meteoric about it, though?"
"I think it's just marketing," you said, rolling your eyes. "You gonna stand here critiquing packaging all night, or actually pick something?"
He hummed, reaching for a pack of "Double Galactic Glide—Extra Stretch!" ones. He grinned as he turned back to you. "Extra stretch, huh? You think it means I can, y'know..." He gestured dramatically, making an exaggerated ballooning motion with his hands.
"Wander, if you try to make balloon animals out of condoms again, I'm banning you from buying them," you warned, though your lips twitched with amusement.
He gasped, clutching the pack to his chest like you had threatened to destroy his banjo. "But they're so fun! Remember when I made that space llama?"
"Yeah, I also remember you accidentally popping it mid—"
"ANYWAY," he interrupted loudly, grabbing a bottle of lube from the shelf with his free hand. He examined it for a moment before flashing you a toothy grin. "Ooooh, this one's 'Comet Cool.' Perfect for those spicy nights when you wanna cool off, huh?"
You pinched the bridge of your nose, trying not to laugh. "Just pay for it already, you dork."
With a bounce in his step, he finally dumped the items onto the counter, alongside his snack hoard. Then came the usual spectacle—you watched with an unimpressed look as he propped a foot onto the counter, tilted his sneaker, and poured out what could only be described as a waterfall of credits. The coins jingled and clinked in a chaotic cascade, spilling across the surface like metallic confetti. "There we go!" he declared, sweeping the credits toward you with a proud smile. "That should cover it."
You stared at the mountain of coins, then at him. "You do this every time."
"And every time, it's charming," he said, winking.
Shaking your head, you began scooping credits into the register, muttering something about needing hazard pay for dealing with his nonsense. By the time you were done packing everything in a massive bag and placing it behind the counter for later, Wander had already leaned in, resting his elbows on the counter and propping his chin on his hands again. His wide eyes sparkled with mischief. "So," he said, his tone dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "About tonight... I was thinking we could, uh, mix things up a little."
You narrowed your eyes at him. "Mix things up how?"
His grin stretched wider, and his gaze flicked toward the magazine rack in the back of the store. "You know. Inspiration."
You sighed, dragging a hand down your face.
This was going to be a long shift.
And so you followed your fuzzy bundle of joy to the magazine rack, his oversized shirt swishing with his steps as he scanned the covers like a kid in a candy store. The rack itself was a chaotic mix of celebrity gossip, intergalactic home decor, and the pièce de résistance: Galactic Romance Weekly, complete with a cover featuring two aliens locked in what appeared to be an anatomically impossible embrace under a glowing moon.
Wander's grin stretched ear to ear as he grabbed a magazine and flipped it open, his eyes lighting up. "Ooooh, this looks fancy!" He tilted the page toward you, showcasing an overly airbrushed illustration of a couple attempting a position so convoluted it looked more like advanced yoga than anything romantic. You stared at it, trying to process the sheer nonsense. Soon enough, your boyfriend's grin faltered slightly, his brow furrowing as he turned the magazine back toward himself. He squinted, his mouth opening and closing like he wanted to say something but couldn't find the words. Finally, his face twisted into the funniest, most exaggerated expression of bafflement you had ever seen—eyes wide, lips pursed, and the place where his nose would be (if he had one) scrunched like he had just bitten into a lemon and found a worm inside.
That did it. You doubled over, laughing so hard your knees almost gave out. "What... what is that?" you wheezed, pointing at the picture. "Are they wrestling or trying to summon an ancient god?"
"I-I don't..." Wander started, holding up a finger as if to explain, but his confusion only deepened. He pointed at the image, his voice high-pitched and incredulous. "Why is her leg there? And his arm—it's like a game of Twister gone wrong!"
You were crying now, leaning on the rack for support. "Whoever wrote this definitely failed biology class."
He flipped to another page, his expression cautiously optimistic. "Okay, maybe this one's better." With that he turned the magazine toward you again, revealing a couple attempting something that looked like synchronized swimming on dry land.
"Wander," you choked out, barely able to get the words past your laughter, "that guy's face looks like he's passing a kidney stone."
Wander tilted his head, his Southern drawl creeping in as he observed the photo. "Bless his heart, he does look like he's havin' a real hard time. And her? She's bent up like one of those wire puzzles you can't solve. I feel like I should call an ambulance to help 'em out!" You snorted, clutching your stomach as Wander kept flipping pages, his commentary getting better with each one. "Oh no," he said, stopping on an image of a couple tangled in a position that could only be described as "human pretzel meets trapeze accident." His finger traced the outline of the image. "She looks like she's about to get launched into orbit. And him? That poor fella's face says, 'I made a mistake!'" Tears streamed down your face as you gasped for air, your laughter echoing through the empty store. But he, encouraged by your reaction, turned to another page. "Okay, this one's got promise!" he said, but his enthusiasm died instantly as he stared at the image. He turned it sideways, then upside down, before shaking his head.
"Darlin'," he said, his tone deadly serious, "this isn't romance—it's acrobatics. And not the fun kind. The kind where you sign a waiver first."
You leaned against the rack, completely undone. "Who... who comes up with this? And why?"
Wander flipped to yet another page, his brows furrowing even deeper. "Oh no. Look at this one." He pointed at a couple sprawled across what looked like an inflatable raft, both wearing expressions of vague existential dread. "They look like they've been stranded in the middle of a lake and just realized they forgot the oars. And what's with the raft? Is that supposed to be romantic?" Your laughter reached a new level, almost silent now as you clutched your stomach and tried to breathe. But your partner kept going, flipping pages with the determination of someone trying to find a single shred of logic in a sea of absurdity. "Alright," he said, holding up another photo. "This one... oh no. Oh honey, no. They're doing something called the 'Astro-Spiral.'" He pointed at the picture, his voice full of genuine concern. "That man's neck is at an angle that says, 'I'm gonna need physical therapy.'"
You lost it again, tears streaming down your face as you leaned on him for support, placing your elbow against his head. He patted your back, grinning ear to ear. "Glad I could make my lady laugh," he said, flipping to the last page. "But seriously, we should send these people a gift basket or somethin'. They look like they've been through war!"
You wiped your eyes, still giggling. "Wander, you're so ridiculous."
"And I'm yer ridiculous boyfriend!" he said, winking as he tucked the magazine back into the rack. "But I think we'll stick to our own moves, thank you very much. No pretzels required!"
Then, before you could retort, the bell jingled, signaling the arrival of a customer.
Your unofficial coworker perked up immediately, spinning on his heel with a grin so wide it looked like his face might split in half. "I got this!" he announced, puffing out his chest and darting toward the door like an overenthusiastic Walmart greeter on their first day. Seeing it, you shook your head, already bracing for the spectacle as you wiped the rest of the tears away. Wander was great at handling customers—if by "handling," you meant traumatizing them into reevaluating their life choices.
The guy who walked in was tall, lanky, and dressed in a long coat that screamed I do questionable things in my spare time. He had an air of nonchalance, his hands tucked in his pockets as he strolled toward the snack aisle without a word.
"Howdy, friend!" Wander chirped, practically skipping alongside him. "Welcome to Blarpee's, where smiles are free and snacks are kinda reasonably priced! Can I interest you in some Thunder Blazz MAX? Or maybe you're more of a Blorpberry Swirlie kinda guy? Ooooh, or how about some moonchips—caramel pretzel's all the rage these days!" The man grunted of course, clearly not in the mood for small talk, but the fuzzball wasn't one to take a hint. He hopped in front of him, walking backward and maintaining eye contact like a high-energy tour guide. "Y'know, our Blorpberry pies just got restocked. They're two-for-one! Perfect for a midnight snack or, uh..." He squinted at the guy's sullen expression. "...a brooding stare into the void?"
You couldn't help but smirk as you grabbed a box of chips from behind the counter. Wander's cheeriness was like a spotlight in a pitch-black cave—it wasn't for everyone, but it sure was entertaining to watch. As the guy muttered something incomprehensible and veered toward the drink section, Wander followed, his voice carrying across the store.
"Don't forget to check out the candy aisle! We've got Astro Chews—they might make you float! Oh, and if you're feeling adventurous, the Galactic Glow Gummies are a real trip! Figuratively. I think."
You carried the box of chips to an aisle, bending over to unpack and stock the shelves. From your position, you could still hear him going full salesman mode, his voice growing increasingly chipper as the guy's responses devolved into irritated grunts. But finally, the man seemed to pick out his items—a Thunder Blazz MAX and a bag of chips—and started toward the register. As he passed your aisle, you barely registered his presence, too focused on lining up the chip bags just right.
And then it happened.
Smack!
You froze, blinking in disbelief as your brain took a moment to catch up.
Did... did that guy just smack your butt?
Wander froze too, mid-sentence, his arms outstretched like he had been about to launch into another sales pitch. His grin stayed plastered on his face, but one of his eyes twitched so violently it looked like it was trying to escape.
The silence that followed was deafening.
You slowly straightened up, glancing over your shoulder to see the guy continuing toward the register like he hadn't just committed a crime against human decency. Your boyfriend, meanwhile, stood rooted to the spot, his frozen grin morphing into something truly terrifying—a cross between a cartoon character about to snap and a rabid squirrel who had just had its nuts stolen. "Uh-oh," you muttered under your breath, stepping back slightly. This was about to get interesting.
Wander's eye twitched again, his hat tilting ominously forward as he finally turned to follow the guy. "Well, now," he said, his voice a little too chipper, "that wasn't very neighborly, was it?"
You smirked, leaning casually against the shelf. "Your move, Captain Blarpee's."
Wander's grin only widened as he snapped his fingers and reached into his hat. You had seen this look before. He was about to become someone else. He pulled out a fake mustache and slapped it on with determination, his expression immediately changing into his Wild Wooly Wander persona.
"Wander," you said slowly, watching him adjust his 'stache like he was preparing for battle. "You know you're about to traumatize him, right?"
"Oh, I sure do," he replied, his Southern drawl suddenly cranked up to eleven as he dramatically adjusted his name tag, turning it from front to back (when he wrote it on the back you had no fricking clue). It read: "WILDER WOOLY WANDER, EMPLOYEE OF THE MONTH (AGAIN!)." He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders, his face turning into a scowl, ready to unleash the full force of his persona.
"RRRRAAAAWWWW!" he roared, stomping around like a dinosaur in a thrift store. "YOU THINK YOU CAN JUST SMACK MY LADY'S BUTT AND GET AWAY WITH IT?!"
You watched, half-amused and half-scared for the guy, as Wander stomped toward the customer, the fake villain energy radiating from him like a blast of heat.
The alien, still looking like a reluctant participant in this comedy show, gave him a confused glance, his hand resting on his phone. "Uh... what's your problem, man?"
The fuzzball's expression turned even more ridiculous, eyes narrowing with intense focus. He gave the customer a look as though he were an outlaw, ready to challenge him to a duel over some cosmic misunderstanding. "I'M ABOUT TO SHOW YOU HOW WE HANDLE THINGS 'ROUND HERE," He shouted, slapping his hands together for dramatic effect. "I'LL REPEAT MYSELF: YOU THINK YOU CAN WALTZ IN HERE, SLAP MY LADY ON THE REAR, AND WALK OUTTA HERE LIKE A BIG SHOT?" He roared, his mustache twitching with every syllable.
The customer blinked, clearly unsure if he was dealing with a deranged store employee or if he had been transported into some sort of fever dream. "Uh, look, I didn't mean—"
"DIDN'T MEAN?! WELL, LET ME SHOW YA HOW IT FEELS, PARTNER!" Wander stomped right up to him, his little legs working overtime to build up a truly menacing aura. Before the guy could react, he wound up like a baseball pitcher and delivered a swift, unapologetic SMACK right to the guy's backside. The sound echoed through the store like a firecracker going off in an empty warehouse, even creating a shockwave that made the chips shake, a few of them falling down from the shelves to the ground. "HOW DO YOU LIKE 'EM APPLES?!" He yelled triumphantly, his arms outstretched as if he had just finished the most epic of battles.
Flinching, the alien took a step back, his face contorting into a mix of shock and disbelief. "What the hell?!"
Wander, still in full Wild Wooly mode, growled, pointing a dramatic finger in his face. "CONSIDER THAT A LESSON IN RESPECT, YA NO-GOOD, CHIP-EATIN', SNEAKY-SLAPPIN' VARMINT! THIS IS BLARPEE'S, NOT A CATTLE RANCH! BUT IT AIN'T OVER! NO SIR!" Not waiting for a response, he grabbed the man and lifted him above himself—surprisingly strong for someone who looked like he was made of the coziest fluff—and plopped him onto one of the store's rickety stools. It squeaked and cracked under the weight, the thing barely holding together. The customer, now on the stool, was so tall and big that the seat collapsed beneath him, sending him crashing to the floor in a flurry of dust and confusion. "WELL THEN!" Wander exclaimed, hands on his hips, looking down at the crumpled man like he had just performed a heroic rescue. "YOU'VE GOT A LECTURE COMIN'! A LESSON ON MANNERS—BLORPIE'S STYLE!"
The guy scrambled to his feet, rubbing his rear and looking absolutely lost in this bizarre alternate reality where a random employee was yelling at him like some unhinged cowboy from a bad B-movie. "Man, what's even going on? I just came in to get a soda..."
Your boyfriend wasn't listening, however. He grabbed a bag of chips from a nearby shelf and threw it down in front of the guy like it was some kind of treat. "YOU THINK YOU CAN JUST WALTZ IN HERE AND TOUCH PEOPLE?!" Wander yelled, face dangerously close to the guy's. "THAT'S NOT HOW IT WORKS IN MY STORE, BUSTER. NO ONE TOUCHES MY LADY'S BUTT WITHOUT HER SAY-SO. AND YOU DON'T TOUCH THE BUTT OF A WORKER WITHOUT PAYING THE PRICE!" He leaned in closer, a little too close. "You see, we run a TIGHT SHIP here, friend. And the first rule is—if you slap the merchandise," he gestured to the shelves with a flourish, "you better be ready for a lesson!"
You leaned against the shelf, trying to hide your face behind your hand as you laughed quietly, watching this circus unfold. The alien's expression was pure puzzlement mixed with slight terror, but he was starting to realize that no, this wasn't some kind of prank—it was just Wander. The guy's body language went from defensively confused to straight-up scared.
"I—I didn't mean anything by it, man, sorry!" he said quickly, trying to recover from the awkwardness of the situation.
The acting fuzzball raised an eyebrow. "Didn't mean anything by it? Oh, that's the problem, partner! You thought you could go around slappin' butts without any consequences. That's like thinkin' you can eat a whole bucket of Blorpberry Swirlies without feelin' the sugar crash. It just don't work that way!"
The guy's eyes darted around, unsure of what to do, as Wander continued his wild performance. The absurdity of it all—the Southern drawl, the fake mustache, the bizarre sense of justice—was too much. You couldn't hold back any longer. You burst out laughing as you walked back to the entrence of the store, leaning against the register counter as tears of amusement blurred your vision.
"I'M GONNA MAKE SURE YOU LEARN SOME RESPECT, BOY!" Wander shouted, stomping in a circle like a bad guy in a kids' cartoon. "ARE YOU READY FOR THE WILD WOOLY WANDER WAY?!" He was on fire, as he stomped back and forth, his arms waving dramatically, continuing his tirade in full Wild Wooly Wander persona, his voice booming in all-caps as if he were auditioning for an action movie. "NOW LISTEN HERE, FELLER!" he bellowed, his hat crooked from all the over-the-top gestures. "YOU THINK IT'S ALL FUN AND GAMES, SLAPPIN' BUTTS LIKE YOU'RE SOME KIND OF ROGUE BANANA PEEL?! WELL, I'M GONNA TEACH YOU A LESSON ON RESPECT THAT'LL MAKE YOU WANNA BEND OVER AND APOLOGIZE TO EVERYONE YOU'VE EVER COME ACROSS, FROM THE WORM UNDER YOUR SHOE TO THE GRAVITY-DEFYING PENGUIN YOU MET ON THAT PLANET THAT'S ALL ICE!"
Opening one of the bags of snacks that your partner had bought earlier, you tried your best to keep your composure. A few of the Blorpberry Swirlies crinkled in your hands as you casually glanced at the spectacle unfolding in front of you. Wander, of course, was in full rant mode, throwing his words out like he was delivering the most important speech in the history of the universe.
"SEE, WHAT YOU DID," He yelled, pointing a finger at the guy like he was teaching him the fundamentals of life, "IS ABOUT THE SAME AS THINKIN' YOU CAN JUST WALK INTO A BAR AND ORDER A DRINK WITHOUT KNOWIN' YOUR DAMN LIMITS. IT AIN'T JUST ABOUT WHAT YOU WANT, SON, IT'S ABOUT WHAT'S RIGHT!"
You popped a Swirlie in your mouth, watching the performance with quiet amusement. Of course he was serious about this. No one—NO ONE—touched your fine posterior but him, and even then, it was with full consent.
The furball's eyes narrowed dramatically as he stopped pacing for a moment, his voice dropping to an eerie, ominous growl. "You feel good after that smack from me, huh? Did it feel like a nice little wakeup call for ya?" He sneered at the guy's frozen, stunned expression. "Well, lemme tell ya somethin'. YOU AIN'T GOT NO BUSINESS SLAPPIN' ANYONE'S BUTT LIKE THAT, EVEN IF MY GIRL'S GOT THE NICEST RUMP IN THE ENTIRE GALAXY! THAT'S RESERVED FOR ME AND ONLY ME! AND EVEN THEN, I MAKE SURE IT'S CONSENSUAL, BOY!"
The guy was standing there, looking like he wanted to sink through the floor. He opened his mouth, probably to apologize or explain himself, but Wander wasn't having it.
He pointed at him with a fierce intensity that almost made the shelves shake. "Do you think it feels GOOD for MY LADY to be smacked on her fine behind by some random feller? YOU THINK SHE LIKES THAT? WELL, I CAN TELL YA, IT AIN'T GONNA HAPPEN AGAIN ON MY WATCH!" For emphasis, Wander slammed his hand down on a nearby snack rack, knocking it over in the process. Chips and snacks flew everywhere in a glorious cascade of crisp packets and wrappers. You didn't even flinch, just casually grabbed another snack.
Wander leaned towards you, whispering between breaths, his face contorting in that wild way of his yet a pure softness crossed his features when he watched you. "I'll clean that up later darlin'. But right now, I gotta make sure this feller understands what manners are!"
Then, without warning, he launched back into his full persona. "YOU GOTTA RESPECT WOMEN, YOU HEAR ME?! YOU WANNA BE THE KIND OF FELLER WHO THINKS IT'S OKAY TO DO THAT TO ANYONE?! WELL, LET ME TELL YA SOMETHIN', YOU DON'T GO AROUND SLAPPIN' PEOPLE'S BUTTS LIKE IT'S A SPORT! THIS ISN'T THE GALACTIC OLYMPICS, YOU BOTTOM-LEVEL CLOWN!" His intensity was reaching a level that could only be described as absurdly heroic, like he was starring in an intergalactic Western, only this time the villain wasn't a group of bandits—it was butt slapping. He stomped back and forth, his arms flailing like a windmill in a tornado. "YOU THINK YOU'RE GONNA JUST WALTZ IN HERE, SLAPPIN' MY LADY'S RUMP LIKE IT'S A FLAPJACK AND YOU'RE THE SHORT ORDER COOK?!" he bellowed, each word landing like thunder in a storm of justice. "YOU DON'T TOUCH A WOMAN'S BEHIND LIKE IT'S A FREE-FOR-ALL SALAD BAR, WHERE ANYONE CAN JUST HELP THEMSELVES TO THE FINEST GREENS!"
The customer, still just standing there like the idiot he was, looked like he was caught between wanting to flee and trying to figure out where he had gone wrong in life. He was practically shaking, trying to wrap his brain around the situation as your boyfriend—rightfully so!—continued his verbal rampage.
"YOU THINK YOU CAN JUST WALK IN HERE LIKE A RACCOON WHO FOUND HIMSELF A BAG OF TRASH AND THINK HE CAN EAT IT ALL WITHOUT PAYIN' FOR IT?" Wander's voice reached an almost operatic crescendo, his hand slicing through the air. "YOU THINK YOU'RE GONNA JUST SLAP WHAT YOU WANT, LIKE A BEAR IN A HONEY SHOP?! NO, SIR! YOU DON'T SLAP MY LADY LIKE SHE'S SOME KIND OF CORN ON THE COB, AND YOU'RE JUST TRYING TO TAKE A BITE OUT OF HER!"
You could barely hold it together at this point. Every comparison Wander threw out made it more impossible not to laugh. The way he was delivering each absurd line with such seriousness was everything you loved about him.
He leaned in closer to the confused man, his eyes wide with righteous fury. "YOU WANNA BE THE KIND OF FELLER WHO THINKS IT'S OKAY TO SLAP THE JUICY PEACHES OF THE GALAXY LIKE YOU'RE PLAYIN' A GAME OF WHACK-A-MOLE?! WELL, I GOT NEWS FOR YOU, SIR, THIS AIN'T A CARNIVAL, AND YOU AIN'T WINNING ANY PRIZES TODAY!" Wander's acting had transcended reality at this point—he was practically frothing at the mouth with over-the-top energy. With a final dramatic slam of his fist on the counter, he shouted, "I WANNA KNOW YOU LEARNED YOUR LESSON, 'CAUSE IF I FIND OUT YOU'RE OUT THERE SLAPPIN' ANYONE ELSE'S BUTT—YOU'RE GONNA DEAL WITH ME! AND THAT, MY FRIEND, IS A WHOLE OTHER LEVEL OF TROUBLE!"
Immediately, the customer, eyes wide like he was about to faint, awkwardly fumbled through his wallet, all the while apologizing to you, pulling out a bunch of credits and tossing them on the counter. "Keep the change," he mumbled, practically tripping over his feet as he made his way toward the door that Wander was holding open for him.
And your little fuzzy meneace, never missing a beat, shot out one last parting shot. "YOU THINK YOU CAN SLAP AND DASH?!" he yelled. "THINK AGAIN, PARDNER!" With that he slapped the guy's rear one more time for good measure, and the sound cracked through the store like the shot of a pistol.
"HOW YOU LIKE THEM APPLES, HUH?!" He boomed once more, his voice rattling the shelves as the guy fell onto his face outside the store.
As the door slammed shut behind him, Wander stood there for a solid moment, fists still clenched at his sides, his chest rising and falling like he had just finished running a marathon. His face was red, his wild eyes gleaming with that Wild Wooly Wander fury that only he could pull off. He looked like a cartoon character who had just completed the most epic monologue in the history of monologues. The dramatic pose, the clenched fists, the deep breaths—it was as if he had just taken down the worst villain in the galaxy. You watched him, leaning against the counter with your arms crossed, fighting to contain your laughter. Your cheeks hurt from smiling so much, and the absurdity of it all still hadn't fully hit you. Wander, your boyfriend—this small, goofy, and ridiculously charming guy—had just turned into the most over-the-top, wild bad guy ever. And somehow, it was the funniest thing you had ever seen.
He stood there, still posing like he was about to deliver an encore, his arms rigid, his body practically vibrating with the energy of his performance. But as the final breath escaped him, his stance suddenly faltered. His fists shook at his sides like he was about to launch into another round of action-packed lines, but before he could say anything else, something shifted in his eyes. He looked at you, his gaze softening, and then it happened. Like a light being switched off, the Wild Wooly Wander persona melted away. His face turned switfly, and his hands dropped to his sides. His ridiculous mustache was now completely crooked and hanging on like a sad prop. He blinked a few times, looking absolutely adorable.
You couldn't help it, you rolled your eyes with a smile. So you approached him, bending down slightly to meet him at his level, your hands reaching up to pull the fake mustache off his face. He blinked again, his eyes wide and hopeful as he looked up at you, like a puppy caught in the middle of some very mischievous antics. "That was... something," you said, your voice full of amusement and fondness. "You really went all in, huh?"
Before you could finish your sentence, Wander practically pounced on you, his arms wrapping around your waist in a sudden burst of affection. You weren't even ready for it—one second, you were standing there, and the next, you were holding him in your arms as he nuzzled into your stomach, his head resting right where your stomach met your ribs.
"I was just protectin' ya!" he mumbled against your shirt, his voice filled with that trademark Wander warmth and sweetness. "Did I do good, darlin'? I really tried. I got carried away a little, though, huh?"
You chuckled softly, patting his head as he snuggled closer. "You did great, Wander. I think he's gonna need therapy after that, but you did great."
With that he pulled back just enough to look up at you, his eyes sparkling with that cheerful innocence that always made your heart melt. He smiled, his small frame looking even smaller now that he was buried in your arms, and he placed his hands on your stomach, his head tilting slightly as he leaned against you. "I'm glad you think so," he said softly, his voice a little quieter now, the Wild Wooly Wander persona completely gone. "I just wanna make sure no one messes with ya sugar."
You smiled down at him, your heart swelling with affection. "You don't have to worry about anyone messing with me, Wander. But I do love how much you care."
He grinned up at you, his usual boundless energy making a comeback. "Well, of course I care! You're my lady! Who else would I go around yellin' at random customers for?!" He giggled to himself, still hanging onto you like you were his personal teddy bear. Yet at that you ruffled his fur gently, making him giggle even more. His head was at just the right level—your hands could reach everything easily.
"I'm lucky to have you, Wander," you said, voice low and affectionate.
His eyes brightened as he lifted his head to look at you, a huge smile spreading across his face. "And I'm lucky to have you, darlin'! We make the best team, don't we?"
You chuckled softly, leaning down to kiss his forehead. "The best team."
Wander was ridiculous. He was a handful. But he was your ridiculous handful.
And that made everything perfect.
