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jadewolf22 · 28 days

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Hola! First of all, just want to say that your Lady Jane fic was AMAZING!!! You captured her perfectly and your writing is just *CHEF'S KISS*

Second of all, I have a fic request for you if you're up to it. Larissa and reader are having a date night at a local bar when Larissa's ex walks in and she starts acting weird. The three get into an altercation (reader has no clye the guy is Larissa's ex) and when Reader and Riss get home they get into a argument bc Larissa wont tell reader what the altercation was about. Eventually, Riss caves in and reader goes full protective girlfriend mode (I'll let you decide exactly how)

Can't wait to see what you do with this promt!!😁😚

Her Guard Dog

Larissa x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, fighting (verbal&physical), mentions of abusive ex’s, descriptions of abuse, death threats, threats of bodily harm, slapping & choking (in a non-sexual way), talk of going to jail, ect…

Summary: What started out as a simple date night quickly goes south when Larissa runs into an ex who isn’t fond of seeing her with someone else.

A/n: Hola, anon! Thank you for the request, it’s right up my alley of writing. And thank you for the creative liberty with deciding how reader was going to be the protective girlfriend, I had way too much fun with it. Hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 2,461

The bar was warm and crowded when you and Larissa had arrived and the atmosphere hadn’t changed since. Not that either of you would have noticed, you were both too engrossed in each other to be paying any mind to what was happening around you. Even after a year of dating, the two of you still looked at each other like it was a love-at-first-sight situation even though you’d met through work. With Larissa being the principal of Nevermore and you being on the school board your schedules had overlapped quite a bit and you two had hit it off pretty quickly. Since then, these little dates had become a weekly occurrence, a chance to abandon work and bask in each other's company over a drink at a local bar your friend owned. The two of you were laughing over a childhood story you’d told when Larissa glanced towards the door, her smile falling and her laugh dying in her throat as she caught sight of a man standing in the doorway.

“Everything alright?” you asked, following her gaze, but the man had moved on so you didn’t see him.

“Hmm? Oh, yes, I’m fine.” Larissa said dismissively, turning back to you, “Just tired, I suppose. Can we go home?”

“Yeah, sure.” you agreed, watching her closely, fully aware that she was lying to you, “Why don’t you go out to the car and I’ll pay the bill then meet you out there?”

“Don’t take too long.”

You watched Larissa walk out the door before turning to try and grab your friend's attention so you could pay the bill, missing the man from before following Larissa outside. Your friend had just handed you your check when your phone pinged, the check temporarily forgotten when you saw the text from Larissa:

Riss: S.O.S

“Hey, Isabelle,” you called to your friend, ice flooding your veins, “Can you put this on my tab and I’ll pay you tomorrow? I’ve gotta go, right now.”

“Yeah, no problem.” your friend nodded as you gathered up your phone and purse.

“Thanks, Isa!!” you shouted rushing out of the bar towards your car.

Rushing to your car, fear flooded you at the sight of Larissa arguing with the man from before. You didn’t recognise him but there was time to worry about who he was later, anger quickly replacing your fear as you watched the man grab Riss by her arm, seeming to try and drag her away.

“Hey!” you cried as you approached, pushing the man away and getting between the two, “Get out of here! Riss, get in the car.”

The man simply chuckled, brushing off his suit and slicking back his hair with a sneer. “Listen to your guard dog, Rissy.” he taunted.

“Get the hell out of here!” you growled, turning your head towards Larissa as you whispered, “Please, get in the car.”

Larissa nodded, quickly climbing into your car as you turned back to the man, suddenly overcome with the urge to slap that stupid sneer off his face. He eyed you up and down, studying you closely as if sizing you up as a threat.

“I’m only gonna say it one more time,” you warned, reaching into the pocket of your jeans for your switchblade, “Get. The hell. Out of here.”

The man chuckled and shrugged, calling, “See ya around, Larissa!” before heading off down the street.

You sighed, making sure the man was well out of sight before you climbed in the car. You sat there a moment, rubbing your hand over your face and nipping at your fingers as you tried to calm down, anger and disgust still ebbing away at you.

“Y/n…”

“We can talk about this when we get home,” you growled despite your best attempts to keep your voice gentle, starting up the car and driving off without another word.

The drive back to Nevermore was uncomfortably silent as you tried to process what the hell had just happened. You didn’t know who that man was but, clearly, he knew Larissa, and that scared you. You had the feeling he wasn’t going to leave her alone anytime soon but how could you prevent that when you didn’t even know who the little fucker was? And you knew getting Riss to tell you anything was going to be like pulling teeth.

When the two of you returned to Nevermore you headed straight up to Larissa’s private quarters, the door barely closing before you started asking questions.

“Okay Larissa, what the hell was that about?!” you asked, fighting to keep your voice calm and already losing. The sight of him putting his hands on her had already made you near-murderous, “Who was that?!”

“I—No one… It’s nothing—” Larissa stuttered quietly, looking down at the floor as she paced and wrung her hands together nervously.

“Larissa, don’t lie to me. That was not nothing. Who. Was. He?”

“N-no one—”

“Goddamnit, Larissa! Don’t try and pull that bullshit on me!” you shouted, slamming your hand against the wall and immediately regretting it when Larissa flinched. She clung to herself, toying with the collar of her dress as she fought to breathe, tears welling in the corners of her eyes.

“Riss, I’m so sorry.” you whispered gently, slowly coming forward so you wouldn’t startle her, resting your hands on her arms and looking up into her eyes, “I’m so sorry. I know I shouldn’t have yelled. I want to help you, but I can’t do that when you shut me out…”

“I d-don’t want you to g-get in-involved…” she whimpered, her body shaking as tears began to slide down her cheeks.

Guiding her to sit on the foot of the bed, you hugged Larissa close, rubbing her back and speaking to her softly, “I’m gonna get involved, Riss, whether you want me to or not. My job is to protect you, and I can’t do that if I don’t know who’s hurting you… Please, tell me who that was.”

“J-James…” Larissa sodded, clinging to you tightly.

Your heart dropped into your stomach, the name setting of several alarms in your head. “James? As in, James Hacker? As in, your abusive fiance? That James?”

Riss nodded frantically, choking out, “H-he’s been f-following me… I-I didn’y say anything because I-I didn’t know wh-what to do… I was s-so scared…”

“Shh. Hey, it’s gonna be okay.” you consoled, continuing to rub her back, “The only thing you need to do right now is take a shower and get ready for bed. I’m gonna run out, but I’ll be back in an hour.”

“Wh-where are you going?” Larissa asked as you stood up and threw on your jacket, trading your heeled boots for a pair of tennis shoes.

“I’m gonna go have a talk with James.”

“No!” Larissa cried, grabbing your wrist tightly, “Y-you can’t!! He’ll hurt you!”

“Larissa. It’s okay.” you assured, gently prying her hands off of your wrist, “I can take care of myself. I’m just gonna go over and have a little chat with him. I’ll be back soon.”

“Please, don’t.” she begged, clearly terrified.

“Larissa…” a part of you wanted to cave in and stay with her, to make sure no one else could hurt her. But another, much stronger part of you wanted to ensure that James never came near Riss again, and you wanted to get it over with while your anger was still fresh, “I need to make sure that James stays away from you. I’m not gonna wait if there’s a chance he might actually hurt you. I don’t wanna think about what he might’ve done to you if I hadn’t come outside when I did… I promise I’ll be safe.”

“...Okay…” Larissa whispered, letting go of you, “Just… don’t be gone long.”

“Like I said,” you kissed her cheek, giving her hand a gentle squeeze, “I won’t be gone more than an hour.”

Larissa nodded, watching you go sadly. You patted your blade as you climbed back into your car, driving off practically on autopilot as your mind reeled with thoughts of how you were going to get James to leave Riss alone. She’d told you about him pretty early into your relationship but had only recently told you just how awful and vile he truly was. He’d beaten her constantly for anything from making a suggestion after he’d been clear on plans to simply feeling like it, he would drug her drinks and then have his way with her for hours, made her cut off all contact with her friends and family, even went so far as trying to get her to resign at Nevermore and become a housewife. That was when Larissa had finally called things off. She’d packed her bags and left while he was at work, cutting off all contact with him and never looking back. You were proud of Riss for being able to remove herself from him, but you would never be able to let go of the pure hatred you held towards James. He had scarred Larissa, possibly for life, and now, almost two years later, you were finally getting the chance to pay him back.

Having started stalking James after Larissa had initially told you about him, you knew exactly where he lived, finding yourself pulling into his driveway twenty minutes later. The house was secluded and you knew he lived alone so, the only witnesses you would have to worry about was a potential one-night-stand. Climbing the steps onto the porch you banged your fist harshly against the door, possibly hard enough to leave bruises in the morning—though, you were almost certain those wouldn’t be the only ones on yours hands you’d have by the end of the night.

After a minute or so, James finally came to the door, leaning up against the frame in nothing but a half-unbuttoned dress shirt and his boxers, sneering down at you like prey caught in a monster’s paws.

“I can’t believe this,” he chuckled, running and hand through his greasy hair, “She actually sent her guard dog on me.”

“I am not her guard dog.” you growled. Sure, you might have been half a foot shorter than him, but you could be far more intimidating then he would ever be. “But I am here to make sure you leave Larissa alone.”

“What are you gonna do, little dog?” James taunted, smirking when the muscles in your face twitched angrily at the name, “I’m sure you’re all bark, not bite.”

“For your sake, let’s hope you don’t have to find out.” you threatened, “Let me make this clear, the next time I find out you’re following her I’ll gouge out your eyes. You ever try to touch her again, and I will bury you. Nevermore has plenty of acres of land… they’ll never find your body.”

“You’re actually willing to go to prison for that bitch… She’s not worth it—”

Your body reacted of its own accord, his head reeling back as you struck him across the face.

“Do not underestimate the things I would do for her,” you growled, ignoring the way your palm stung from the slap, “Prison is a small price to pay to make sure you never lay hands on her again.”

“But, if you’re in prison, who’s going to stop someone else from putting their hands on her?” he taunted, massaging his cheek, “Bitches like Larissa are so easy to get.”

You slapped him again, grabbing his throat and pushing him up against the door, your voice murderous as you hissed through gritted teeth, “Call her that. One. More Time. And I will make sure you never speak again… You are going to leave Larissa alone. Am I clear?!” James nodded, eyes going wide as his face slowly started turning purple, “I swear to you, if I ever see you anywhere near her again it will be the last time you’re ever seen… Do we have a deal?”

He nodded again slowly and you released your grip on his neck, back up a few steps before giving him a honeyed smile and saying, “Good. Have a good rest of your night, Mr. Hacker.”

With one last warning glance his way, you turned on your heel and walked back to your car, a sense of ease over taking you despite the possible repercussions you could face if James decided to call the police. A large part of you doubted he would, for fear of his own life, and that alone made you smile a little. You were proud of yourself for restraining the urge to kill him on sight, knowing that Larissa would appreciate it, despite how much she hated him.

Returning to Larissa’s apartment, you were a little unhappy to find her still awake, hoping to be able to bandage your hands and get a few hours of rest before she started asking questions. Nevertheless, you offered her a small smile as you shrugged off your jacket and kicked off your shoes, changing in the bathroom and wrapping your hands before joining her in bed.

“We don’t have to worry about James anymore.” you assured as Riss tucked herself against you.

“What did you do?” she asked, looking up at you with worried eyes, “Is he still—?”

“Yes, he’s still alive.” you promised, “But, let’s just say… I made it clear that he won;t be for much longer if he doesn’t leave you alone…”

“Y/n! If he reports this, you could go to prison!” Riss gasped, her hands tightening their grip on your shirt.

“He won’t.” you were probably being a little overconfident, but that was what was best for Larissa at the moment, “James is smart. He knows what’s good for him.”

“What exactly did you do?”

“Just roughed him up a bit and told him to stay away or they’d never find his body.” you answered honestly, becoming a little worried when Riss went silent.

“I… thank you.” she finally whispered, burying her face in your chest. You could feel tears beginning to wet your shirt, wrapping your arms around her like a protective cage, “As much as I hate how you went about it, thank you…”

“You’re welcome, Riss.” you kissed her head, shutting off the lights with a flick of your wrists, “As long as I’m here, no one will ever hurt you. Okay?”

Larissa nodded, sighing softly as exhaustion took hold of her and she fell asleep in your arms.

#gwendoline christie #gwendolineuniverse #larissa weems #wednesday #jane murdstone #jan stevens #miranda hilmarson #captain phasma #lady jane #anon ask #anon request #anon submission

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charlotte-of-wales · 8 months

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a summary of the Monaco Tea, creds to the lovely anon who sent me the article <3

btw most of the information on the family was in article one, the latter were more just info on real estate + off shore accounts

again, this info is all coming from the former accountant of the family:

Prince Rainier III was seriously considering changing succession laws so Caroline would be the head of the family and Monaco as he found Albert to be weak. Albert is said to be the "despised member of the clan" who would stutter while speaking to his father. Rainier even looked into what this would mean to the Grimaldi name since Andrea - at the time 17 - obviously carries his father's name (Casiraghi) and not his mother's (Grimaldi). Rainier told the ones carrying the investigation that this was done in case Albert died.

the funds from Albert's state endowment and his private funds would be mixed all the time.

Albert would say yes to essentially everything his family asked for, including a $30 million apartment for Stephanie

Palmero (the accountant) would frequently buy things for the family to keep "their privacy". He bought Charlene's engagement ring and multiple properties for the Grimaldi's in France. He would pay property taxes for those properties and have the family pay him back.

Caroline and Stephanie would frequently make use of and sell family property (Rainier's cars, family jewelry and art, etc) without letting him know, even though they technically belonged to Albert.

Caroline is in charge of the family's castle in Marchais, which he had an issue with as she would always go off budget.

he makes a note to pay attention to Pierre Casiraghi as he is very ambitious and his dealings in real estate could create problems (spoiler alert: it did)

Caroline is said to hate Charlene

the allowance that Charlene, Caroline and Stephanie receive increases constantly, which worried Palmero. As of late, they were: 1,5 million euros for Charlene, 900.000 for Caroline and 800.000 for Stephanie yearly. This follows the family hierarchy.

Jazmin Grace receives 86,000 dollars per quarter. In February 2010, Palmero had to spend $5,000 “extra for her birthday”. Albert also bought her a $3 million apartment in New York City.

Albert spends almost a million a year funding Nicole Coste's (the mother of Albert's second illegimate child) fashion business. It's all in Alexandre Coste's name as Nicole fears that Charlene might create issues when Albert dies.

loots about Charlene. She frequently demands high sums in cash, her personal chef is $300 a day, she has multiple undocumented people from the Philippines working in her staff, the celebrations for the birth and baptism of the twins was well over half a million euros, in eight years Charlene spent around 15 million euros when she received 7.5 million euros in endowment (the Palace didn't deny this and said that the accountant was simply told to pay the difference with the family's personal funds), she spent 965,000 on a villa in two and a half months, her office decoration cost a million euros, she requested 3 x 300,000 for her brother's house.

Palmero made sure to change Monaco's regency laws so in case something happens to Albert while Jacques is underage Charlene won't be regent. Instead, the principality will be ruled by a regency council.

Albert has a secret apartment in Monaco, bought by one of Palmero's secret companies. He also got rid of problematic photographs of Albert (hinted at blackmail).

there was a whole system for hiding sums used on "special missions". They were labeled DS (for special destinations) and with time were used to pay for an informal intelligence unit that operated within the police force of the principality. They'd collect information on those close to the family and even on politians of the principality. He would also pay journalists to paint a good picture of Monaco while Hollande was president in France and was constantly criticizing tax-havens.

the DS accounts would be used to hide over-budget situations, including budget for the children's nannies and the budget for the wedding.

they were terrified of the Panama papers, as a lot of money laundering funds go through Monaco and the family had accounts on Panamanian banks.

a link between a Russian billionaire and the Monegasque Minister of Justice was revealed in 2017 and the Minister was forced to resign. An investigation was launched by a French judge and there was fears that the palace would be involved: jurisdictional immunity was granted to members of the sovereign family by order. There was rumours that the French judge wanted to hear the Prince as a witness......he was told to leave the principality. He was accused of having, through his “behavior perceived as authoritarian and vexatious”, “endangered the proper functioning of the criminal justice system”.

the real estate market is a big point of collision here and a big focus of article 3. Nothing too interesting to report - Palmero says he tried mingling in the market to break down the monopoly of real estate owners in Monaco (centered around a bestie of the Casiraghi brothers) while Albert claims Palmero had close ties with some of the developers and tried mingling with things that were of interest of the government in order to make money. The real estate issue was what eventually led Palmero to be fired. Palmero and a former laywer of Albert who was his childhood bestfriend and is also now a persona non grata claims that Albert is now fully under the influence of the bestie of the Casiraghi brothers who now controls the real estate in Monaco.

Palmaro is STILL paying property tax on properties he bought for the family!! crazy!!

Palmero detailed a number of off-shore accounts that hold about 250 million euros of the family's fortune including a company created specifically for Charlotte Casiraghi. He passed on the information from that account to Albert's new accountant at a monitored meeting.

Albert's explanation is lowkey....pathetic. He claims he told Palmero to move all of his family's assets from off-shore accounts to Monaco but Palmero never did it and that was that. He claims he was never able to obtain a precise statement on the family assets due to Palmero's secrecy and Albert just trusted him. He claims Palmero would act in his name and refuse to delay his decisions.

#and that's what you missed on glee #again thank u so much anon you're the best!!!!#this was a wild ride #mpf

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rippersz · 1 year

Text

𝙇𝙤𝙤𝙠 𝙖𝙩 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙙𝙞𝙙.

«——..✞..——»

(DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT) (TW: Mentions of cannibalism, murder, slight glorification of both, gore, etc.) (Larissa Weems x Reader)

«——..✞..——»

“Is that all you want to be? Liked? Wouldn’t you rather be passionately and voraciously desired?” ~ Margaret Atwood

«——..✞..——»

There’s something wrong with you.

There’s something definitely completely entirely seriously wrong with you.

She looks so pretty today.

Utterly irresistible.

You kind of want to kiss her. But she had lunch earlier. And you are in the middle of a staff meeting. And though she often brushes her teeth and uses breath mints, you don’t really want to taste the lingerings of human tissue. Even if the sounds of her pleasure would make it more bearable.

They probably wouldn’t though, of course. Because kissing a cannibal is not bearable in any way. And you’d probably throw up right after. And you’d probably gag and tell her to get away from you. And you’d probably have to wrench yourself away after realizing that although her mouth feels so good, and her hands feel so soft, she has painted entire walls red with her strength. And she has licked them clean with the same tongue she’d no doubt drag along your teeth.

…So no. Maybe kissing her wasn’t a very good idea.

And she was your boss. There was that too.

“Alright everyone, I think that’s it for today. Swift reminder that the Academy will undergo a planned power outage on Friday. Considering most of you will be chaperoning the students at the carnival that evening, I’ll be staying behind to look after the maintenance crew. If all goes well, it should be restored by the next morning. Please enjoy the rest of your days - if you need me, you know where I am.” Swift and to the point she was. Always so quick to hand out little encouraging smiles. Always eager to provide some words of wisdom or kindness. A very well-built facade.

And of course, because they have no other reason to doubt, they eat it all up with vigor. Little kittens to their saucer of fattening milk. Never ever stopping to question how Principal Weems is the way she is. And why she is the way she is. And what she does during her free time.

“Y/n, will you accompany me to my office please?”

You pause in the doorway, feeling the heel of your shoe touch the floor with a small muted clack, experiencing the drop of your heart as your fate is sealed without a single word.

But she doesn’t really need a response anyway. She knows you’re going to say yes. She knows you can never deny her - not unless she asks you to indulge in another one of her very well-cooked meals.

Compliments to the chef, you supposed.

“Of course, Larissa.”

Of course, Larissa.

What a fuckin’ pansy. You twisted bitch.

“Thank you,” is her soft responding whisper before she’s slipping past you and strutting out into the hall - leaving you to close the door behind you both and trail after her like a hungry mutt.

A strange beast of utter tranquility seems to exist within Larissa at all times whenever she’s with you. Never before have you seen her angry, though you know from stories that- on occasion- her irritation can lead to fury. It’s not a pretty sight apparently. But you know that’s most likely not true. You know it’s probably a very pretty sight - but no one wants to admit it. And no one wants to talk about it. Some women are simply off limits even in mention whenever they become angry. Rage, after all, is a powerful thing. It travels through ears- time- and space.

You know you’ve never seen her that way because she doesn’t want to scare you.

You know it’s because she doesn’t want you to be scared of her. Only her.

But you can’t help but wonder - is it too late for that?

Are you already scared of her?

Or is there still time to put you at ease? Make you comfortable? Help you settle?

No.

No no no.

You will not settle. You will not let her rest. For as much as she hides it, you know Larissa lives on the edge of nervousness. She knows she can only control you but only to a certain extent. And she knows you set the pace; even though one would be led to believe that she has all the power. She doesn’t. It may be her turn to serve, but the ball is, perpetually, within your court.

“Please close the door behind you, thanks.” And with that, you find yourself led into the lion’s den; willingly putting yourself to the slaughter as she goes about setting her things down and straightening her dress to sit.

The door closes.

The silence falls.

You feel a bit nauseous.

You feel a bit excited.

You feel a bit crazy.

Daring.

She may be a murderer, a human-eater, a manipulative mad-woman with an incredible sense of fashion, but she also makes you feel alive. And that’s the scariest part.

Any woman knows that once something interrupts the din of daily living, once something begins to worm and thrive and corrupt, there is rarely any chance to go back. You are infected. The virus spreads. The lightning strikes the bones. The heart starts to pump faster than sound travels. You’re alive. For the very first time, you’re alive. Your mother’s womb was not a home. And the world was not a result of love. You’re alive only due to that thing.

Only due to her.

You want to run out of the room.

You want to face her.

Your heart speaks before your mind does.

She’s looking at you. Contemplating you, which she always seems to do. Running her eyes up and down your back, and across your arms, and over your chest and shoulders and down to your midsection and legs. She isn’t thinking about eating you or cooking you - at least you don’t think so. No. No, she’s just admiring. Allowing herself to be before she has to jump back into her role as ‘The Principal’. Or ‘The Murderer’. Either way, you don’t always like the staring - so you break her trance when you turn and walk over to the chairs opposite her desk.

“What is it now?” Your words come out in a huff when you sit, placing your bag on the floor by your side. “I have things to do.” No, you don’t. You wouldn’t have followed if you did. But that’s also not true. You followed only because you wanted to - because curiosity has always been your greatest enemy. And she smiles brightly because she knows that.

“I was just curious about something,” is her easy response. Her hands move to clasp themselves together.

“Hm. What?” Crossing your arms over your chest and leaning back into your chair is the only way you can maintain an air of control. It probably doesn’t work, but that’s beside the point.

“I’ve been growing bored lately. Summer is so far away and the days are dragging on longer than they ever have before,” Larissa laments, letting out a sigh (most definitely forced) to go along with it.

You raise an eyebrow. Where is she going with this?

“I think they’re coming along just fine. And winter is ending soon so it’s not that far.”

But she’s never been one to back down from a challenge, so instead of taking the hint and changing tactics, Larissa only smiles and gives you a small incline of her head. It’s the only recognition you’ll ever receive in regards to ‘being right’.

“Mmm but think of the events we’re all planning for. They’re fun, sure, but time consuming. Though the carnival, in particular, will provide some excitement for everyone...”

Everyone but me, of course is what she means to say.

You resist the urge to frown.

It’s just another thing about Larissa Weems. The guilt. The sympathy. She is not harmful, you try to tell yourself. But she is. She is just a woman, you insist. That doesn’t make it better. She… she needs help. But then you look at her and you know that she doesn’t want help. And want and need are two different things. And whatever Larissa is about to ask of you next, you’re pretty sure it’s something she wants and something you need.

“Okay… and this has to do with me h-”

“I’d like to have fun as well. Just for one evening. Would you be interested in joining me?”

You blink.

This time around, there’s nothing giving her away. In fact, she’s very still in her seat - practically on the edge - wondering if the invisible line the two of you always seem to move around has finally been crossed. Your points of contact consist of meals taken in her study and the occasional quick stroll through the hall. There is nothing outside of that. So what is this? And why now? And what did she mean?

Well. You’ll never know unless you say-

“...Sure.”

What’s the worst that could happen?

You could die.

Meh. What’s a little death?

“Wonderful,” is the slow toothy-smiled response you receive. Though her reaction is all sunshine, with the way her eyes crinkle and her nose scrunches and her head tilts a little bit, some part of you knows she’s surprised. It’s found in the way her eyebrows tick up just the tiniest bit. She was expecting a fight. Or more questions. Or any type of refusal at all. But perhaps you’ve grown soft… perhaps you don’t care.

You do, though. You do care.

But, you reason, in the face of The Devil, would a lone Angel not know that it’s better to play along and wait than to find themselves in trouble, stuck for eternity? Because that is what you’re doing, is it not? You’re waiting, no? Observing? While she may be the predator in the underbrush, staring through the bush, you’re the prey with more speed, faster reflexes, and keener eyes. You peer and you watch, knowing that the moment will come in which you’ll need to race off to the edge of the world - and never look back. Just like the Angel finding their time to leave.

But you are no Angel. Don’t you dare compare yourself to that.

Hm. Maybe not. But nonetheless.

“I was thinking of taking part in a game this Friday evening. One of our own, while we have Nevermore to ourselves…” Larissa says gently, drumming her fingertips on the surface of the desk. “Does that sound amenable to you, darling?”

Darling….

You clench your hands into fists, fighting down a violent shiver. Darling. Oh she was wicked when she spoke to you like that. All low tones and velvet tongue and blue eyes peering up through dark lashes… so knowing in her effects. Using them to her advantage. Like she figures that if she could be sultry for a long enough time, you’d somehow remarkably forget about her tendency to eat people. To devour them. To watch the life leave their eyes and think, yes, this one will be in my breakfast. Perhaps in an omelet. Or maybe a side dish of meat with a main course of cinnamon toast and honey.

“What kind of game?” There’s an edge to your voice. It gives you away.

What makes you think she won’t eat you next?

There’s a flash of pink tongue running over white teeth. A quirk of a smile. A hum rumbling from the throat.

“A fun one. Hide and seek, most likely.”

You’d probably taste good. She’s thought about it before. There’s no way she hasn’t.

“And the terms?”

Ah. Hook, line, and sinker. She knows she’s got you.

“I think we should save that for the night of, don’t you agree?”

No. You don’t.

“Why?”

But it doesn’t really matter what you think.

“Well I believe we all need a little bit of surprise in our lives every once in a while. Who knows?” Larissa shrugs, shuffling in her seat to cross her legs at the ankles, “You too may find that you prefer to know all of the details when the time comes.” She licks her lips. You try not to stare. “And I’ve always been a woman of my word. So there’s no need to worry. Is there?”

Yes. Yes there’s always need to worry. Yes you worry very much. All the time. About many things. But mainly her. Primarily her. Nearly her all of the time. It’s reflexive, honestly. Instinctive. You track her movements with a thumping heart and hungry eyes - not because you want to eat her, but because you want to kiss her. Hug her. Fuck her. Until she forgets that she’s stronger than you. Until her hunger for human flesh dies down into nothing. Until you can cure her. Be safe with her. Be finally finally free with her.

Wishful thinking, of course. She can’t change.

So instead of doing what you do want to do and reach over to kiss her- or stab her with a nearby paperweight- you shoot her a heavy glare. “Why can’t you just be normal?” rests on the tip of your tongue, but you shove it back into the recesses of your throat. There’s no point in upsetting her. And the sight of her sadness makes you wanna throw up. And anything you say could be the cause of your death. So, to a certain extent, eggshells are where your feet rest. And dance. And twirl. And lord knows when you’ll be able to stand on solid ground again. Maybe when she’s behind bars, or in a mental ward, or six feet beneath the Earth… rotting, no matter what, but rotting far away from you.

The sound of her throat clearing has you tearing your eyes away from their spaced out spot on the window - and bringing them right back to her. The very epicenter of your worry. And your horror. And your lust. And everything. Everything everything everything.

“I-…” You want to tell her that you’re scared and unsure, but you don’t know if she’ll care. You don’t know if she’ll use that against you one day either. So without choices left, you sigh. “Yeah, okay. Okay. I’ll wait. Fine.”

And you hate the way her smile makes your heart skip a beat.

«——..✞..——»

Surprised Cannibal Larissa got so much love! I know it’s different, but I quite like writing the uncomfortable things. Lemme know if you’d like to see more of her? Thank you all. - Rip x

«——..✞..——»

#rippersz #fanfictionwriter #fanfic #fanfiction #larissa weems #larissa weems x reader #wlw fanfic #larissa weems x y/n #larissa weems x you #dead dove #dead dove: do not eat #dead dove do not eat #dark fic #darkfic #cannibalism #cannibal #cannibal larissa weems #wednesday larissa weems

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notsofriendlyfriendlyreminder · 8 months

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rdr2 as teachers

Dutch van der Linde: teaches social studies and sometimes history, goes on weird rants about his ideologies, he grades on a whim, students have a love hate relationship with him, is the principal but he really shouldn't be

Hosea Matthews: chill geography teacher that used to also teach physics, is generally good but his homeworks are usually hard to understand, you will get a good grade if you show effort and talk to him, leads an afternoon drama club and was a principal for several years

Arthur Morgan: teaches english literature but also pe and also sometimes physics? He also taught math for a year when times were rough. Everyone knows him and he knows everyone, thinks he's not a good teacher but students act good and get good grades with him (they're intimidated), sometimes hangs around in afternoon art clubs

John Marston: math teacher on an art school (yes this specific), none of his students will ever study math so why should he try, let's everyone pass as long as they're not acting up, usually late to class but no one cares

Javier Esquella: music teacher and an extra for spanish classes, his students only sing in his class, no work unless you make him mad, is known for talking shit about other teachers in spanish

Bill Williamson: PE teacher who yells at his students too damn much BUT is actually ok to meet outside of school, will get drunk with his (of age) students on field trips

Micah Bell: the teacher that got kicked out for students complaining, still shows up on some school actions because Dutch always asks him to help with making sure they act right

Charles Smith: really smart chemistry and biology teacher, actually explains it well, strict but students love him type,leadss the longest routes on field trips with Arthur, they usually make them even longer

Sean Macquire: Teacher assistant, no one knows what exactly he studied, just hangs around, will trashtalk teachers without asking, tells students the curent drama happening between staff

Lenny Summers: Teacher assistant finishing up his studies to become history teacher, popular with the students, has lots of energy, sometimes takes over classes when teachers are sick or tired

Sadie Adler: PE teacher who goes hard but also will force you to not participate after you get hurt ("I DO NOT CARE YOU JUST GOT HIT AND YOU BARELY STOPPED THAT NOSEBLEED SIT DOWN."), no one knew that she had a husband until he one day randomly picked her up from school, once got drunk on a prom and finally told her students about her life

Karen Jones: Chemistry teacher who breaks all lab rules, mainly shows them the fun stuff, the rumor is that she knows how to make alcohol very easily, also leads the afternoon drama club with Hosea

Tilly Jackson: Works in the office, helps students with paperwork or with anything they need to, is one of the reasons the school is still running because she fixes Dutchs paperwork mistakes

Mary-Beth Gaskill: english-literature and english language teacher, is the one to help rewrite the plays for the drama clubs, overall helps them a lot, has an after school reading club, they read mainly female and lesserknown authors

Uncle: janitor, doesn't do shit, just hangs around the school, will yell at you for walking inside in outside shoes, no one takes him seriously, some students have a habit to say "I didn't do my homework, I have lumbago!" because of him, mainly in Johns class

Abigail Roberts: Also works in the office, taught math for a year (that's how she got to know John), refuses to fix Dutchs mistakes, small Jack hangs around in the school sometimes, students like him and play with him

Susan Grimshaw: The main lady in the office and also the vice-principal, students thought she and Dutch were maried LMAOO, she shot down those rumors real fast, students either love her or hate her

Pearson: school cook who also has an afternoon cooking class, sometimes forces his students to answer yes chef, smells weird and tells weird stories

Leopold Strauss: German teacher who also takes care of the school money and makes lectures once a year about finance world, the students don't like him but some respect him in a sense that he knows how money works and teaches them real stuff

Josiah Trelawny: randomly shows up and gives lectures about whatever, no one knows if he actually works here or not, does he even have a title? does he have any idea how to teach? The students find him hilarious, also ALWAYS shows up for students proms and somehow knows who your parents and siblings are

Orville Swanson: Teaches social studies with focus on religion, nearly got kicked out several times for going to school drunk, did cry once in class

Kieran Duffy: Biology teacher, half of the students ignore him, the other half pity him, hangs around the book club because of Mary-Beth, the students ship it, once ranted for an entire class about horses

Molly O'Shea: Dutch hired her just because she's pretty, she teaches music and art mainly, eventhough she studied literature, but Susan refuses to give her other classes (she was mad at Dutch for bringing her to school), she is the teacher students have a crush on

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pk-kai · 7 months

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Hi everyone I brought cookies-

*trips and drops Highschool/College cookie run au*

MA COOKIES-

Anywho, I suppose some background info LOL.

Dark Cacao and Pure Vanilla are not married YET…they do know of each other’s existence (they’ve gone on date)

Pure Vanilla is the principal of the Highschool (I literally stole the Parfaedia Institute name for it, don’t judge me, and also don’t ask me for the college name I also don’t know)

Meanwhile, Dark Cacao works as a chef during the day, and a bartender at night. Yes he has two jobs, don’t come at me.

Dark Choco, Peppermint Bark and Knight all attend the Highschool, while Caramel Arrow, Crunchy Chip and Clotted Cream go to the College

Custard goes to whatever elementary school I make up-

Oh and then there’s this.

Tomfoolery…

(I’ve had this au cooked up for a year now and I’m just posting about it now.)

#cookie run kingdom #cookie run #cookie run kingdom au #dark cacao cookie #pure vanilla cookie #knight cookie #clotted cream cookie #custard cookie iii #peppermint bark cookie #cookie run oc #crunchy chip cookie #dark choco cookie #caramel arrow cookie #pure vanilla x dark cacao #purecacao

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dorianbrightmusic · 10 months

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a primer for all my mutuals watching me go through a Persona 2 hyperfixation

basically, so y'all understand what these memes/headcanons/fanarts/liveblogs of me weeping are, i present a terrible explanation of the Persona 2 duology for all those of you who are confused. Spoilers ahead.

-There are two games that constitute Persona 2: The first is Innocent Sin, and that timeline gets yeeted at the end in favour of the second game, Eternal Punishment

-The protagonist of IS is Tatsuya Suou. He's a (canonically!) bisexual mess. He's great with swords and great with dudes, but otherwise horrible at communication. He's autistic motorcycle man. He's the only one whose memory is not nuked by the timeline reset, and it destroys him internally

-In both games: rumours are becoming reality. Ways such rumours get utilised: A tyrannical school principal reverses his male pattern baldness; one guy can recite pi to the hundredth thousandth place; Hitler is alive and wearing sunglasses;

-Tatsuya has childhood friends in IS. They have amnesia because trauma, but then remember because more trauma. These friends include: Maya Amano (see below); a white girl who punches dudes; THE GREAT MICHEL, ROCKSTAR AND UNDERPANTS GANG LEADER; and one (1) traumatised gay murderer who's also the resident astrology bitch

-(The party also includes Yukino, a sane lesbian)

-There is a gay romance option between Tatsuya and Astrology Bitch, and you are a coward if you don't select it

-Astrology Bitch is a clown for half of IS. Specifically, a Tumblr sexyman murder clown.

-The protagonist of EP is Maya Amano. She wears a jacket with lovehearts sewn over each breast, and at the end of IS, she gets stabbed with the lance that pierced Jesus, and dies

-Maya dying sets off an apocalypse, destroying the world. To reverse the apocalypse, childhood friends petition the local god to yeet this timeline in favour of one where they never met (that being the world of EP). If any of them remember that they know each other, then the new timeline is at risk of being destroyed (that being the plot of EP)

-Tatsuya, autistic motorcycle man, loves his friends too much. As a result, he remembers the old timeline, and now, it's up to New People to prevent the EP timeline hurtling into an apocalypse

-New People feature: Maya Amano (not dead), Ulala 'I sell lingerie and punch dudes' Serizawa, two (2) Copyright Free Gendo Ikaris, and a character from the original Persona (yes, the one where there's a Japanese character who got made black in the botched localisation. Sorry, Masao/Mark)

-Copyright Free Gendo Ikari #1 is Katsuya Suou. He's Autistic Motorcycle Man's older brother, has a stick up his arse (to quote one fic), and acts nothing like Gendo – just looks like him on a budget. He has a cat allergy. He's a homicide detective. He wanted to be a pastry chef. (My heart is in tiny pieces—)

-Copyright Free Gendo Ikari #2 is Baofu. He looks nothing like Gendo, but is as smug and as scheming.

-Both Copyright Free Gendos wear sunglasses at night. They hate each other btw

-EP also features Anna Yoshizawa, a sane lesbian, and Noriko, an insane lesbian

-Tatsuya's memories get yeeted at the end of EP, and it's the only case of amnesia in media where it actually feels like a well-earned relief, rather than a cheap plot device

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reputationbarbie · 1 year

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❝baby, i'm the sweetest.❞

read the rest of the series before this chapter or you’re getting spoilers.

A/N: i just got through midterms so sorry this chapter took so long. enjoy this chapter of interactions between the delicious trio. this also isn't edited so ignore any mistakes. enjoy ★ ˙ᵕ˙ liv

Chapter Summary: ellie gets into a fight at school and calls the sweetest baker for help.

Chapter Warnings: fighting, bruising, language, alcohol, slight age gap (F!MC and Joel are 6 years apart), threatening (brief), arguing (brief), symptoms of anxiety and depression.

Key Tags: chef! Joel, single! father Joel, no outbreak! Joel Miller, slow burn, dual-pov, fluff, flirting, friendship, eventually established relationship, eventual smut, original character, black!fem!MC, no y/n.

⋆ word count: 4.7k ⋆

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ series masterlist, joel masterlist ⋆ spotify playlist ˖ ݁ 𖥔.

For the next three weeks, I had fallen into a routine of seeing Joel every day at 10 p.m. when he’d come over to cook dinner and pick Ellie up from my house. Although I love baking, I detest cooking. Maybe it’s my sweet tooth, but I’m grateful that Joel has taken over that role in my life. If it weren’t for him I’d be eating takeout every day.

I’d lay awake every night and think about the details of his face. His salt and pepper facial hair, his rough hands, the burns on his forearms. My thoughts swirled with Joel as I tossed and turned in bed. I��d repeat the same words to myself over and over again until my face turned blue.

We’re just friends, Ginny. He doesn’t want you that way.

As the owner, I rarely take days off work from Daylight. But, on days like today, my body informs me that I’ve reached the end of my rope. Burnout.

The rain falls softly outside against the window and I moan at the feeling of the cool glass on my temple. My eyes dart down to the bustling city, hoping to have my mind on anything but this recipe for a while.

Suddenly my phone starts ringing, sending me jolting upright. My hands feel in the blankets for the slender device. Once I find it, I don’t check the caller ID before picking it up.

“Hello?” I say into the receiver.

I hear a voice on the other side clear their throat. “Hi, is this Ginny?” I hear a fake sweet voice come through the speaker.

My face screws when I try to pin the voice down to a person. “Ellie?” I question the other person on the line.

I hear a loud sigh, simulating the wind blowing in my ear. “Yeah. Thank fuck you answered,” she counts her blessings.

Taking the phone away from my screen, I look at the random numbers I’m familiar with. “Why are you calling me from the Principal’s office?” I ask her.

Ellie shuffles and I hear the office chair beneath her squeak. “About that…” she starts.

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I close my eyes. “Cut to the chase,” I rush her so I can get back to my day of relaxing.

I hear Ellie inhale a sharp draw of breath. “Joel is super busy because he has a fucking tasting event going on right now. This is gonna sound crazy so first you have to say no and then you have to say yes,” she rambles quickly.

My eyes roll as I stand from the comfort of my window seat. “Land the fucking plane, El,” I goan.

There’s a momentary pause where I think I’m going to reach through the phone and strangle Joel’s crotch child if she delays any longer. “I got in a fight and I need you to pretend to be my mom or something so you can pick me up from school,” she explains.

My jaw drops as soon as I register the words. “You what? Argh, Ellie,” I complain. I love the kid but I have boundaries, and this is not how I wanted to spend my day off.

“Please, Ginny? Please? Please? Please?” she begs and I shake my head.

My feet shuffle up the steps to my bedroom so I can change into more acceptable clothing. “Fine, but only because I don’t want to think about apple pie for a little while,” I conceded, trying to figure out how long it would take me to get to Jackson High.

My hands push on the bar into the office. Crinkling my nose at the LED lights above me, I walk up to the person at the desk. “Hi. I’m Imogen Miller. I’m here to pick up my daughter, Ellie Williams,” I introduce myself, lying a bit. I can’t fight the feeling that Joel’s last name sounds good with my first.

The woman in front of me raises an eyebrow at me. “Oh,” she says almost in disgust, looking me up and down. Fucking cunt. “Let me go get her from in-school suspension,” she grumbles, taking her leave.

Fuck you you fucking bitch. “Yeah, you do that,” I snip lowly at her.

I pace around the room, anxiously waiting to see the brunette girl walk through the door. Fuck, I will burn down this whole school if she has so much as a cut on her lip. “So you’re Ellie’s mom,” I hear a curious voice come from behind me.

When I turn around, an older lady is standing with her daughter. The kid can’t be much older than Ellie and she’s covered in stitches. “And you are?” I ask with attitude. After being in this school for 10 minutes I don’t want to interact with another person for the rest of the weekend.

She crosses her arms and purses her lips at me. “The mom of the girl your daughter attacked,” she accuses Ellie.

My first ball so tightly, I think I might draw blood. You can’t fight a mom in a school, Imogen. You’re an adult. “My daughter wouldn’t attack anyone,” I defend Ellie, though I know nothing about the fight.

I will always defend the ones I love in public, then scold them later about the situation. And that’s exactly how I plan to handle this situation.

“Are you kidding me? Look at her face?” The blonde woman hisses.

My eyes roam up and down her daughter’s body. The kid is as tall as me and Ellie only comes up to my chest. “I’m more so looking at her stature. You let a little girl do all that?” I taunt gesturing towards her face.

The blonde rolls her eyes. “It’s obvious we’re not going to get anywhere. Your kid is just as crazy as you,” she scoffs.

My blood boils and I can feel the steam coming from my ears. “Again, my kid. Who I will choose how to discipline. Now you have a nice day,” I finish her.

She sticks her nose up as high in the air as it’ll go, turning around.

Shaking my head, I decide it’s probably best to find a water fountain as soon as possible so I can cool down. Just as I come up for air from the short fountain, another person approaches me. “Hi, are you Ellie’s mom?” the tall black man asks.

I shift putting one hand on my hip. “Yes. What is it now?” I dig at him.

The man’s cheeks fill with a soft plum color. “Nothing, Mrs. Miller. I’m Mr. Henry, the freshman art teacher,” he introduces himself with a hand extended. “Nice to meet you,” he

My eyes widen and my skin boils with embarrassment. “Oh, I’m sorry. I met a rude parent. She still has my head frazzled. It’s nice to meet you too,” I politely shake his hand.

He pivots to stand next to me as I start walking down the hall. “Your daughter is quite the artist,” he compliments Ellie.

A smile covers my face thinking about how others see the brilliant girl. “Thank you,” I murmur.

“Must run in the family. What do you do?” He asks.

“Oh, I– Ellie’s not,” I babble, pausing to clear my throat. Get it together and play your role, Imogen. “I’m a baker,” I answer confidently.

Mr. Henry nods, pausing by the door of the office. “Wow. A baker for a mom and a chef for a dad. She must have the best school lunches,” he ponders.

I shrug, reaching for the door handle. “Something like that. Although Joel has a bias against too many sweet treats,” I joke, stepping into the office.

Mr. Henry smiles, holding the door open for me. “I could see that,” he murmurs.

Across the room, the opposite set of double doors open. Ellie strolls in behind the office assistant. “Here she is. You can go ahead and sign her out for me,” the assistant instructs me.

“It was nice meeting you,” Mr. Henry offers a smile before turning towards Joel’s daughter. “Try to stay out of trouble, Ellie,” he advises.

Ellie’s hand goes up and she gives a small wave. “Bye, Mr. Henry. See you Monday,” she bids him a goodbye.

Once my signature is on the paper, I don’t bother waiting for the ink to dry. I’m nearly ready to drag Ellie out of here. “Done. Let’s go, El,” I announce, slamming the pen down on the desk.

Ellie looks up at me, practically bouncing with excitement when I wrap my fingers around her arm, pulling her out of the office. As soon as we make it outside, I bring us to a screeching halt. “The fuck happened to your eye? Was it that cunt’s daughter? I will fuck both of them up, Ellie. I swear to god,” I rant, patting her body for any more signs of damage.

Ellie grabs my wrists to stop me. “Dude, calm down. I handled it. She had to get 15 stitches,” Ellie boasts proudly.

Instead of checking for bruises, my hands smooth out her school uniform. “That’s fuckin right. I ain't raise no bitch,” I grumble.

Ellie sighs while I fix her sweater. “Um, Ginny. You didn’t raise me at all,” she points out with a raised eyebrow.

A flush creeps onto my face as I realize my mistake. Ellie’s not my kid. “You’re right. Don’t tell Joel I said that,” I beg her to cut me some slack.

After all, it’s the least she can do for me. I did pick her up from school. “Actually, don’t tell Joel about any of this shit,” I clarify with fear that Joel will be angry with Ellie.

We begin to walk towards my tiny Volkswagen Bug. Ellie throws her head back in frustration. “Ugh, what am I gonna do? He’s going to notice my eye,” she groans.

I click the unlock button on the key. “What happened?” I ask.

Ellie’s head turns back towards the school. “That cunt, Bethany, wouldn’t leave me alone,” she says as though she’s waiting on Bethany to come after her.

I put my hand on the top of her head, turning her head back towards me. “And what did she say?” I ask.

Ellie shrugs and she stops to kick some dirt on the path. “I don’t know,” she lies, head hanging low.

Once we reach the car, I move my hands to her shoulders. “El, you do know,” I reiterate so she knows I’m serious.

Ellie nods, and her eyes dart towards the ground. “I know…. She wouldn’t stop telling me I was a pussy and I couldn't handle shit myself. I told her I didn't want to fight but she shoved me,” she explains.

My hand yanks on the handle of the passenger side. “That’s good enough for me. You were defending yourself from a bully. I’m sure your dad will see it the same way,” I say to Ellie as she slides into the seat.

Once we’re both in the car, I pull up the McDonalds app on my phone. “Now, it’s free fries Friday. Shall we?” I ask, starting the ignition.

I hear Ellie click her seatbelt before shifting towards me. “We shall,” she responds with a slight small.

I shift the gear into drive. “That’s fucking right. I knew you were my kid,” I cheer, pulling off onto the main road.

Ellie lays in my bed, cuddled up with a Grogu stuffie around 10 pm that night. The light from the TV in my room fills the room and the noise of medical machines beeping layers perfectly with Ellie’s snores. We haven’t left the bed since we got back from Jackson High. As soon as we got back, we immediately turned on Grey’s Anatomy and gorged on snacks.

Now hours later, my phone buzzes repeatedly and my head snaps over, hoping it won’t wake the traumatized child up. I quickly crawl to the end of the bed, swiping my phone up from the ground before lowering my feet to the floor. I quickly scurry across the room to my on-suite bathroom, sliding the door closed.

A picture of me and Joel on Halloween covers the screen and I smile a bit. He’s just here to pick up his daughter, Imogen. Not to see you.

My finger presses the green button, and I bring the phone up to my head. “Hey,” I say lowly.

“Sugar, I’m outside your back door,” Joel's husky voice dances on my ear drums.

My feet tip-toe across the tile to the window that faces the back. Pulling the curtain to the side, I look down at where Joel is standing with a wine bottle in his hand. He’s patiently waiting for me or Ellie to open the door. “Spare key is under the mat,” I direct him.

He shifts a bit and tucks the bottle under his arm. “You’re jokin',” he sighs.

My head shakes and then I realize, he can’t see me. “No. I don’t feel like coming down 3 flights of steps so, let yourself in,” I tell him.

He groans, before reaching down to lift the mat. He picks up the pink sparkly key, holding it in the air before shaking his head. “That’s not what I meant but I’ll be up in a second,” he grumbles, sticking the key into the door.

“Sounds good, we’re in my room,” I inform him before clicking the red button on the screen.

A minute or two passes and I turn to my side, checking to make sure Ellie’s still asleep. Her brows furrow in her sleep and I gnaw on my lip watching her struggle, even in her dreams.

Joel’s footsteps slowly make their way closer to my room and I see his shadowy figure slowly push the door open. He pokes his head in, surveying the room when his eyes land on mine. “Hi,” he greets me with a small smile.

Dear god, he’s going to give me a heart attack. He’s so fucking cute and I find myself lighting up when I see him. A smile creeps onto my face when Joel steps into the room. “Hi,” I whisper before looking back down at Ellie.

“How long's she been out?” I hear Joel ask.

“Only 30 minutes,” I huff out.

My eyes find Joel’s again as he sets the bottle of wine down on my mantel. “Damn it. She’s gonna be mad when I wake her,” he foretells.

My eyes roam up and down his body, savoring how good he looks in the moonlight. His hair has grown a bit longer since Halloween, curling up slightly at the ends. “Maybe she should stay tonight,” I suggest.

Joel shrugs his jacket off, hanging it on a wall hook. “Why?” he asks.

“Come. Sit,” I demand, patting the empty spot at the end of the bed.

Joel kicks his shoes off by his jacket before sauntering over. He lowers his body awkwardly onto the edge of the bed with clasped hands. My hand reaches out towards him and he takes it, allowing me to pull him closer to me.

The warmth of his hands has me reluctant to let go. “Don’t freak out,” I preface once he’s close enough.

His eyes observe my face, and I assume he’s looking for any sign of emotion. “Darlin’, whenever you start a sentence like that I lose my shit,”

“Well, don't,” I command him before my hands slowly move to Ellie’s hoodie. She’s lying on her side with her back facing the both of us, so Joel can’t see her bruised face. I grab the edge of the fabric, pulling it back just enough to reveal the purple circle on her face.

Joel sucks air in through his teeth and his upper body tenses. He leans over a bit more to get a better look at the black eye, dramatically dipping the bed. Ellie seemingly senses this and her body shifts to face us.

Neither I nor Joel take a breath, waiting to see if Ellie’s going to wake up. She lets out a small grunt and her eyes flutter open. “Joel?” she whispers, squinting up at him.

Joel pulls the blanket up, tucking her in. “It’s okay, baby girl. You can go back to sleep,” he reassures her.

“Mmmm okay,” Ellie sighs, snuggling into the pink silk.

I slide towards the end of the mattress, grab Joel's wrist, and pull him into the ensuite bathroom. As soon as the door is closed, I turn around to face him.

The first thing I notice is the prominent scowl on his face and his tense shoulders. “The hell happened to her face?” he grits.

My nose scrunches with disdain. “Don’t fucking snap at me, Joel,” I whisper yell at him.

He crosses the room, trapping me in between the counter and his body with nowhere to move. There’s nowhere for me to move and even if I wanted to, I’m frozen in place. “Fuck. I’m sorry, sugar,” he apologizes, putting his hands on my hips.

His fingers slightly slide under my shirt and I shiver before he lays his full palms on my waist. His eyes flutter closed and he leans closer to me, resting his forehead on mine.

He hums and I know this is just platonic. He doesn’t want you Imogen, he’s just trying to ground himself. “She called me to pick her up around 11. Said the girl was an antagonistic bully. She shoved Ellie and called her a pussy,” I ramble while Joel’s thumbs trace a comforting pattern onto my skin.

He sighs and his eyes stay closed. “Ginny,” he says lowly.

“and Ellie rightfully beat her ass. I’m just saying to go easy on her for the next few days. Bitches are mean and I would’ve fought at 14 too if that cunt stepped to me like that. Did you teach her how to fight? Because she wiped the floor with that girl,” I continue, getting irritated about the situation all over again.

Joel opens his eyes, leaning back a bit. “Ginny,” he repeats.

“Oh, the school probably called you already. If they say I cussed out a parent, they’re fucking liars,” my nostrils flare, but Joel’s no fool. He probably already knows the truth.

My eyes search Joel’s face for any type of reaction before I continue. His face is entirely blank, confusing me more. “Gin—“

“What Joel?” I annoyingly cut him off.

He clears his throat, tucking a stray curl behind my ear. “Thank you,” he says calmly.

I chuckle, shaking my head. “You don’t have to thank me,” I tell him, looking away.

Dejavu clouds my brain when Joel bends his knees, forcing me to look at him. “I do. Ellie’s not your responsibility and she shouldn’t have called you. She should’ve called me,” he reiterates and I try not to get lost in his chocolate irises.

My head nods and I lick my lips, still salty with chip remnants. “Yes but Joel, I would much rather her call me than not say anything at all. What if she got arrested or worse? At least she’s safe. A win is a fucking win,” I argue.

He nods, scratching his eyebrow. “She talk to you after?” he asks.

“Mmhm,” I answer.

“How was she?” he follows up.

I shift to lean on my other leg. “Quiet. Usually, the first thing she does when she sees me is regurgitate one of your dad jokes, but she’s barely said a word since we got back,” I note.

“Damn it,” Joel swears, pacing around the large bathroom. “Damn it,” he grits a little louder.

He runs his hands through his hair, slightly tugging at the roots. “What should I do?” he asks, voice laced with concern.

I gnaw on my lip faced once again with the fear of telling Joel how to parent. He stops pacing, waiting for me to answer. “Joel, I don’t know,” I sigh, quite frankly stressed the fuck out.

He shakes his head and lets out a client grunt. “You do. You’re just bitin' your tongue because you don’t want to step on my toes,” he speaks with his hands.

I step forward, grabbing his hands to try and soothe him. His calloused palms feel rough against my smooth moisturized ones. “Just be there for her and love her. Just keep loving her Joel,” I advise.

He adjusts our palms so his hands are on the outside. “Okay. Thank you, again,” he grunts.

The silence between us is comfortable, but Joel’s blinking is slow. “You look tired. Go lay down next to Ellie while I make my bed in the spare room,” I instruct him, pulling him towards the door.

His feet drag on the tile beneath us. “I can help you,” he offers.

I release one of his hands, sliding the door open. “You can help me by making me breakfast in the morning. I’m sleepy too,” I bargain, hoping he’ll make some bacon.

“Okay,” Joel whispers as we leave the bathroom. I part ways with him, heading down the hall to make up the extra bed for him. It only takes a few minutes and when I get back to my room, I catch a glimpse of Joel lying horizontally over my footboard.

As I come closer, I see both he and Ellie are asleep. He’s on top of the covers, having shed his jeans, holding Ellie’s feet through the duvet.

I shake my head, too tired to bother waking him. He grumbles as I slide into the warmth of the bed and I roll my eyes. I didn’t expect to share my bed with one human tonight, let alone two.

I pull the covers up, careful not to kick Joel in the face as I situate myself. Like magic, my eyes close and I’m asleep within minutes.

As soon as I can form a thought, I feel a chill hit my feet. I instantly swipe them around the sheets, searching for my electric blanket. My legs intertwine a warm item and I attempt to hide my face behind Ellie’s body.

A few moments pass and I hear snickers in the room. “Go back to sleep, sugar,” I hear the man’s voice say and I try my best to ignore it.

I groan, melting further into the warm body next to me. It’s far too early to be thinking about anything but more sleep. “Shut up, then,” I mumble.

This time the laugh is loud and deep, and it comes from underneath me. The realization that I’m curled into Joel right now sends panic up my ass.

My eyes open wide and I shoot up into a sitting position, scrambling back away from Joel. Joel reaches out to grab me but I underestimate how big my bed is when I’m suddenly tumbling backwards on the floor.

My body connects with the ground with a loud thud. “Oooo,” I hear Ellie groan.

Joel peers over the edge of the mattress. “You alright?” he checks, voice laced with concern.

My hand pushes his out of the way. “I’m fine. Just got spooked. Not used to people being here is all,” I partially lie.

The problem isn’t with them staying here, it’s my feelings for Joel. “Sorry we scared you darlin’,” Joel apologizes.

Rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, I stand from the floor. “It’s okay. Shit. What time is it?” I ask the two sitting on top of my bed.

Ellie shovels another forkful of pancakes into her mouth. “11:30,” she mumbles through chewing.

My eyes go wide and I feel an oncoming spiral approaching. My chest gets tight as the panic sets in. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I swear, looking for my phone under the 5 layers of blankets. “The bakery opened 3 hours ago,” I tell them, patting the top of the covers to find my phone.

Joel grabs my wrist, ceasing any movement I’m making. “Relax. I checked with Grace. They’re doin' fine,” he reports with a small smile.

The gaze lingers between us for a moment too long causing a sizzling feeling to linger in the air. Joel looks down at where we connect, quickly pulling his hand back. “Ginny, come on. Joel made breakfast,” Ellie beams before popping a crispy slice of bacon in her mouth.

I rub my eyes, trying to get out any crust that might be in them. “You did?” I ask.

Joel nods and I admire his bedhead. “Least I could do, sugar,” he says nonchalantly.

Ellie stands from the bed, holding her empty plate in her hands. I follow after her, excited to soothe my rumbling stomach.

Once we’re in the kitchen, I’m hit with the realization that I hate cooking. There hasn’t been food in my house since last Thanksgiving. “Where did you get the bacon?” I ask Joel over my shoulder.

“Stopped by my place earlier,” Joel discloses.

My heart warms and a smile so big covers my face it hurts. “Joel, that’s so nice,” I remark.

Ellie darts past us, putting her dishes in the dishwasher. “I have to keep working on the wall. Thanks for breakfast, Joel,” she bids us goodbye, rushing across the room.

Joel hands me a plate and I accept it, loading it up with some fresh fruit first. “You’re welcome, kiddo,” Joel replies.

“See you in a bit, El,” I call to her.

“Look, I have to go. My brother Tommy is comin' round and he doesn't come round often,” Joel says, awkwardly tapping the counter with his pointer finger.

My jaw drops and I peer up at him with regret. “Oh fuck, Joel. You should’ve woke me up,” I whine.

Joel slowly shakes his head. “Mmm, didn’t want to. You look cute when you sleep,” he compliments.

My eyes widen and I look down at my plate, praying I don’t drop it. Joel fucking Miller just called me cute. “I’m sorry,” I apologize.

“Don’t apologize. I made the decision,” Joel’s morning voice sounds like a melody to my ears.

I nod, unsure of what to say. I pick up a piece of bacon, moaning at the perfect crispiness of the meat. “Well, enjoy breakfast. Thanks again for Ellie,” Joel pipes up.

“Of course. Bye, Joel,” I wave at him as he follows his daughter.

“Bye,” Joel calls over his shoulder with a smile.

My head throws back with a groan as I shuffle towards my couch. A faint knocking sound rasps on the wooden door and I pause my movements. I wait for another knock and when I don’t hear anything, I dust it out of my mind. I sit on the couch before I hear a knock again, this time louder. My feet carry me down the stairs to my back door and when I turn the corner, I see Joel’s side profile.

He looks stressed so I quickly yank the door open. “Did you forget your knife again?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “No, sweetheart. I’m sorry for botherin’ you,” he apologizes, putting one hand on the door frame.

He leans onto the side of the bakery and the wood groans beneath him. “What’s wrong?” I ask.

He clears his throat, seemingly uncomfortable. “Are you free tomorrow?” he asks.

My brows furrow and I pull my cardigan closed over my inevitably hard nipples. “Uh, I can be. Why?” I sputter.

He closes his eyes for a moment, inhaling a harsh breath. “Maybe I’m readin’ this wrong,” he sighs.

“Reading what wrong?” I ask.

Joel removes his hand from the wall, straightening his back. “Nevermind. I’ll see you later,” he mumbles.

My eyes dart left and right. Am I in the fucking twilight zone right now? “Umm okay,” I utter.

“Bye, sugar,” he says before taking a step back, putting what feels like a mile in between us.

Somehow, I feel a pang of disappointment in my stomach that I’ve missed something. “Bye,” I say to him, stepping back and shutting the door.

Ginny without a kiss - 2, Ginny with a kiss - 0

read the rest of the series.

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changingplumbob · 5 months

Text

Pancakes Household: Chapter 9, Part 5

Eliza and Bob consider adoption.

Nicknames: Bob = Sleek, Eliza = Jumble

With the kids in bed Eliza set about doing a few chores that needed her attention. Bob was always happy to let puddles dry themselves but Eliza liked a clean floor, I don’t know what her excuse for mopping the puddle outside was… After she settled in to relax and cross stitch, choosing to try a fox pattern. She settles to try talking to Bob about adoption, he might like the idea.

Eliza: How was your shift

Bob: Busy but fun. That critic didn’t show up again thank goodness, I swear he’s a plague on the restaurant

Eliza: Sleek, I was talking to Kayleigh about wanting a third kid, because I do want one, and she suggested adoption

Bob: Adoption? I thought we were going to try properly once Fergus is a teen

Eliza: I know that’s what we agreed to but- would you consider us adopting a little girl instead of me having another pregnancy

Bob: Of course! I love you Jumble. Whether our kids come from us or not, they’re going to be our kids

Eliza: *sighs* oh thank goodness because I did not want to go through labour again

Bob: *laughs* Fergus did take his sweet time coming into the world, longest 48 hours of my life

Eliza: I know the waitlists can be long but... you could talk to Aaron? As a lawyer maybe he could put in a good word somewhere

Bob: I’m sure he would. Besides, giving birth has already done wonderful things to your body

Eliza: *blushes* I’m pretty sure it’s your food that’s done it but... care for an inspection

Bob: Don’t have to ask me twice Mrs critic

Eliza: We should let the kids know what we’re doing

Bob: And you think we can request a girl

Eliza: Jumble, who does the cleaning? I know all about your stash of pink infant clothes you’ve been making since we got married. Just try and get them to stop me making that money well spent

Bob: I mean I know they might grow up to not be a girl but while they’re small and can’t complain I do want to wrap them in pink

Eliza: *chuckles* You’re such a softie

Bob: Oh here they are, morning stack!

Fergus: Stack?

Bob: Because we’re a group of Pancakes

Onyx: I will not be including that in a comedy set

Eliza: Listen, your dad and I have been talking and… we’re going to try an adopt an infant. How would you two feel about that

Onyx: Would I get babysitting money

Fergus: Can we do adorable photoshoots

Bob: Well one of us would try be home with her while she’s an infant but maybe once she’s a toddler you can help out

Fergus: It’s going to be a girl?

Eliza: We hope so but it will depend on who out there needs a home

Their parents leave and Onyx and Fergus continue to chat for a while. Overall, they think a little sister could be cute, and photography loving Fergus wants to take a bazillion pictures already.

Onyx: Maybe having a cute baby around will make it easier to convince mother to buy me a horse

Eliza: I heard that! We are thinking on it dear, just keep walking Ginger for now

In the kitchen Bob decides to make some French toast to keep, he loves having leftovers in the fridge. Down beside him Ginger is being assistant chef, barking her approval now and then and finishing off a piece Bob deemed too well cooked to go in the pile.

Eliza: So you can fit us in this morning? Yes my husband’s shift doesn’t start until the afternoon so we’d be happy to come in for the interview. Do we need to bring anything

Onyx: Hey dad

Bob: Yes?

Onyx: I just wanted to say, and this isn’t about getting a horse I promise

Bob: Okay

Onyx: I hope you and mother can sort it out. You’re always kind to me and I think any kid would benefit from being raised by the two of you

Bob: Thanks kid, come here *hugs*

School time! Can I finally get a shot of the lot in the sun? Nope. Too cloudy *sighs*. Carson is spending the time before class on the computers resting his asthma while Artemisia is making use of the workout equipment upstairs. To my complete and utter shock the principal is actually using his office!

Onyx feels like studying for the exams, can’t let their grades slip if they want to earn a horse. They’ve just finished off the chapter when a girl enters the room looking very confused.

Onyx: Hi can I help

Scarlett: Classes haven’t started already have they

Onyx: Nope, I just find that math class is usually a quieter place than the library before school. Are you lost?

The girl furrows her brow and sits on the desk beside them.

Scarlett: A little. It’s my first day

Onyx: Happy belated birthday

Scarlett: *laughs* Thanks

Onyx: My younger brother is starting this week, he might be in your class

Scarlett: I’ll look out for him. What’s his name

Onyx: Fergus

Scarlett: Got it. Do you know where I go to get to art class

Onyx: Sure do. So out the door if you head towards the lockers, turn left before the stairs then take the next left and you’ll be in the art corridor

The bell rings and Scarlett thanks Onyx before dashing out of the room as students begin to drift in.

Previous ... Next

#sims 4 #the sims #the sims 4 #simblr #my sims #ChangingPlumbobStorytime #R0904 #BobPancakes #ElizaPancakes #OnyxPancakes #FergusPancakes

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helloescapist · 1 year

Text

Bento Confessionals | Tamaki Amajiki

Word Count: 3395

Setting: Amajiki Tamaki x gn!reader; SFW; short, tsundere reader

Content Warning(s): cursing, mention of gore/blood/head wound

Summary: as a recovery quirk, it is your duty to care about the well being of your patients, t-that's all this is! You caring about a reoccuring patient, and wanting to minimize your own quirk inflicted symptoms. T-that's all! Y-yup! N-not because you like him, or anything!

[not my art, credit goes to the artist!]

Fingers threaded through rice, delicately rotating your wrist as the scowl met your brow. Idiot, you practically hissed.

Your cheeks burning as you told yourself to focus on the task at hand. This rice requires a thorough rinse, as well as rest time. Then, you would need to focus on preparing the rest of the bento. The mountain of ingredients undeniable for the amount of work ahead of you. You wouldn’t have to do this if he wasn’t so accident prone. The bend of your left arm tender as you filled the rice maker with practiced hands. Your family kitchen warm and glowing, your dad occasionally peeking in to check in on your progress, you had wanted to tell yourself that it was because you had received permission from Principal Nezu to spend the weekend at home. The U.A. dorm’s kitchens were adequate enough, but not for what you had in mind. No, the occupation hazard of your father as a renowned chef, his own quirk Hyperosmia garnishing him quite the crowd. The ability to sniff out potential hazardous materials ensured the highest quality, and even offered him the rare licensure to prepare puffer fish, awarded only to fugu chefs. It was clear success would be more likely here, under his direction. The best results within grasp, except... you wanted to tell yourself that he was just happy to see you, but there was a certain knowing smirk that your father quipped. The way his cheeks raised knowingly causing his eyes to squint with glee. Unable to escape his gaze. “You look so much like your mother right now,” he had teased with affection before you threatened him out of the kitchen. This is different! You flared, feeling your nostrils wiggle in annoyance, the heat reaching your cheeks as you glared down at your left arm.

The telling signs of bruising both old and new tender to the bend of your elbow. Small noticeable indentures piercing the flesh, revealing the frequency of needle usage. Yes, this was different. It wasn’t that. It was for you. Not him. Well, the food was for him, but the intention was to ward off any unnecessary blood loss. You repeated, the growing agitation rising in your features. The way your thoughts wandered to his last visit to Recovery Girl’s office.

His visits weren’t as often as they used to be. When you had first started U.A., his visits were practically daily. His anxiety giving way to open opportunities for well, a lot of blind sides if you were being honest, and the high competition of U.A. ensured that any adversary that faced him in sparing practiced seized the chance to raise their level. The very first time your paths had crossed was in your first year. Assigned to a different class, you had been in the middle of your own practice before Present Mic had burst into the practice grounds, screaming at your instructor, urging him for assistance. A recovery quirk, any recovery quirk would have done—Recovery Girl had been away from the school, and they needed someone just to stop the bleeding. Up your hand went, and the next thing you knew, he had snatched it and charged off to the nurse’s room, his rush leaving you without a clue of what was going on, or what to expect.

The scene had been a lot more gruesome than you had imagined it would be. Blood meddled in indigo hued- hair. The gore of flesh marred unidentifiable lieson. The mess of spiky wayward hair making it difficult to locate the source of the bleeding. Gauze stuck at odd ends, a panicked attempt to slow the contusion. The wave of nausea that hit you, as the inflicted patient looked up at you with equally wide eyes. Red tipped elven ears and uncoordinated waves of his hands. Mumbling something about he wasn’t worth the trouble. He’s sorry. Don’t mind him, even attempting to squish his face into the corner of the bed to hide his face, his blood loss making him confused. His unaware of sense of his surroundings landing him falling forward into your chest. His skin felt clammy to the touch, pallor touching his already pale features, and his breathing was rapid. Struggled between murmured horrified whispers, anxiety? Agitation? Oh god, Hypovolemic Shock, you had told yourself. Present Mic stating that your job was to simply starve off the symptoms until the ambulance arrived to retrieve him for immediate care. Doing your best to thumb your way through his locks, he had begun to swat you away. The red of his ears horrified. If it had not been for a fellow classmate, a blonde that stood much taller than you with a sunny disposition holding him down, you would have never been able to find the source of his bleeding, but as soon as you had located it, you instructed Present Mic to raid Recovery Girl’s desk, an adventure none had dared to tread. A scalpel would have been ideal, or perhaps even a razor, but when he presented you with scissors meant to ease bandages off of students, you accepted that obviously, Recovery Girl hadn’t much need for blades in her office. She could simply smooch the wound away, and so, you accepted it. Expecting you to clear the clumsily gauze from his head, Present Mic had released a banshee wail as you dug the scissors into your arm. Biting back the agony as you flayed your arm, digging forth to produce a sizeable amount of blood. The inflicted patient having lost a sense of struggle, growing more and more unresponsive by the moment, the blood that held him looking up at you with his mouth dropped as he kept the boy from falling from the bed. The thought of potential blood pathogens hadn’t crossed your mind—despite how many times Recovery Girl had drilled it into your head. You simply ran on instinct, guided by adrenaline. Activating your quirk, Cascade. Utilizing the blood that you had garnished from self-inflicted laceration, and forcing your own blood onto his abrasion. You did your best to expedite the healing process.

Yes, it had been some time since he had visited Recovery Girl’s office. In time, he had grown, well not more confident. Time had taught you that his horrified response to your assistance the first day you met was in fact, not agitation brought on by blood loss, but rather, a manifestation of his own anxiety. Rather, he had grown more capable of utilizing his quirk. Gathered the ability to respond, his reflexes had vastly grown, or perhaps he had managed to crawl out of his head enough to actually activate it appropriately—whatever the case, it had been some time since you had a visit from him. Which left you with a with a sense of melancholy. On one hand, you were relieved not to have to utilize your quirk as much (although there would always be the need, you had discovered that through blood donation, that your quirk remained active, and thus you were able to supply a reserve of quirk attained blood), but you felt almost... abandoned. You had gone from near daily visits in your first year, occasional drop ins in your second year, and now rare moments of passing in your third year. He had come a long way--- you both had, but why did you miss the struggle he put up. If anything, you should have especially been pleased to have been rid of him. Treating someone with such a low opinion of themselves was difficult, especially when they refuted the care, and yet, when he appeared in front of you, thankfully for a check in at Recovery Girl’s insistence. Shot, he had been shot? Gritted teeth as you cursed him out. His head bowed in apology, not bothering to argue. In fact, he had agreed that he had caused unnecessary stress to that of his Pro-Hero Fat Gum, and that of his companion, Red Riot. Especially for a wound that didn’t seem to exist (you had only realized after you had been far to willing to slice open your arm once again, next to the scar you had claimed at your first encounter, Recovery Girl smacking you with her cane at your over eager response). The blush as she examined him, stethoscope pressed to his bare chest, as you adverted your eyes. Gah, why was this pissing you off so much. Doing your best to jot down the observations she had made on his chart, pencil pressed firmly in your hand. Watched his even breathing, bore witness that there had not been a single scrape across his delicate features. His sugilite eyes catching yours, widening, and quickly adverting. Passing his own blush to you, causing you to practically growl. What? WHAT? What was with that?? Y-You were only doing your job! H-how dare he act like you were- were doing something s-scandalous! D-Doesn’t he know that this is your job? Y-you do this every day… Shock spreading through your features as the pencil snapped between your fingers. Your shoulders dropping as Recovery Girl’s knowing giggle filled the room.

From his charts, you had learned that his quirk was activated by digestion. The DNA breakdown of what he consumed would become available for him to borrow for the duration it remained in his system. N-not that you had read his chart specifically, it was common practice to review them after each visit r-regardless of who the patient might have been. Which was how you had found yourself, agonizing over vast ingredients. Layers of unusual compounds at the ready, the opportunity to seize your father’s kitchen haven given you access to quality ingredients, and his unnecessary insistence on poking in when something had begun to smell too done. Braised oxtails simmering in soy, well apparently not enough soy sauce your father had murmured from the living room. “D-Damn it,” you hissed. T-this was only because the sports festival was near. Y-yup! That was it!

“Watch your mouth,” your mother growled back, her temper only cooled by your father’s gentle reassurance as he whispered something in her ear. A rare occasion, normally by now she would be pursuing you with a ladle. Instead, she merely scoffed at his words before waving herself away, decidedly stepping off on to the veranda to be rid of your cursing at boiling pots, flared at the gross way octopus tentacles wiggled under your fingers, and the resistance the clams had put up in response to your prodding.

If he’s just going to make comments like that, why doesn’t he just cook it himself, you had thought frustrated. The knowing response of a father who had cared for a stubborn child for all of your seventeen years warm at the kitchen entrance, his hand caught on the noren curtain. “It means more coming from the heart. You can do this,” he reassured. Comforting and knowing, as gentle as the hands that had guided you in the kitchen over the years, you fought back the burn on your cheeks. Y-You were only doing this to prevent yourself from suffering from another bout of anemia. N-no other reason, but damn it if you didn’t swat away your mother’s insistence to help. Her sighing saying that if you were really that frustrated, she wouldn’t tell your father--- nope. Her assistance hadn’t been born out of annoyance for the way your furrowed at the pots and pans before you, and admittedly, a trait you had received from her, but rather the late hour, but the rather familiarity from having once stood where you were so many decades before. A young girl in love with a boy who treasured food, and desperate to catch his attention, b-but this was different, you told yourself as you worked into the late hours. Layer by layer, your over eagerness to avoid anemia, strictly anemia as you packed a three-tiered bento to the best of your abilities. Mindful of the necessary rice, of the sushi you had delicately prepared, teriyaki flavored chicken feet, gyoza packed with a unique blend your father had recommended, kaarage with the hint of lemon, tender ikayaki with a delicate sauce composed of squid ink, blistered shishito peppers, and a variety of vegetable sides. Because somehow, once you started… it just didn’t seem enough. After all, this was your blood at steak, right? Right. Blissfully unaware of the exquisite meaning of the crane that decorated the top of the box, told yourself you would only rest your head for a moment before inevitably dozing off at the kitchen table.

“Ah, [F/N],” your mother sighed, “why is this child like this?” The warmth undeniable in her eyes as she glanced at you from the kitchen doorway. Your father pressed his forehead against her temple.

“Wonder why,” he had laughed warmly before setting himself to work. Carefully coating your shoulders in a spare blanket before carefully handling the bento as though it were glass. He wrapped it tenderly. Remembering the day he had been presented a bento, sneaking in a few slice of prepared variety of articianal jerkies he had crafted made from squid, clams, octopus, and even puffer fish. He had intended it to be a promotional item for his restaurant, but recalling the gusto you had demonstrated when you had burst into his restaurant, asking to utilize ingredients of a variety of properties. The way you had listened intently to the details about the ingredients, but even going so far as to question the properties of the sources they had been derived from, he was reminded of the child that had eagerly hung to his apron all those years ago. Shy, but determined, caring, but stubborn, yes. His little one had grown up so much, and this seemed so much more important than any promotional campaign, he had concluded as he folded it into the fabric of the bento.

You had little recollection of how you had fallen asleep at your family table. Bewilder to wake to hear your mother muttering about having a child who sleeps like this as she turned over a grilled fish. Tsking her tongue as she did so, Your eyes widened to the bento before you, already prepared for the day. “Oi, you,” your mother asserted, the slight annoyance in her voice, “You had better not be doing this at school. If you catch a cold, who will take care of you, hm?”

“I-I don’t--,” you started, only to be interrupted by your father, sitting opposite of you at the table.

The sip of his coffee, “your mother laid out your backup uniform. She made sure to iron it, and found your favorite accessory at the back of your drawer so you could loo---“.

“OI!” Your mother practically bellowed. “You, hush” she jabbed chopsticks at your father. Ignoring the light chuckle, he released into his mug before turning her attention to you, “and You! Gyou look like a kuwazu nyobo. Do you have a mouth hidden under that mess of hair? Confessing like that, hm? Go brush!”

“D-damn it! It’s not like that!” You retorted.

The gentle tap of your father’s coffee cup against the table as he flipped through his culinary magazine, completely unbothered and unmoved by the morning commotion “you’ll be late.” The draw of your eyes to the kitchen clock before the horrifying realization that he was in fact correct jostling you forward. A flurry of clothes tossed about, discarding your casual clothes. Wiggling into your school uniform, tugging at the buttons of your collar. Hopping on one foot to secure your socks. You would have forgotten the bento if it were not for your mother chastising you at the door. Bidding her farewell before slamming the door behind you. Missing the exchange between your mother and father. One recounting how they lively the house feels when you are home, and the other asking if they’re prepared to hand you over to someone else. The small smile tucked at your father’s lips. “He’s a nice boy,” he whispered, to only himself. Recalling a customer who stopped by for jerky from time to time, a unique quirk to harness his meals.

Oh, you had fought yourself for some time. Thanks to your father’s insistent on time, you had THANKFULLY arrived before the masses. Securing enough time for an internal dialogue dispute between yourself. One part of you too petrified to leave the bento on his desk—what if it was the wrong desk? What if it was confused for a c-confession? I-It wasn’t like that! Before inevitably giving in, the rage of your embarrassment forcing you to slam down the bento. DAMN IT. The sudden realization you may have thrown the dishes together on accident, damn it damn it damn it. You hissed to yourself as you skyrocketed out of the classroom. Your own curiosity, well maybe sense of shame, drawing you back to the classroom door. Peeking as students filled in. Stating that you simply needed to see Haya to ask a question. Ducking from Haya’s view as she entered the classroom, realizing that you didn’t have the courage to fumble through some horrid excuse to your erratic behavior. On bent knees, peeking between the crack of the classroom door as you watched Amajiki Tamkai stare down at the bento. His eyebrows noticeably drawn as he wiped his head each and every way. The giggle of classmates witnessing his obscured behavior. Mirio grinning as he patted his friend’s back. Hado’s eyes sparkling, her joyful cheer obvious as she encouraged him to open it.

“I-It must be a mistake,” he had muttered, considering scooting it to the desk next to him.

Mirio shook his head, gleeful as he pulled at the fabric. “This is your desk, it’s for you!”

“P-poison?” he whispered, tempted to settle for the corner of the classroom, but Mirio’s hand was firm at his shoulder. Poison, your mouth dropped. S-sure, your cooking skills required some fine tuning, but poison? W-What?

Hado shook her head, “Ah, Tamaki, it’s not poison, silly! It’s a declaration of love!” The hearts practically dancing around her as your face dropped from where you snooped. N-no it wasn’t! Your heart pounding as the red of his cute elven ears began to burn. His eyes shifting nervously as Hado prodded his side, begging him to open it. The burn spreading form your cheeks to your ears before finding its mark down your neck.

His fingers were trembling, fumbling with the fabric as Mirio and Hado leaned over his shoulder. Both enticed by their friend’s situation. The affection and pride clear on their faces as they glanced over the many offerings. The size of the bento clearly… too much. Y-yup too much. N-no! Not too much! This was your blood at stake after a-all. “I-I can’t eat all of this,” he muttered as his hand found his lips. His shoulders raised up. Your heart nothing more than a pounding in your ears. A small smile drawing to your lips… a-adorable.

Mirio thumbing through the various… jerkies? Dad, your hand cupping your own mouth now, unable to hear their interaction further. Tamaki’s shy expression growing and threatening to become a puddle. Warm and affectionate, c-clearly thinking it’s more than---

“Hmm? Amajiki?” Haya stopped by his desk. Her red short hair tilted from view, Her skirt ruffled slightly as she quipped an eyebrow, her fingers pinching at the fabric beneath the bento curiously. Leaning forward to inspect it closer. The faint green gingham prints evident, and the little teddies that were scattered across the fabric having drawn her attention, “Isn’t this [L/N]’s?”

OH NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. You thought with horror. Haya, that traitor! The undignified squeal you released, scattering backwards before landing on your bottom. Quick to snag your bag and hall ass towards the nurse’s room, your hide away. Leaving a tornado mess in your wake, flutter of papers, shaken windows, a real mess. As The Big Three watched your retreat. Amajiki’s eyes widen and mystified. Hado and Mirio stifling a laugh, and Haya, that traitor, stating plainly, “not exactly discreet.” Only when you had made it to the safety of the confines of the nurse’s room, did it occur to you… you would have to retrieve the bento at some point. Sliding yoru back down to the floor, hands capturing your eyes as you hid the blush from sight, and ignored Recovery Girl’s obvious concern. W-what was that? H-how is he so… CUTE?

T-Tamaki had clearly misunderstood the s-situation! R-right? Just a m-misunderstanding...

#bnha x reader #boku no hero academia #tamaki amajiki #tamaki amajiki x reader #suneater x reader #bento confessionals

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