🥪☕ CoWorkers AU

((You’re a teacher btw))

You've spent the last few years teaching at a school where murder isn’t just tolerated—it’s practically part of the curriculum.

It’s lunchtime now. The teachers’ lounge is quiet, save for the hum of the vending machine and the distant echo of students screaming—whether in joy or terror, it’s hard to tell anymore.

You’re seated at the far end of the lounge when Miss Bloomie settles beside you without a word. Her presence is sharp, unsettling. The box-cutter blade that serves as her left arm rests against the table, gleaming faintly under the flickering fluorescent lights. She bites into her sandwich with unnerving precision, her snake-like canines slicing through bread and meat as if dissecting a specimen.

Then, without ceremony, she speaks.

Miss Bloomie: “Hello.”

Her voice is cold, clipped—like frost on glass. She doesn’t smile. Just a sideways glance, black eyes unreadable.