Jenna Ortega One Shots (x Female Reader)

Hell is a Handmade Card (W.A.)

i'm a day late sorry pookies ;(( kinda going through it mentally but imy guys <33

Wednesday makes you a Valentine's Day card.

I despise Valentine's Day, more than I despise birthdays and God awful Christmas. The very notion of celebrating love with saccharine sentiments and garish displays of affection makes my skin crawl - and not in the good way. But for Y/n, I'm willing to endure the agony of embracing such repulsive festivities.

Y/n, with her radiant smile, twinkling eyes, and kind heart, has somehow managed to infiltrate the fortress of my dark, solitary existence. Although I can't fathom why, she finds joy in the colorful and the sentimental; a stark contrast to my penchant for all things morbid and macabre. Yet, despite our differences, she accepts me wholly, my nightmarish quirks and all. She doesn't try to change me like most fail to do, and for that, my appreciation for her runs deeper than my extensive ancestry.

Evidenced by the throbbing in my temples, I find myself grappling with the concept of expressing my love in a manner that would resonate with Y/n. It is quite the foreign terrain - both the all-consuming emotion and the calendar date - littered with bright hues and flowery prose that makes me want to retch.

Nevertheless, it's in my determined nature to make her happy, even if it means venturing into the daunting realm of sentimentality. Simply put - she adores the wretched holiday, and I adore her. So participating in one day of vomit-inducing pinks and reds is one of the many sacrifices I'm willing to make for her.

So here I am, armed with parchment, ink, and the overly-eager assistance of Thing, set out to create a Valentine's Day card worthy of Y/n's affectionate approval. The task proves to be more difficult than I anticipated, as my aversion to vibrant colors and sappy vernacular clashes with the conventional symbols of love - but I've never been one to back down from a challenge.

With each stroke of the quill, I struggle to convey emotions that are foreign to me. How does one articulate feelings of adoration without succumbing to clichés and trite expressions? I find myself cursing the limitations of language, longing for the simplicity of minimal words that are more attuned to my comfort level. But alas, Y/n is worth worlds more than the minimum.

In the depths of my despair, a spark of inspiration ignites as I study the polaroid photo of Y/n and I from the Rave'N Dance. She looked particularly dashing that night, and in remembering the strange, yet welcomed feeling of her warm body being so close to mine for the first time, I feel a fluttering surge in my stomach that, despite myself, I've grown quite fond of. The sensation reminds me of when I let 3,000 tarantulas loose in my elementary school - ensuing a chaotic mess of 24,000 tickling legs and murderous shrieks of terror - and Y/n is the only human alive who can conjure that same feeling within my intenses. And so, I combine the darkness within me with this newly accustomed glow, infusing the card with touches of my own morbid sensibilities in tandem with the sweet nothings that I know Y/n would wish to hear. The result is, of course, a masterpiece of juxtaposition, a blend of the macabre and the sentimental, crafted with painstaking care.

"What do you think, Thing?" I ask my decapitated companion, who signs an enthusiastic thumbs up. I trust his opinion, as he and Y/n have grown to be "besties", as she put it. Feeling satisfied with my hard work and dedication, I seal the letter with a metallic red heart sticker, despite the way it burns my fingertips to the touch.

I've never been one to be nervous - I believe it's a useless and unproductive emotion - but Y/n has made a habit, without even trying, of introducing these unfamiliar sensations within me. I curse her for it, because my hands shouldn't be this shaky and my throat shouldn't be this parched as I knock on her dorm room door. You would think my nerves would dissipate when the door opens to reveal her beautifully ecstatic face, but alas - they only seem to intensify with anxious anticipation.