#(he goes from writing his name really big on his nametags to not being able to fit it in)

[egophiliac]

hear me out

silver vanrouge ❌️

silver draconia ✔️

malleus beats lilia to the punch

[2000sangel]

Can I request Scaramouche x reader. Where the reader is higher up in the fatui then he is and he's not thrilled about it

Ignore if not Interested <3

hello! thanks for your rq! a few disclaimers though: i don't remember if they said anywhere in the game what the snezhnaya palace looks like, so i just kind of made it up lol.

also this might not be what you wanted so you can rq again being more specific if u want, dw! it kind of turned into a fluff which is my favorite genre, so :')

anyways! enjoy your read <3

Who's Boss - Scaramouche x Reader

You blow on your hot drink in an attempt to cool it down; with the arrival of Autumn the temperatures had began to drop, forcing you to get rid of your summery outfits to make room in your wardrobe for cosier ones.

Though it doesn’t really matter what season it is, because today is your first day in Zapolyarny Palace after a long period of time spent on various missions assigned to you by the Tsaritsa herself, and in Snezhnaya the sun is almost a mirage.

Not to mention, it’s also your first day here as... Scaramouche’s higher up. Yes, after so many years of working and trying to outshine your boyfriend in every kind of task possible, you’ve finally done it, and you’re almost certain he already knows about this assuming by the looks everyone present in the common room is giving you and some things you’ve heard the recruits whisper.

It started as a little friendly competition when you two weren’t even dating, really, but you both thought it was fun and thrilling to challenge each other, so you never stopped even after you got together.

Once you’re done with your drink, you decide it’s time to stand up and go look for him to see his reaction; plus you’re just excited to get to spend some time with him again, since work rarely allows you to even stand in the same room.

You make your way through the hallways and climb a couple flights of stairs, waving to a few people and holding your laugh at the nervous stares some others give you, until you reach a certain door you know very well: it’s sort of distant from the other doors present on this particular floor, which also happens to be the quieter one of the palace, and you notice the same old polished nametag that sits right before your eyes; it reads the name ‘Scaramouche’ followed by his title, the 6thFatui Harbinger.

Before knocking or opening it you make sure to place your ear against the wooden door, but you hear nothing coming from the other side, so you pull away before anyone sees you and finally knock a couple of times.

“I’m busy.”

is the simple answer your boyfriend gives, at which you grab the handle and flung the door open with a wide grin on your face.

He jolts his head up and almost knocks over all the papers and fancy quill pens he must’ve placed on both his sides earlier, clearly startled; he even has to blink twice before realizing who it is that just violated his privacy in such a way.

“What the?! Since when are you here?”

“Oh, so that’s how you’re going to welcome me back?”

He rolls his eyes at your obviously fake pout and opens his mouth to say something, but he closes it immediately as if he just remembered something extremely important. You patiently wait for him to speak up, but instead he quickly tidies up his desk and goes back to his paperwork as if nothing happened. All the while, you stare at him amusedly;

“And you’re not even going to say anything about my promotion? Not even a boring ‘congratulations’?”

He scoffs.

“Welcome and congrats. Are you happy now? Can I do my job?”

“I don’t know, can you?”

You walk closer to him and bend down, resting your head on his shoulder. Anyone else would get frustrated at Scaramouche, but you know he’s acting like this only because he’s a little bit jealous... and perhaps because you forgot to reply to one of his letters? ...You’ll have to check later.

You stay like that for a while, the only noises filling the room being the one of your breaths and the soft buzzing of the quill’s tip against the paper as Scaramouche keeps writing. You scan the words carefully, admiring how his calligraphy makes even the most boring ones look fancy.

A couple of minutes go by and he sighs;

“Has anyone ever told you about personal space?”

He asks, not really expecting a serious answer. You hum as if in deep thought, and then shake your head.

“Thought so.”

“Aw come on, you’re being so mean to me on my first day back here. Do you want me to help you with those by the way?” you point at the big pile of papers on his right, “It looks like a lot to do on your own.”

He puts his quill aside and turns around to face you as you stand still again;

“Are you serious? Take today as a free day, you’ve been around Teyvat for so long I-“

“Oh, was that an order? Should I remind you who’s boss between us now?”

He groans loudly and you let out a laugh;

“Just kidding, I should probably do that. I’ll leave you to your boring paperwork then.”

You give him a quick kiss on the cheek before walking towards the door, now that you think about it you still need to unpack your things and you haven’t even said hi to the other Harbingers as well; you remember how Childe also came back a while ago and in his last letter he asked you to come say hi, even if nowadays he’s busy training rookies. Scaramouche would’ve probably burned that letter to ashes already if he knew about it.

Before you can close the door behind you though, your boyfriend calls your name.

“Huh? What is it?”

“I think I can finish these later actually, it’s not urgent stuff anyways. So...” he trails off.

“So?”

“...So you can tell me about your equally boring missions and how the hell you even managed to get a promotion, I guess.”

You walk back inside with a smile on your face after hearing his words, though you can’t help but mess with him a little more.

“But you looked like you didn’t care just five minutes ago?”

“I still don’t! I just want to look like a good boyfriend.”

He’s joking, and you can clearly tell by the fact that he’s actually returning your smile, something he rarely ever does to anyone but you. He stands up from his desk and, after locking the door, you both walk over to the small leather couch he keeps in his personal office and room, your heart beating a little bit faster at the thought of finally being able to cuddle with your boyfriend.

As you sit and settle down so that your legs and foreheads are touching you glance outside the window, and notice it’s starting to pour. You then look back at Scaramouche, whose eyes are now closed, and you pinch his cheek.

“Don’t fall asleep yet! I have so many things to tell you.”

“Ugh.” He mutters, moving a little closer to you, “Be quick, especiallyif you need to brag.”

[bloody-bee-tea]

BeeTober 2020 Day 22

Abandoned - Warmth

I said I would write a coffee shop au and this is barely that. Twitter decided that it would be Xicheng, but NMJ was in the lead for a while so he gets a supportive role ;) 

Jiang Cheng is going to kill Wei Wuxian the next time he sees him. He definitely will kill him, at least assuming he survives this rain without catching pneumonia and dying.

Jiang Cheng hurries along the sidewalk, grumbling under his breath and cursing his brother, because Wei Wuxian was supposed to meet him here like half an hour ago. Instead Jiang Cheng got a message telling him that Wei Wuxian got hold up at Lan Wangji’s—and Jiang Cheng is not so naïve to think that it could be anything but the promise of sex that kept Wei Wuxian from meeting him—and Wei Wuxian abandoned him in an unknown part of the city without a second thought.

And as if that wasn’t enough, it started to pour almost at the same time as Jiang Cheng read the message, because clearly that’s just his luck.

He is going to kill Wei Wuxian, Jiang Cheng thinks again when he steps into a puddle and cold water runs into his shoe. He definitely will this time, no matter what his sister says to Wei Wuxian’s defence.

Jiang Cheng continues to hurry along the sidewalk, hoping to find any open store or restaurant where he can take shelter, but luck is clearly not on his side.

Everything is dark and cold and Jiang Cheng shivers in his drenched clothes.

If he’s going to die because of this he’s going to haunt the shit out of Wei Wuxian. He better enjoy his evening with Lan Wangji, because it might just be the last he gets with him. Jiang Cheng will make sure that Wei Wuxian will never even think of sex again if he turns into a ghost.

The thoughts are not enough to warm Jiang Cheng, but they do keep him occupied and that’s all Jiang Cheng needs right now.

He looks up when he passes by a lit window and he’s stunned to see the cosiest coffee shop he ever came across. The light is yellow and warm, the smell from it sweet and even without the rain it looks so inviting that Jiang Cheng’s feet move on their own accord.

Not that he would have walked past this opportunity to get out of the freezing rain.

There’s a little bell announcing his arrival and it’s not long before a man comes out from the back. The coffee shop is empty—probably due to the time and the weather—and so his gaze unerringly falls onto Jiang Cheng.

Who came to a stop right behind the door, because he didn’t want to track water through the entire shop.

Right now Jiang Cheng is happy about his decision, because he’s not sure he could have survived looking at the other man from up close.

Even through the shop it’s apparent that the other is gorgeous and Jiang Cheng never did deal well with beautiful people.

“Hi,” Jiang Cheng says awkwardly when the man behind the counter doesn’t say anything and instead stares at him with wide eyes.

“You’re drenched!” comes the startled reply and Jiang Cheng looks down at himself and the small puddle he is standing in.

He winces.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” he says and points at the nearest chair. “I’ll just sit here and not make a further mess out of your shop, okay?” he asks and is in the process of moving towards the chair, when the man almost yells at him.

“No!”

Jiang Cheng freezes, just one step away from his puddle and he turns big eyes on the man.

“I mean, you’ll catch a cold like that. I have some spare clothes and a towel,” the man offers him and Jiang Cheng blinks at him in confusion.

“Do we know each other?” Jiang Cheng then asks and the man shakes his head, making his beautiful long hair swing with the motion.

“No, I don’t think we do.”

“Why the hell would you offer me this, then?” Jiang Cheng demands to know and now it’s his turn of being stared at.

“You’ll catch a cold if you don’t change out of those clothes,” the man finally says again and Jiang Cheng looks down at himself yet again.

He’s still dripping all over the floor, probably making a miserable picture, and he has to admit, a change of clothes sounds heavenly right now.

“Fine,” Jiang Cheng agrees and he is entirely unprepared for the way the other man’s face lights up with his smile.

“Come here, then,” he says, waving Jiang Cheng closer and Jiang Cheng sighs before he quickly makes his way over to him.

If he walks fast, he’ll make less of a mess of the shop, right?

“Come into the office,” the man says and now Jiang Cheng is close enough to read the name tag he’s wearing.

Lan Xichen, it says and Jiang Cheng spares half a thought to wonder if there’s any relation to Lan Wangji.

It would be plausible because they do share similar features, but Lan Xichen’s personality seems to be the exact opposite of Lan Wangji’s and so Jiang Cheng shakes that thought away.

“What’s your name?�� Lan Xichen asks him and Jiang Cheng startles out of his musings.

“Jiang Cheng,” he introduces himself and goes slightly hot when Lan Xichen smiles at him again.

“Ah, nice to meet you, Jiang Cheng,” he says. “I’m Lan Xichen.”

“I know,” Jiang Cheng blurts out and then feels a traitorous warmth creep up his cheeks when Lan Xichen frowns at him. “Your nametag,” he quickly explains, because he does not want to come off as creepy and Lan Xichen chuckles.

“Right, I forgot about that,” he mutters and then pushes Jiang Cheng down on a chair.

“Wait here, I’ll get the clothes and towel,” Lan Xichen instructs him and then leaves Jiang Cheng alone.

Jiang Cheng is too stunned to do anything but sit and wait for Lan Xichen’s return and so he startles when someone else steps into the room.

“Who are you?” the man demands to know and Jiang Cheng shrinks on the chair, because this man looks like he might be able to break Jiang Cheng in half if he wants to.

And going by the glower on his face, he definitely wants to.

“I’m—,” Jiang Cheng starts but he doesn’t get further than that, because Lan Xichen returns.

“Ah, Mingjue, he came in all dripping wet, please don’t be angry. He’s not a burglar,” Lan Xichen says and smiles at Mingjue.

“Jiang Cheng, in case that makes you feel more reassured,” Jiang Cheng offers and then simply has to endure how Mingjue looks from him to Lan Xichen and back.

“You’re going to mop up the mess you tracked in,” Mingjue finally decides and Jiang Cheng let’s out a relieved breath.

He already saw his life flash before his eyes, this is a rather good outcome, if anyone were to ask him.

“Sure,” he easily agrees, and he sees the way Mingjue eyes his suit pants and the dress shirt.

Jiang Cheng might look like the business man he is, but he is no stranger to all kinds of work, and mopping a floor is hardly the worst thing he’s ever done.

“Just point me towards the cleaning stuff, and I’ll get right on that,” he tacks on and Mingjue narrows his eyes at him.

“I will,” he promises and then looks back at Lan Xichen, an eyebrow raised.

“You should change first,” Lan Xichen says with a nod to Mingjue—and Jiang Cheng can identify unspoken communication when he sees it—and hands Jiang Cheng some clothes and a towel.

“I probably should,” Jiang Cheng grimaces and tugs on his drenched shirt.

Lan Xichen nods again, and then he just stands there, looking at Jiang Cheng without making any move to leave and give Jiang Cheng some privacy to change.

“Do you—have a bathroom?” Jiang Cheng finally asks and it’s only when Lan Xichen drags his eyes away from his chest, that Jiang Cheng realizes that his shirt is almost see through thanks to the rain.

“Yeah, oh, sure,” Lan Xichen rambles and points behind him. “But you can totally change here, I’ll leave you to it,” he then quickly goes on, turns around on his heels and leaves.

He closes the door behind him with a soft click and Jiang Cheng is left to blink after him. He doesn’t think he imagined the red tips of his ears, but Jiang Cheng pushes that thought far away.

Instead, he concentrates on changing out of his ruined clothes. He quickly dries himself off as best as he can, taking extra care to rubble his hair dry, and then he changes into the offered clothes.

They are all just a little bit big on him and Jiang Cheng wonders if they might belong to Lan Xichen himself.

That thought sets off a dangerous warmth in his belly and Jiang Cheng scoffs at himself.

No need to get ahead of himself. Those are probably the only clothes that were around.

Before Jiang Cheng can fret over this any longer, he bundles his wet clothes up in the towel and then steps out of the office.

“Do you have a bag?” he calls out into the shop, and he takes a reflexive step back when Mingjue comes up to him, mop already in his hand.

Damn, he really is one imposingly tall man, Jiang Cheng thinks and he almost has to crane his neck to look up at him.

“Sure,” Mingjue says and pushes the mop at Jiang Cheng just as he takes the clothes out of his hand.

“Xichen is out there,” he then says and walks away without further instructions.

Jiang Cheng frowns but he makes his way into the shop and he does find Lan Xichen there.

“Oh,” Lan Xichen whispers when his eyes fall on Jiang Cheng, and Jiang Cheng feels strangely self-conscious.

“Something wrong?” he asks and tries to smooth his hair down.

He knows it must look like a mess, but there wasn’t a brush and so there’s nothing Jiang Cheng can do about that.

“Not at all,” Lan Xichen gives back, a little bit breathless and Jiang Cheng groans.

“Okay,” he unsurely agrees and then decides to concentrate on the job he has. “I’m gonna start with this then,” he says, lifting the mop and Lan Xichen shakes his head.

“Oh, no, don’t bother, Mingjue was joking about that.”

Jiang Cheng doubts that Mingjue has joked about anything in his life so far, and so he keeps a deadly grip on the mop when Lan Xichen tries to take it from him.

“I said I would clean up my own mess, and I will!” he says and Lan Xichen seems like he wants to fight him on that, but when Mingjue comes out from wherever he hid he let’s go of the mop.

“Good,” Mingjue says with a nod, and Jiang Cheng has no idea why that approval makes Lan Xichen flush.

Jiang Cheng gets to work and since he didn’t leave that big of a mess, he is done rather quickly and then decides to simply keep going. Surely they must be preparing to close by now and he interrupted their whole routine.

The least he can do is help.

Lan Xichen tries to object when he realizes what Jiang Cheng is doing, but Jiang Cheng distracts him with a little bit of small talk and before Lan Xichen can blink, the whole floor is done.

“There,” Jiang Cheng says, weirdly proud of himself and smiles at Lan Xichen, who simply blinks at him.

“You really didn’t have to,” Lan Xichen tries once he jolted himself out of whatever stupor he was in and Jiang Cheng shrugs.

“It’s the least I can do, after you gave me these clothes. It was very lucky that you had some spares around here.”

“We didn’t,” Mingjue suddenly says from behind Jiang Cheng. “Those are Xichen’s, and he usually guards them like a dragon his hoard. He doesn’t like it if other people wear his clothes.”

Jiang Cheng frowns, as he plays with the hem of the soft shirt, while Lan Xichen makes a strangled noise and when Jiang Cheng looks at him, he sees the flush on the tip of his ears again.

“Do you give them to many drenched customers, then?” Jiang Cheng asks, though he can barely be classified as a customer, since he didn’t even buy anything.

All he did was make a mess.

“Nope,” Mingjue cheerfully says, and from the corner of his eyes Jiang Cheng can see how Lan Xichen makes some frantic gestures. “Only to cute, grumpy ones, apparently,” Mingjue says and Jiang Cheng presses his lips together.

“A-Jue!” Lan Xichen yells out in outrage and Jiang Cheng watches in delight as the flush travels all the way down to his neck.

“Alright, my work here is done,” Mingjue says, smug as anything and drops a set of keys into Jiang Cheng’s hands. “You seem like the reasonable type, so make sure Xichen doesn’t forget to lock up after you are done with whatever,” he says with a wink and now it’s on Jiang Cheng to blush while Lan Xichen splutters in the back.

“Mingjue!” he yells again, but Mingjue doesn’t pay him any mind and simply walks out on them.

“Uhm,” Jiang Cheng says eloquently and eyes the keys in his hand. “I’m sorry?” he then offers, because clearly Lan Xichen is more than embarrassed and that finally gets Lan Xichen to look at him.

There’s a strange look on his face and Jiang Cheng can’t deny that his heart beats a little bit faster in his chest.

“Do you have anywhere to be?” Lan Xichen asks him, clearly powering through his embarrassment and Jiang Cheng shakes his head.

“My brother stood me up,” Jiang Cheng offers and is not prepared for the smile that breaks out on Lan Xichen’s face.

“Lucky me, then,” Lan Xichen says and walks past Jiang Cheng to get behind the counter. “Stay for a drink then?” Lan Xichen offers and Jiang Cheng finds himself nodding before he can give this anymore thought.

“I’d stay for more than that, too,” Jiang Cheng finds himself saying and while he wishes the ground would open itself up to swallow him whole, Lan Xichen beams at him.

“We do have the shop to ourselves,” Lan Xichen says with a wink, even though the red on his cheeks turns a colour darker and Jiang Cheng itches to taste his flush.

Maybe he’ll get to, once they finished their drinks.

(He gets to do that and so much more, though they do have to clean the shop again afterwards. And Jiang Cheng does have to remind Lan Xichen to lock up behind him before they leave to continue what they started at Lan Xichen’s place. Nie Mingjue has the audacity to high five both of them when he sees them the next time.)

Link to my ko-fi on the sidebar!

[mishapeesha]

hello friends! i have decided to start writing a fanfiction (although I am......not that experienced with writing, but I will trY)

anyways! the pairing is obviously deancas, and since I’ve just written the first chapter, the tags will be limited until I further develop the story. The rating will change if needed, trigger warnings will be added if necessary, and so on!

the summary: 

A package is mailed to Castiel Novak, a 27 year old with unknowingly very limited knowledge on a certain aspect of his life. It’s filled with what seems like hundreds of letters all to him, a single person. Memories and confessions of love are penned within those letters. As time goes on, he feels drawn to the person on the other end and sets out to find them – and the letter’s inevitable true destination that ties the final loose end in Castiel's life.

ao3 link!: 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28625316/chapters/70161738

i would really appreciate any feedback, or just boosting this would be pretty cool too! 

for anyone that doesn’t wanna read on ao3, chapter 1 starts below!

September 18th, 1992

           Castiel’s chest bounced as he jogged down the stairs aligned in a wide spiral, his eyebrow quirked up in confusion as his doorbell buzzed repeatedly with barely a second in between every ring. He winced at the harsh sound of it, noticing how military-like it was in the way that the alarm went off. It was always a task of his to get it changed, but he never got the chance to. Either because he didn’t feel like it, or because his memory disallowed him to remember something as unimportant as a doorbell.  

           “Coming!” He called out to whoever bothered to show up at his house so early in the morning. Castiel paused beside the bookcase placed beside his door, glancing at the mirror in order to adjust the loose strands of hair that spiked in different directions with the frantic brush of his fingers. He let out a sigh as his gaze shifted towards the reflection of the wall clock behind him, seeing that it was barely 7:05 am. Just as he turned to face the door, that annoying noise rang in his ears once more. Maybe one day he’d go through with that mental task of changing the buzz to something more audibly pleasant.

           His fingers wrapped around the metal doorknob, and a click emerged as he swung the door open, being immediately met with a man who he had never seen in his life. His eyes quickly scanned over the man, noticing that he was in uniform, so he classified him as harmless. What damage could a mailman do? Hand him a letter and give him a papercut? Though there was a look on the mailman’s face that Castiel couldn’t quite place. He was torn between thinking it was some sort of discomfort towards Cas personally, or just general exhaustion because it could just be that he was tired. There wasn’t really anything enjoyable about driving to several homes, handing gifts to so many people while barely surviving off of minimum wage and receiving nothing in return.

           “Castiel Novak?” The man asked, shifting in his spot momentarily as he held a medium sized box underneath one arm, and a clipboard in the other hand. Castiel took note that his name was Thomas after noticing the nametag attached to the pocket on the fabric of his blouse.

           “Yes, that’s me.” Castiel replied, opening the door slightly more after feeling more comfortable to do so. He furrowed his eyebrows as he looked past Thomas, wondering if anyone was following him, or if they were being watched. They seemed to be alone, so Cas stopped tapping his fingers against the wooden door, although he hadn’t realized that he began to do that in the first place. “Is there anything that you need of me?”

           “Well,” Thomas began with a nod. He cleared his throat and placed the clipboard in between his legs to use both of his hands, and then offered Cas the box he held. “We’ve had this in the office for a while now, but it was specified to be delivered on this day to this address, and to you.” He explained, biting his lower lip in what Cas took as some sort of minimal panic, or uneasiness. “The sender wishes to remain anonymous, however.” He added, as if it were nothing unusual.

           “Anonymous?” Castiel questioned and drew a frown onto his face. He shook his head and reverted back to closing the door, but he kept a smaller gap so that the two of them could still communicate. “I will not be accepting a box from someone who doesn’t wish that their identity is revealed. It could be anything, and I am not willing to risk my safety.” He deadpanned before he glanced down at the box, not trusting whatever was in it. Why would anyone refuse to mention their name unless they were someone dangerous and not to be messed with?

           Thomas stared at Cas for a few moments as he was now met with the confusion of what to do with the box now that the apparent receiver was blatantly rejecting it. He swallowed hard as an uncomfortable smile curled the corners of his mouth.

“Mr. Novak, I can assure you nothing that will hurt you is in this box. Not only is it very light, but it would also be a shame if this was thrown out. As I mentioned, this has been collecting dust in our office. It has been for the last four years.”

           Castiel froze at Thomas’ words, struck with surprise. He had absolutely no idea who sent the box, what was in the box, or why it was sent in the first place. Cas was Cas. The person he spoke to the most was his brother, and even then, he barely saw Gabriel to begin with. They spoke less and less as the years passed, and so Castiel was alone for the majority of the time. So, he couldn’t quite process how he had a package delivered to him, when he knew his brother barely had the energy to stop by his house for a quick hello. He was a generally distant individual. An outsider to himself, his family, and others.

This did not add up.

           “Four years you say?” He asked, tilting his head to the side as he looked between Thomas and the box, earning a nod in reply. He sighed in defeat and once again, opened the door. “You really can’t tell me who sent it? Surely you must know.” Cas said, raising his eyebrow as he finally decided to take the box from Thomas’ hold. “It isn’t heavy.” He pointed out in confirmation to what Thomas previously stated, now more so curious to know what he was sent rather than worried.

           “I’m not at liberty to say. I’m sorry.” Thomas responded and rubbed the back of his neck before he remembered to pull the clipboard from between his legs. “Could you sign this, please?”

           Castiel took the pen and scribbled a random signature on the piece of paper, nodding at Thomas who offered a small smile at Cas. “Thank you.” He murmured quietly, clutching the box to his chest.

“Of course. Have a good day.”

           “And you as well.”

           A creak erupted from the door as Castiel let it close on itself, and eventually the atmosphere fell back into silence. But suddenly, he became almost hyper-aware of his surroundings. He couldn’t tell whether it was his actual heartbeat that he could hear, or if he was overhearing some rhythmic beat from his neighbor’s home nearby. And he definitely grew irritated at the loud ticking sound of the clock on the wall that seemed to follow him as he dragged himself through the hallway to the living room.

           The walls seemed to follow his every movement, making Cas feel judged and uneasy. And just for a moment, a sense of guilt rose in him. There was no source for it, yet there was some inexplainable physical tug to what Cas held in his hands, allowing negative emotions to faintly flood into him. He was convinced that his thoughts echoed off those same walls, as any word spoken in his mind just sounded too intense and loud in his ears.

           Cas sat down on the couch, sinking into the mattress as he leaned forward to place the box on the coffee table in front of him. His bottom lip became a victim of his anxious habits where his teeth would peel at the loose, dry skin, drawing blood that lightly pooled into his mouth and presented a metallic taste.

           “What could you be?” He spoke out loud to himself, picking at the loose thread poking out of the couch. He exhaled and used his nails to tear off the tape sealing the box shut. It looked like an average box, which made any assumptions as to what could be inside completely impossible to Cas. It’s not like he expected a bomb to be inside, but he also didn’t expect a proper gift. So, then what? What made a box so big, yet so light at the same time? What was so important that it absolutely had to be sent to Cas four years later?

           Once he managed to tear the seals off, he took in a deep breath. He didn’t know what he would be getting himself into, and yet he knew there was absolutely no way he’d be able to keep himself from looking inside. So, before he knew it or could hesitate, the box was opened, revealing the last thing Cas would have expected.

Letters.

Lots of them.

           “What the hell..?” He breathed out, flipping the box over so that the letters scattered out across the table. His eyes widened in both confusion and shock, and he immediately reached to pick one up. He examined the envelope: Clean, neat, and numbered with a bold 30 on it that was also in the colour of purple. There was no stamp. There was no name. Just a singular number, and nothing more than that.

Or it would be nothing more if he decided to keep the envelopes tightly secured.

Curiosity killed the cat, didn’t it? Though at the same time, he really did have nothing to lose. A dance with death was the least of his current concerns.

By the look of things, it appeared as though there was a certain number of letters in the box, labeled from one to an unknown limit. For all that could be known, there could be fifty letters, a hundred, or a thousand. He doubted he’d read all of them, because what could possibly be so interesting that the writer thought it was imperative that Cas knew?

The bigger question was, who wrote them?

Castiel shuffled through the envelopes until he found the first numbered 1 in red. His mouth went dry, and his brain raced with questions that he had no answer to at all. He hated being blind to the truth, to be instead engulfed in a mystery, like his life was some sort of game. He wanted to know what was going on, and he wanted to know now. But given all that Cas was presented with, he knew it would be a long time before he knew what was actually going on. It could be days, weeks, months. All depending on how much Cas read, and how fast.

He fiddled with the letter in his hand, debating whether or not to open it. He had to. He could just read this one and throw the others out. And maybe he’d get the answers he needed in the first envelope, making it possible to ignore the others.

The paper ripped beneath his fingers, and soon enough, he held a paper in his hands. The first out of many.

Quickly, his eyes scanned over the words written, immediately blocking them out because he refused to jump too far in what was visibly so carefully put together. He wanted to take his time and appreciate the effort put into all of this. But he did take notice of the handwriting. It was a combination of neat and messy. Definitely readable, and a little too familiar. It was nice, simply put. But Cas could sense the desperation in the way the words were written. They were rushed, and well thought out of as well. Like whoever wrote knew what to say, just not how to say it.

Dear Castiel,

Knowing you, you’re probably freaked the hell out right now. And... Well, you should be.

Cas frowned and scoffed, rolling his eyes at the paper. Already, the letter was referring to him, and he had no idea about who was writing. Clearly, off to a great start.

Or not. Actually, don’t freak out. You don’t need that. Anyways…grab yourself that weird coffee that I know you like and get comfy.

What I’ve done here for you is write a hundred letters. Or I’m planning to, at least. Hopefully I commit to this. I guess if you’re reading this, I’ll have succeeded, so yay me, I guess. But I want you to really read them. To understand it all because there is so much that you don’t know. About me, about you, and more importantly, about us. I know you might be scared-

Castiel looked away and shook his head, setting the letter down on the table causing it to fold in on itself with how long it had been creased for. He rubbed his forehead and sighed, mumbling something incoherent underneath his breath. Not even halfway through the first letter, and Cas was already overwhelmed. Everything in him begged him to stop reading, but he couldn’t stop himself from reaching back towards the piece of paper and picking it up once more. He was certain that would be a decision he would regret in the future.

-and that’s okay. Fear’s good. Sometimes, at least.

Please, hear me out, alright? I need you to keep an open mind. You gotta, man. Or else this won’t work. I don’t mean to put on a show and get all dramatic, but I need you to level with me. To feel with me, and to get angry and hurt whenever you feel like it. I need you to bust open your damn walnut, and pull me out of that chest that you’ve got stuffed in there somewhere.  

Cas, you may not know me now, but I know you.

I’m writing this on September 18th, 1988. We met five years go..I don't really know when you'll get this. Could be ten years from now. Guess we'll see.

I need you to remember.

Work that big ol’ brain of yours and try to not be the dumbass that you tend to be. It's my fault you're in your current situation, but you need to try. If not for me, then for you.

We haven't spoken in so long, Cas. And saying I miss you won't change a damn thing because you don't even know who I am, but I do miss you. And you can take that however you want for now, but you'll understand it all eventually. If you decide to actually go through with this and read all that I've written for you.

“Situation?” Castiel asked out loud, as if he’d get a response. Of course, he was met with silence. But he still had no idea what was happening. He didn’t know what any of this meant, but he did know this had the potential to ruin his entire life. In fact, it felt like everything started slowly tumbling down already.

And yes, he had nothing. But was it worth the loss?

I’ll tell you everything. No plot-holes, not shit-holes, or whatever. All I ask is that you read. It’s that simple.

That’s all for now. Sorry for the short first letter. I’ll see you soon.

-Dean W.

“Dean?” He whispered, and at that, his chest knotted tightly as he took in a shaky breath. He widened his eyes and wheezed, an uneasy feeling creeping its way up his chest. So, the writer had a name. One that Cas mentally did not recognize, but he physically did apparently.

What the hell did the "W" stand for? He didn't know. Or rather he couldn't remember, according to what the letters were saying.

He set the letter down and stared at the others, scratching at his arm as he eyed the unorganized mess that had now grounded him in his place. Out of all of the things he could have received that day, he just had to get what was probably the most confusing thing he had ever been confronted with.

The possibility of fault grew, and all Cas could do for now was allow himself to become engulfed in the non-existent voice of a series of letters that he was yet to understand, and so rightfully dreaded.

[trashyswitch]

Afton’s Unusual Work Day

Another day, another shift at Freddy Fazbear's Pizza. However, his day takes a surprisingly playful turn...For the better, might I add...

This is set in Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria, before Afton started killing, which lead up to the original building getting shut down.

William Afton is a security guard who makes sure the animatronics are working well during the shows.

Another day, another shift at Freddy Fazbear's Pizza. He liked working on the animatronics, but dreaded the observing aspects of the job. In the morning, he would get ready, drive to work, boot up the animatronics and make sure they're in working order before the kids start running in. Once the fun part's done, then comes the monitoring...it got really boring, really easily. The animatronics' shows could only be watched a few dozen times before his brain would have an aneurysm from the same old concert every! Single! Day! The kids were a little more entertaining, but they didn't really focus on the man in the purple shirt and black tie, wearing a security guard hat in the background...

That was, until today.

William had just watched the 6th round of kids come barreling into the pizzeria like wild animals. William slowly scanned the kids, picking out the loud extroverts, the quiet introverts, the middle grounds, the outsiders, and the troublemakers. William was normally able to connect to the introverts and the outsiders on a personal level. He found himself to be a person with both attributes in his personality. He pinpointed his favorites based on behavior alone, and smiled as one of the kids' shyly sat away from the crowd of kids surrounding the stage. Freddy was currently singing on stage, and dancing around as best as any robot could. The dancing was the same repeated dance Freddy would do every single day. It was starting to get so boring, that William could feel his eyes getting heavy.

William tried to do everything in his power to keep himself awake, but fighting sleep was like going to a gun fight with a sword: It just doesn't cut it. Very soon, William's eyes finally shut. He tried to open them back up again, but it was really hard trying to keep them awake once they were opened. So, he gave up, and let his eyes remain close. Nothing's wrong with a little snooze, right?

"Excuse me?" A small voice said, kicking William out of his short nap. William quickly opened his eyes, cleared his throat and adjusted his hat, to make it seem like he wasn't at all napping just now.

"Yes? What's u-What can I do?...for you?" William asked as best as he could in his current state.

"Where's the bathroom?" the child asked. William noticed that it was one of the introverts from earlier. His lips perked up into a small smile. Didn't they see the sign?

"It's over there, where the blue and red sign is." William replied kindly, pointing to the blue and red flashing sign that read 'WASHROOM'.

"Okay...thank you..." The child said, before walking off towards the door. William nodded his head, half replying, as he leaned his back against the wall again. William closed his eyes, hoping he could fall asleep after that interruption.

Although, William didn't really blame them for asking the lonely guy in the corner, rather than the many parents that were there. Perhaps the child was at the party alone? He never could find out the answers to many of his burning questions. Pretty soon, William's eyelids grew heavy once again, and his head started to hang. Without a second of resistance, he was fast asleep.

He managed to get 5 minutes of sleep, before:

"Excuse me? Mr. Security man?" a little voice asked. William quickly opened his eyes, slightly shook his head to wake himself up, and lifted his head.

"U-Uh, sorry about that kid..." William said, before trailing off slightly, at the sight of 2 girls in front of him. "...make that a plural..." William muttered to himself.

"Do you know where my little brother went?" One of them asked.

"And why were you sleeping? There's a show going on!" The other girl asked.

William thought for a moment. "What's his name?" William asked.

"Ben." the first girl replied.

"Short? Wearing a green Minecraft shirt?" William asked, describing the boy he talked to a few minutes ago.

"Yup!" The girl replied.

"He went to the washroom." William said.

"Where's that?" The girl asked. William stared at the child, and blinked a few times. Did she really just ask him that?

He sighed. "Look around for a red and blue sign that says 'Washroom' in all caps. You should find it." William explained.

"Okay. Thank you!" The girl said, before walking away with her friend.

As the children walked away, they started talking about him. The girl that did most of the talking, said that he was nice. The girl that called him out on his sleeping, didn't think so. William's eyebrows raised in surprise. It's weird how the girl, who called him out on his sleeping habit, said he wasn't very nice. Luckily for him, he didn't confirm anything by getting angry at her comment, despite how tempting it was. So, he went back to attempting to sleep. However, his eyes and brain had other plans...Guess he's staying awake for a while. As he looked around the room, he noticed the girl's brother coming back from the bathroom, and giving her a big hug. Guess they're reunited. They went over to the adults they came with, and talked to them. In the middle of their talking, the boy pointed in William's direction. William sensed he was being talked about behind his back. Next, the adult put up her index finger, and waved it. Normally that sign would be used to say 'don't do this'. So...he hated to say it, but the parent might've been telling the kids to stay away from him. That idea stung a little bit. Sure, he was a stranger, but he was also a human. An adult, as well. Why couldn't he talk to a couple kids without seeming 'creepy' or 'perverted'? He was helping a couple kids find the bathroom. That's all. But the parents didn't fully understand that. So, they refused to get to know the man their kids talked to, and instead, created a prejudice against the security guard in the corner of the room. What a shame...

After a while of looking around at the kids, William noticed that Ben, his older sister, and the sister's friend, were walking back up to him. Strange...

"Hi Security man." Ben said.

William smiled. "Hi." He replied.

"Ben wanted to see you again, but he didn't wanna go alone." the older sister explained.

"Hi again. Telling by the talking and the pointing fingers, the lady over there told you to stay away from me." William said.

"She did." The sister replied. There's his comfirmation.

William grew puzzled. "Then...what are you guys doing here?" William asked.

"Disobeying her." The sister's friend replied.

William lifted his eyebrows and nodded. not bad...

"I would normally say for you to obey your parents and go back..." William started.

"But you helped us! Why would we stay away from you if you helped us?" Ben explained.

"Sometimes that's all I'm good for." William replied.

"You said 'normally'...Have kids been warned about you before?" The sister's friend asked. this kid was smart...

"...I'd say so...The routine normally goes: Kid asks something. I answer them. Kid leaves, does their thing, and tells parent about the man who helped them. Parent says 'that's a bad man! stay away!', aaaaand kid obeys parents. The next day, it repeats." William explained.

"That's mean..." Ben's sister said in a whiny voice.

"It's done to make sure you're not talking to a creepy man or a kidnapper...but it does hurt a bit, when you're not one of those people." William commented.

"What person are you?" Ben's sister asked.

"I'm just a security guard, doing my daily job..." William replied.

"Sounds boring..." The sister's friend commented.

"Trust me, it is. You guys talking to me, is the most exciting thing that's happened to me in about 4 months." William said.

"I don't wanna work when I'm older. It sounds boring." Ben stated.

William frowned slightly. "Now, not all jobs are like this. Some jobs are fun, like building things, preparing food, driving places in big trucks, and many other jobs. But, no matter how boring a job can be, it's still an important piece of the massive puzzle, that would be incomplete without you." William explained.

"...Huh..." Ben reacted.

"What's your name?" Ben's sister asked.

William pulled his nametag up towards him, to read the name upside down.

"William...aaaffton." William said in a joking matter.

"Hahaha! You don't know your own name?" Ben asked, giggling.

"No, I'm afraid I forgot. It's a good thing I have this name tag, otherwise I'd be very confused..." William joked in a basic monotone voice. Ben and his sister continued to giggle at his silliness.

"You're funny." Ben said through his giggles.

William chuckled. "Funny? Is that my name? Did my boss give me the wrong name tag? Cause I could've sworn my name was William!" William joked. Ben and his sister's giggles increased, as her friend started to giggle as well.

"Nohohoho! Your name is William!" Ben clarified as he giggled.

"So...now you're telling me the name tag is right? Goodness gracious, this is confusing!" William joked. "How about...I choose my own name?" William suggested, before removing his name tag from his shirt pocket. He pulled a dry erase marker out of his pocket, and wrote a random name on, over top of the plastic covering his name tag. "There! Ben Afton!" William declared.

Ben's sister bursted out laughing. "You stole my brother's name!" His sister exclaimed, still laughing.

"Oh, did I? My apologies, Ben. I'll choose something else. Here..." William said, picking up his name tag again, erasing the name with his fingers before writing another name onto the plastic covering the name tag. "There!" William exclaimed, flipping back around to reveal his new name. "Buttface Afton!" William read. Ben bursted out into another laughing fit, before falling onto the ground. He started rolling on the floor, kicking and laughing hysterically at the silly nickname.

How in the world did this child think this was so funny?! William couldn't help but laugh at the child's reaction. He has never managed to get such a reaction from a child before! Normally, being humorous took talent! But this humor just came to his head, and out the mouth without a second thought! If only he could make this happen more often...

Ben's sister had been laughing also, but mostly at Ben's reaction, and less at William's 'genius' humor. "Hey everyone! Guess what the security guard's name is!" Ben's sister yelled, getting the attention of multiple kids, close to Ben's age. The kids ran up to Ben's older sister, eager to hear the answer. "Buttface! The security guard's name is Buttface!" Ben's sister declared. All of the kids bursted out laughing at the silly nickname. a few of the kids were repeating the words 'Buttface the Security man' through their laughter.

William felt fairly proud at his ability to make so many kids laugh, but also slightly nervous at how many kids were running up to him. So, he came up with a silly voice that was a mix of an old granny voice, and a nerdy voice.

"Hello everyone! My name is Buttface the security man! Are you enjoying the show?" William greeted. The kids continued laughing.

"Why is your name Buttface?" one of the kids asked. William pushed himself away from the wall, and walked a bit closer.

"What a good question, my dear! Well, that's rather easy! I'm afraid I forgot what my name was before! I thought my name was William, because my name tag said so! but my boss gave me the wrong name tag! So, I came up with my own name: Buttface!" William explained. The kids continued laughing hysterically.

Meanwhile, Ben had snuck up behind him, and was starting to hide behind William. William noticed this, but pretended to not notice such things.

"Say...now that I think about it, where's our birthday boy?" William asked. A few of the kids were snickering and pointing fingers behind him.

"He's behind you!" One of the kids blurted out.

"Behind me?! Now how could the birthday boy be hiding in such an easy place? I can't see him anywhere!" William exclaimed, turning and walking to a table. "Is he hiding under the table?" William asked. A unison of No!'s replied to his question. "What about behind the curtain?" William asked, walking up to the curtain. "IIIIIIII've...GOTCHA!...Nope!" William joked, turning around. Ben remained behind him at all costs, trying to hide from him in a playful manner.

Suddenly, Ben jumped out in front of him! "BOO!" Ben yelled.

"AAH! There you are! I was looking for you! Where on earth were you hiding?" William asked.

"Behind you!" Ben replied.

"Behind me? Well I'll be darned! You were right!" William reacted.

Ben started poking William. He started on the arm, moved to the side, and started to poke him onto the stomach.

"What- Hey! Why are you poki- Hehey! Quihihihit ihihihit! AHAHA! Stop it! Please!" William yelled, resorting to his normal voice as he squirmed and attempted to swat at Ben's fingers. He didn't want to return the poking, out of fear of the action seeming childish and perverted. So, he took it as best he could.

"He's ticklish!" Ben exclaimed. A few kids gasped and took a few steps closer. William continued desperately swatting at the fingers, backing up to avoid them at all costs. Very soon, William's back made contact with the wall. His eyes widened upon realizing the circumstance. He slid to the left, but got bombarded by kids and their poking fingers. He slid to the right, but got bombarded by more poking fingers. He also tried stepping forwards, but that resulted in more poking fingers! No matter where he went, fingers would poke, prod and wiggle against his wide open abdomen, leaving him in a giggly mess in the corner. The space between William and the semi-circle of kids lessened, leading to more pokes and more giggles to escape his mouth. Eventually, William's giggling grew to laughter as his knees buckled, bringing him down lower, for the kids to, unfortunately, get more access to his ticklish spots.

"Guhuhuhuhuys! Plehehehehease stohohohohop!" William begged through his uncontrollable laughter. Curse his unbelievably ticklish abdomen! The kids were poking and prodding at his ribs and abs, along with his stomach and sides. And they were all ticklish! Certain parts were more ticklish than others, but all of the spots combined was torture as it was. And despite how much he tried, it was really hard trying to keep your laugh in when kids were unpredictably poking just about anywhere that was ticklish. Unfortunately for him, that was just about everywhere on his upper body.

Soon, kids started grabbing his arms and legs, and pulling them out. William tried to pull his limbs loose, but surprisingly, to no avail. These kids were a lot stronger than they looked, and his ticklish laughter was weakening him even further. "Lehehehehet GOhohoho of mehehehehe! AAAHAHAHA! NO! NOT THERE! NAHAHAT THEHEHERE!" William bursted out, his laughter growing a little more hysterical. Confused, every poker had stopped. That was, everyone except one kid, who was poking and scratching at William's armpit. Ben's lips grew a big smile, as he watched his best friend scratch the security guard's armpits.

"You're ticklish just about everywhere!" Ben stated.

"What about his feet?" One kid asked. William's eyes widened even further at the mention of his feet. Oh GOD NO!

"WHAHAHAT?! NO! NAHAT MY FEHEHEHEET!" William begged, pulling at his legs as much as he could, with what little strength he still had.

Ben smiled. "I'll take that as a yes!" Ben replied excitedly. The child who was tickling his armpit, removed his fingers to watch the next part take place. Ben and one of his other friends, went over to his shoes and started removing them.

William, watching the kids do this, started to panic. "Wait! I'm begging you, please don't touch my feet! I'm WAY too ticklish there! I could die! You don't want me to die, do you?" William pleaded. Ben lifted one eyebrow up, looked towards his friend, and looked back at William.

"Come on! Quit being a drama queen." Ben said, before pulling his shoe off and placing it aside.

"I'm not being- AAAH! GAAAHAHAHAHA! YOHOHOHOU LIHIHIHITTLE JEHEHEHERK!" William yelled through his sudden burst of hysterical laughter. Ben's smile grew really wide, as other kids started resuming their poking and prodding.

"WHAHAHAHAIT! NAHAHAT YOU TOHOHOHOO! OH GOD! OH GAHAHAHAHAD! IHIHIHIT TIHIHIHICKLES SOOO MUHUHUHUCH!" William shouted.

William was squirming, pulling at his limbs, and laughing every bit of energy right out of him. As he was squirming, his hat came flying off and his short hair started flying every which way. The scratching on his foot, along with the poking on his upper body, was truly way too much for him to handle! How did he even get into this situation?! He can't even remember for the life of him! All he could remember really, was how ticklish he's always been since his childhood!

Suddenly, William started feeling pressure and pulling on his other shoe! OH GOD! THAT'S NOT GOOD!

"GEHEHEHEHET OHOHOFF MY FOOOHOHOHOHOT! PLEHEHEHEASE! I'M BEHEHEGGING YOHOHOHOHOU!" William begged desperately, pulling at his foot as much as he could. Unfortunately, all that did, was pull the shoe off his foot! Well crap...

"Thanks for the help!" Ben cheered, before grabbing his socked foot, and scratching his soles.

William's laughter turned silent. Ben, realizing how much air he was losing, ordered for his friends to stop. Everyone pulled their hands back, and let go of William. The only people that didn't let go, was Ben and the 2 people holding onto William's arms. William's head was laying against the ground, and his whole upper body was lifting and lowering from his heavy, deep breathing.

A few of the kids' faces started showing guilty and worried expressions. One of the kids looked down at the security guard, and exclaimed: "We killed him!". A few of the kids gasped and muttered different things towards each other. Only for the muttering to fall silent, at the sound of giggling.

It was coming from William, who was giggling at the one kid's remark. "I'm...not dead...I don't think..." William clarified. A few sighs of relief came out of the kids. Ben, who didn't get very much time tickling his foot, decided to resume it.

William threw his head back as a loud, high pitched squeal left his throat. "eeEEEEHEHEHEHEHEHEHAHAHA!" William laughed once again, pulling his feet away from the boy. The 2 kids that were holding his arms, finally let go and watched as William's whole body curled into the fetal position. William had an uncontrollable smile on his face, and a few leftover giggles left his body as he breathed.

"WHAT ON EARTH IS GOING ON HERE?!" someone yelled. A few of the kids backed away, as a couple of the kids mumbled guiltily to each other. The yelling person, appeared to be the parent that Ben and his sister were talking to earlier. The lady looked around, and couldn't help but notice the man the kids were surrounding. The lady's eyebrows went up as she politely pushed herself through the sea of kids. "Oh my gosh! Are you okay? Were the kids harassing you?" the lady asked, reaching a hand out for him to pull himself up. William turned himself onto his back, and sat up. He took the hand, and pulled himself up.

"Thank you. And yes, they were a little bit." William replied.

"Ben, will you please explain to me why you're bothering this poor man?" the lady instructed.

Ben hung his head. He was too ashamed to explain anything.

So, his close friend stood up. "The man was acting very funny. When we found out he was ticklish, we started tickling him." the close friend explained.

"Tickling him? Now how in the world, did you find that-" the lady started.

"I did. I started it." Ben said, guilt overriding his entire body.

"Okay...and why?" he lady asked.

"Because it was funny." Ben replied. The lady's eyebrows raised a little bit, as she started to understand.

"You think that tickling people is funny?" The lady asked her son, with a little smile on her face.

Ben nodded. "Uh huh." Ben replied.

"Well in THAT case, come here, ya little nut!" The lady said playfully, scooping up her son and carrying him cradle style with one hand. With the other hand, the lady skittered her fingers on his tummy. The little boy bursted out in childish laughter, and curled in on his Mom.

"Having fun yet?" Ben's Mom asked.

"Yehehes!" Ben replied, nodding his head as he laughed.

"Well, good! Cause I'm having fun as well!" the Mother replied. She lifted up her son's shirt, scooped her other hand under her son, lifted him up and gave him a raspberry, right onto his tummy. The little boy's laughter grew, as she lowered him down, lifted him up again and gave him yet another raspberry! Ben's face beamed with glee as his hysterical laughter took over. Finally, Ben's mother lowered her son down, and bent down to their level.

"While I do agree that tickling people is fun, you should only tickle people you know really well. And only if they like it. Because there are some kids and adults that don't like being tickled." Ben's mother explained.

Ben turned towards William. "Do you like tickling?" Ben asked. William's eyebrows raised, as his hand scratched the back of his head awkwardly.

"Well...ya, I'd say so. It's not the worst thing in the world, but there are other ways to make people laugh." William explained.

"Like Buttface Afton!" Ben exclaimed. a bunch of the kids bursted out laughing at that remark.

William sighed, rolled his eyes, and shook his head with a half-annoyed, half-amused smile. "Yup...liiike Buttface Afton..." William said, slightly monotone.

The mother, who was sort of confused, lifted an eyebrow and looked at William.

"Long story..." William clarified awkwardly. Ben's mother nodded in understanding, as the kids continued to laugh.

"By the way, I'm so sorry for what happened." Ben's mother mentioned.

"Eh, it's alright. It could've been worse." William replied.

"Ya, that's true...I'm glad that was all it was, at this point." Ben's mother added.

"Me too..." William replied.

"Hey Mom?" Ben asked, looking up to his mother happily. his mother looked down at him. "Can we come here for my birthday next year?" Ben asked.

William's eyebrows raised. Really? He wanted to come back?!

"We'll see. I'll definitely keep it in mind." Ben's mother replied, fluffing her son's hair. Ben smiled at the feeling, and closed his eyes. Best! Birthday! Ever!

[misha-moose-dean-burger-lover]

Sabriel! - I know I keep coming to the cookie shop and for some reason it’s always your shift but don’t you dare judge me I need these for my sanity

Oh, I had such fun writing this! Hope it's a good time for you, too ~ Thanks for the prompt, Petra, and sorry for the late answer! What follows is going to be fluffy in general, with a dash of crack - so no warnings to give! Enjoy ~

***

A Regular at Cookiehana.

The chimes outside the door chime cheerfully, as it swings open in coordination to Gabriel’s groan. He’d finally gotten comfortable in his chair - (you know how chairs can be, on one’s first day of work) - but he has to sit up.

As he does, his eyes fall on the customer. Gabriel has to raise his eyes some more to meet speckled hazel ones - which he thinks he’s seen before, in the corner of his mind, and holy crap, this guy is tall. He’s also wide, but skinny - and has hair which covers his forehead entirely.

When Gabriel smiles at him, in response to a returned gaze, it’s not just his stellar customer-service etiquette in play.

“You’re,” Gabriel’s voice trails off, as the guy crosses the distance to the counter in a couple large steps, shoving his phone into his pocket. “You’re Sam.”

“And you’re good at this game,” Sam returns, with the distracted air of someone who doesn’t know he’s being funny. “Gabriel.” He adds, blinking as if he’s speaking half from memory, and half leaning in to read his glossy new nametag.

“Finally.” Gabriel grins. “Someone who’s at my level, in Guess-a-Name-2, trademark symbol attached.”

Sam shrugs at him, and Gabriel looks at him a little bit more, to distinguish the tired eyes from a polite smile. He doesn’t say anything else, and they only stick around looking at each other for a second, before Sam is bending from the hip to check out the cookies on display earnestly, and Gabriel has to try to get used to the notion, and not think about how it looks like Sam disappeared - from the other end of the counter.

“Aren’t you Cas’s brother?” Sam asked, suddenly, still not straightening from where he was crouched to get a better look.

“Yeah,” Gabriel hummed. So that’s how they knew each other. Scenes came flipping to his head. Cas’s birthday weekend, finally getting to meet the Dean he keeps talking about, and his freshman brother, Sam Winchester. The food, the drinks - and the drinking together. The conversation - Sam had said, he was pre-law. Gotten more drunk. He’d said he liked to call their brothers being together, something called a Destiel. Another yellow drink. He’d said he thought Gabriel’s Han Solo cosplay was cute.

Good times.

“Cassie keeps yapping about your brother.” Gabriel tells him, musing. “It’s adorable, really.”

“I was a freshman, back then.” Sam finally rises. “I finish college next year. But, them? They haven’t been able to get over themselves and confess, yet.” Sam sighs. “A White Chocolate Macadamia, please.” He adds, randomly.

“On it.” Gabriel nods, glancing sideways at the cookie in question. “Maybe they’ll do it this year, when they graduate and realize how pathetic they are to everyone but each other. You having the cookie here, or to go?”

“To go. And I guess I hope so, too.”

Gabriel sets about packing the one cookie. It looks scrumptious, and smells heavenly - hell, this guy’s got great taste - and Gabriel already knows what he’s going to sneak out for dinner. (Not entirely legal ones, but perks, you see.) “Here.” He says, handing it out. “Toast your cookie-milk to those dumbasses when you’re done, ‘kay?”

Sam takes it with a huge smile, and it’s one of the contagious kinds, and Gabriel’s stood there basking in it for a moment. “Thank you. And, yep. You got it.” He pulls out his wallet from his faded blue jeans.

As he pays, Gabriel can’t resist the urge to say it. “Also, congratulations. You’re my second customer ever, and the first was just my boss, the big man here, in disguise trying to check on me, so that’s that.”

Sam laughs at that, softly. “Congratulations to you, too.” Sam’s holding the cookie-box in both his hands, once he’s received his change - and it’s downright adorable, is what it is to Gabriel.

So, of course he’s got to ruin the moment. “You know what, Samshine? Never took you to be the type for cookies at 10 pm on a Wednesday.”

Sam frowns, just the littlest bit. “Well, I never took you as the type to ever work for money, but here we are.”

“Already jabbing at the trust fund, huh? Fair.” Gabriel chuckled, not offended in the least. “But in my defense, I’m only here for the cookies. And 'cause they said no one shows up during this shift.”

“Well, they probably just lied to get you to agree.” Gabriel fakes being appalled, and Sam goes on. “I mean, this place is college adjacent. You -”

“Yeah, you never know who might need a cookie, with all y'all weirdos.” Gabriel finishes, smirking.

“You have no idea how correct you are.” Sam tells him. “Goodnight, Gabriel.” And he walks out, another polite smile in place.

“Thank you for your visit.” Gabriel calls after him, “Come again, to Cookiehana.”

And he has no idea, that he might just have predicted the future.

Gabriel sees him take the right, for the bus stand, he guesses - and then returns to his chair, trying to fit in that perfect way, from before he’d been interrupted by his only to-be regular, ever.

*

Sam shows up. Every day.

Around the same time, wearing similar clothes each night, like he didn’t really intend to go out, but then tucked himself in an oversized hoodie and set off to Cookiehana impromptu - and he might order different cookies mostly, but Gabriel likes to think he knows his favorites, like a typical provider-regular relationship ought to be.

“I should try your M&M cookie.” Sam declares, as he walks in at 10 again, to an empty shop.

“Good evening to you, too.” Gabriel throws back, rolling his eyes, but sets about packing the dessert in question.

*

Sam’s waiting for his peanut butter cookies. Gabriel’s taking longer than usual, because they’re out of the pretty white cardboard, they fold into boxes, so Gabriel’s hunting in the back for more. It’s been a good week.

“You think I should start bringing back the boxes you give me every night?” Sam proposes, deadpan in place. “I’ve managed to procure enough to build a pile.”

“You sure love your cookies, Sammich.” Gabriel shrugs.

Sam’s clearly in one of his moods - Gabriel has noticed that there’s days when he’s really tired, and just wants to get back soon; and then there’s days when he wants to have a conversation, while Gabriel prepares his cookie to take away.

Today is certainly the former, and the bags under his eyes are quite pronounced. Gabriel’s wondering if he’s smooth enough to slip in a question about his sleep schedule, in the middle of a cookie discussion. Starting your last year in college is hard. He wonders if Sam needs to talk about something serious, to vent or simply, to panic out loud. But, because he’s Gabriel, he instead chooses to ask him the question that’s been clinging to him, for a while, now.

“Do you have a cat?”

“I am my own cat.” Sam delivers it with such a perfect lack of emotion, that Gabriel almost bursts with laughter.

“That’s the spirit.” He tells him, and hands him his cookie.

Sam takes it, and there’s a hint of a smile on his lips, now. He puts the money down on the counter, and Gabriel returns the change by putting the coins on the counter too, but Sam is already on his way out.

“Hey!” Gabriel yells. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Sam - very earnestly - looks down at the cookies he’s holding. “No?”

“Your change, Sammyhana.” Gabriel rolls his eyes, and walks out from behind the counter to hand it over, because Sam has a perfectly shaken expression. “What are ya staring at? Thought I didn’t have legs, before?” He adds, shifting weight to the other hip.

“No, I -” Sam shuts himself up. And shoves the change in his pocket. “Thank you, Gabriel. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Gabriel hums, as a segue. “Counting on it. Wait -” He calls for a second time, when Sam’s almost out the door. He leans against a pillar.

“I was meaning to make something clear between us.”

Sam raises his eyebrows.

“Look. I need to know that you know, that I’m willing to host an intervention any day you feel like you’ve lost control.” Gabriel purses his lips, to keep himself from laughing. “You just need to text me once, man, and like send me all your contacts, and we’ll all be here for you, with a cookie-ntervention.”

Sam pauses. Opens his mouth. Then closes it again. Gabriel keeps on looking at him, enjoying the way the sutble smile settles on Sam’s features.

“Thanks, but I’ve got it covered.” Sam says, eventually. “These have really been keeping the anxiety at bay. And increasing my functionality. Honestly, just need these cookies to keep myself sane, but that’s all.”

Gabriel bites his lip.

“So, rehab then?”

*

It’s raining, and it’s raining hard. Gabriel is half considering setting up camp here, if it goes on for too long. The chair’s familiar with his ass now, so that’s the bedding - and it’s a cookie shop, so that’s the dinner.

Though, he thinks randomly, surely it’s alright for him to lock the place and get out of there early, considering no one would wish to buy cookies in a storm, at night. He’s still toying with the prospect of sending Chuck a message that he’ll be ending his shift early, when there’s a noise outside the shop. Maybe one of his friends - Meg, it could only be Meg - came to rescue him in a car. Then, the door swings open with a loud noise - letting in the thundering backdrop of the rain too.

It’s Sam.

“Oh my God.” His hair is wet and flattened over his head, though he’s carrying an umbrella meant for a small ice cream stand, considering how large it is.

“Good evening, to you too.” Sam replies, breaking into a breathless smile as he sets the umbrella to dry in a corner of the otherwise empty shop.

“You’ve got a problem.” Gabriel tells him, meaning every word.

“Is the shop closed?” Sam contemplates, out loud. He’s not completely himself, somehow. Like the rain has caused the dry exterior to slide off. He sounds like he had, that one time three years back, and is wearing such an easy smile.

“Apparently not.” Gabriel smiles back, not even trying to fight it once he realized he wouldn’t win.

“Then, may I please buy a cookie?” Sam dug out a wallet. “Chocolate Chip. My midterms are over. I needed to celebrate, okay? Weather can’t stop me.”

Gabriel didn’t leave to get the cookie yet. He simply stared Sam in the eyes. “You don’t got a problem.” He informs him. “How did it go?”

Sam rubs the back of his head, with the kind of shy modesty that Gabriel recognizes from Castiel.

“So you kicked it in the ass?” He asks, instead.

Sam shrugs. “Feels like it.”

“I’m so proud.” Gabriel beams at him. He finally goes to pull out the chocolate chip tray.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think that you’d probably be closing 'cause of the storm.” Sam mumbles, as if his high spirits had begun to subside, as Gabriel’s eyes left his. “Just rushed out here. I’ll just take my one cookie, and then you can leave too.”

“Do you see me folding you a box, Samwise? This isn’t to-go. Have you even seen the fucking sky, you idiot?” He isn’t able to mean it with menace, at all. “You’re staying, and having it right here.”

Sam doesn’t even protest, so there’s that.

Gabriel hands the cookie to him on a white plate, which is just the perfect size to serve cookies in. He looks up to meet Sam’s eyes again, but Sam’s only got eyes for the cookies - he doesn’t even mind, because once the cookie’s been heated, the chips begin to melt into this wonderful gooey chocolate, and it’s just -

Sam picks it up, and takes a bite.

Gabriel dramatically gasps, as if on cue. “Just like that?”

“No offense,” Sam sounds unsure. “How else do I -”

“What kind of barbarian doesn’t have milk with their cookie, Samsquatch?” Gabriel frowns. “Oh, fuck it. I’m getting you a glass.” Gabriel bent, to get a glass. “Also, guess what? The complimentary milk is supposed to be served in a bowl-shaped whatever, but I suppose I could bend company rules for our only regular.”

“I thought you were going to say your favorite customer.” Sam smirks.

“Of course.” Gabriel agrees. “I get you a glass, for being our only regular. I heat the milk, cause you’re my favorite.”

Sam’s eyes shine.

“Go. I’ll be right over with all the good stuff, Samantha.” Gabriel nudges, and Sam agrees, and scopes out a table from where he can see what Gabriel is up to.

When Gabriel shoots a glance in his direction, he’s looking right at him, so. He obviously instantly mucks things up, and clicks for 2 hours, instead of 2 minutes, on the microwave. When he’s finally gotten the milk perfectly heated, he adds another cookie to the plate and beams at the presentation. It’s perfect, with a brown and a white cookie against the background of a white plate, and a coaster for the glass of milk in the same tray.

When he walks over to Sam, he sees him clicking away on his phone instead.

A weird kind of feeling envelopes him. “Texting the missus that the cookieman held you captive?”

“What? No.” Sam puts his phone down, with a smile. “I don’t call you cookieman, in front of anybody ever. That’s just Dean. He’s asking about the storm.”

“Ah.” And the weird feeling almost completely dissipates, though that doesn’t help him in ignoring the reason why it showed up in the first place. “Here you go.”

Sam looks at all the things on the tray. “Okay.”

Gabriel sits down across him. “How do you feel, when you know you’re about to have the best meal of your life, Sambo?”

“Fuck.” And Gabriel can’t tell if that’s from the bite of milk-soaked cookie he just took, or in answer to this question. “I’m an idiot for not always having ate them like this.”

“It’s alright, I’ll still feed you.” Gabriel grins, patting his hand. Sam’s eyes light up, as he grinned too - and if those eyes simply aren’t the most beautiful thing, ever, he doesn’t know what else was.

“You’re joining me?” Sam pushes the tray towards the middle of the table.

“Nah, I got that cookie for you. Compliments of the shop. Kicking ass at college, showing up in a storm, and all that.” Gabriel tells him, but he’s still got his eyes on the other cookie, and Sam chuckles.

“I’ll buy another one for myself, when I’m done. You have this. I don’t want to eat by myself, please?” Sam urges, and doesn’t have to say it another time, because Gabriel all but shrugs off his courtesy and takes it - soon joining Sam in all his moaning appreciation, and heartfelt compliments expressed in the form of profanities because that’s the height of poetry these days.

*

And as they spend the rainy evening like that, dipping their cookies in milk and nibbling at them to savor every bit of perfection flooding their senses - they talk, and they listen, and it’s all that it needs to be.

And then, Sam says, “By the way, about before? I don’t have a girlfriend. Still, uh, kinda figuring out my type.” And Gabriel blinks at him, awestruck that he’s still thinking of that, and maybe blushes a little, but it doesn’t stop him from adding, “I already know my type, though. In fact, I might be getting to know my type a little more, this evening.” And then it’s Sam’s turn to turn pink, and that’s exactly how they spend the evening - and it’s all just right.

***

AND that’s PART-ONE of COOKIEHANA, blogfolk! I was originally gonna make it longer, but then I decided to let it be - and if y’all like this one, I might post the part-two sometime! THANK YOU for reading, and I dearly hope you had a good time! Please share or comment, and have a great day ahead! KEEP IT SAILING ~

TITLE, inspired by @screamatthescreen! 

Taglist: @awkward-penguin-in-a-trenchcoat @styggtroll @adventurous-blob @petrichoravellichor @all-or-nothing-baby @emmii4@iamcharliebradburylevelperfect @moderatelypanickedbiromantic @elvenlicht @legendary-destiel @a-mess-of-many-fandoms @trenchcoatsandfreckles @noemithenephilim @naitia @ladywaywarddsc @zoerayne2426 @hellfire37 @3dg310rdsupreme @thekidsmaybealright @impulsivedandelion @galaxy-charm

[rosesisupposes]

Hey I saw you were offering fluff and I'm a hoe for Prinxiety, only if you feel motivated too though! Love your writing xxx

So, this may not be what you meant, but… I watched The Unicorn Store the other day and I loved it, and one of the characters’ names was literally Virgil. So in a slight mix-and-matched fashion, here’s that :D

The Store

Pairings: Prinxiety, Moceit (Paternal Royality, Paternal Roceit); brief moment of analogical if you squint.

Warnings: Self-doubt, reference to possible hallucinations; reference to abuse and miscarriage; also, minimal editing

Word Count: much longer than intended 4,434 words

Read on ao3

Roman, dearest Roman, grew up with a deep love for unicorns, and rainbows, and all things glitter. His imagination let him have wild and beautiful adventures with his pet unicorn. His name was Steve.

He drew him, over and over, hoping that if he just nailed it perfectly, his parents would understand, and finally see himBut while Pat and Dee indulged his stories and encouraged his art, it was clear they’d never really understand.

They did send him to art school though

He wanted to love it, wanted to meet all those people who thought like him, who saw the world like him

Unfortunately what he found was a mentor who’s best-known work was a photography series called Stick in a Box

In the final evaluation, they were asked to make a self-portrait

Roman’s classmates had beautifully composed but tiny charcoal drawings of themselves, lined up in neat 8.5x11 boxes

Roman’s drawing was technically perfect, too. But it was a charcoal of a unicorn on a hill, surrounded with stripes of purple, yellow, pink, green, red that stretched off the box, off the canvas, and onto the wall itself. As a final touch, he said a wish to himself and blew on glitter

Unfortunately, his mentor was… unimpressed. And Roman became an art school dropout, back in his dads’ house, shifted to the basement because his room had become a home gym

His dads were still supportive, though. They knew he’d bounce back. But it didn’t always help when they’d talk about “now that you’ve tried that” and “finding a new path”

Also, they kept bringing over their neighbor, Emile, who was Roman’s age. Emile has just started working with them at their retreat service for troubled and at-risk teens. And it’s not that Roman didn’t like Emile, it just felt like… they were prouder of him than their son the failure.

Okay, maybe Roman did dislike Emile.

So in a fit of… jealousy? Desperation? Roman announces he’s joining a temp agency. He’s going to have an office job. So, Dad, Papa, please make sure to purchase plenty of pens and graph paper as he will need them now. He even borrows Pat’s old office clothes. A bit outdated perhaps, but he’s professional now.

He starts at the ad agency/communications firm and damn does he look the part, he’s sure. Even if his work is boring. Even if the people are very caught up in very small concerns.

In the middle of the very, very beige cubicles, and the very, very dull conversations, Roman finds a letter. It has his name on it, spelled in glitter and rhinestones. And it invites him to The Store.

But he’s… he’s being professional now. He’s a businessman. He doesn’t care about frivolity like glitter. Right?

When the second letter arrives, still with his name, still with the same address, still with no signature… well, it might not be smart but he can’t help it

He goes to the address to find a lone, flickering neon sign that says The Store. He walks in to an elevator that has no buttons, but descends on its own. He walks through a pink-lit hallway to a curtain of rainbows, and finally emerges into a grand old room that’s been…. transformed. 

On one side: a gate closes off a clear space. On the other: several grand tables are arranged with fruit and hay bales. The back wall has a long bar and freezers of ice cream. And in the middle, a man stands with a slight smile and adjusts his bright purple tie and the shiny satin matching suit jacket.

“Welcome, Roman!”

“How do you know my name?”

“I’ve been expecting you, of course. Though you are late, by several days. It’s rather impolite not to respond to an invitation immediately, you know.”

“What is this place?”

“It’s the Store. And I am the Salesman.” Roman notices what definitely looks like long strings of tinsel in the man’s dark hair.

“What kind of store?”

“The kind that sells  that and only that which you need”

“Which is?”

“Roman, don’t be ridiculous. You know what it is. You’ve known your whole life.”

The Salesman flicks on the huge screen above the door. Footage of graceful horses under rainbows, horses in meadows, horses sleeping… except they all have a beautiful, spiral horn in their foreheads.

“Unicorns?! You have real, actual unicorns?”

“Yes we do. And I contacted you specifically to make you this offer: we have a unicorn, just for you.”

Roman starts to tear up.  "Really? You do? For me? I was right, all this time? Oh my goodness, can i see her? Him? Them? Do unicorns have genders?“

“They do, if they want them. Yours isn’t here yet: you need to prove you’ll take good care of them first. A unicorn isn’t just a pet, you know. They’re a commitment. They will love you forever. Can you keep one safe forever?”

“I think I can,” Roman responds, though he’s still jittery and very glittery.

“Excellent! Here’s the first requirement, then,” the Salesman responds. He pulls out a shiny folder.  In it is a description of “Sheltering and Feeding Your Unicorn”

“Do you have space to accommodate a unicorn? Can you feed one? To qualify for unicorn ownership, you must first demonstrate that you’re able to provide for them.”

Roman thinks of his basement room with a wince. “Uh, not yet. But I will!”

“And can you demonstrate that you’re stably employed, able to continue providing?”

“I will do that too.”

He heads off in a whirlwind of giddy and righteous energy. He’s getting a unicorn. He’ll do whatever it takes!

First stop is the hardware store. He finds a man in the lumber section.

“Hello good sir! I am in the market for lumber.”

“Whatcha building.”

“A stable.”

“How big’s the horse?”

“Uh, not quite a horse, but um. Bigger than a pony, but you know, they can probably become whatever size I need them to be. Um, just your average small horse, I suppose?”

“Where you buildin’ it?”

“My bedroom”

The man stares, then picks up his radio. “Virgil, please report to the lumber department.”

“Will he be able to help me?”

The man doesn’t answer, just rolls his eyes and walks off

Roman wanders until he finds the worker with the nametag “Virgil”

“So, are you the builder?”

“Uh, what?”

“The man said you could help me.”

“Yeahhh, he definitely just said that to fuck with me. I’m not really a carpenter, I just do stock.”

“Well, you know more about it than me! Maybe you could try?”

Virgil stares down at Roman earnest smile, then finally sighs. “I mean, I’m gonna get paid, right? Might as well.”

He’s then the first to point out that Roman’s… ‘pony’ won’t want to live in his basement.

But in the backyard, there’s the slightly-rotted ruins of Roman’s childhood castle. It’s not structurally sound, but the space is good. And maybe some of the wood is salvageable. Roman starts kicking in the walls for good measure, and Virgil, with a strange fascination bordering on entertainment, joins in at his urging.

The hardest part is keeping his parents from asking about Virgil’s visits. Roman is very tired of being reminded that among his many failings, he doesn’t even have a partner. And the eagerness with which Dad and Papa ask about the ‘young man’’ who keeps visiting kinda makes it obvious they hope that’s why. In Pat and Dee’s defense, they’re not trying to be pushy. They just saw the conspiratorial smiles Roman kept flashing Virgil, and the bemused but amused smiles Virgil returned.

But Roman’s getting a unicorn. Who needs a boyfriend when the unicorn will love him more than any human ever could or has.

Roman returns to The Store. “I’m building a stable, and I have an appointment to go buy hay. What’s next?”

“Ah, good. Now that you’re building a home worthy of a unicorn, you need to ensure the full environment is appropriate. Here, hold this.”

The Salesman hands Roman a spiraled cone. It feels like ivory, but is far too heavy.

“Is this…?”

“Yes, a horn. They’re fragile creatures, but the weight of caring from one is all too real. Will your unicorn be surrounded by support and love? Is there a healthy family environment for them to come home to?”

Roman realizes that he’s not been on… particularly good terms with his dads. And it’s probably not all their fault. So he volunteers to join a weekend retreat: rafting and camping with the kids. And Dad, and Papa. And Emile

If there’s one thing Roman can say for Emile, it’s that he’s a really great trier. He’s not particularly good at paddling. He volunteers to pitch a tent on his own and…. Well. It got up eventually.

Roman’s helping two of the teens assemble their own tent when Pat calls out to get ready for Truth Circle. The girls snort  under their breath but call back to say they’re coming. 

“What’s truth circle?”

“Ugh, it’s so lame. It’s going around and sharing and they want it to be some deep shit. But I make up something every time and they can’t tell.”

True to her word, the young woman, sitting around the campfire, tells a tearful story of how her mom cut up all her tube tops and she just misses them, so much. A young man says he’s "so tired of assumptions just because i like loud music, and like knives, doesn’t mean i’m gonna attack my English teacher! I like my English teacher." 

To each pronouncement, Pat and Dee nod seriously, occasionally offering "Thank you” and “Good share”

Roman just feels worse and worse, knowing that all of these kids are probably laughing at his dads on the inside, so when they ask if he’d like to share anything…

“I’ve been working really hard lately, trying to improve my life,” he starts, and Pat and Dee are beaming, holding hands. “I really want to make it all worth it, you know? Because growing up, people kept wanting to not play with me, and every birthday I wished for the same thing: someone to love me, unconditionally. And I know I’ve been flighty, and selfish, but I’m finally at a turning point where all my hard work feels worth it. And It’s because I’m finally about to get the one thing I’ve always wanted: a unicorn.”

His dads’ faces drop. “Uh, kiddos, we’re gonna have a quick lil mini family circle over here, okay? Emile, you want to lead some campfire songs?”

Pat is the first to speak. "Ro, I was so happy when you told us you wanted to come, but this is just rude. This weekend is for the kids, why can’t you pretend to take it seriously?”

Dee puts a calming hand on Pat’s shoulder. “Roro, your dad’s right. If you wanted to make jabs at us for not getting you a puppy, you could have done that at home.”

Roman tries to explain. “No, I mean it, I’m working on getting one. I’m making a good home for it and everything. I wouldn’t lie about this!”

“Oh, and you didn’t lie about 'Steve’ eating all the cotton candy all those years?”

“That doesn’t count, I was a child!”

“And yet you’re still acting like one”

Roman is practically crying with frustration. “You know they’re the ones lying, right?” he whisper-screams. “All those kids. Just making up whatever bullshit they think you’ll accept. And I sit here, actually telling the truth, and you don’t believe me!”

Dee sighs. “We know they lie, Ro. Of course they do. Her mom beats her,” he gestures with his head to a girl. “His father passed away suddenly. Xe had a miscarriage. They just got out of an emotionally abusive relationship. They all lie, outrageously, and then suddenly one day they’re telling the truth because they trust that now no one will believe them when they’re actually vulnerable. But we know, and we’re there when they do.”

“Is that the problem?” Pat asks softly. “Were we just bad enough parents that you’re doing the same thing to us?”

“No, of course not!” Roman insists. He’s properly crying now. “I’m trying to tell you…” He trails off, seeing their disbelief. “Fine. I’ll just… go. You guys can adopt Emile instead.”

In the background, Emile pops his head up. “Did someone call me?”

All three shout back, “NO!”

Roman stares at his dads for another moment, helplessly, then stomps off.

He fucked up. Now there won’t be a loving family environment. Now he’ll never get his unicorn.

He gets home and glares at the rainbows and Care Bears and streamers in his room, then starts bagging them up. All of them. All of the old drawings, and paints, and especially the glitter. Plus the hay he’d lovingly dyed rainbow, and the huge amount of carrots.

He throws them all in bags and goes to toss them in the backyard, when he can no longer hold it back and starts to cry. All these hopes he’d been building. All his childhood dreams coming true. All for nothing.

He hides in the grey basement all weekend, staring at the dumb assignment about a dumb vacuum for his dumb job. He was urged to make a pitch for the ad campaign, unless he wants to stay a temp forever. And even if he can’t get his unicorn, he’d like to create something again. But a vacuum? a “mystic” vacuum? What even is that.

On Sunday afternoon, he hears power tools from the backyard, and drags himself outside to tell Virgil he can stop working on the dumb stable now. But Virgil hasn’t just finished the stable. He’s decorated. 

And it is an explosion of color.

“Oh my goodness gracious,” he breathes, looking at all the rainbows painted up and down the walls. Drawings are pasted all around, with strings of tinsel everywhere. “Are these… my drawings?”

“Uh, yeah, you put all the materials out here, isn’t that why?”

“Did I put all these in those bags?”

“Well, no- your dads saw what I was doing and brought out their favorites of your art to add”

“They… like my art? But it’s all the unicorns, I thought…”

He brushes away a tear. His original drawing of Steve is here, a big red heart with a very spiky stick figure. And so is his high school masterpiece, a photorealistic unicorn rearing in the sunset.

Virgil scuffs a sneaker against the ground. Like the stable, he’s a little technicolor, splats of paint on his pants and shoes and face. “Do you like it?”

“Like it?”

“I… you made an art show of me. Of all I’ve done over the years. And you didn’t give up on this ridiculous project. Thank you, Virgil. I love it.” He stares, and suddenly grins. “Hey, any chance there’s some glitter left over? I have an idea.”

He prepares a gorgeous, glitter-filled presentation for the damn vacuum, and even makes it a demonstration of how well it works in one go. It’s the Mystic Vacuum. It’s dreams coming true. It’s an experience. 

But the working world does not care if employees are going through a coming-of-age realization. Cubicles are immune to your thinking-outside-the-box thinking. The 'safe’ presentation of terribly restricted gender norms gets the ad.

He comes home, a little crushed, but Pat’s there waiting for him.

“Papa, I fucked up. Again. I just… really suck at being a grown-up”

“Did you go for it, though? Did you try?”

“..yeah”

“Did you care about doing it?”

“…yeah”

“Then you’re doing great, kiddo. The most grown-up thing you can do is fail at something you care about.”

Roman sniffs, and hugs Patton tightly. “Thanks, Pop Star”

“Now, do you want to hear what Emile did?”

Roman struggles for a moment. “I’m trying very hard to be grown-up, but I really don’t.”

“No trust me. You do.”

Roman eyes him warily.

"When we were coming back from the campsite, he got tangled up in his own life jacket. And fell into the water because of it.”

“…really?”

“Mmmhmm. And… I may have taken longer than I should have to get him out because I had to not be laughing when I pulled him back into the boat.”

Roman chuckles, then laughs, and Pat’s laughing too.

And suddenly, Roman notices something.

“What are those on the wall? Are those my paintings?”

“Oh those? Yesirree!”

“Did you just put them up?”

“Of course not. They’ve been up since you sent them home in freshman year, sweetie.”

“…you didn’t help Virgil just because you felt bad?”

“Oh honey, no. We’ve always loved your art.” Patton ruffles his hair. “We just want you to be happy.”

Thanks to Pat, Roman shakes off his setback, and when he sees a call from Virgil, he picks up eagerly. They go out for dinner, Roman still in his glitter from the presentation. And it is… wonderful. Virgil is sarcastic and witty, and only ever seems to mock Roman with the same level of skepticism he gives literally everyone else.

Until he finally asks, “So, now that it’s done, when are you getting the pony?That’s the big secret, right, you’re actually buying a pony?" 

And Roman smiles and says, "Almost.”

“You see, I’m getting a unicorn.”

And Virgil stares a moment. Then he cracks a smile. “Cute, I get it. Like the pictures.”

“No, for real!” Roman tells him. “I’ve been working on this so that I can get a unicorn. I mean, I don’t know if I’m back in the running, but I think I fixed the family environment too so, hopefully.”

And now Virgil goes still. He’s concerned. 

“Um. So, where is this unicorn coming from?”

“The Unicorn Store,” Roman responds matter-of-factly.

“Uh-huh,” Virgil nods slowly. “And that’s definitely a real place.”

“Yeah, I’ve been there several times. It’s lovely, and the Salesman is wild.”

Virgil’s eyes are a little bit bugging out of his head now. "The Salesman?”

“Yeah, he gave me the steps I need to get my unicorn. Place to live, nice environment, prove i can support them, you know. Like pet adoption, but better.”

“You gave him your financial information? Ro, I know you’re really excited but… this sounds like a scam.”

“Why does no one believe me? It’s real, I swear. There’s even a hay-staurant.”

“…you say you’ve been there? Can I come see?”

“I don’t see why not”

But when they get there, nothing seems right. The entryway sign is gone. The elevator still moves, but it doesn’t open to a pink hallway. And in the room… the decorations are gone. The Salesman isn’t there. The screen is missing. And Roman… starts to doubt. Virgil isn’t surprised, but he’s worried. Roman looks so heartbroken… did he really believe in this? A grown man, thinking he’d actually get a unicorn?

“Ro, we should go. If you need help making sure that guy hasn’t used your info to, I don’t know, buy random things, withdrawing money… I can help.”

“No,” Roman insists. “No, he’ll be back. I’ll stay.”

“Roman, c'mon, don’t do this…”

“I know what I saw!” he shouts. “It was real!”

“I don’t doubt he did a great job with the showmanship, Ro. I believe you. But he’s clearly gone now, and… it might be time to assume he’s not coming back.”

Roman doesn’t turn, and Virgil sighs. He keeps hoping Roman will relent, but if there’s one thing he’s already learned about this man, it’s that he’s stubborn. So he leaves alone. And Roman waits until he hears the elevator leave to break down.

Virgil, walking out, feels something in his shoe. He checks - it’s hay. Rainbow hay. But he expected that - it was a scam, right? A well-done scam. He walks on.

Roman goes home and finds himself just sitting in the stable, dejectedly. It’s so lovely, and it made him so happy but… He knew he was a daydreamer. Had he really fallen for such a ridiculous thing?

Dee and Pat find him together, and sit with him in the stable. 

“It’s really well built,” Pat comments.

“And your art is lovely,” Dee says, fondly tracing a unicorn horn on the wall.

Roman sniffs. “It’s just a catalog of mania at this point. My slow descent into madness.”

Dee hugs him around the shoulders. “Roberry, you’re not crazy. You have a spark that is just… so unique. No one could hope to match the way you view the world. Hell, even I can’t. Neither can your Papa. But that doesn’t mean you’re wrong. It means we’re just limited.”

“Is this some of that feel-d trip stuff you tell the troubled teens?”

Dee grins. “Nah, they never believe the sappy shit. This is just for you.”

Roman wipes his eyes. “I’m sorry I’m such a disappointment.”

Dee and Pat object in one voice. 

Dee continues, “Hun, you are so loved. By us, by the people who meet you… You’re joy, Roman. You remind people of joy.”

“And that boy seems to really like you, too.”

Roman groans. “He definitely thinks I’m crazy.”

“Give him a chance, okay?” Pat asks, patting Roman’s shoulder. “He might surprise you.”

“He built this, didn’t he?” Dee asks, gesturing around. “He’s gotta like you at least a little.”

The next day, Roman goes back to the hardware store, looking for him. He searches every department, and all the back rooms he can sneak into, but nothing. No Virgil. He ends up sitting in the backyard, glaring at the stable, but still… hoping.

He’s interrupted one day by a very tentative knock on the back gate. And Virgil comes out, looking sheepish. 

“Hey, sorry, I didn’t mean to disappear…”

“I was looking for you at the hardware store?”

“I got transferred, actually. Turns out having a full construction project to my name means your boy got promoted. I’m… sorry, about the store. I shouldn’t have left you so abruptly.”

“It’s okay. And congrats.”

Virgil sits in the stable next to Roman, and smiles when Roman leans over on his shoulder.

He’s about to suggest they get coffee when Roman’s phone starts ringing.

“Hello?”

“Congratulations, Roman! He’s arrived!”

“Who is this? Who’s arrived?”

“The Salesman, of course. And your unicorn. He is here in the store, waiting for you.”

Virgil stares at the phone. “That’s him?” he mutters. “Here, if he’s a scammer, let me talk to him, okay?”

“I… you’re sure? He’s there?” Roman asks. His heart is in his throat. What if it really all had been true? What if Virgil scares him away? “I came by, and you were gone…”

“We don’t set up the full store for just anyone, Roman. It’s not for him. It’s just for you. But you need to let me know if you’re serious about this unicorn. If you don’t want him, there’s a woman who’s qualified who needs him just as much.”

“I’m coming!” Roman interjects. “Don’t give him away, please! I’ll be there as soon as I can!”

He jumps up and is practically sprinting to the car, Virgil barely able to keep up. 

“Roman, can I at least come with?”

“Yes, sure, just don’t tell me not to go,” Roman says, practically vibrating with excitement.

The decorations aren’t fully back, but the sign outside is, at least. They descend through the elevator, and this time… the hall isn’t empty.

“Ah, Roman! You made it! And I see you brought… a companion,” the Salesman says, eyeing Virgil suspiciously. “He will, of course, have to stay out here while you meet him.”

“He’s really here?” Roman asks breathlessly. “My…?”

“Your unicorn, yes. I called you to say so, did I not? He’s right through those doors.”

“And I can meet him?”

“Yes, of course. You don’t have to take him home - as I said, another woman also needs him if you don’t want to anymore”

Virgil outright staring at the Salesman’s outfit. It’s blue today, all satin and rhinestones and tinsel. But still with a nicely-tied tie. The Salesman looks back, and adjusts his glasses. “Salutations.”

Roman approaches the doorway slowly, and eases it open. Rainbows spill out as he walks in, letting the door close behind him.

He is…. beautiful.

He’s there, in real life. A huge, graceful horse with a pearl horn and a shimmery mane. He wickers at Roman’s approach.

“Hi,” Roman breathes. “You’re… oh my god, you’re here. It’s Mr. Unicorn, right? Do you care?”

The creature nods.

Roman feels tears rolling down his cheeks as he reaches out a gentle hand to caress the beautiful thing’s nose.

“I’ve waited for you for so long. I wished for you every birthday. I would close my eyes and think 'send me someone to love me, unconditionally, for me.’" He smiles wetly. "I called you Steve.”

“And I…  I worried so badly that you weren’t real, because I needed you to be real. I needed you to really, really love me. But…” Roman looks into a pair of soft brown eyes, huge and understanding. They feel… familiar. 

“But I can’t bring you home with me. Because there’s a woman out there who needs you more than I do. And you are going to love her, okay? You’re going to love her and support her, and never judge her dreams. You’re going to make sure she knows you love her. And… and you make sure she never feels alone, okay?”

The unicorn nods, and nuzzles Roman’s chest. He wipes his eyes. “I’m going to hug you now, is that okay?” Another nod.

Roman throws his arms around the equine neck, breathing in the strange mix of lavender and sugar and sunlight that is the unicorn’s scent. A hair from the mane gets stuck to him, and easily breaks off. He tries to give it back, but the unicorn shakes his head. A memento. Just for him.

He turns to go, and sees the Salesman has entered, and brought Virgil with him. Virgil is staring, open-mouthed.

“Mr. The Salesman- I can’t take him. Please give him to the woman you mentioned, okay? She earned it, right?”

“She did. And since you no longer are a client, you can just call me Logan.”

Roman wipes his eyes, but holds tight to the single hair. “As long as he’s happy.”

“Will you be?” Logan asks. His face doesn’t betray any emotion.

Roman walks to Virgil’s side, and takes his hand. “Yeah, I think I will.”

fin

taglist:  @residentanchor @royally-anxious @bewarethegrammarpolice  @jemthebookworm @arandompasserby  @sparkly-rainbow-salt @astral-eclipse​ @thelowlysatsuma @adorably-angsty @max-is-tired @almostoveranalyzed

[mldrgrl]

The Lady Professor and The Writer: Or, Still Working Hard

by: mldrgrl rating: R summary: Hank goes on a two week book tour and misses Stella

Hank was never very fond of book tours, less so as time passed.  It was the travel, mostly, not the signings or readings.  Those could still be fun.  But, the older he got, the more of a homebody he became.  Living out of hotels for weeks at a time could be fun for a few days, but not for weeks.  Being away from his things, away from his routine, away from Stella, held no appeal.

He fought with Charlie about it, but in the end, agreed to a two week tour around the states, hitting the major cities he was the most popular in.  LA, of course, New York, of course, Chicago, Atlanta, Phoenix, San Francisco, Denver, Seattle, Boston, Baltimore, St. Louis, Providence, and oddly enough, Omaha.  Not in that order.  One night in each city.  He would be on a plane every day for thirteen days.  

He finished the first week on the west coast and then began heading east.  He was mostly looking forward to the last three days on the journey because it would require the least travel time and energy.  Boston to Providence to New York.  He would spend an extra day in New York to see Becca, and then he would fly home.

By the time he made it to Boston and into the home stretch, he was so anxious to be finished, the Q&As and the signings were becoming one giant blur.  Then again, they were all the same, just the faces changed.  He could handle one in his sleep at this point, and it was a good thing too, because he felt like he was sleepwalking through it.  When he got home he was going to have to ask Charlie to review the offers again on his last book for film rights.  If any of them were decent enough, it could buy him some rest and relaxation for awhile.

They had him signing at the Harvard Bookstore, which he liked, because it felt more like a real bookstore and less cookie cutter than a chain store.  Still, his mind was elsewhere for most of the night.  He answered questions about the new book, about his old books, about the difference between writing novels and writing for television, and that cliche chestnut ‘do you have any advice for an aspiring writer?’ question that every person asked as though they were the first person to ever think of it.  He used to answer with complete and unadulterated sarcasm, but now he liked to be a little more sincere, even if it was sounding rote at this point.

“Everyone’s journey is different,” he said.  “No, I don’t have any advice for an aspiring writer other than to say, like any other calling in life, do it if you must.  I don’t care if you’re a bricklayer or a ballerina, the path you take is going to be yours alone, not anyone else’s.  Maybe you just need to eat a sandwich every day to keep you going, so eat a sandwich every day.  Maybe music inspires you, so turn your radio on.  Maybe you like to sit in a hot bath until your skin turns soft and pruny and somehow that opens you up to what you want to write.  I can’t tell anyone how to get from A to Z, I can only tell you to do it if you must.”

The moderator felt that was a good time to end the Q&A and then he was moved to a little table for signing.  Truthfully, he was not paying very much attention to the crowd.  He took the book passed to him, copied the name that was stuck to the title page with a sticky note, and signed his name before glancing up for a moment’s eye contact.  Some of the people in line, mostly young men who were probably in their first year of college, wanted to tell him what an inspiration he was and how they wanted to be just like him.  God help them.

His hand was cramping, but the line was dwindling.  He was passed a book with a blank sticky note and he paused to flex his hand.

“Who should I make it out to?” he asked.

“Stella.”

Hank looked up.  His face split into a grin and he went to push himself up from his chair.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Moody,” she said, extending her hand.  “I’m a big fan.”

“Oh, really?” he said, fitting his hand into hers and relaxing back into the chair to play along.  He held her hand softly, but firmly, making it clear he wasn’t going to let go.  “That accent of yours,” he said.  “Tell me, did you come from all the way across the pond just to come to my signing.”

“I was simply fortunate enough to be in the neighborhood.”  She slipped her hand free and brushed her hair back over her shoulder.

“Well, I’m glad you stopped by.  Always nice to meet a big fan.  Especially one as beautiful and intelligent as yourself.”

“How would you know I’m intelligent?”

“I don’t know, call me psychic, but perhaps you might give me an opportunity to find out.”

“Perhaps I might.  Could I buy you a drink, Mr. Moody?”

“Please, call me Hank.”  He glanced over at the dwindling line a few feet away.  “Looks like things are wrapping up here.  If you don’t mind waiting.”

“I can wait.”  She slid the book out from under his hands and tucked it under her arm.

“Hey, I didn’t sign it.”

“You can sign it later.”

Only six people remained in line.  He breezed through them and then posed for the requisite photos with the store staff and signed some extra copies for display.  It took maybe ten minutes, tops, but it felt like an eternity.  The only thing he needed to do was shake the publicist the publisher had handling him.  Surprisingly, it only took a simple request for the kid to take the night off.  Back in the old days, they used to keep him on a tighter leash.

Hank caught up with Stella between the history and biography shelves.  He leaned against one of the stacks with his hands in his pockets to prevent himself from touching her.  He’d already risked embarrassment by taking her hand at the signing table.  It’d been nearly two weeks since he’d touched her, after all.

Now, here she was in front of him, in all her casual Stella glory.  Casual for her, at least, which meant that her shoes were open-toed, her dark dress pants a little baggier, the white shirt under her cardigan sweater was form-fitting and had spaghetti straps.  And yet she still managed to look a step above business casual.

“How’s my biggest fan in Boston this evening?” he asked.

“I never said biggest fan,” she replied, browsing the back cover of a thick, red book.

“No one else asked to buy me a drink, so you win by default.”

“Who was I in competition with?”

“Maybe the kid who said he’d give up his left nut to write a book like South of Heaven or the woman who named her dog after me.”

Stella put the red book in her hand back on the shelf.  “Have you a place in mind to grab a drink?” she asked.

“I hear there’s some bar around here where everybody knows your name.”

“I’d rather have you all to myself.”

“Well, they’ve put me up in some chain downtown.  We could go there or-”

“Some place quiet.”

“Why don’t we get a cab and figure it out on the way?”

Hank was able to flag down a taxi outside of the bookstore and he told the driver to take them to a quiet bar downtown.  He slumped close to her in the back seat, turning his head towards her shoulder to smell her perfume.  He could’ve ended the little charade at any time and touched her knee or put his arm around her or just kissed her, but delaying the gratification was part of the fun.

The driver dropped them at a place called City Bar, which was small and dark.  It was moderately crowded with what looked like small groups of people as opposed to couples.  He wished the two-seater by the fireplace had been open, but it was occupied.  They took a pair of seats at the corner of the bar and Hank signaled the bartender.

The bartender nodded as he finished up a drink for another patron a few seats away.  He was formally attired in a crisp white button-down, black vest, black pants and black apron tied neatly around his waist.  He had tanned skin and a dark, five o’clock shadow.  He looked young, but already had a receding hairline and what remained was closely shaved.  He offered a tight-lipped, courteous smile as he approached.  A gold nametag pinned to his vest was stamped with MIGUEL.

“For the lady?” Miguel asked, making a very slight bow towards Stella.

“Dry martini,” Stella answered.

“Whiskey neat,” Hank added.

Miguel dropped his head in a nod and then backed away to fix their drinks.

“You didn’t specify if you wanted that martini shaken or stirred,” Hank said.

“No one likes a shaken martini,” she answered.  “Bruises the gin.”

“You might have to argue about that with the esteemed Mr. Bond.”

“It would be more apropos to have the argument with Mr. Fleming.”

“Ohhhhh, always blame the writer.”

“Who better?”

“Sean Connery for being so devastatingly handsome, so suave, so sophisticated, so fuckable; the man every woman wanted and every man wanted to be.”

“I suppose that’s fair.”

“Then again, speaking as a writer, if I came up with a line so highly memorable, I’m pretty sure I’d want credit.”

“For such a ghastly blunder?”

“Now I’m firmly back in the Connery camp.”

“Why?”

“Hearing you say ‘ghastly blunder’ like that really is proof that everything sounds sexier with an English accent.”

“Connery is Scottish.”

“See, even when you’re arguing with me, it’s still sexy.”

Stella smiled a little and glanced over as Miguel approached with their drinks.  She pulled her wallet out of her bag and plucked her credit card out, holding it out to the young man between two fingers as he set their glasses down.

“Would you like me to start a tab?” Miguel asked.

“Please,” Stella answered.

“Well, as my recently crowned biggest fan,” Hank said once the bartender walked away, “I’m sure you know all about me.  So, what about you?  What do you do back in jolly old England?”

Stella dropped her eyes and gazed at her martini glass, running her finger along the rim.  “I...teach,” she said, after a long pause.

Hank froze for a moment with his whiskey held up to his lips.  He smiled into his glass and then put it back down on the bar.  “You teach?” he asked.  “Let me guess, Oxford?”

“Cambridge.”

“Ah, my next guess.”  

Hank took another drink, unable to hide the delight and amusement in his voice.  Stella didn’t normally play like this, creating a character for herself instead of just being herself.  It was exciting.  When she did finally glance up at him, it was fleeting, her eyes moving quickly back to her glass as she lifted her martini to her lips.

“What do you teach?” Hank asked.

“Psychology,” she answered, after a brief hesitation.

“Psychology?  Interesting.  Any particular kind of psychology, Professor Stella?”

“Criminal psychology.”

“Even more interesting.  Are you here in Boston to solve a crime?”

“A lecture exchange, actually.”

“I love it.”  He smiled and nodded.  “What’s the title of your lecture?”

“Profiling is Not What it Looks Like on Television.”

Hank laughed.  “Sounds like another dig at writers.”

“Not at all.  Accuracy isn’t necessarily entertaining.”

“School me on something I wouldn’t otherwise know, Lady Professor.”

“Well, it isn’t cut and dry.  Profiles are educated guesses based on facts at hand and the application of theoretical reasoning.”

“Hit me with one of the theories.”

“You’d be bored out of your skull.”

“Impossible.”  Hank shook his head and leaned closer to her against the bar.  “Everything out of your mouth is fascinating.”

“There’s the cognitive theory, which focuses on how people process and react to the world around them,” she said, flexing her foot so that her toes moved up the inside of his pants leg.

“Uh huh.”  Hank nodded and reached down with loosely dangling fingers close enough to her ankle so he could wrap his hand around it just beneath her pants.  “Go on.”

“It’s a theory that assumes criminals have a stunted moral development due to motivations of ego and their inability to empathize with other people.”

“Mmhm…”  Hank kept one hand on Stella’s ankle and his eyes locked with hers as he took a drink.

“Not to be confused with a diminished mental capacity,” she continued.  “But, a fundamental lack of the necessary skills to analyze social situations.”

“I think you owe me an apology,” Hank said, moving his hand up to the back of her calf and back to her ankle.

“Are we back to my slightly slanderous accusations against writers?”

“No, you should apologize for questioning my ability to recognize your intelligence.”

“It was speculatory at best.  You had nothing to base that on.”

“So?  I hypothesized correctly.”

Stella shrugged and sipped her martini.  “I'd keep the congratulatory celebration short, you were wrong on another account.”

“What was I wrong about?”

“I know nothing about you.”

“Nothing at all?  I thought you were my biggest fan!”

“Certainly, I've read your novels.  Should I assume the author is his characters?”

“Touché.”  Hank tipped his head and lifted his glass to her before downing the rest of his whiskey.  He flipped the empty glass over and slid it across the bar.  Miguel appeared a heartbeat later and swiped the empty glass away while wiping the bar with a white dishrag.

“Another, Sir?” Miguel asked.

“Yes,” Hank answered.

“Another for me as well,” Stella added, still sipping her drink, but nearly finished.

“Coming up.”  Miguel nodded and disappeared to refresh their drinks.

“What do you want to know?” Hank asked.

“Anything that might interest me,” Stella answered.

“Well, you might be interested to know that I also live in London.”

“Why not Paris?  Or Spain?  Isn't that where all the other ex-pat writers flee?”

“I thought we just discussed this, I find the British accent extremely sexy.”

“Don't be glib.”

“I did it for a woman, of course.”

With one brow raised slightly, Stella downed the remainder of her martini and then plucked the stick of olives out of the glass.  “You have my condolences that it didn’t work out” she said, just before taking a light grip on one of the olives and sliding it off the stick into her mouth.

“What makes you say that?”

“The familiarities you've been taking with my ankle for the last five minutes.”  She sucked the alcohol out of the olive and took a bite.  

Hank grinned and moved his hand up her calf again.  “She knows how stimulating I find intelligent conversation to be.”

“What’s that got to do with my ankle?”

Miguel interrupted their conversation with fresh drinks.  He took Stella's empty glass and moved away.  Hank finally took his hand off Stella's ankle and then leaned back in his seat.  Stella, having finished the second olive, dropped the toothpick into the bar and pulled her new martini glass closer.  

“We’ve been together for nearly four years,” Hank said.

“Quite awhile,” Stella answered.

“Doesn’t feel like it.  There are times it feels like the first time I laid eyes on her all over again.”

Stella took interest in her martini glass again and then in their surroundings.  Hank sipped at his whiskey and then set it down on the bar and toyed with the glass, sliding it between his hands, back and forth.

“I’ve been thinking about asking her for something more permanent,” Hank said.  “But, I don’t really know how she’d feel about that.”

Stella set her martini glass down and shifted in her seat.  “What would your idea of something more permanent look like?” she asked.

“I don’t know.  Marriage would obviously be the logical answer, but I can only speak for myself when I say it’s a concept that seems to give me a rash whenever I think about it.  And not because I’m afraid of commitment, but because it seems like such an antiquated system.”

“I can agree with that.”

“But, on the other hand, there’s a part of me that wants to hold that title.  I want to put a ring on her finger and know that whoever she’s with when she’s not with me knows that she has someone to come home to.  I want to hear her introduce me as her husband when she takes me to work functions, because I like the sound of it and it means something to other people.  And maybe that’s a stupid fucking reason for wanting it, but it’s such an easier way to say ‘I’m in love, I’m committed, I’m happy’ with just one little word.  Why can’t we just do that and fuck the paperwork and ceremony?”

“You want to make it real with rings and titles and fuck the contract?”

“I’m saying it already is real for me, but without something concrete to back it up, I don’t think it will ever be real for anyone else.”

Stella turned her head away and brought the martini glass to her lips.  She took a long drink and stayed silent.  Hank sighed a little and threw the rest of his whiskey back.  Miguel, as though he had empty glass spideysenses, started for their end of the bar, but Hank shook his head and lifted his hand to wave the bartender away.

“Guess you’re not my biggest fan anymore, are you?” Hank asked.

“You’re not wrong,” Stella answered.

Hank grimaced, annoyed with himself for darkening the mood on their fun little game.  He wasn’t expecting to see her in Boston, of course, and all he’d wanted for the last two weeks was to see her.  He’d told her as much every night on the phone when they spoke, and now he’d ruined it.

“Sorry,” Stella said, putting her glass down and lightly touching Hank on the knee.  “You’re not wrong about what you said before, about it being real for anyone else.  I simply don’t know why anyone else matters.”

“I don’t know either, but sometimes they do.”

“You’ve finished your drink.”

“Yeah.”

Stella took another sip of her martini and then signaled to Miguel.  He was there in an instant and she pushed her nearly empty glass towards him as he approached.

“Another?” Miguel asked.

“Could you close our tab, please?” Stella asked.

“Certainly.”

It only took a few moments for Miguel to run Stella’s credit card and bring her the receipts fastened to a little black tray.  She signed them quickly and then turned the tray over to Miguel and accepted her card in return.

“Thank you,” Stella said.  “My husband and I have been doing some traveling and are eager to return to our hotel.”

Hank couldn’t keep the grin off his face and when he took a breath, his chest expanded in a peacocking display of pride.  He held his hand out to Stella to help her slip free of the bar chair and then put his arm around her waist as they walked out.  He had to flag down another cab to take them over to the hotel and this time, he didn’t stop himself from pressing his face to her neck or rubbing the inside of her knee in the back seat.

Eager as he’d been all night to have her alone, once they were in his room, all he wanted to do was slowly savor every inch of her.  For once, she didn’t seem to be in a hurry either.  They were both slow to undress, content to kiss and be kissed, to roll across the bed in sudden plays for dominance, to hover and nip and slide under shirts and over pants and hunt for exposed skin.

Finally, they both reached a point where they could take no more teasing.  Stella backed off of Hank to kick her pants away and she pulled on one of his hands to sit him up at the foot of the bed.  She straddled his lap and rested her arms on his shoulders as he lifted her from the back of her thighs and then let her sink down onto him.  He always wanted to breathe her name in a sigh in that moment.  It wasn’t just that it felt good to him, but that he felt complete when he was inside her; like everything was okay and right, the way he used to feel with Karen, but even moreso with Stella.

This is my wife.  He tested it in his head as he wrapped his arms around her waist; as she looked down at him with her hair in her eyes; as he licked the sweat from her throat; as she groaned and asked him to fuck her harder.  My wife, Stella.  Stella, my wife.  I’m her husband.

He did something she hated that night - he watched her sleep.  She lay on her stomach, head turned to the outside of the bed, one knee drawn up so that her hips were slightly twisted towards him.  Gently, he moved the sheet down to expose her back.  He walked his fingers up her spine and then rested his hand between her shoulder blades, feeling her breathe.  She stayed asleep.

He woke to find that she’d poached his t-shirt and was sitting in one of the oversized chairs by the window, reading the newspaper.  He scrubbed his hand over his face and stumbled out of bed.  His jockey shorts were in the middle of the floor and he pulled them on before he took a seat opposite her and yawned.

“Good morning, Professor,” Hank said.

“Good morning, Mr. Moody,” she answered, tilting one corner of her newspaper down slightly to look at him.

“I forgot to ask last night what your plans were.  You have to go back home right away?”

“No, I’m leaving from New York with you.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

Hank grinned and half-stood to slap the newspaper out of her hands.  She put a hand on his chin as he bent down and kissed her.  He wormed his way into her chair and she wiggled her hips to make room, but he took her legs and draped them over his thighs.  He could tell, with a sweep of his hand up to her hip, that she was naked beneath his shirt.

“Why’d you come?” Hank asked.

“I wanted to,” Stella answered.

“Did you miss me?”

“Yes.”

“I missed you.”

“I know.”

Hank picked Stella’s left hand and traced the underside of each finger with his own, stopping at her ring finger.  He didn’t want what he’d said last night to be one of those things they let go and never talked about again.  He hadn’t really intended to go there, but it was how he felt.  When he’d wanted to marry Karen, a million years ago, it was because he didn’t want to lose her.  When he thought about marrying Stella, it was because he wanted to belong to her.  He really didn’t need to have it, officially, but he wanted to have it symbolically, all the same.

“Stella, what I said last night,” he started.  “I meant it.”

“I’ve no doubt that you do.”

“What do you think about it?”

“If I’m to wear a ring, I’d like to choose it myself.”

Hank’s chest swelled a little in the prideful way it had the night before.  He nodded.  “That sounds reasonable.  I have pretty shitty taste anyway.”

“I don’t think you do, but I am very particular.”

“That’s an understatement.”

Stella ran her hand back through Hank’s hair and then gave it a soft tug.  He grinned at her and then dropped his head to press his face to her neck.  He could still smell the faint traces of her perfume and sweat.  She put her cheek to his temple and he could hear her voice last night in his ear.  My husband and I have been doing some traveling…

Everything really did sound sexier in an English accent.

The End