#but at the end of the day they trash sorry

[skeltnwrites]

The Shape of Family ‧₊˚❀༉

As a single dad, Steve’s world revolves around school drop-offs, bedtime rituals, and tee-ball practices—and he's struggling to keep up. But you're always there, happily lending a hand when he needs it most. / masterlist

part one - you find out your work crush is a dad and offer to watch his mischievous little girl so he can get some work done 5.2k

a/n - penelope is a little shit and i love her dearly, general warnings/tags here

── .✦

“Hey, sorry to bother you, Steve. I just had a quick question– but before I forget, there’s this little girl in the lobby knocking stuff over. Do you know if her parents are here?” 

“Fuck– sorry. One sec.” 

He brushes past you with an urgency that is typical of Steve. As the community outreach coordinator, he’s naturally a busy man. You haven’t known him long– just the couple of months since you became a volunteer for the local rec center– but it’s clear he’s dedicated to his work. Always zipping from one end of the building to the other, juggling class setups, organizing meetings, or hunting down the next thing that needs fixing. He tends to add more to his plate than he can carry, at least according to another staff member, which is why you’ve been assigned to help him. 

You strain to match his long strides and nearly take out a trash can when he turns a corner unexpectedly. But you can’t lose him now– someone is always nearby to steal him for paperwork or performance reviews and all you have is a quick question. 

The lobby unfortunately looks like a tornado blew through the front doors. Cabinets are thrown open, papers are scattered like leaves across the floor, and a chair has been toppled over. And said tornado has her cheek pressed to the vending machine glass, an arm twisted inside the dispenser box to reach for a loose pack of Skittles. The scene is almost amusing until you remember you’ll likely be the one to clean it up. 

“Penelope!” Steve scolds, not loud but stern enough to surprise you. He’s consistently an embodiment of gentleness– always accommodating and rarely assertive. And while he’s still gentle with her, his tone carries a weight and firmness that’s a stark departure from his usual demeanor. 

The girl, Penelope, retracts her arm and spins around to face Steve. And if it wasn’t for the shit-eating grin pinned to her face, you might’ve felt bad for getting her in trouble. 

Steve’s hands snap to his hips. “I asked you to wait in my office.” 

She shrugs, “Need a snack.”

Steve huffs and rakes a hand through his hair– a habit when he’s stressed, which is most of the time it seems. By the end of the day, his hairspray will have been combed out and Steve will argue with the strands that curl over his forehead. 

“You can have one after you clean this up and if you stay in my office.” 

“Candy?”

“No, no candy. There’s snacks in your lunchbox.” He bends to scoop up a few pamphlets to hand to her. “Or I have pretzels. Do you want that?”

She pinches a page between her nails, weighing her options. 

Steve pries tiny fingers off, “Don’t rip those. Put ‘em away please.” 

And she listens for maybe the first time ever, it seems, cramming a stack of them back on the shelf. 

You gather your own stack of handouts and press them into Steve’s sleeve. He recoils a step, his eyes widening before rapidly shutting in a moment of realization. “Sorry! You had a question- I’m sorry.” 

Penelope abandons her organizing to plant herself at Steve’s left like a sidekick– anything to get out of cleaning up. She gazes at you with a familiar pair of almond eyes and then it clicks. Her hair is the same shade of brown and her jaw, though softer, is square shaped like Steve’s. The resemblance is indisputable. 

You redirect your stare to answer Steve. “Um, yeah– I just needed to borrow the storage closet key to grab some more chairs.” 

“Oh, of course.” He pats the front pocket of his jeans. “Keys are in my office– I hope.” 

Steve marches past you once again, a new mission in mind, tugging Penelope by the wrist and toeing a cabinet shut on the way out. Penelope’s poor little legs must be tired if he always walks this fast. 

“I don’t want pretzels,” she eventually decides. 

“Then you can have what’s in your lunchbox.” He glances over his shoulder to confirm you’re in tow, “This is my daughter, Penelope, by the way.” 

“Nice to meet you, Penelope.” You wave, not that she sees. 

A braid sits high on her head, swinging like a horse's tail with each hurried step. Her faded denim overalls ride up slightly, exposing just enough ankle to show off the bubblegum pink Converse on her feet. She’s a cute little thing, button-eyed and puffy-cheeked like a cabbage patch kid. 

Steve nudges her with his hip, “Say hi.”

She throws you an impartial glance. “Hi.” 

When Steve’s office is in sight, Penelope wriggles away from his hold to sprint down the hall. On her tip-toes, she flicks on the light, letting the door slam in Steve’s face. You catch him rolling his eyes as he stops the door with his foot for you. Penelope is clambering onto his chair like it’s a race and pushing off the desk to spin as soon as she’s seated. Steve steers her out of the way to search the drawers, passing you a set of keys when he finds them. 

“Just bring ‘em back, please. Dottie found them in lost and found last week.” 

“Thanks, I will,” you promise, eyes falling over Penelope again. 

It’s your cue to leave, but your feet remain anchored to the floor. Your mind is buzzing with questions that neither of you have the time to discuss. The rational part of you knows you should exit before you let your curiosity win. Yet, you find yourself lingering in the doorway, stalling just long enough for Steve to lift an eyebrow in silent inquiry.

And before you can rule whether or not it's a good idea, you blurt out, “I can keep an eye on her if you want?” 

Penelope peaks over the back of the chair, perched on her knees so she can see. 

Steve shakes his head, “No, it’s okay. You’ve got stuff to do. And Penelope is going to be a better listener for the rest of the day, right?” He ruffles her hair, earning him a glare. 

You bite back a smile. It’s a funny thing, seeing that frown and furrowed brows that resemble Steve’s so clearly because you can’t imagine him making that face at anyone ever. It’s cute, even if it’s meant to be mean, but you would never tell her as much. 

“I really don’t mind. She could help me tape the flyers up– If she wants something to do?” You direct the last part at Penelope. To a kid, being trapped in their dad’s dusty old office is probably boredom purgatory. 

Penelope blinks at you and then Steve for permission. 

“You want to?” He asks.

She nods, then adds, “Snack too?” 

“Yes, honey.” He sighs, faint but deflated, burdened by the guilt of not feeding her sooner. Steve fishes her backpack out from under his desk. A vivid shade of pink with a Barbie patch sewn to the front. Her tin lunchbox is similarly themed and only harbors a bag of fruit snacks. 

“Fruit snacks or pretzels?” 

Penelope’s features pinch in a way that says neither but she snatches the fruit snacks anyway. Decidedly dismissed or over the conversation, she hops off the chair and sees herself out. 

You can’t help the smile that finds your lips as you turn back to Steve.

He chuckles, “It’s been a day. Bring her back if she doesn’t listen. Good luck.” 

Penelope leans against the wall outside, popping a gummy in her mouth lazily. 

“We’re gonna make a pitstop at the supply closet and then you can help me with the flyers.” 

She doesn’t say anything, but she follows as you start walking, and that’s all you need from her. She’s strangely silent for a kid, especially Steve’s kid. Conversation seems to come easy to him, he likes to talk, which is one of the reasons you still can’t believe you didn’t know he had a child. On your first day as a volunteer, he’d crammed that he was on the swim team in high school, that he's from Indiana, and that he prefers the warmer months all in one conversation– the guy is an open book.  

And you’re quiet too because you’re focused on recalling where they put that damned supply closet. The rec center halls all sort of look the same still, bleeding into one jumbled image of wood paneling and old carpet in your mind. The building is practically a maze; constructed in the fifties, it still carries its historic charm—stubborn doors, leaky faucets, and all—issues the city claims they 'can’t afford' to fix. 

Penelope must get tired of going in circles because eventually she tugs on your sleeve and points down the opposite hall you were planning on going. When she leads you right up to the door you beam at her. For a second, she forgets to be brooding and smiles back. 

“You’re a smart little cookie, Penelope. How’d you know it was here?” You ask, unlocking the door. 

She shrugs nonchalantly, “I just know things.”

You laugh loud enough to draw eyes from a nearby meeting and determine Penelope is the funniest kid you’ve ever met. 

She holds the door open at your request, munching on her fruit snacks as you maneuver a stack of chairs into the hall. You make it back to the classroom without her directions, not to toot your own horn. She tosses her empty wrapper in the trash as you unstack the chairs. 

“Here,” you pass her a roll of tape. “Rip some pieces off for me?” 

She nods, ambling over to the wall with you.  

“So, Penelope, how old are you?” You ask, pressing a flyer against the wallpaper. 

She debates, flipping fingers up and down on her free hand before concluding, “Four.” 

“Ohh, very cool. You’re almost ready to go to school with the big kids, huh?” 

“Yes, at the big school. I’m in pre-school.” 

“Mhmm. Do you like preschool?” 

She hums no and strains to tear off a piece. 

“Here, like this,” you demonstrate, pulling in the proper direction. She copies you, ripping a neat line. The corners of her lips raise as she views her handiwork. 

“You don’t like school?” You ask, peering down. 

She hands you the slice of tape. “Only sometimes.” 

“Why only sometimes?” 

She shrugs and heaves a hefty sigh for such little lungs. She’s too small to be sighing like that, you think, and she definitely acquired it from Steve. 

“I only like work sometimes too,” you admit. 

Her eyes chase yours– all innocently wide and filled with disbelief. She rips off another square of tape, “Are your friends not nice?” 

You consider her question, answering truthfully, “Well, maybe sometimes, I guess.” 

“Meg was not a kind friend today.” Her tone is hilariously chastizing for a child. Kids are just like mini adults sometimes– collecting random phrases and mannerisms like trading cards.  

“No? Why’s that?” 

“She wouldn’t share. Daddy always says sharing is caring.” 

“That’s true. Did you tell your teacher?” 

Penelope shakes her head, tilting on her heels.

“Why not?”

“Meg told the teacher on me because I wasn’t being a kind friend either.” 

“Oh. Why weren’t you being a kind friend?” 

“Because I wanted to play with the dolls too,” she mumbles, upset wavering in her voice. To a child, these seemingly trivial matters really do feel like the end of the world, so you can’t help but empathize, even as you wish your worries were confined to sharing toys.

You crouch in front of Penelope, “We still should be kind, hmm? Even when our friends don’t want to share?” 

Penelope’s unconvinced, picking at her nail like the dirt underneath is a more important issue. But you’re at the end of your stack of cardstock and it maybe isn’t your place to have this conversation anyway. 

You get her set up at a table with printer paper and a box of crayons from the closet. She dumps them out immediately, spraying rainbow across her paper so she can find the “bestest” colors.  

“I can share,” she declares, sliding her extra sheet over to your end of the table. 

“That’s very sweet of you. Thank you.” You catch a crayon before it rolls onto the floor. “What should I draw?” 

“I’m coloring my family.” 

“That’s nice. I think I’ll draw a dinosaur.” 

“A dinosaur?” She cocks her head and giggles, bubbly and pure in the way that kids laugh. Your heart aches with happiness. “That’s silly!” 

“What? Why’s that silly?” 

She cackles like this is the funniest idea anyone’s ever had. “They just are!” 

“Hmm. Should I draw a serious dinosaur then?” 

“All dinosaurs are silly– Trevor says so.”

“What! Why does he think that?” 

Her words fuse into one smear of a sound as she shrugs, “I dunno.” 

“Well, my dinosaur is very serious. See?”

She presses into your arm to examine your quick sketch. “That’s not a dinosaur!” 

“It is! You can’t tell?” 

She nibbles on her lip, smile growing as she shakes her head. 

You pull the paper closer, as if a better angle might somehow improve it. “Hmm, I guess it does look a bit like an alien, doesn’t it?”

Penelope giggles and nods enthusiastically before returning to her work. Her crayon moves methodically across the paper, lips pressed together in concentration. After a long spell of silence, she kindly requests, “Can you draw a house?” 

“Of course,” you reply, “On my paper or yours?”

“Mine,” she says, her pointer finger tapping the corner of her sheet with emphasis.

The drawing is a riot of color, blending bold strokes of crayon to create two people and an animal. The taller, presumably Steve, is painted with orange and yellow hues– true to the the warmth he represents. Penelope, doused in cooler tones, carries their floppy-eared pet– a bunny or a dog, maybe? 

“Wow, Penelope! This is amazing!” You genuinely mean it; despite her young age, her talent shines through in little details like eyelashes and a set of heart-shaped earrings. “Is this you and Daddy?”

“Yes, and Cinderella!” she adds proudly.

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” you say, admiring her work. “Is Cinderella your pet?” 

She bobs her head animatedly. 

“Wow, she looks like a very pretty… animal in your drawing.” 

“She is a very pretty cat,” Penelope affirms and you are relieved not to have guessed incorrectly. She stares at you for a long moment. “Is Cinderella family?” 

“Well, does she live with you?”

Penelope scrunches her nose and tips her head, “Sort of?”

“She sort of lives with you?”

“Yeah. She lives outside mostly but sometimes I let her inside.” Her pitch fluctuates as she talks, the words lilting in a strange, almost sing-song cadence that kids do. 

“Ohh,” you smile. “Do you feed Cinderella?”

“Yes, Daddy buys her food in a can and it’s really stinky!” 

Penelope joins you when you laugh. Not because you are but because stinky things are just funny at her age. 

“Do you love Cinderella?” You ask. 

“Yes– except when she bites me.” She sobers quickly, forehead wrinkling. 

“Oh,” you chuckle, “Well, I think she’s family then.” 

“I think so too,” she states seriously, swapping a blue crayon for a green. 

“What color should the house be?” You claw through the rainbow spread.  

“White!” 

“Well, the paper’s already white but how ‘bout I outline the house in black so you know where it is?” 

“I guess so. There’s two windows and the door is red– Oh, and there are lots of flowers outside.” 

You nod, sketching her vision into existence. “Is this your house?” 

“Yes, and Daddy’s. And sometimes Cinderella’s.”

“Just you three? Is that your whole family?” Admittedly, it’s a self-indulgent question. You’re curious about Penelope’s mom. And you noticed Steve doesn’t wear a ring, checked multiple times in the last few weeks even. But that doesn’t refute the possibility he might be seeing someone. 

“Yes, Daddy and Cinderella is my family. Daddy says families come in all shapes and sizes.” 

You’re glowing with a fondness that’s impossible to hide– because everything about her is adorable– her chubby cheeks, her tinkling little laugh, even her attitude, though Steve would probably disagree with the latter. She’s different than Steve in a lot of ways: grumpier and more aloof, but, at her age, it’s cute. And still, she feels like his carbon copy. An echo of everything you’ve come to like about him. 

Him being a dad makes perfect sense in retrospect. To have overlooked such an important part of his life seems silly. A tenderness radiates from Steve, the kind only a parent could possess. He’s full of love– too much not to share. He pours lots into his work: late nights at the center, taking on more than he can chew, always with a smile. And the rest? It must go to Penelope. 

“Your dad is very right about that.” 

She smirks confidently, holding up her artwork, “I’m going to give this to him.”

“I bet he’ll love it so much, Penelope!” 

And his dad senses must be tingling at the mention of his name because his face appears in the door’s slim window not even a minute later. His lips curve into a grin as he realizes he’s been caught spying. 

The door clicks and Penelope turns. “Hi, Daddy.”  

“Hi, baby,” Steve strolls over to the opposite side of the table, “Are you being a good listener?” His attention flicks around the room, searching for any signs of misbehavior. 

Penelope shimmies up tall in her seat and nods until he meets her pleased gaze. 

Steve must believe the girl because he doesn’t press further, but you praise her anyway, “Very good. Penelope’s been an amazing helper this afternoon.” 

“Is that right?” He orbits the table to stand behind her. “What are you drawing, Nell?”

She flips over her paper, clapping the front against the table. “It’s a surprise!”

“Oh, sorry!” He paces back, redirecting his attention to you. “I didn’t see it.” 

Penelope twists around to confirm his eyes are elsewhere before proceeding to squeeze in a final set of details– grass blades and sun rays. “Here,” she thrusts the page into his hands. “For you.” 

“For me?” His face lights up like a Christmas tree before he’s even seen it. She could hand him a pebble, and he’d treasure it like a gem. And when his eyes do fan across the drawing, he melts. 

“This is so lovely!” He coos. “Where did you get all this talent from? This belongs in a museum, Nell!” He keeps his heart from bursting with a steady palm to his chest. And with his free hand, he flashes it at you just long enough to catch a glimpse before he reels it in to study some more. “And you got Cinderella’s stripes too. Wow.” 

He squats behind Penelope’s chair, throwing an arm around her middle, “Thank you for this. And thank you for being a good listener. That makes my heart very happy.” 

She slumps into his chest, peering up at the reflection of her own features. “Is it time to go?” 

His eyes leap to the clock hung on the opposite wall. “Couple more hours, babe.”

Penelope huffs. 

“I’m gonna hang this in my office. I love it so so much!” He sows a couple of kisses on her temple, straining to stand with achy knees. “You wanna come hang out with me or stay here?” 

She looks at you like you might object. “Here.” 

If Steve’s offended, he doesn’t show it. He’s still grinning like the Cheshire cat, high on the parenting win that is receiving willing affection from your child.  “That okay?” He asks you. 

“Of course. I’ll put her to work,” you reassure. 

“Good, keep her busy. It keeps her out of trouble.” He raises the drawing for another look. “I’ll be in my office, doing paperwork, yay.” 

You snicker, as he retraces the path he came. “Have fun with that boss!”

Just before the door slams shut, he yells back, equally playful, “I told you to stop calling me that!”

Penelope doodles some more, gifting you a vibrant rendition of the night sky– a collection of stars and circles and swirls. You’re so grateful you tell her it’ll go on your fridge, and it does as soon as you’re home. She sorts through toys and equipment in the gym closet and even holds your dustpan when you sweep. Her role as your helper is taken very seriously. 

The two hours pass faster than you expect. Time flies when you're having fun, as Steve would say. All his little phrases and cheesy jokes suddenly make sense in the context of him being a dad. 

She takes your hand on the way to Steve’s office, escorting you when you pretend not to know which direction it’s in. It’s as comforting as it is validating; winning the kindness and attention of four-year-olds, especially this one, is difficult. You knock on the wood frame even though the door’s propped open. 

Steve peaks up through a rare pair of reading glasses. Round, wireframes that match the golden shade his hair assumes when it catches the light. They highlight his eyes—warm and gentle as a summer breeze. But he swipes them off his nose, folding them with practiced care. 

A smile mends his frown as Penelope climbs into his lap. “Hi, sweetheart.” 

She wiggles into a comfortable position, nudging his chest until he reclines further to make space. “Hi.”

“Are you having fun?” Steve cradles her shin to keep her from slipping. “What have you been up to?”

“Cleaning.” Her tone is casual, dismissive even, like it’s nothing to fuss over; but her eyes are fixed on him, waiting for a reaction. 

Steve gasps, “No way! You were cleaning? I don’t know if I believe it.” 

“I was!” Penelope whines, tickled with glee. 

“Hmm, is this true?” He arches an eyebrow at you. 

You nod, delighted to play along. “It is. Penelope here is excellent at handling a dustpan. She even organized the dodgeballs by color.”

“Really? Because you never-ever want to clean at home.”

“I do!” She squeals, bending backward over the arm of his chair.

“Yeah right.” He blows a raspberry on her belly where her shirt has pinched up.

She shrieks, squirming and kicking her heels into his thigh. Steve’s dad reflexes must clock in because he blocks her knee just before it drives into his cheek. And he takes it as a sign to ease up before someone gets hurt– craning back up and scooping Penelope into a baby cradle against his chest. Her legs are long and lanky, dangling over his arms like uncooked spaghetti. 

“Do we need to invite them over every time you make a mess in your room? Will that solve the problem?” He teases, squishing her arms against his shirt so she can’t escape and peppering kisses from temple to temple. 

Eventually, Penelope comes to terms that no amount of writhing will succeed against his strength. She slackens in his embrace, surrendering to the terrible thing that is unconditional love. 

“Oh, here are your keys!” They rattle against the desk where you drop them. 

Steve nods into Penelope's crown, poking her side. “Can you say ‘thank you for hanging out with me?’”

Anticipating another round of tickles, she grins before parroting, “Thank you for hanging out with me.”

“Thank you for helping me clean!”

Her eyes sweep back over to Steve, “Can we go home yet?” 

His fingers tap rhythmically on the desk, a small sigh escaping as he glances at the paperwork drowning his workspace. “We’ll leave as soon as I’m finished.” He pecks the top of her head. “Promise.”

She rolls her eyes, moaning, “Daddy, come on it’s taking, like, a million years!”

“A million? Surely not.” 

“It is!” She elongates the sound until it’s less word and more noise. 

His shoulders droop, tension slipping from his frame as he agrees, “Okay. I’m ready to go too.” 

You don’t blame him for giving in so easily, Penelope’s puppy eyes are powerful. Her chunky little hands smoosh his cheeks– molding and kneading like it’s play-doh, “Is that why your face looks so sleepy?”

A hearty laugh bursts from his throat, “Yes, that’s why my face looks so sleepy.” He pats her arms, “Come on. Up.” 

Penelope scoots off his knees, gripping his wrist for balance. Steve ducks under the desk for his backpack and shoves the stack of paperwork inside. 

“Hey, I meant to ask you, is the new schedule working okay for you?” He asks you, always so thoughtful. 

You nod earnestly. “Yeah, actually, I like doing Fridays better I think.”

“Yeah, Fridays are fun. Fitness Friday has been a big hit with the high school's soccer team.” He slings his bag over his shoulder and lifts Penelope’s by the strap. 

“Oh, good! Did the new jump ropes come in?” Conversations like this, as mundane as they are, are fleeting– the next interruption always around the corner– so you savor it while you have him. 

“Mmmm, not yet. I think they’re coming next week– shipping delays or something.” 

You turn to leave but stop in your tracks, attention stolen by Penelope’s drawing. As promised, it’s hung up– a few pieces of scotch tape secure it to the wall across from his desk. 

“I’m gonna get a frame for it,” Steve passes you with a toothy smile, flicking off the light. 

Penelope chimes in before you can respond, “Can I play jump rope?”

“I don't know if you know how, babe. I can teach you.” 

“I can! I did at school!”

“You did? I didn’t know that.” Steve waves to a passing coworker. “Maybe we’ll buy one for home too then.” 

Penelope nods, hopping the last stretch to the front door. 

“Any fun plans this weekend?” Steve asks you outside, bumping the back of Penelope’s hand until she takes his. The parking lot is almost empty at this time of day, but a few stragglers remain inside after hours. 

“If you think laundry is fun, then sure.” 

“Oh, I know all about that, trust me.” He nods at Penelope, “This one goes through more clothes in a week than I do in a month.” 

Steve approaches a BMW, only a few spots over from your car. An older model, but well taken care of. It’s a nice shade of burgundy with a stick-figure family on the back windshield. It feels so him. 

You hum a happy sound. “What about you? Any plans?” 

“Besides laundry? Well, we’re actually going kayaking at Red Fleet tomorrow,” he unlocks the passenger door, tucking the backpacks in the footwell. 

“Oh, fun! Are you excited?” You ask Penelope. 

“I’m gonna look for frogs.” 

She wrenches the handle a few times before her door flies open. Steve intercepts mid-swing to prevent her from denting the neighboring truck at the expense of his fingers. 

“Ow– shit,” he grimaces, shaking his wrist. He visibly swallows any other swears when he sees Penelope gawking, “Nell, I’ve told you to be gentle with the door.” 

“You said we can’t say that word,” she points out, climbing into her car seat.

You scrub your mouth, not so inconspicuously erasing your smile. 

“I– yes,” he nods, “You’re right. We shouldn’t say that word. I just–”

“Even when we’re frustrated; that’s what you said!” 

Steve takes a deep breath through his nose, choking down his several feelings. She’s right, he did say that, to hopefully stop her from swearing at preschool, but the profanity policing is comical coming from a four-year-old. And he can’t be laughing right now– he has parenting to do– but he’s on the verge of breaking when he catches sight of your face.  

Steve collects himself as he buckles her in. “Yes, Penelope. I shouldn’t have said it. I’m sorry.” 

She pats his head, “It’s okay. We all do mistakes.” 

Steve softens. The irritation evaporates instantly, replaced by a surge of satisfaction. This is one of those rare moments where he can so clearly recognize the lessons he’s instilled taking shape. 

He lets himself chuckle then, “We do. We all make mistakes and that’s okay.” 

She nods as he tightens her straps, “Like when I spilled my juice this morning.”

“Exactly.” He triple-checks that all her limbs are safely out of the door’s reach before shutting it.  

He faces you, scratching his cheek– rosy and round with joy. “How much you wanna bet she swears at me tomorrow?”

“Hey, I don’t doubt it!” Your elation mirrors his. 

“If she can’t find any frogs at the park I can almost guarantee it.” 

“Better help her look then.” 

“Yeah, yeah. I’d invite you but it’s reservation-based. And I’d be surprised if there’s any spots open still… But we can sneak you in if you really want to go.” It’s meant to be a joke, but something in the way he holds your gaze suggests a level of seriousness. 

“No, that’s okay,” you grin. “The pile of laundry on my bed awaits.”

“Well, maybe next time.” 

You try not to read into it. Steve’s a friendly guy, he probably invites his coworkers out to things all the time. 

You nod, idling at the hood of his beamer. 

“I really appreciate you watching her today. You’re a lifesaver, truly,” he shakes his head, peeking at Penelope through the window. “She’s been a handful lately– I mean, I had to pick her up early today because she bit another kid, can you believe that?” 

“She’s a kid,” you shrug, “All kids do that at some point.”  

“I don’t know,” he pinches the bridge of his nose, “I’m honestly at my witts end. This is her third warning and if she gets kicked out of school— I don’t know what I’ll do.” 

“From what I saw today, she’s a really good kid, Steve. I can’t imagine they’d do that.” 

“I’ve just been so busy, you know, sometimes I wonder if she acts out because of that– and it’s just me so I can’t–” he pauses, wiping his face, “God– I’m sorry, you’re… I’m just dumping all of this on you when you’re trying to leave.”

“No! It’s okay, I don’t mind, really.” 

“It’s– Well, it’s a lot and I,” he’s cut short by Penelope knocking on the glass, impatience strewn across her features. 

He throws up his pointer finger to tell her one second. “We can talk next week. You’ll be here Friday?” 

“Yep. I will see you then,” you nod, backing up a step so he can cross over to the driver’s side. 

“Okay, thanks again,” he says, opening his door. 

You wave goodbye, “Of course. Have fun kayaking!” 

“You too!” He yells, then mumbles, “Shit.” 

“Dad!” Penelope’s voice scolds. 

A warmth simmers in your chest as you walk away– a fizzy feeling that had been bottled up and crammed into a forgotten corner of your body. But as soon as you’re settling into the privacy of your car, it boils over into this rush of giddy exhilaration, electrifying every inch of your skin. Giggles cut through the silence as your smile stretches wider, completely untamable. There’s no stopping this, not when you’re already fantasizing about a next time with Steve.

[redbootsindoriath]

Oh look what day it is again!

Happy Hobbit Day to all who celebrate! Here's a rushed doodle to assure you guys that I am in fact still out there somewhere on earth.

[mylifesjustacarousel]

bridget’s sister - part IV

pairing: james hook x fem!reader

summary: final part of bridget’s sister!

type: angsty then fluffy :)

CW: bullying

WC: 3.8K

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | not proofread!

“I don’t know what happened, B!” you sobbed, blowing your nose into a tissue before throwing it into the mountain of tissues next to you. “H-he said that he wanted nothing to do with me!”

Bridget sat down next to you, placing a fresh box of tissues in your lap. “I’m so sorry, Buttercup.” You laid your head on her shoulder, crying into the sleeve of her shirt. You were clearly handling your first heartbreak well. “I just… I thought he was better than that! That he would never do this to me!”

Wrapping her arms around you, she pulled you into a tight embrace. “I know that it really hurts, I do. But, if it makes you feel any better, he doesn’t deserve someone as sweet as you.” You looked up at her, your lip quivering like you were a lost puppy. “I lo- liked, I liked him, Bridg. Why would he do this?”

“I don’t know, I really don’t. But, he’s missing out on a really great girl.” Bridget got up, grabbing your trash can from over by your desk and going over to the other side of your bed, swiping the mountain of tissues in. “I love you with all of my heart, but you’ve been in bed for the past three days. You’re not going to feel any better if you sit here and mope. You’re going to get up, take a nice shower, and we’re going to go out and do something.”

You shook your head, pulling your comforter entirely over yourself. Bridget huffed, grabbing the ends of your blankets and ripping it off of your bed. “Come on, put the pout away.” she said softly, grabbing your arms and not so gently dragging you off of your bed. “Get in the shower, right now. You smell like the Black Lagoon.”

“That’s not nice!”

“I love you, but what my nose is smelling isn’t nice. Come on, shower time.”

You followed behind Bridget as she led you out of the dorm building, bringing your hands up to shield your eyes from the sun. “You haven’t been outside in three days and all of the sudden you’re a vampire?” Bridget asked, giggling. You rolled your eyes. “Shut up, B. I don’t understand how this is going to make me feel better.”

“We’re going to go to that nice little cafe that they just opened up. I heard that they have the best danishes. Ella is going to meet us there, too.” Bridget grabbed your hand, continuing to walk with you. Across the courtyard, the VKs were walking around, presumably looking to find their next victim. Your eyes wandered over to Hook, and he was staring right back at you.

“Buttercup, let’s go.” Bridget noticed your wandering eyes and wrapped an arm around your waist, forcing you to keep moving. “Yes, you’re going to see him around school. But, we’ve gotta move on.”

“I guess…” you mumbled.

The two of you made your way to the cafe, the smell of warm croissants and hot coffee hitting your nose as soon as you walked through the door. “It smells heavenly in here, B. Like, I think I just actually died and went to heaven.”

“Hey, guys!” Ella called out, waving at the two of you from the table she was sat at. “I got you your favorites.” You sat down, immediately digging into the chocolate chip muffin in front of you. “How’re you feeling?” Ella asked, looking over at you. You shrugged, shoving bites of muffin into your mouth. “Like I got my heart stomped on. But, this muffin is pretty good.”

“Well, that’s better than yesterday. What was it yesterday? You wanted the eels in the Black Lagoon to tear you apart? Yeah, I think that was it.”

“Not nice, Ella.” you mumbled. “I think I feel a little better. I just don’t understand what happened, we were fine.” Ella shrugged, reaching over the table to hold your hand. “Everything happens for a reason. He’s just a villain, don’t get so worked up over it.”

You huffed, pushing your muffin aside. “No, but he’s not just a villain, and he showed me that! I don’t know what, but Uli did something to him. He’s evil, not a monster.”

The girls stayed silent, eating their pastries. They knew that you were upset, but there was nothing that could be gone. You lost Hook, maybe forever.

“I just… it sucks. It really, really does. Things were going really great, or at least I thought they were. But, hey, we weren’t even together for that long. I’ll get over it.” you grumbled, stirring your drink with your spoon.

You sat at your usual table during your lunch, this time a lot more alone. You hadn’t been alone in so long that you forgot what it felt like. What was once peaceful was now just… depressing. Hook usually sat with you, telling you about his day and sneaking little bites of your food from you. Now it was just you, or so you thought.

“Hey, princess!” Maleficent swiped your lunch off of the table in one fell swoop, sitting in its place. “Sitting all alone? Such a shame…” she snickered, the rest of the VKs slowly joining her. They were like fruit flies; once one is there, more are bound to show up.

You avoided their eyes, opting to stare down at your lap. “Go away…” Hook scooted closer to you, his hook finding it’s familiar spot under your chin. “Easy there, lass. Why so glum? Hmm?” You pouted, feeling a pit of anger bubbling in your chest. “You’re a jerk, James.”

He put on a fake pout, acting offended. You rolled your eyes, moving your head away from him before standing up. “They’re right. You are nothing more than a vile, evil human being. It really sucks, I thought you were more than surface deep. Fooled me.”

Hook’s eyes flickered, showing the tiniest bit of remorse before he went back to his cold demeanor. “Boo hoo, princess! Cry us a river.” Maleficent smirked, moving closer to you. “You’re lucky Uli isn’t here, she really wouldn’t be happy with the way you’re talking to us.”

“She knows where to find me. If she cares so much, she can say it to my face. Oh! By the way, James…” you went into your backpack, rummaging around before pulling out a dark red sweatshirt. “This is yours. You left it in my room. I should’ve fed it to the eels, but I’m not a horrible person.” You shoved it against his chest, forcing him to take it. “Now, uh, if you’ll excuse me. I have better things to do than… this.”

Hook watched you walk away, his jaw dropped. Morgie giggled quietly behind him. “Hoooooooook, you really messed up.” James sneered, shooting a glare at Morgie.

“Well, if he doesn’t want Uli to hurt her, he’ll do as he’s told.” Maleficent moved in front of Hook, staring him down. “Isn’t that right, James-y?”

“I don’t think spelling him was a good idea.” Morgie whispered to Maleficent, loud enough for everyone else at the table to hear.

“Shut up, Morgie!” Maleficent reached her hands up, covering Hook’s ears. “It’s for the best. It’s not like the little princess is going to figure it out, she doesn’t want anything to do with him anymore.”

“But, he really likes her. What if we just, like, kept it a secret?”

“I said shut up, Morgie.”

“Alright, class. It’s time for everyone’s favorite thing… partner work! Everyone get together with your station mates and study for the upcoming exam. I will be at my desk to answer any questions!” Merlin announced, making his way over to his desk and sitting down. You grimaced, your eyes slowly glancing over at Hook.

Pulling out your notes, you finally turned to face him completely. “Alright, James. Do you even know how to do literally any of this?” you asked, your eyes involuntarily looking him up and down. He immediately noticed, a smirk growing on his face. “Enjoying the view, darling?”

“You need to knock it off.” you growled. “Was this all just some sick little game to you? What? You befriend the lonely girl and make her think you care before ripping her heart out? Fun game, Hook.” You turned away from him, reading your notes. “I don’t even care if you fail, I’m done with you.”

“Less chatting, more studying!” Merlin called out.

Hook looked over at you, feeling a pang of guilt in his chest. But, once again, that feeling was quickly overtaken. It was like there was someone in his head, controlling his every thought and movement. He sighed, pulling out his own notes. He did start paying attention in the class just a bit more after he met you.

After an hour of sitting there and not talking to each other, probably the longest the two of you had gone without talking since you met, you shoved your belongings into your bag and raced out of the classroom as soon as the bell rang. You couldn’t stand to see Hook any longer. No matter how much you tried to push it aside, you were still hurting. Seeing him made all of those feelings resurface.

On your way out of the room, you bumped into someone, making your drop your bag on the floor. You really had to watch where you were going. You groaned, looking up at who you had bumped into. “Oh, uh hi, Morgie…” Morgie giggled, picking up your bag and handing it to you. “Hey, y/n! How’s it going?”

“Your best friend is a big jerk, Morgs. You’re cool, though. Always will be.” You gently nudged his arm. Hook sauntered out of the classroom, a scowl growing on his face when he saw the two of you talking, and how you had your hand on his arm. He walked up to the two of you. “Well, this is nice and all, but Morgie has to get to class. Goodbye, Morgie.”

“But, I do-”

“Goodbye, Morgie.”

He nodded, waving goodbye to you before making his way to his next class. You glared at Hook. “I will never understand you, James. I told you when we first got together that this was a bad idea. You said you didn’t care. So what gives? You’re torturing me over here.”

Hook just stood there, like his mouth was physically incapable of saying the words. “Cool. I’ll see you around, James.” you mumbled, walking away from him.

“What did you do, Uliana?” Hook asked, stomping into the lair. “What did you do to me?” Uliana turned to face him, rolling her eyes. “Hello to you, too. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” James snarled, getting in her face. “Don’t act coy, Uli. You did something to me.”

“I made you better, Hook. Well, Mali made you better, I just told her what to do.” she giggled, putting a hand on his chest and pushing him back. “She was weighing you down. Like I told her, it’s for the best.”

“You don’t get to decide what’s the best for me!” Hook all but screamed. “I can’t even talk to her without her hating me more and more! You’re ruining people’s lives, Uliana. Whatever you did, you need to undo it.” Uliana scoffed, “I don’t understand what the big fuss is about. Need I remind you that you are a villain, Hook?”

He groaned, his hand running through his hair. “I know what I am! I know! She liked me for who I was. I… I loved her. But now that’s over, so thank you!”

“You’re welcome.” she replied, sitting down. “Now you can focus on bigger, better things.”

“You’re a monster.”

“I know, it’s my best quality.” she giggled. Hook bent down, gripping her shoulders. “Listen here, squid face. I don’t know what kind of spell you put on me, but I’m going to fix it. I’m going to fix it, and you’ll be sorry.”

“I’m going to fix it, and you’ll be sorry. Grow up! Get out, or you’ll be sorry.”

He rolled his eyes, standing up and making his way out. He needed to find you.

“I’m totally done with him.”

You were with Bridget in her dorm, helping her test out her newest cupcake recipe. “I mean, I’m not going to let some boy ruin my life.” You shrugged, scooping up some batter to put in the cupcake tins. “That’s good. He doesn’t deserve you, you’re amazing.”

“What’re these cupcakes again?” you asked, staring at the bright pink frosting that Bridget was mixing up. “They’re my newest Fabulous Flamingo Feather cupcakes. The feathers are super rare, they’re magical.”

“Looks yummy.” You reached your hand over to dip your finger in the frosting bowl, earning a gentle smack from Bridget. “Not yet, Buttercup. Have some patience.” Groaning, you pulled your hand away. “You know I can’t resist your baking, B. You’re too good at it.”

She giggled, picking up the cupcake tray and bringing it over to her mini oven. “They’re going to be delicious.”

Bang. Bang. Bang.

The two of you jumped, looking over at the door. Bridget put the cupcakes in the oven before going over to the door, opening it slightly to see who was outside. “Hook?” she asked. Your eyes widened at the mention of his name. Hook tried to look over Bridget’s head into her room. “Is y/n here? She wasn’t in her room.”

“I don’t think she wants to talk to you… at all.” Bridget went to shut the door but he pushed it all the way open, inviting himself inside. “I need to…” His thought trailed off when his eyes locked with yours. Bridget noticed, quietly observing him. “Hook, I don’t want you in my life anymore. You hurt me.”

He sighed, mentally trying to push away whatever was controlling him. You scoffed. “Cat got your tongue? I’m mad at you, James. I liked you so much, and you hurt me. Have a good day.” You grabbed his shoulders, turning him around and walking him out the door. After you shut the door, you turned to look at Bridget.

“Y/n, he’s spelled.” she said, walking over to her bookshelf. Your eyes could’ve burst from how wide open they were. “What? That’s crazy.” Bridget pulled a book off of her shelf, opening it up. “Hate spell. You said that Uliana was up to something. Well, this is it. She, or someone, spelled him.”

“Okay, so… how do we fix it?” You took the book from her, reading it carefully. “It doesn’t say.” Bridget mumbled. “Whoever cast the spell would know, but you’re not going to get that information out of them.” You groaned, throwing the book on her bed. “This sucks! He was being a complete jerk and it wasn’t even his fault! I feel awful.”

Bridget grabbed the book, putting it back on her shelf. “Don’t beat yourself up, you didn’t know. None of us knew. But it makes a lot of sense. The sudden attitude change, the way that he couldn’t even speak unless it was something negative.” You sat down on the edge of the bed. “I’ve gotta do something about this.”

“I thought you were, y’know, totally over him?” she asked, sitting beside you. “Well… not totally. I really liked him, my feelings weren’t gonna go away that easily. Unfortunately.” Bridget smiled, wrapping an arm around you. “Well, I guess we’ve got a spell to break.”

It was around a week later, and you still hadn’t figured out how to break the spell. You spent countless nights staying up late and reading books to try to figure it out. The VKs certainly wouldn’t help you, so you were stuck trying to figure it out on your own. You and Bridget were sat at the Enchanted Lake, enjoying the beautiful sun on your day off from school.

“I’ve stayed up every single night the past week, and I’ve still got nothing. I mean, we can’t talk to Uliana.” you sighed, looking over at Bridget. “No one said that love was easy, Buttercup.” she responded. You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest. “I already told you that I do not love him. Especially right now.”

“I don’t think you’d be going through all of this work for someone you just like. It’s okay to love someone, love can be amazing. Like how I love you.” She pulled you into a hug, much to your dismay. “I don’t know if I love him. I haven’t seen the real him in quite some time. I don’t know if I’ll see the real him ever again…”

Bridget squeezed you tighter, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. Whether you wanted to admit it or not, Bridget’s hugs did make you feel the tiniest bit better. She was one of, if not the best, big sisters. “We’re gonna figure this out, okay? It might take some time, but I’m gonna help you.”

“Thank you, B. I love you, more than you’ll ever know.”

She giggled, smoothing your hair with her hand. “I think I have a pretty good idea. But, I love you too, Buttercup. I’m glad that I got someone like you as my little sister.” You grinned, slowly pulling away from her. “Alright, now we’re getting too sappy.”

“You need to open up a bit more. Not that I don’t love you for who you are. But, you shut people out a lot. This is the perfect place to make friends, I want to see you surround yourself with people you love.” She pinched your cheek gently. You groaned, batting her hand away. “I have you and Ella. That’s good enough for me.”

“Y/n!” A voice called out from the distance.

You looked over, seeing Hook make his way over to the two of you. You groaned again, putting your head in your hands. “Oh god…” Hook stood in front of you, a smirk on his face. “What’s got you all bothered, darling?”

You hesitated before standing up. “I know what happened, Hook. I don’t know how, but I will fix it.” Hook wanted nothing more than to leap in your arms and kiss you, but his body only allowed him to scoff in response. Bridget watched the two of you, her heart breaking for you. It wasn’t easy seeing your little sister get her heart broken… repeatedly. She looked down at the water, not wanting to watch anymore.

All of the sudden, something clicked in Bridget’s head. The Enchanted Lake was, well, enchanted. Almost any spell could be washed away in the water. She quickly got up. “Y/n, push him in the water.” Hook glared at Bridget. “I’m sorry, I don’t think anyone was talking to you.” Bridget ignored him, focusing her attention on you. “The water is enchanted. Push him in.”

Your jaw dropped and you turned to face Hook. “Don’t you dare, lass.” he growled. Wrapping your arms around him, you let out a quick apology before pulling him into the water with you. The cold water but at your skin, reminding you much of the night of yours and Hook’s first date. When you rose to the surface you quickly looked around for the brunette boy. “James?”

He popped up behind you, brushing his sopping wet hair out of his face. You spun around, a pit of nerves bubbling in your stomach. Hook stared at you for a second, his face blank. “James…?” you mumbled.

“Oh my god, it’s you!” Hook wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into the tightest possible hug he could muster. “I missed you so much, I am so sorry.” You could’ve sobbed right then and there. Hugging him back, you buried your face in the crook of his neck.

“I feel absolutely awful.” He pulled away, holding onto your arms. “I don’t expect for you to take me back, but I will spend every single day proving to you that we’re meant to be. Uliana can take it or leave it, I’m not losing you again.” You nodded, your heart beating a million times a minute. “James… I love you.”

“I love you too. There’s not a single doubt in my mind that you’re the one for me, my princess.” He held your waist, leaning down and kissing you. You immediately kissed back, your hands trailing up to cup his cheeks.

“Eeek! This is so exciting!” Bridget squealed, watching from the rocks. You both pulled away, looking over at her. “Sorry, sorry!” she apologized, getting up. “I’ll, uh, I leave you the towels. Yay for love!” She folded up the towels before blowing you a kiss and running off.

Hook looked back at you, the grin that you missed so much plastered all over his face. “This’ll be an interesting story for the kids, huh?” You raised a brow, your hands toying with his wet hair. “Kids? You’re thinking a little far there, Hook.” He shrugged. “Maybe. Now, where were we?”

You rolled your eyes, pulling him into another kiss. All of your bad memories from the past week had faded away, being replaced with every single good memory you had of Hook. He wasn’t perfect, but he was yours, and that was all that you needed.

“And that’s how me and your mama met.” Hook said, holding the tiny boy in his lap close. You walked into the room, putting your hands on your hips. “James, I told you to put him to bed almost half an hour ago. C’mon, Harry. It’s bed time.” The little boy crawled out of his dad’s lap, running over to you. “Come on, princess. I was just telling him a little bedtime story.”

You picked Harry up, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “You tell him that story almost every night, I’m surprised that he doesn’t have it memorized by now.” James got up with a groan, making his way over to you. “We just love you so much. Isn’t that right, my little pirate?” Harry giggled, making a hook shape with his finger. “Aarg!”

“Wow, you spend way too much time with your dad. Okay, say goodnight.” Harry looked over at James, blowing him a kiss. “Goodnight, papa!” James ruffled his hair before blowing him a kiss back. “Goodnight, H.”

When you came back from putting Harry to sleep, you found Hook sitting in your bed, looking through old photos; Castlecoming, your graduation, your wedding. You grinned, sitting down next to him. “Wow, we’ve gotten old, James. Good thing you’re still as handsome as ever.” He rolled his eyes playfully, his arm snaking around your waist. “I love you too, darling.”

“James, do you ever think about how different our lives would be if we didn’t break that spell?” you asked, looking up at him. He thought about it for a second before shaking his head. “No, I haven’t. I think that one way or another, we would’ve found each other again. Like I said all those years ago, we’re meant to be together.” You giggled, pressing a short kiss to his cheek. “You’re such a sap.”

“Maybe. I just love you a lot. Always have, always will.”

“Shut up, James… I love you, too.”

a/n: AAAAAAND THATS THE END!! thank you so much for reading! aaah i had such a fun time writing this. they are probably my favs, i’m so sad to say goodbye to them.

taglist: @skellseerwriting @sleepyking @ljaylmaoo @lesbpotmurdocklokistan @yokolesbianism @eretsupremacy89 @descendantsramblings @thegoddessofnothingness @1luvkarina

[bugeyedfreaks]

🌸

[sistertonin]

carlito's debut smackdown 10/7/04

[volosdarling]

IM BEING SO SERIOUS THERE IS NO GREATER JOY AFTER A DAY OF HARDSHIPS TO JUST FLOP IN MY BED AND TURN ON THE HEATING BLANKET AND HOLD V0LO PLUSH IN MY ARMS 😵‍💫 anyway here's a hot pic of him MY gf drew for ME you can look at it though

[desalvar]

ayo i'm not dead!

[haemosexuality]

today i washed my very old and very dirty Monster High Draculaura Toy Coffin and then put all my jewelry in it. and i think it looks really cool

[hellofeanor]

NO I am not over the Adar news

YES I still want to talk about it with everybody all the time

[loverdude]

I hateee finals I've got so many things to deal with and I'm just like "I'll do it after finals" to like literally everythingggg

[tony-andonuts]

I really wish the CNAs would put covid positive adaptive equipment in biohazard bags bclike. The second they bring it in with the other dishes that entire fucking cart and its contents have to get bleached down and i just quite literally do not have time for that nor can i keep sprinting around to get my things done

[eileennatural]

what's interesting abt the uk and their rep as "terf island" even tho like. transphobia is also rampant in the us is that terfs in the uk so clearly and desperately want to be seen as classy academic woke types vs american moms 4 liberty "threatens drag queens with guns" american type transphobia. just an interesting dichotomy that i think aligns well with the broader trends of brits wanting to come off as classy and educated vs america's uhhh reputation

[cr-nack]

Just saw a post comparing djats and the challengers love triangle. While both have their similarities, djats wishes it was challengers

[waffliesinyoface]

there's nothing this country hates more than people who need daily medication

you think trying to get insurance to pay for shit is bad when you need to go to the hospital? buddy, imagine having to do the song and dance every month.

[ghostlywhiskey]

pen pal simon - original post

every day after work, you found yourself sat at your desk attempting to write back a response to the soldier who referred to himself as ‘ghost’. crumpled up stationary surrounded your desk space, along with different types of pens as you obsessed over your handwriting. if one letter of your penmanship looked wrong, the paper would become another ball added to the collection of half written letters that contained slightly different, if not the same, wording in response to the thank you letter from ghost.

the simple questions he asked to get to know you suddenly felt like the hardest questions to answer, as if you were being graded on the facts about yourself. was he going to find your hobbies boring? maybe your hobbies were boring the more you read your response. the easiest question to answer was regarding how long you had been doing the care packages - a few years since one of your friends had a significant other that joined the military. stories often mixed with people who received packages and cards from family members frequently, but the ones where some received little to none are the ones that made you upset. so, you had decided to explain that to ghost and it was probably the easiest response of them all to write out. not single moment did the pen leave the paper for you to collect your thoughts or how to word your answer.

but then, you continued to answer the questions he asked you, and in return you asked him similar or different ones. again, you weren’t positive he would reply this time around, but you figured you’d still return the gesture of asking him questions as well. and when you finished writing it all, reading through it god only knows how many times for errors, you finally slipped it into an envelope. this time, no ‘treats’ were included, instead you had opted to ask him if he had any favorites, that way if he did end up writing you back then you could buy him what he preferred.

and after you mailed out the letter, you pushed the thought of it to the side to try and forget about it. but, you couldn’t deny every time you arrived home and checked the mail you were secretly hoping there was a response. but then a few weeks went by and there really was no response waiting mixed in with your other mail.

then after almost two months, after a shit day at work, you didn’t even think twice as you grabbed the mail and walked into your home. going through the motions of your routine - showering, cooking dinner and anything else you had to take care of, you finally sat at the counter towards the end of the night to sort through the mail. a small card was tucked between a bunch of other trash mail, your eyes immediately recognizing the handwriting. quickly, you opened up the envelope and sure enough, that same notebook paper was tucked into it, this time three pieces of paper unfolded in your hands. 

..it’s been quite hectic over where i’m currently at, so sorry for the lack of my responding…

...i’m a bit upset of the lack of treats, it definitely beats what we have to eat sometimes.

the reason you do the packages is quite sweet. is your friends’ partner still alive? you use the past tense when you speak of them. sorry if that is rude to ask.

you read every word of the letter, not once, but twice. and he didn’t just read your response to his, he took notice of the small details. you didn’t even realize you had used the past tense, but he wasn’t wrong in his assumption either when he thought they might have passed. it was like reading a full blown conversation he had to himself in his head; the way before or after some sentences, he would write out interjections. some sentences were followed by parentheses where he made his own little comment as well about what he had just written.

again, i hope you forgive my delayed response. hope it doesn’t stop you from writing back. don’t always have the time, but promise i’ll get back to you. maybe in your next letter you can send me a picture of yourself, i think it would be nice to put a face to the name that signs off on these. i can’t do the same, but i’ll find a way to make up for that. ‘til the next letter, ghost.

and while you didn’t get started writing your response that night, you did make your way to your room with a smile on your face. excitement was already brewing about what you would say in your response and the next anticipated response he would give back, even if he did take a bit to respond.

[ozzgin]

I'm so sorry but I'm back with another one after the 'Affair with Death' job on Crime Scene Cleaner...This one's gory. Maybe romantic? In a very messed up way. Content: gender neutral reader, morally grey reader, violence, gore!!, murder, obsessive behavior, extreme jealousy

Yandere!Crime Boss is easy to anger. Thankfully you've never had the "luck" of experiencing his wrath, but even witnessing the outcome leaves you with an upside-down stomach.

Tonight, you're the direct cause of this mess.

Despite being in the early stages of dating, you've decided to continue your bizarre agreement. He does need someone to erase his tracks, and you've gotten used to this grimy job. You get to relax most days, and you earn so much you'll never have to worry about your finances ever again.

Additionally, being involved with the most relevant criminal in town comes with surprisingly many benefits. And, as you have just learned, the occasional trouble.

"Hey, uh...Remember that guy who kept getting flirty with you?" he probes sheepishly over the phone.

"...Yeah?"

"I might've killed him and his whole family. Can you take care of it? There's some surveillance files you should also delete."

You sigh, parking the car at the given address and twisting the keys. Somehow, being the cause of the disaster you're about to encounter makes it particularly grim.

Dear God. The stench of the dried-up blood and viscera is burning your nostrils. You pass by the unfortunate wife, suspended over the balcony rail with multiple bullet holes in her back.

You follow the deep crimson trails all the way to the basement. There's your guy. The same man who smirked down at you, insisting that you drop your attitude and give him your number, is now lying cold and stiff in a chair, hands held in place by kitchen knives. You wonder how his innards ended up mangled in his lap, then you notice the power drill neatly propped on the table nearby. You swallow and prepare the trash bag.

"Sorry for the extra work", your partner apologizes upon your return. "I've been thinking of a proper reward."

"If you want to discuss work details, it'll have to wait. I need to scrub the death off of me", you whine, heading towards the shower.

He blocks your path with a smirk.

"I'm not talking about money."

[Part 1] | [More Yandere Stories]