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cobaltperun · 4 months ago

Text

Eternal Flame - Runaway Train

Cover by @ortegalvr

Jenna Ortega x female Reader

Summary: For her it’s a passion, for you it’s an accident. And as she continues shining brighter and brighter with each role you are left mesmerized, drawn to her flame and cherishing every time she lets herself be vulnerable with you.

Masterlist / Next part

Word count: 6.2k

-You were there like a slow torch burning, I was a key that could use a little turning-

“The world still sucks!” the shout woke you up, but your doors being slammed open made you jump to your feet from the couch. Somehow even in your confused state you managed to recognize the voice of your best friend and self-appointed back-up manager for your career that would soon be restarted. At least according to Barbara, the same girl that just burst through your front door like she owned the place.

“So does your ability to knock,” you complained, reaching up to fix your bed hair, just fixing whatever you could with your fingers. You ended up falling asleep on the couch while reading through some scripts Barbara managed to get for you. Asshole. Sending e-mails in your name.

You didn’t have to look at her to know she just rolled her eyes and sat down on your couch. Flipping through the script parts you received. “Don’t pretend you’re getting something from the kitchen!” she called you out on your habit the moment you went toward the kitchen, and you winced, sometimes hating how well she knew you. You still poured yourself a glass of apple juice. “At least bring me a glass too,” you winced again at that.

“If you can barge into my apartment, you can get it yourself,” you grumbled, still feeling sleepy. You should have made a coffee, or tea, or something that would wake you up. You went back to the couch and sat down next to Barbara, smirking slightly as she tried her best to glare at you. You even made a show out of slowly sipping on the apple juice, just to see her pout.

“Mean,” she complained and looked away. You had to admit it was a cute pout. Barbara was beautiful, you were more than aware of that. A bit above average in height, just over 5 foot 6, she had a beautiful face, striking blue eyes, and blonde hair as straight as she was, which was a 100%, not a single atom in her body was attracted to anyone that wasn’t a man.

“You love it, babe,” you still teased one another every now and then. Even if she wasn’t straight there was no way you could ever see her as anything but your best friend. The teasing was just there for light-hearted fun.

Barbara hummed and suddenly tried to grab your glass, only for you to lift it out of her reach. “You have no heart,” she sighed and gave up on drinking the apple juice unless she got up, and you knew her pride wouldn’t let her do it. “Did anything catch your eye?” she asked, pointing a finger at the scripts.

“I dunno. How did you even get this many scripts?” there were four scripts in total. There was one for psychological thriller that would require you to go to Italy, one for a superhero movie, one for a reboot of the Scream franchise and finally for a pilot episode for TV drama.

Barbara shrugged and patted you on the back. “The comeback of a child star that won several awards and was nominated for a bunch for her first and only role? You’d be surprised how effective that pitch is,” she laughed as you facepalmed.

“You… I’m not even going to say anything,” you sighed, glancing through the window. You weren’t sure how it happened, you just auditioned because it seemed fun and Barbara dared you to do it, and then you ended up getting the role, got the taste of the industry, the work and dedication it took and just figured you didn’t want to spend your childhood like that. But now, close to turning twenty, you figured you might give it a shot again. Even if you were still a bit reluctant to go back to that world.

It wasn’t the work, you could do it now. But now that it’s been several years since your movie came out in 2017 and even more years since you filmed it back in 2013 and 2014, you found it difficult to motivate yourself to give it a shot. After all, how do you follow the success of it?

You didn’t notice Barbara’s eyes softening. “You worry too much,” she pointed out nudged you lightly.

You couldn’t help but smile at that. “Yeah,” you went and picked up the script for Scream. “I think this should be fun, though going to Italy could be fun as well, and it’s a good story, dark, but good,” you narrowed it down to two choices and took your phone. You had some calls to make. Not before you went and brought a glass of apple juice for Barbara though.

~X~

The August heat in Los Angeles wasn’t something you liked experiencing, especially when you were already feeling quite nervous standing in front of the building where Radio Silence Production office was. ‘Get it together, you know how these go,’ you berated yourself, you had a successful movie behind you, granted, you weren’t the one responsible for the success. And you had your current job, if this failed you were perfectly comfortable with not being an actress.

Even if Barbara would get on your nerves for it for the rest of your life.

You took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, the role was actually perfect for you, as if written with you in mind. About as close to action as you figured most horror movies would get you, and your proficiency with martial arts was a huge bonus when combined with physically fitting the description of your character. You were a bit taller, but everything else fit well enough.

A bit too well in some ways. But first you needed to go through the chemistry testing with the actress they were considering for the role of Tara Carpenter, your love interest and the character around who the entire plot would revolve in some ways, since she was the sister of the main character and the victim of the first attack, setting everything in motion. Tara was to be the glue for the new main trio of her, her sister and your character, and from what you heard the actress, Jenna Ortega, already did an amazing job with the actress cast to play Sam Carpenter.

With another deep breath you went inside the building. The air conditioning immediately provided you with a much-needed relief as you made your way up the stairs, ignoring the elevator that was right there. A minute or two later you were in front of the office doors. You knocked twice and the door opened, revealing one of the directors of the movie, Matt.

“Come in, come in,” he certainly looked excited as he ushered you inside, you were ten minutes early, but it was clear you were the last one to arrive.

“Damn, should have gotten here earlier,” you rubbed the back of your neck uncomfortably, being the last to arrive, even if you did come here earlier than expected, was never fun.

“It’s all good, I was just telling Jenna about the scene the two of you will do together,” Matt motioned toward a beautiful girl that looked like she was one or maybe two years younger than you, dressed perfectly between casual and professional, and that seemed a bit familiar, but you couldn’t quite remember where you’ve seen her before.

You looked to the side as you tried to remember where you knew her from. She was sitting next to an older woman, you guessed mid or late forties, that looked a lot like her, so you assumed it was her mother.

“That’s a relief,” you approached the girl and offered your hand to her. “Y/N L/N, nice to meet you,” you smiled, too late realizing the mask hid your smile, as she stood up and accepted the handshake.

“I’m Jenna Ortega, pleasure to meet you too,” her handshake was firm, but even more than that, her voice finally made it click where you knew her from. They would really be dumb if they didn’t hire her, considering just how amazing she was in You season 2.

You nodded as Jenna sat down and offered your hand to the woman next to her as well. “Y/N.”

“Natalie, nice to meet you,” the woman nodded as well and you turned back to Jenna as you sat down on a chair to her left, with a seat between the two of you.

“You, right? Season 2?” you were about ninety nine percent sure you got it right. The emotional scene she had in the season was the highlight of it for you and it was mind blowing for you that she was basically still a child when she filmed it.

Her eyes widened and you winced, fearing you made her uncomfortable, but she recovered quickly and nodded. “Yes, thank you, I mean,” she buried her face in her hands. “God,” she whispered, clearly embarrassed.

“No, it’s all good, I was about to say you were great,” you tried, you really did, to salvage the first meeting, but when she still looked like she wanted the ground to swallow her to save her from embarrassment, you were kind of lost and unsure of what to do. Luckily, you were saved by Matt.

He faked a cough and gave you the scene you were meant to do with Jenna. It was one of the two scenes you did for your audition, the first being a bit of the action scene, just so they could be sure you were fit for the physical side of the role. As if working at the gym and teaching several martial arts classes wasn’t enough. “Jenna, Y/N, please move to the couch and the chair we set up, Jenna, you’re meant to start lying down, the relationship between your characters leans a lot on the touch, so do it as if you were filming the scene. Y/N, you’ve got water right behind you,” he instructed the two of you as you removed your masks and as if in an instant you saw a shift in Jenna, as if she was completely focused on the task, and nothing else mattered.

Matt, the other director Tyler, and several other people observed the two of you as you got into position.

“And action!” Tyler instructed you.

You sat, still, acting as if you were in deep thought, trying to get inside the mind of your character. It felt easy, natural, and you were reminded of just how much fun you had when acting before, and it felt so damn right to be doing it again. Even after all the time you spent resisting it once you had the chance to do it again it felt like all of that resistance vanished and you embraced the role. For your character the girl she was in love with just barely survived a vicious attack and she spent the last twelve hours sitting by the girl’s side, waiting for Tara to wake up,

Jenna groaned, and you jumped to your feet, but froze mid-step, your body filled with tension. You continued watching carefully as Jenna opened her eyes and as your eyes met you relaxed your posture.

She blinked a few times before she focused on you. “C/N,” she said your character’s name, prompting you to snap into action and fill a glass of water. You went back to Jenna, and she raised her neck, taking a few sips as you slowly tilted the glass for her.

“Easy, I got you,” you moved once more, kneeling on one knee next to the couch, your hand brushing against the back of Jenna’s right hand. She didn’t flinch away, but you saw the panic and fear in her eyes, and it took your breath away how into character she got. “Tara! Tara you’re safe!” you still moved, quickly reaching up to cradle her cheek. “Okay? You’re safe,” you softened the tone of your voice considerably, and the two of you remained like that, waiting for the slight pause in the scene to play out.

And then Jenna sobbed, with so much emotion you damn near felt the exact need to protect her your character felt for her character. “Please, don’t leave me,” her eyes filled with tears.

“I won’t. I swear I won’t,” you wiped her tears away, though it wasn’t a part of the script, you just felt like that was something your character would do, and much to your surprise Jenna actually leaned into your touch, playing along with your slightly improvisation.

“You promise?” she asked, her tone so vulnerable, filled with emotion and pushing you to be even better, to give even more of yourself. You felt it at that moment, the instant connection, the instant chemistry, the same way you did years ago with your co-star and semi-mentor.

“I promise. You’re stuck with me until you tell me to leave,” you smiled back as she smiled slightly.

“Could you help me sit up?” Jenna went on with the scene, and you nodded, helping her sit up with as much care as you could while getting into the position your character needed to be in. Jenna leaned the back of her head onto your left shoulder, and you opened your mouth, your eyes meeting hers. “Let me stay like this for a bit? Please?”

And it was truly an awkward position, but you hugged her from behind, your left arm just beneath her neck. “Is this okay?” you asked, and not just as your character. Sure, your characters were meant to be close, but you just met and more than anything you wanted her to be comfortable.

“Yeah,” she relaxed against you for a few moments. “Did they catch him?”

Everything was calm between the two of you. “Not as far as I know.”

Jenna turned, leaning closer and burying her face in the crook of your neck and you nearly flinched, as it wasn’t part of the script, though you couldn’t deny it did fit the description of the relationship between your characters. “I’m so scared C/N,” she whispered, her warm breath tickling your skin.

“I’m here. I won’t let it hurt you again,” you said, hugging her a bit tighter than before.

“Cut!” Matt exclaimed and the two of you separated immediately and you watched as Jenna slowly slipped out of character as she moved to sit on the couch with you. And then you both saw the approval on Matt and Tyler’s faces, which was a very good sign.

“Great you two! That was wonderful!” Tyler praised you and you turned to Jenna with a grin on your face, the previous embarrassment forgotten as you raised your hand for a high-five, which she accepted, her eyes shining with excitement, and a tiny bit of embarrassment over the praise.

You could see this movie meant a lot to her, and you were really happy you didn’t fuck it up, in fact, you were almost certain you’d be working together on it after a chemistry test this successful.

~X~

You let a few days pass, not really waiting for the call, but always keeping your phone close. Funnily enough you were in a similar position your character was in. You’ve been training, practicing various martial arts and you were at a bit of a crossroad, stuck between acting and pursuing a career in MMA. The only reason you didn’t try to be a professional MMA fighter was because Barbara and Tom, your actual manager, and most importantly Hugh, demanded that you at least give acting another shot before going down that path.

Getting a serious injury to the face and trying to restart your acting career wasn’t something anyone would advise you to do.

Still, you had a feeling you were forgetting something these past few days, like there was something you didn’t do and probably should have.

You just came out of the shower, fresh after an average solo training session, when you phone rang. It was Tim, and since he was calling, and he very rarely called, preferring to text instead, you figured it was either really good, or really bad news. “What’s up?” you asked as you walked over to your sofa and grabbed a TV remote. Might as well watch something to pass time.

“You might want to pack your bags,” he certainly sounded happy. “You’re heading to Wilmington, you got the role in Scream 5!” he exclaimed and you almost dropped your remote with how happy he sounded. “Welcome back to acting X-23,” he joked and you laughed at that.

The movie you did years ago, Logan. And the reason why no one really recognized you, they all thought you’d be much younger than you were. The truth was, you filmed Logan back in 2013 and the start of 2014, but since several X-Men movies were yet to be released and spacing them a bit made money, combined with the decision that Logan would be Hugh’s last time playing Wolverine the movie got pushed to 2017.

Still, it was one hell of a starting point.

You still rolled your eyes at that. “Looking forward to it,” and you did. If the chemistry test with Jenna was any indication you were in for a really good experience. “Well, better start packing,” you figured and said your goodbyes to your manager.

About an hour later you got a notification on your phone and glanced at it. It was simple, Jenna Ortega has requested to follow you from Instagram. Your eyes widened and you smacked your forehead, so that’s what you’ve been forgetting to do. Well, you did have a private account so- ah, what the hell, you were just looking for excuses as you quickly accepted the request and followed her back.

And so you sat back, wondering if you should send her a message, congratulate her on getting the role because you were a hundred percent sure she got it. Or if you should just say hi, or anything really, and as you sat there, looking at the empty messages and wondering what you should do while the music played on TV you saw Jenna typing.

“Shit!” you cursed and exited the messages as if having Jenna immediately see ‘seen’ on the message would mean being caught doing something you shouldn’t be doing. You lowered your phone onto the table and watched it like a hawk, resisting the temptation to see if she was still typing, but minutes later your screen didn’t light up and you raised an eyebrow at that. She changed her mind?

And now you felt guilty because it felt like you knew something you shouldn’t. So, swallowing your pride and ignoring the slight fear you decided to send her a message after all.

18:21 Y/N L/N: Hey, sorry you had to follow me first, I’m not really all that active here

There, you sent it, nice, simple message. Nothing to worry about.

18:22 Jenna Ortega: Hi! It’s fine, don’t worry about it! I was thinking, I mean if you don’t have anything planned, maybe you’d like to meet up and get to know each other over a lunch?

Your jaw dropped for a moment, but when you thought about it, it really was a logical move, you should spend some time together before acting as characters that were supposed to be best friends turned lovers.

18:23 Jenna Ortega: No pressure, I understand if you’re busy!

You bit the inside of your cheek at that, she was backtracking because you took too long too answer after reading the message.

18:23 Y/N L/N: I do want to meet up!

18:23 Y/N L/N: I was a bit surprised, but it makes sense. Where do you want to meet?

~X~

In the end you agreed to meet up in Los Angeles where Jenna was wrapping up filming another movie. You managed to resist Googling the younger girl, wanting to hear it from her instead of going in knowing things about her. But you did hear her name popping up every now and then, a young, extremely talented actress that wasn’t even eighteen, hard-working and wonderful to work with.

A child actress, you knew that much without having to search for information on the internet. She decided to do it, to basically sacrifice regular childhood in favor of going to work. You felt lots of things regarding that, but you wanted to get to know Jenna better before you decided which of those many feelings prevailed.

You stood near the doors of a small diner Jenna recommended to meet up at, waiting for her. You were a bit nervous and ended up arriving twenty minutes earlier than you agreed to meet up. You could have gone in, ordered a drink, found a way to pass time inside instead of out in the street, but you just simply didn’t. Instead, you opened your phone and began reading ‘The House of Voices’ the book the script that caught your interest was based on. You were still in the talks for that movie, and if you got the role filming wouldn’t start for some time, so there wouldn’t be a scheduling issue.

You still wanted to get familiar with the source material. And the book was good, so that was a bonus.

You barely read a couple of pages when the sound of someone clearing their throat caught your attention and you looked to the side to see Jenna there, fifteen minutes early, dressed in a casual white T-shirt and plain jeans. Not a lot different from the casual clothes you chose to wear. “Hey,” you smiled, putting your phone away, only to realize you weren’t sure if you should offer her your hand or go for a hug.

Luckily, Jenna, either on purpose or by accident, solved that problem for you when she stopped forward, smiling shyly with arms spread slightly, inviting you in for a hug. “Thanks for agreeing to meet up,” she said as you hugged her. Her hold on you wasn’t too tight, but it wasn’t loose either, it wasn’t forced.

“Of course,” you replied and motioned toward the door when you separated. “Shall we?” you asked, making Jenna quickly nod. You smiled as she turned away, clearly more nervous than you anticipated she would be. You weren’t sure what about you caused her to be so nervous, but, you figured she just needed some time, so you let her lead the way into the diner and choosing seats near the corner, just to give both of you some extra privacy. Which wasn’t that difficult, seeing as the diner was almost empty. The soft melody of a violin playing seemed to soothe her as you both sat down.

“Did you wait for too long?” Jenna asked as you both got comfortable, the diner went for more casual and comfortable seating, going for sofas and lower tables instead of usual chairs.

You shook your head at that. “Just a few minutes, don’t worry about it,” especially since she came early as well.

Jenna nodded, not even bothering to hide the relief on her face as you said that. You decided even that early into knowing her, that she worried too much. You arrived early and you were aware that you were early. Any waiting that could have happened was on you.

A waitress approached the two of you and you both ordered, Jenna deciding on baked beans and you going for a risotto.

“Weather is much nicer here,” you suddenly said, glancing outside the window toward the clear sky before turning back to Jenna. “Denver’s been a bit cloudy these past few days,” you explained and watched as Jenna’s eyes widened a bit.

“You came here from Denver?” she asked, almost sounding astounded by that discovery. “I’m so sorry, I thought you’d still be in a hotel or something!” she quickly apologized, but you just shrugged.

“Hey, I accepted to come here, didn’t I? It’s all good,” you couldn’t do much more than just try and reassure her with your words.

Jenna just groaned and lowered her head. “It’s just, since so much is happening here I thought you’d be living close to here, make connections, make it easier to book auditions,” she explained and it made sense to you.

There was one thing she didn’t know though. “Oh, I’m not really working as an actress at the moment,” you admitted and were honestly a bit amused by how quickly she looked at you. “Well, I was, I did a movie as a child, figured I could wait until I grew up and now I’m sort of trying to get back in,” you summed it up.

Jenna nodded, looking a bit regretful when she heard you say that. “Sometimes I wish I made that choice too,” her eyes widened, as if she didn’t expect to reveal that. “I mean, I’m extremely lucky to be doing this, but there are some downsides.”

You could agree with that. You probably would have gone down the same path, if it wasn’t for one detail. “I nearly stayed as well, but then Hugh told me I didn’t have to rush it, that I should be a child first,” you explained, revealing bits about yourself that you didn’t usually speak about as easily as you did just now. You just felt like, since Jenna was so sincere, you owed her the same honesty.

The silence that followed was strangely comfortable, like two long-time friends just existing in each other’s company. Neither of you felt the need to rush the conversation. “So, horror?” you eventually broke the silence and started the conversation.

Jenna’s face immediately lit up with an almost child-like excitement and you leaned in subconsciously. “It’s just pure fun, you know. It’s this release, combining the thrill and fear, and everyone loves it. There’s passion, and deep understanding of what the story is supposed to be, that it isn’t meant to only provoke thoughts, but that it’s supposed to give people watching a relief from everyday worries, an escape of sorts. I, I think it ended up being an escape for me too,” she didn’t even seem to try to wipe off the grin on her face as you listened to her, completely focused on her words and soaking their meaning in. “Sorry, I’m rambling,” she apologized, blushing slightly as if she just caught herself doing it.

“Not at all. I don’t think I’ve ever thought about it from that perspective, but I can see it,” the fact that more often than not the villain was much stronger than the hero just worked, just made it more engaging. “We are kinda breaking the rules with our characters, aren’t we?”

Jenna thought it over for a moment and then nodded. “Now that you mention it, yeah. Tara survives the opening, while the scene pays homage to the flawless opening of the original,” she took a sip of her drink, buying some time so she could collect her thoughts. “And your character feels stronger than Ghostface, to the point of fighting two on one and still having an upper hand until they take my character hostage,” she pointed out.

“You’ve been a fan of these movies for some time, I’m guessing,” you paused, watching her nod at that. “How do those things make you feel?” especially regarding your own character.

Jenna didn’t bother hiding it this time, she just fell silent, and you could see she was taking her time, figuring out the way to word her answer. “It’s fresh, risky, but fresh. Ghostface has always been just a regular human with a knife, it’s plausible that someone trained would beat them. And Tara surviving just needs to happen for the plot to happen, so, you know,” she finished kinda sheepishly and you nodded smiling as the two of you continued talking for hours after that.

~X~

When Jenna came back to her hotel room that night it was already close to midnight, and you met up just a bit after three o’clock! She leaned back against the door of her hotel room, not even aware of the smile on her face as she closed her eyes. She had to admit she was worried about spending a portion of her day off like this, but not only did she spent more time with you than she anticipated, but she didn’t regret it one bit.

She pulled her phone out of her purse for the first time in almost nine hours and immediately wished for ground to swallow her whole. All the excitement and fun of the day just vanished into thin air, replaced by anxiety squeezing at her heart. She couldn’t even count the number of missed calls and texts from her family and Enrique, as well as Maddie. She took a deep breath, calming down her anxiety and calling her mom. For a moment she considered calling Aliyah, and letting her spread the news that she was fine, but she knew she had to reassure her mom herself.

“Jenna Marie Ortega, you’ve shortened my life by a decade!” her mom immediately shouted, and Jenna honestly couldn’t blame her. When she met up with Maddie before the movie they met up early and while they spent more time together they separated at a much earlier hour. This time Jenna didn’t even consider taking the time to call anyone while she was with you.

“Sorry!” she quickly apologized. “I’m fine, I promise, we just lost track of time,” she said sheepishly. And you did, the diner closed at ten and you really should have gone separate ways at that point, but Jenna offered you a walk, which ended up taking you both to a park.

“God help me, Jenna,” her mom sighed, but she could hear the immeasurable relief in her mom’s voice, and her guilt seemed to increase tenfold due to that.

“If it makes you feel any better, she walked me back to the hotel,” Jenna offered, remembering how you insisted on walking her back to the hotel, refusing to let her walk alone this late at night, and promising you’d send her a message when you came back to your hotel room. You parted ways with a hug, firmer than the one you had when you met up. Longer as well.

“I’m guessing it went well?” as if the time she spent with you wasn’t the answer to that question already.

She smiled once more, remembering just how often you made her laugh today, how many times you made her feel heard and seen with each topic either of you started. Going back and forth, discussing different ideas, talking about childhood. She found out you were an only child, but not much else about your family. But you did tell her about your experience as a child actress for a bit. And only then did Jenna realize she forgot to ask which movie you were in. A question for another day, she supposed. “I can’t remember the last time I had such a good time,” she easily admitted, feeling excited to work with you and eventually get to know you even better.

Her mom softened up at that, there was no doubt about it. “I can hear it in your voice,” she pointed out. “Don’t stay up too late, okay? I’ll tell everyone you’re fine, I love you,” and Jenna was thankful for that, she really wanted to go to sleep as quickly as possible.

“Thanks mom, love you too,” she hung up and smiled when her phone buzzed again.

23:57 Y/N L/N: Safe and sound. Sleep well, Jen

Jen… She just now noticed that at some point during the day you began calling her by a nickname.

She was worried about Scream. She was worried about the opening scene, about living up to what they were trying to do, and she was still worried about that. But this, meeting up with you, it eased her bigger worries. You had a kiss together, you would be carrying her, not to mention all the scenes you’d have in bed, lying next to each other. So, she was worried about all of that, worried about not getting along with someone she’s supposed to film all those scenes with, to hug and be held, and to kiss with.

There was no need to worry about that. If today was any indication she would be more than comfortable with you on and off camera.

~X~

You arrived at the hotel a day before the shooting began, and you settled in, appreciating that the room had pretty much everything you would need. And though the hotel itself didn’t have a gym there was one nearby in case you felt the need, or more likely, had the time to get a workout in.

You sent Barbara and Tom a message, letting them know you arrived and that things were going well. There was no one else to contact, the directors knew you arrived, so you just pulled out the script you were given, the final script, and began reading through it. The role you got did, in fact, require at least the build of an MMA fighter, preferably with skills to back it up, you certainly had an intense action scene coming up.

What caught your attention was just how physical the relationship between your character and Jenna’s character was. In damn near every scene you read where your character was on screen Tara was also present, and every time there was some touch involved, be it holding hands or Tara leaning on C/N. So, they were absolutely right when they got Jenna and you to do chemistry read in person instead over Zoom or some other platform.

A knock on your doors made you set the script aside, about a third of the way read, and you got up to open the doors. The woman you saw in front of your doors looked absolutely beautiful, even more beautiful in person than in the Zoom meeting the entire cast had not too long ago.

“Hi, Melissa, right?” you still wanted to make sure.

Since her mask was hanging beneath her chin you saw the smile on her face. “Yeah, you’re Y/N?” you nodded at that. “Great, could you come with me to my room for a few minutes?” she asked, pointing behind her down and down the hall, and though you were a bit confused you nodded. She didn’t look like she came just to hang out or say hi.

“Of course,” with that you closed the doors behind you and followed Melissa through the halls. The hotel you were staying in had pictures hung on the walls, beautiful paintings, some abstract art, modern and more traditional, pretty much something for everyone, without a clear theme. Or, at least, you weren’t sure if there was a pattern. Granted, you just arrived and didn’t have time to observe it closely. Still, it was pleasant to see.

“So, I managed to find something out,” she said and you glanced toward her. “And I’ve been wondering if you’re interested in helping us out?” you still had no idea what she was talking about, but when you came into her room you found most of your costars close to you in age. Jasmin, Mason, Mikey, Jack, Dylan and Sonia were there.

“Hey there,” you raised your hand to greet them, though you definitely noticed Jenna wasn’t there. She probably didn’t arrive yet, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t really looking forward to seeing her again. “So, what’s up?”

“Jenna is turning eighteen on Sunday, so, would you like to help us make a bit of a party for her?” Melissa explained and you grinned.

“Count me in,” somehow the birthday dates never came up when you two hung out in Los Angeles, but you were more than happy to help with this. The time you spent with Jenna that day was easily one of the best days you had in a long time. You felt at ease, relaxed, there was no pressure, or any kind of judgment in her eyes. She was just accepting, a wonderful person and you couldn’t think of any you’d work on this movie with you’d rather do this for.

“Great, what can you do?” Mikey asked, and that got you thinking. What would be the best way to help with this surprise birthday party? Well, you knew your answer, the question was how much could you hide from Jenna?

“I can cook,” and that, funnily enough, got your costars laughing, after all that was one of the things your character did for a living.

Damn, now it felt a bit like the role was made for you, either way, you sat down and while Jenna was oblivious to what was happening in Melissa’s room all of you began making plans for Sunday.

A/N: I am still very much on the fence about this, but, here you go, the first chapter. Tell me what you think, and I dunno... Taglist? Yes? No?

Masterlist / Next part

#jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x female reader #x reader #x female reader #rewrite

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loafgeto · 1 year ago

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I'M BETTER, AREN'T I? | geto suguru

geto suguru x fem!reader

synopsis: your boyfriend isn’t satisfied with the sex life you both have and suggests an open relationship. in the mean time, he sends you to a sex coach to get better.

contents: no curses au, fem!reader, she/her pronouns, 18+ mdni, nsfw, explicit language, open relationship, semi-plotted. smut contents: semi-public sex (suguru’s office), foreplay, dirty talking, praising, breast play, cunninglus, fingering, squirting, unprotected sex, mentions of multiple creampies, orgasms, blowjob, throat fucking, size kink, corruption kink, somewhat breeding kink(???), ass grabbing, pet names (princess, baby, darling kind of). not proofread!!

word count: 4.3k

note: i was so hard when writing this. anyway enjoy this short fic while i go cry at my assignments and pull my hair out

“this doesn’t usually happen,” he utters quietly, lips against the bare skin of your shoulder. you’re situated on his lap, your back facing him as his middle finger rubs against your clit. you moan softly at the sensation, feeling his other hand spread your legs wider.

“w-what doesn’t?” you question, biting your bottom lip as you slowly turn your head to look down at him.

“this,” he replies with a coo, pushing two fingers into your dripping hole causing you to gasp. he begins to pump his fingers in and out slowly, observing your erotic face as you begin to moan with each sensation. “i shouldn’t be doing this with a client, y’know? i could get fired.”

right. this doesn’t happen at all.

this all started a few days ago— when you and your boyfriend were having an intimate night. he was your first boyfriend, and the person you lost your virginity to. in hindsight, you had no prior experience to sex and your boyfriend became extremely upset over that.

he claimed he was unsatisfied with the sex life he had, and that statement worried you. was he going to break up with you because you couldn’t satisfy him enough during sex? you were paranoid over any possibility, and practically begged him that you’ll be better— do better.

so he suggested an open relationship. you were totally against it, confused on why such thing was needed. he claimed that it was a way to experience and explore his needs and wants that you couldn’t give him properly. it shattered your heart, but he got you to agree to the open relationship by saying he only loves you and that he wanted the best for the two of you.

and for the mean time, he recommended you to see a sex coach. you had no idea what a sex coach could possibly do, but your boyfriend said that it was the best option on making you a better person at sex. so you agreed, and he arranged an appointment for you to someone he knew from his college days.

hence, led you to encounter geto suguru.

him and your boyfriend met during a psychology class, and became seat mates for the semester. suguru was studying psychology, wanting to become a neuropsychologist and had sex coaching as a side job. it was all you knew from the information your boyfriend gave you, but other than that, this man was a complete stranger that you had to talk to about your unfortunate sex life.

when you first saw suguru, you didn’t expect someone like him to be a sex coach. he was muscular, tall and winsome. he’d fit the role of a corporation’s leader, managing hundreds of people and leading them to success. but he was in a chair, coaching individuals and couples about sex.

it took a while for you to approach him with how unsatisfied your boyfriend was with the sex life in the relationship. and how you both agreed to open relationship. you didn’t know what you ever did wrong, and you were always open to try new things— well, because you absolutely knew nothing when it comes to what good sex is. suguru listened to it all, nodding his head as if he was making a mental note about it.

but what about your needs? suguru would ask. what do you want or like?

to answer his question— you had absolutely no idea. you were always in the mindset of satisfying your boyfriend that you don’t even know what you want or like when it comes to sex. suguru was rather surprised, but he didn’t inquire further before changing the entire purpose on why you were there.

how about we figure out what you like?

there was no reason to deny, therefore you agreed. he started asking how you liked being touched, or what do you like hearing your partner say. however, you didn’t have much of an answer to that either. when your boyfriend wanted to have sex, he would usually take the lead and tell you what position to be in or what not— and that was because he enjoyed those things.

can you demonstrate for me? you asked him. the question sounded so novice, so unthreatening— that pure look in your face caused suguru’s heart to ache and he had absolutely no idea how to demonstrate without using you. you were practically vulnerable.

i can’t do that— he replies in a gentle manner. your eyes were pleading for him, reaching him for some sort of help that he couldn’t deny. knowing how desperate you were, he was willing to help you.

suguru would then find himself sitting next to you. with your permission, he’d snake an arm around your waist, pulling you close to him. he was much bigger, stronger than your boyfriend that it made you feel weak. you could even smell the scent of his cologne as your body inched closer to his. you could barely look at suguru in the eyes, but he turned your face towards him with his other hand. he was gentle with you and his words, asking where he should start and if you were comfortable.

when it came to foreplay, your boyfriend never issued it before having sex— he’d just kiss you and push you down on the mattress. so you had no clue where suguru should start. suguru pondered for a moment, suggesting that he would take the lead and if you liked something, you would tell him. same thing went for something you didn’t like. you nod in agreement and he started rubbing his hand between your inner thigh.

you’ve felt your boyfriend’s hands on your thighs multiple times, but it was nothing compared to how sensually suguru was doing. his hot breath brushed against your ear and his other hand began caressing the side of your hips, causing your body to tremble. suguru asked if you liked it, to which you could only nod. you were gradually getting turned on, and suguru’s purring voice in your ear triggered it even more.

your pussy was quivering and soaking your panties. it was wrong to be turned on like this from a stranger, how would your boyfriend feel? you were too paranoid about that possibility, and when suguru noticed your reluctance, he stopped and made you face him.

remember, you’re in an open relationship. he reminds you. he didn’t mean to imply it harmfully— rather, he wanted you to relax, and not worry about what your boyfriend might feel. however, suguru already knew that your boyfriend could care less, he was probably fucking someone else at the moment. i’ll take care of you, trust me.

you had to tell yourself that you were the one who asked suguru to help you, so there was no turning back now. i want you to kiss me, you request and suguru couldn’t reject it. he leaned forward, pressing his lips against yours and you immediately return the kiss. it started off passionately and he pushed you down on the couch.

after the short makeout session, suguru placed you on his lap. one of his hands had unzipped your pants and was pushed underneath your panties. you moaned at the feeling of his fingers gliding down your wet pussy. you were so wet and it sent blood rushing to suguru’s dick.

you’re so wet. hear that? suguru whispered and pushed your pants down along with your underwear. you were completely surprised, trying to cover yourself though his grip on your thighs kept you from doing so. are you ever this wet for your boyfriend?

you shake your head. no. suguru was the first person to ever make you this wet, and with that fact, it made suguru feel empowering over your boyfriend. after several teases with your clit, suguru had you take off your shirt— leaving you in a bra. your skin was so soft and delicate. suguru badly wanted to mark you all over, show your boyfriend what he was missing. however, he reminded himself that he was working.

thus, lead to the mention that something like this never happens. it was true, sex coaching doesn’t involve sex at all. suguru was always helpful to his clients, and he’s never laid a hand on any of them until you. a few nights ago, he received a call from your boyfriend— they don’t regularly speak to each other, but had each other’s contact ever since graduation.

suguru was informed about you, and listened to the complaints your boyfriend had about you. it was irritating to say the least, how someone could degrade their partner like that? but it seemed your boyfriend didn’t care what suguru had to say, at least, not yet.

“it’s okay, ‘guru. i-i’m not going to tell anyone-“ you reply, moaning when his fingers curl and pump deeper into your pussy. suguru’s fingers were much longer and thicker than your boyfriend’s, it brought you a different ecstatic feeling.

“yeah? well, you gotta keep your voice down if you don’t want anyone to hear, princess,” suguru whispers, pressing a kiss on your shoulder before slipping his fingers out of you. catching your breath, you watch as he raises his fingers soaked in your arousal. “see how wet you are? just because of me, huh?”

“mhm..” you reply, nodding your head before he pushes those same fingers back into you. your head falls back slightly while suguru latches his mouth on your shoulder to suck the skin.

suguru pushes your bra up with his other hand, immediately groping your breast and gently pinching your nipple with his thumb and index finger. you’re unable to contain your moans as they reach a higher pitch. his fingers spreads your walls perfectly, reaching your deepest spots that your boyfriend could never reach with his fingers.

“mm- suguru!” you had to cover your mouth with a hand, feeling a knot forming in your stomach. you were reaching your first orgasm, and suguru noticed from the way your walls clenched around his fingers.

suguru grunts, fastening his fingering pace— still sucking and licking the skin area of your shoulder. you could feel his erection poking your ass, and you could tell he was big. so fucking big. it even caused you to fantasize about him shoving his cock deep into you, making you cum instantly. well, you had no idea how cumming felt like for you, since your boyfriend would usually be the one to finish before you. but suguru— he was making sure you’ll cum.

his grip on your boob was another feeling you’ve came to enjoy. the way suguru fondled with the fat of your breast and pinched your nipples was completely different from when you had to do it yourself. suguru gave both of your breast attention with his big hand, and it was enough for you to cum.

you came all over him without warning, moans muffled underneath your hand as suguru pushes his fingers out. your body dropped and fell back against his before he held you closely, hearing the sound of your heart beating against his chest. he hums, pressing soft kisses on your neck before moving his lips back near your ear.

“call me whenever.”

your sessions with suguru continued to occur for a span of two months.

while your boyfriend was out doing his own things, you would set regular sex coaching appointments with suguru. and if not, you’d be at his house doing a session. your boyfriend never inquired much about your whereabouts or what you were doing, besides that he knew you were with suguru. therefore, your time with suguru allowed you two to form a closer bond, and share personal things and secrets.

you were even comfortable enough to share about your sexual fantasies you had of him. and how you desired to feel him inside of you, touching and kissing you all over. you wanted to know how good sex felt, and suguru was willing to give you that.

and after the first time, you both couldn’t stop seeing each other. you were able to experience things and new feelings, and you began to develop feelings for the man.

aside from his personality when it came to sex, he was kind and generous, polite to everyone, and incredibly smart. when you visited him at his workplace, all of his co-workers would be around him and talking to him. and he would dismiss himself from them whenever he saw you.

suguru was quite romantic, more than your boyfriend ever was— gifting you bouquets of flowers and expensive jewelry, taking you out on simple dates to restaurants and other fancy places, and complimenting you. it was the bare minimum, literally. but you barely receive these gestures from your boyfriend, so it flattered you a lot.

it was another day where you went to visit suguru at his workplace. you didn’t set an appointment but since you visited him regularly you could just walk into his office— only during his lunch break though. you wore a flowy dress that reached your mid-thighs, hair done in a specific way with light makeup layering over your face. lately, you’ve been wanting to be pretty just for him and your boyfriend even noticed your change in appearance, but he never approached you on the reason why.

when you arrived at suguru’s office, you see him standing outside— talking to one of his clients. you stood afar for a moment, waiting for suguru to finish his work. and from the corner of suguru’s eyes, he immediately detected you and couldn’t help but smile.

after his client left, you approached him with a smile, greeting him with a kiss on the cheek before entering the office. “you should’ve called me,” suguru says, following after you.

“i wanted to surprise you.”

“oh? well it worked,” suguru replies with a grin, observing your face for a moment. “something the matter?”

“hmm,” you nod your head, hearing the door shut behind and you turn around. “my boyfriend wants to meet me for lunch in about 30 minutes. i didn’t want to go but he said it was urgent. your workplace was along the way so i wanted to stop by.”

“well he can wait a little longer,” suguru huffs but smiles before pulling you close by holding your waist. you look up at him as your face burned, observing how his broad body towered over yours. “by the way, you look beautiful,” he whispers the compliment before kissing you.

you wrap your arms around his neck, tippy toeing closer to him before he grips your hips, pressing yours against his. you could feel his throbbing cock poking through his pants, already soaking in pre-cum and practically begging to become free. you smile against his lips and suguru grunts, feeling your hand rub against his erection.

“fuck. we can’t do it right now, baby. i’m also busy after my lunch break, i have a meeting,” suguru groans in annoyance, glancing at the clock hanging over his desk.

“mm.. it’s alright, suguru,” you reassure, kissing his cheek before you pull away. he watches you kneel in front of him, your face coming face to face contact with his erection. “i’ll do this quickly, ‘kay? don’t want either of us to be late.”

suguru nods, hand lowering to caress your face as your hands unzipped his pants to free his hard throbbing cock. he moans, feeling your small hands wrap around him. another thing was how much you’ve changed over these two months. initially, you barely had an idea of what to do and was always reluctant. but now, you’re able to confidently perform gestures yourself and suguru fucking loved it.

he fucking loved knowing the feeling that he made you like this— knowing he corrupted you— changed you into someone who was confident with herself and was able to do something without hesitating. knowing how you quickly became addicted to him and his cock. oh how he wanted to brag about it to your stupid boyfriend’s face.

your hands pump the length of his cock as your mouth latches onto the tip leaking with his pre-cum. suguru grunts, his cock twitching in your hands as your mouth began taking him. you were never too good at giving a blowjob, but after suguru— you believed you improved quite well. seeing his reactions were able to tell you how good you were doing, and it made you want to see more of it.

you were much smaller than suguru, and he loved it. seeing your small mouth take his fat cock was something he’d never once figured liking. his moans start becoming louder as you pushed his cock deeper down your mouth, sucking and gliding your tongue all around him. you look up into his eyes and suguru nearly broke, dick pulsating from how you performed.

the wet sounds and the sync of your moans begin resonating the room, and as much as suguru needed to quiet down— he just couldn’t. he loved the feeling of your mouth around him, pleasuring him towards his orgasm. the tip of his cock starts poking your throat as you bobbed your head faster, gagging a few times before pulling away.

you swirl your tongue around his swollen tip, wrapping one of your hands around him again before pumping it. he groans, throwing his head back. he was about to cum, and he slightly pushed his cock back into your mouth.

“mm-“ you were somewhat surprised, but realizing he was about to cum soon, you’d make sure to fuck his cock with your mouth with the best you can.

“fuck- princess. your mouth takes my cock so good, doesn’t it?” suguru grunts when you push his cock far into your mouth once again. you moan, your eye sockets shortly welling with tears as he rocks his hips slowly. “gonna fuck your mouth, yeah?”

you nod and suguru’s hands hold the sides of your head before he starts thrusting faster. the tears in your eyes finally stream down the side of your cheek and your hands wrap around his wrists as his cock continuously smacked your throat.

the feeling of suguru’s cock down your throat was completely different from how your boyfriend would force his cock down yours. but you’ve completely forgotten the feeling of him, as suguru seems to already own your entire body.

suguru never forced himself down your throat, and the first time he fucked your mouth, he’d inform you to tap his leg or somewhere three times for him to stop. at first, it was agonizing— you were always gagging and uncomfortable with the feeling but suguru was patient and was able to help you adjust to the feeling. and when you got better, you began performing orally with suguru’s cock.

“gonna cum right now, baby- fuck,” suguru groans, head falling back as he was about to pull his cock out. but you refrained him from doing so and he cums deep into your mouth.

you moan softly as his warm cum hits your throat, and you swallow his load before pushing your head away. you gasp for air as your body slumped back. your mind was becoming foggy and you didn’t even notice suguru picking you off the ground.

“sugu, what are y-“ you question as he pushes you stomach down against his cold desk and lifts your dress. he pushes your soaked panties to the side, watching as your arousal dripped out of your pussy. he grins before gliding his tongue against your wet folds, immediately making you moan. “a-ah. suguru-“

his tongue circles around your clit several times and he pushes two fingers into your aching hole. your moans muffle behind your closed lips, and your eyes shut to the feeling of his tongue fucking your pussy from behind. he pushed his wet muscle into you, sucking and licking all of your arousal. you grip the edge of his desk as he starts pumping his fingers slowly.

“suguru, baby- need your cock s’bad right now,” you beg, turning your head around as one of his hands grabs the fat of your ass.

“hold on, princess,” suguru replies, slipping his fingers out and flicking his tongue around your pussy. you whine, unable to remain patient and suguru only chuckles at your reaction. he stands behind you, lifting your dress further up.

“s-suguru..”

“i know, baby. i know,” suguru hums, using a finger to pull your panties that still wrapped around your hips down to your thighs. he then returns both hands to the side of your ass, aligning his cock to your wet entrance.

suguru shoves his cock into your swollen pussy, instantly making you cum. he starts thrusting his cock deep and fast into your pussy before using one of his hands to press both of your hands behind your back. your legs become wobbly and your moans are uncontrollable as he fucks the brains out of you. he wouldn’t slow down at all, and desperately wanted to fuck his cock right into you until you came over and over again.

his hips slam against your ass harshly, balls slapping against your pussy as his body lowers over yours. his desk starts moving and creaking each thrust he gives you, some of the things on top beginning to roll off and hit the ground.

“fucking love this pussy,” suguru comments, peppering kisses down your neck and shoulder.

“mm— i love your cock, sugu!” you scream as your body rams into his desk because of how rough he was thrusting into you.

suguru groans, removing his hand from your ass to hoist one of your legs up. his cock was able to penetrate deeper into your pussy and smack the entrance of your womb, making you become a moaning and crying mess.

“fuckk, i’m cumming- suguru!” you cry out as your vision becomes blurry with more welled tears in your eyes. he was fucking you too good, and your pussy had clenched around him, indicating for him not to pull out.

even after cumming all over him, suguru kept drowning his cock deep into your pussy, rubbing against your most sensitive spots. he fucked his cum into your baby room, but that didn’t mean he’d stop at all. he continuously pounded you, filling your entire pussy up— and you both ended up losing track of time.

suguru pulls your dress off, along with your panties and flips you over to face him. you prop your body up as he pushes your thighs further apart to continue fucking into you. his previous cum milked into your womb begins leaking out, and you whine at the feeling as your arms went around his neck.

"y-your cum is-" you begin, gasping when suguru pulls your hips closer to him.

"don't worry, princess. i'll give you more," suguru grunts with a wide grin. "'m gonna give you so, so much of my babies."

"yes, yes!" you nod as your eyes began rolling back. being in the moment, you didn't notice your phone already ringing several times. and even when you heard, you and suguru chose to ignore it. all you could think about was suguru- and his cock filling and shaping your pussy to his size like it was all his.

suguru began rubbing circles around your clit with the tip of his fingers as you both began reaching your next orgasms. your mind became foggy, and all you could hear was your moans and the wet sounds of his cock slapping against your pussy. you pull suguru close to you, pressing your chest against his as he dumps his final load into you.

"f-fuck.." suguru's voice breaks as he buries his face into your shoulder.

"suguru?" you call to him through your heavy pants, feeling his warm cum refill your womb. you give him a gentle kiss on the side of his head and he pulls away.

suguru slides his dick out, letting out a heavy sigh before turning to kiss you again. when he turns away, he glances at the clock and reads the time. "shit, i'm late for my meeting. and you're late for your lunch meetup."

you giggle, shaking your head as suguru pushes his pants back around his hips. "they can continue waiting."

suguru lifts you off the table, noticing how much of a mess it was and chuckles. "mm.. you're right, my meeting isn't that important anyway.. and i don't have another appointment until 2.. so that gives us an hour and-"

but suguru was interrupted when there was a knock on his office door. you both tore your attention away from each other and turned to the closed door, thankfully it was locked. "yes?" suguru clears his throat.

“geto? are you still in there?” it was one of his co-workers and you both glance at each other. “the meeting was moved to next monday, sir. just wanted to come inform you about it.”

“oh? that sounds great, thank you," suguru replies and you both wait until the co-worker dismisses themselves, leaving you and suguru alone again. "guess.. we can go for a couple more rounds, yeah?"

you giggle, inching your face close to his, “hmm but there's something i have to do first."

"hm? what's that?" he inquires as he raises a brow before you kissed him again.

you pull out your phone, reading the long notification bars informing the missed calls you received from your boyfriend. suguru could see them too and he curiously wonders what you would possibly do. were you going to call him back?

but instead, suguru watches as you block your boyfriend's number, or well now, ex-boyfriend's. and you toss your phone to the side, grabbing his biceps and pushed his hips against yours. "now, let's continue."

LOAF4U. thank you for reading! please do not copy my work or publish in another media without my permission.

#loaf4u #18+ minors dni #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen one shot #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #anime smut #geto x reader smut #geto smut #geto suguru x reader smut #suguru geto x reader #geto suguru smut #geto suguru x reader #geto x reader #jjk geto #getou suguru x reader #geto x you #geto x y/n

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johnwickb1tsch · 1 month ago

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Sympathy for the Devil ~ Part 16

A Donaka Mark x housekeeper!Reader fic, based on the amazing @discoscoob 's concept & bot!

Warnings: Donaka Mark is a bad man with a soft spot for you. dark romance, possessive behavior, nonconsensual voyeurism, red flag red flag girl!🔺, psychological games, power imbalance, dubcon/nsfw. PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS!!!

one. two. three. four. five. six. seven. eight. nine. ten. eleven. twelve. thirteen. fourteen. fifteen.

Sixteen. 十六

When Donaka leaves for work you get dressed and walk around the grounds, surveying your finely appointed prison with new eyes. The garden walls are tall, but not insurmountable. The dogs…are still your friends, though you’re not sure their liking against a command to run you down would save you.

At the driveway, you notice that Jason is manning the guardhouse at the gate. You’ve never exactly flirted with him, but you are friendly. He kind of comes off as a bro, like he learned English from watching eighties teen movies and Adam Sandler films. Honestly, you’ve always thought he was kind of dumb, and he’s usually watching tv over watching the road, and you wonder…if this might be your opportunity, before the new order of things really settles in over the household.

You put on your running gear, your iPod on your arm and your hair tied back. You do some stretches in the driveway as you pump yourself up, mentally going over your plan, trying and failing to calm your nerves. If this works, it will be a bloodless coup. If it doesn’t…you don’t want to think about what Donaka will do.

You can’t stop yourself from looking back one last time over the beautiful house with a surprising pang in your heart. You should want one thing and one thing only: to get the fuck out of there, but you find it’s not that simple. Because when things are good with Donaka…God. You’re still undecided, as to if you’re in love with that man, or hypnotized by him, the way the cobra bespells the mouse before striking.

It’s clear that your heart and your brain are not communicating on the same wavelength, and its really fucking you over this time.

You are leaving, you resolve, and before you can talk yourself out of it you jog up to the gate, giving Jason the Guard a finger wave with your heart in your throat. You’re just out here to get some exercise, the way you do every week on your day off. Please please please open the gate.

He looks apologetic, when he steps from the guardhouse. “Hey, y/n.”

“Hey Jason.” You are jogging in place, ready to run. Boy, are you. “Can you let me out?”

“Umm…”

Fuck.

“Sorry, but…Mr. Mark said no one leaves today?”

“What?” You play dumb.

“Yeah…I can’t let you go?”

You put a hand on your hip, playing coy.

“I just want to make a loop around the neighborhood.”

“You…want me to call Mr. Mark?”

Fuck no.

“Nah. Don’t bother him at work.”

“I think you can use the gym though?”

“Okay, I will.”

Great. Now you have to go run on the treadmill, which you fucking hate, just to make it seem like you really only had exercise in mind. Resigned, you go back inside, a slow trill of panic uncoiling down your spine. You’re sure you were on camera, but you hope Donaka had better things to do today, than watch you.

***

“I saw your little stunt today.”

Donaka would confront you about this while you’re in the shower.

He’s come home early, you reason, just to do so. Fuck.

“What do you mean?” you say, rinsing the shampoo out of your hair like nothing’s wrong. You do not look at him, but it feels like you have your back turned to a snarling tiger in the jungle.

“Don’t be coy. Did you actually think you were going to…jog out of here?”

You turn to face him, pushing your wet hair out of your face.

“...No?”

You turn off the water, trying not to feel completely vulnerable while you’re naked in front of this ferociously imposing man. He’s seen it all, touched it all, inside and out. What’s left to be embarrassed about?

“I wanted to blow off some steam. I didn’t think it was a problem,” you play off. You’re new to gaslighting, but if Donaka thinks he can give you the runaround, maybe you can do the same. “It’s not like…” You laugh at the absurdity. “I could run to the other side of the island?”

Your embassy is located in the Central district at the north shore, with all the other banks and high-end shopping of Hong Kong Island. Donaka’s house is located in an exclusive development of the lush mountainsides of Shek O, on the southeast side.

“I have no money for a bus or a cab, because you took it all.”

Along with your passport, he took your cash and your bank card. You had to hand it to him. The man was thorough.

He looks you up and down, like you are the stupid one. “Oh, I’m sure you could have convinced someone to give you a ride.”

You’d absolutely banked on that. You’ve always been lucky with the kindness of strangers in a pinch while traveling. You were lucky–until Donaka got his claws into you.

“Get in a car with a stranger? That’s a great way to get kidnapped.” The irony of your statement does not escape you. Attempting to place a cherry on top of your little act, you make to nonchalantly walk past him to your towel.

In the blink of an eye he pushes you back against the hard tiled wall of the walk-in shower, his massive hand spanning your chest at the base of your throat. He doesn’t hurt you, per se, but it definitely startles you. It is more a threat, a suggestion what he could do.

As if you didn’t already know.

He looms over you as he speaks to you, his tone low and menacing. “You cannot talk me in circles, little one. I invented that game. You will not convince me of your untruths as facts, because I know what is in your heart. I. Know. You. Better than you know yourself.” By the time he has finished the heart in question has frozen in your chest, your fingertips gone ice cold, despite the steam in the room.

“Fine,” you say, gritting your teeth.

“Fine, what?”

“I won’t do it again.”

“I know you won’t. You disappoint me, y/n. I thought we had an understanding.”

He thinks his word is law–but he never asked you about any of this, did he? That wildness in you begins to rear its head, and he is not the only one baring his teeth. “Then I want my GI-Jane companion, because I will lose my fucking mind being cooped up here while you’re gone.”

A part of you hopes he will do something terrible in return for this impetuous demand. Something you can finally, truly, hate him for.

He actually laughs at you, like he knows exactly what you’re about.

“You’ll have her when you’ve earned her, you brat. You think I’ll actually let you leave the house now?”

You only growl in response, glaring up at him. It inspires a snarl of a smile, Donaka looking your naked body up and down again. You know better than to think you’re safe yet; it feels like a trap.

“So, you thought Jason was the weak link in my security detail?”

With a heaving sigh you’re kind of relieved the ruse is up. “Yeah.”

“Not a bad choice, but the boy is unfalteringly loyal.”

“So I found out.”

“And what do you think I would have done to Jason, if he’d let my prized possession walk out my front gate?”

You honestly hadn’t thought about that in your single-minded pursuit of your freedom, and your heart falls like a stone.

“Fired him, I guess.”

Donaka scoffs. “You hope that’s all.” The horror of what he’s suggesting must be written plain on your face, and he relishes it with glee.

Eyes shining, he sticks out his lip in a mocking pout, and a part of you wants to sink your teeth into it until you taste blood.

“Clever little thing, aren’t you? If you didn’t have such a big heart, you’d almost be dangerous.”

He wraps his long arms around you, pulling you against him and not seeming to care that you are still soaking wet, and he’s in his suit. He kisses you deeply, savagely, tongue and lips and teeth claiming possession of your mouth, his fingers digging into your sides hard enough to bruise.

“If you want to leave so badly,” he growls between devouring you, “Then why did you look back?”

You do not answer, fear lodged like a sea urchin in your throat.

“Why?” he demands again, nipping at you. There is an uncharacteristic desperation in this line of questioning that puts you even more on edge. When you remain silent he pinches your bottom hard. “Why?”

“Because I wasn’t sure,” you confess in a rush of breath, squeezing your eyes closed against the intensity of his gimlet stare.

“Sure of what?”

You actually laugh then, or maybe it's a sob. “Everything. You make me doubt everything I’ve ever known.”

“Then trust in me. Submit to me, and you’ll never have to doubt again.”

You want to laugh at that too, but somehow you have the sense not to.

“You know what I think?”

“I’m sure you’re going to tell me.” He finds this amusing, though he expresses it with a snort.

“I think that deep down, you didn’t want to leave me. I think you knew that you’d miss me, bunny.”

It’s so true that you freeze for a single, telling moment. Trying to cover it, you scoff with extra gusto, tears in your eyes. “Yes. I would miss being scared, and hurt.” You flinch as his big hands squeeze your flesh just this side of too hard.

“I haven’t really hurt you, sweetheart. Not yet.”

Strangely from the flat way he says it, you’re genuinely not sure if it’s a statement, or a threat.

Then he pulls you from the shower, leading you back into the bedroom with an iron grip on your arm. When you try to resist he simply picks you up, tossing you onto the bed. He looks down at you with a possessive fire in his eyes that raises gooseflesh all across your body, your nipples tightening to painful peaks. A part of you wants to scramble away, to scream and run, but somehow you know it would do no good, and only make things worse for you now.

So you sit up on your elbows, waiting for your doom.

Watching you collect yourself, resigned to whatever he has in mind next, brings a cruel smile to his lips. “I think I need to give you something, bunny.” He removes his jacket and loosens his tie methodically, pulling the silk free of his neck. You hate it, how it moves you, to watch him undress, and you are relieved, when he simply tosses it away to the foot of the bed. “Something, so that you will always remember, no matter where you are, who you belong to.”

This is when you lose your nerve, certain he means something fucked up like a homemade tattoo or a brand or something you can't even imagine. You try to scramble away with a whine, but his big hands catch your ankles like manacles, holding you down.

“Please don’t.”

“You don’t even know what I have in mind.” He forces your legs apart, but kisses the inside of your thigh with such a contrasting tenderness that you freeze beneath him. He chuckles darkly, a sound that somehow seems to resonate all the way to your womb. Jesus Christ, this man. You really have lost your goddamned mind. “Oh, bunny likes that, doesn’t she?”

“I like it when you’re sweet,” you confess in a whisper, watching him warily as he trails higher and higher up your leg, your treacherous body relaxing little by little as he goes. Maybe you’re damning yourself as you say it, but you can’t stop yourself from confessing, “That’s why I looked back. That’s what I knew I would miss, for the rest of my life.”

He pauses in his ascent to look up your body at you, a storm brewing behind those intense dark eyes. Finally, he tells you, “You wouldn’t get the chance to miss me for long, y/n. You belong to me, and I will never let you go.”

He strikes like a snake, sinking his teeth into the tender flesh of your inner thigh before you have a single chance to react. He’d warned you that he’d get you back, and he bites you just as hard as you’d bit him, breaking the skin with his sharp teeth and sucking, leaving his mark upon you. You scream, because it hurts, and because you know that once again you’ve lost the battle to this man.

He climbs your body to silence you with a punishing kiss, and you taste your own blood in his mouth. You know it’s insanity, when it’s a relief when he frees himself to bury his manhood inside you, not even bothering to undress before he fucks you into a complacent, needy little pile of wanton desire. Maybe because he makes you forget, forget everything but the fact that he is the one person in the world who wants you forever, and you believe now to the marrow of your bones that he would burn down the world to keep you. He’s like a drug that deep down you know is poisoning you–but you’re in too deep, and you just can’t stop.

He makes you cum with a vicious efficiency, his fingers tangled in your hair and his gaze bearing down on you, as though this man can see straight into your soul. Maybe he does know you better than anyone else. Maybe he knows everything, and you may as well just give in. He fills you soon after with a roar that you think is equal parts fury and triumph, his seed dripping from between your thighs. He doesn't seem to care at all about the mess when he rolls onto his back and pulls you into his arms.

In the quiet after the fury you curl your naked body around his, and he holds you just this side of too hard, his massive hand on the back of your head. Whether he is your shield, or your jailer, depends on which side of the bars you’re standing.

It might be a while, before you build up the courage to try again.

#donaka mark #donaka mark x reader #donaka mark x you #donaka mark x y/n #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves #dark romance #plz be warned #keanuverse #keanuverse fic #yandere fic #yandere donaka mark #this tag probably fits now 😆

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ma1dita · 1 month ago

Text

ready your position

part 1 of 5 - SET IT UP!

spencer reid x gn!HRT!reader

summary: [3x9: Penelope] Sometimes second chances feel like shots in the dark. You just really wanted a cup of coffee. (set between seasons 3 & 4, loosely based off of set it up on netflix--reader is nicknamed ripley)

wc: 6k

content warning: signs of substance abuse, reader gets shot, side character death, unhealthy coping mechanisms & thinking

a/n: so sorry for the delay! i had a lot of insecurities about putting this out but well, here it is! lots of plot set up but pt 2 won’t take as long haha, please please please leave feedback or i might cry lol

—

[NOVEMBER 2007]

"So what are you in for today?"

A scoff leaves your lips in the dim light of one of the HR offices in the Employee Assistance Unit on the 6th floor of Quantico on a dreary Monday evening and it's intentionally disruptive, like you want the terse breath to catch your therapist off-guard. This routine of yours has you feeling like you're being examined under a magnifying glass but after countless hours of your ass getting pins and needles on the worn leather loveseat, you're still not entirely sure what else there is for Ms. Stevens to discover. Every psychological stone is never left unturned with her, but some burdens you still hold close to your heart. They feel like boulders that you choose to carry, and no one can take them away, lest you leave yourself exposed and vulnerable in front of a woman who can read you to filth.

"Agent?"

"Come on now, we're past the formalities, Miss. S'been more than half a year of us meeting like this. Think I deserve a reward at this point," the joke chokes itself out past your chewed bottom lip. Eyes scanning the ceiling, you mentally count the tiles until you can find a plausible enough answer to the question she's positively dying to ask about the monumental blow-up that could make or break your career, and maybe if you skate by with something noncommittal she'll let you out of here early. 30 salt and pepper sprinkled ceiling tiles, just like this time last week.

"Ripley, then," Ms. Stevens murmurs over a sip of her tea. The smell of ginger pierces your senses even from your spot against the wall. Your eyes meet over her FBI standard-issue mug and she's waiting for you to fill the silence and confirm her thoughts. You hate this game; being hyper-analyzed by the way you lean against the chair, or the tapping of your fingers on your thigh.

Every move means something. Being a member of the FBI's Hostage and Rescue Team meant that you've been hardwired to always find a way out of any space you're put into, and somehow the job has translated into your day-to-day coping mechanisms as your eyes flicker towards the door.

Coping. Right. That's what you're supposed to be doing.

Sometimes you forget the reason why you're here every week— but no matter how painful or teeth-grating these appointments feel, they're the only constant you have right now. And they're mandatory, or else there's no going back to normal; any more time sitting at a desk makes you more anxious even if it's what's been prescribed by professionals like the one sitting across from you.

"You already know why I'm here. I know the big boss man already told you, and if not—office gossip spreads here like wildfire," you mutter, crossing your arms over your chest. Ms. Stevens takes note of that and writes something down in her notepad. "It's not what you think."

"You shot an unsub point blank and cost the FBI $4000 in damages."

Chuckling lowly, you run your hand through your hair, "Sheesh. You'd think for glass that expensive it'd be bulletproof, huh?" She's not laughing though, instead scribbling down more words and you think she's signing away your rights to rejoin your team. It wasn't supposed to be a big deal— you were just at the right place at the right time, and although you haven't been in rotation since your mandatory leave and the higher-ups put authorization holds to stop you from being on operations, that didn't mean you were just sitting around doing nothing. You still knew how to do your job, whether Ms. Stevens believed it or not. The shot you took made the weekly newsletter. Agent Fuchs and his family sent you a fruit basket this morning. Agents Hotchner and Rossi know your name now, for better or for worse.

It was a bit of an odd way to end the weekend.

If anything, it was proof that you were ready to get back in action. But the subtle frown on her face says otherwise, and you swallow harshly, a lump in your throat feeling heavy like the truth— Ms. Stevens probably won't let this one go.

You realize she's staring at you for a better answer now as your eyes refocus on her fingers tapping on her desk. Nodding your head, it prompts her to ask the question that she's been holding back since you sat down. One could almost feel bad for the amount of paperwork that probably goes into your weekly sessions.

Almost.

"How did you find yourself involved with the Behavioral Analysis Unit, Ripley?" she emphasizes, finally getting to the point. Sucking air through your teeth, you tuck your legs underneath your bottom on the uncomfortable seat. This is going to take a while to explain.

"I just wanted a cup of coffee, man."

—

A WEEK AGO

No one can deny that Dr. Spencer Reid's best asset is his brain.

He knows it too— the fact is one of the few things he's sure about himself. Other people are much easier to figure out to be honest; case details scrolling through his brain like a frenzied catalog and each input has an output, each symptom with a diagnosis, and so on. The neocortex of the brain has about 300 million pattern recognizers that crave data able to turn into patterns or rules, and Spencer is used to staying late after cases conclude to write down all of the reasons why. Something about unraveling the unsub's methodology in case files is just as exciting to him as when he's in the field figuring out the why—mind the fact that he can read 20,000 words a minute.

In his periphery, he can see the rest of the team settling into their desk chairs, but he's traipsed straight over to the office kitchenette for something to fuel his brain to be able to mince through the stack of paperwork on his desk. He's ignoring the fact that Emily slips a few more onto his pile, but what he can't ignore as he stands over the counter stirring in way more sugar into his cup than there is coffee, is you, walking through the glass doors virtually undetected by anyone but him.

The metal of his teaspoon clinks against his mug, and a side glance at your form reveals a lot to him— but not quite as much as he would like to know about a person at first glance. Stiffness in your posture indicates some sort of military background, there's a slight tremor in your hands as you reach for the mug on the top shelf—probably attributed to nerves? Most likely since he's never seen you on this floor before. You blink slower than average, and Spencer thinks it's a sign of exhaustion which checks out since you're blatantly stealing coffee from the BAU.

Sending a soft smile his way, Spencer quickly eases up and nods at you, sipping his coffee as he watches you move about the small space. Okay, stealing is a vast over-exaggeration, but in an office filled with FBI agents, it's a wonder that he's the only one noticing these types of things. He's also staring at you very intently, which might affect things.

That or the caffeine's already hit him like a punch in the face.

You're pouring some of Penelope's homemade oat milk creamer and he observes the way you play with a fray on your knit sweater. There's something that clinks in your jean pocket and it's too small to be a gun, too big to be—oh! You're saying something to him.

"You mind?"

Spencer clears his throat, ripping his eyes away from your crotch as a blush rises upon his cheeks—shaking his head anyway until he realizes that you've taken the spoon out of his hand to swirl into your own mug, sipping at it and frowning.

"You're not from this floor," he states, and it's not a question because it's rare to have people break patterns around here at the BAU and you're far too comfortable to be a civilian but still on edge enough for him to think you must be an agent. Humming, he notes the furrow in your brow as you grab the sugar canister from in front of him, stirring in your preferred amount and tasting it, then adding more again, "Yeah?"

"There are 12 desks in here; 2 executive offices not including our section chief's, liaison's, and higher admin surrounding the bullpen, plus 6 members of custodial staff and the auxiliary agents that run in from different departments—I would know a face like yours," he blurts, blinking when you grin at how that sounds. Dismissing his blunder, you lean back against the counter and chuckle, "You're protective of your turf. I get it. That's good. I'm just here for a cup of coffee. Smelled the good stuff wafting through the glass doors," Handing him back the spoon, he can't help but stand there and hold it out like an idiot as you continue, "You want my credentials or something…. Doctor?"

"No, not at—" "Ah, perfect!"

Rossi grabs the mug out of your hand and takes a big swig as he looks at something on his phone distractedly, "Anderson was supposed to have a cup ready for me as soon as we got back… Why is this uh….watery?"

"Oat milk, sir," you say, taking it in stride as the older man crinkles his nose, mumbling his thanks, walking back to his office. Your eyes meet Spencer's with an amused expression and he sighs. The watch on your wrist beeps and you give him a two-fingered salute as you make your way out of the glass doors behind you eastbound; his gaze doesn't break until you're out of sight.

A hand claps him on the shoulder and it's Morgan with that look he gets when he sees the resident pretty boy with a person of interest (also known as when Spencer is caught talking to anyone, ever), "Now who…" he chuckles, squeezing him so hard that his drink spills a little bit, "was that?"

Spencer blinks, pouring more sugar into his mug and stirring it with the spoon, "Definitely not a secretary like Rossi thinks…." He takes a sip before realizing he's made a mistake. Besides the fact the mug he drank from is contaminated now, he's forgotten to ask for your name.

"At least that's what I'm trying to figure out."

—

It has been exactly 8 and a half months since you've been an active operator for the HRT's Red team. 37 weeks of trying to come to terms that Special Agent Charlie Young is dead. 258 days since your childhood best friend Harper was made a widow and her baby left without a father. And no matter what way you put it, it was your fault. Or at least no matter what everyone's been trying to tell you, it still felt that way since he took a bullet that was meant for you.

You spent your 6 months of paid mandatory leave in the confines of your apartment nursing bottles of Jameson, watching old telenovelas, and avoiding phone calls from anyone who would try to reach out. But in the space that Charlie's absence left behind is the reality that everything in life keeps moving on whether you like it or not. You caught yourself craving your old routine to prove to yourself that nothing's changed; that you're still capable of being the elite agent that worked your way onto this prestigious team in the first place.

So as you lie in wait in an unmarked car outside of 107 Leavensworth, you plan to do just that—follow through with the mission, this second chance—and prove that nothing can shake you. The next operations cycle starts soon and you have to make this count. Your eyes lock with Agent Morgan's as he crosses the road arm in arm with Penelope. Nodding at him, you slink further into your seat. There's a long night ahead, but hopefully, the only thing that will be bothering you tonight is your thoughts.

When they pass the courtyard, your eyes flicker back towards the empty street, checking every which way for possible suspects. It's quiet, and the air is a bit chilly, the wind sweeping through the street like a frosty vacuum. Your phone buzzes with another text from Harper, a voicemail from your mother, and unread emails.

[From Harpy: Have an extra table setting out for Thanksgiving. Your two favorite girls would love to see you if you can make it! Miss you Rip.]

[Missed call from Mama: Hi honey, I know you're probably busy but I'm worried about if you're eating enough. You're overw—]

The sounds of footfalls on pavement draw your attention away from the voicemail as a man comes near, swiftly passing the direction of your car with the purpose of walking into the apartment courtyard. You slide out with ease, throwing your phone to the passenger seat before making your presence known to him, "Can I help you with something? What’s your bus—"

BANG!

Gunshots are so much louder when you're the one being shot at.

You swear you feel your heart stop beating as your body hits the ground, ears ringing from the shock that ravages your being and you just…lay there in the smoke of his revolver. The spinning view you have of the stars is interrupted by the sound of Derek Morgan's voice yelling into your walkie, "WE HAVE A FEDERAL AGENT DOWN, I REPE—"

You swallow hard, fingers sliding over the breastplate of your bulletproof vest and feeling the gaping hole left behind.

Fuck, can't even die right.

Pushing yourself up and feeling nothing but the gravel in your palms, you wheeze, "He's getting away…Two blocks northbound. GO!" The man tweaks his head at you before springing into action, "I got her, GO!" And then his body moves as fast as you suppose that bullet did— surging towards the assailant's direction as you clear your throat and dust yourself off and look up at Penelope's window, her beaded curtains shuffling against the glass.

"Disregard. 10-78, Agent Morgan is pursuing, I have eyes on the vic…"

Rushing up the stairs, there's a tremor in your hand that slides along the banister. You need to push through the shock before the adrenaline wears off, but the faster you fly up the circular staircase, the memories hit you like a tidal wave. The sound of Charlie singing to his baby girl, Harper's smile when you first introduced them at the Academy a few years ago. Lactic acid builds up in your calves and your chest feels tight—your joints feel stiff as you stumble through the door blowing air out in puffs like someone does when they get burned. In the dark of the apartment, moonlight shrouds you like a spotlight and the singing and the laughter turn into blood and tears.

You'll never forget the way Harper looked at you in that hospital waiting room. It should've been you. Weaving through the fallen furniture, your eyes scan the perimeter for any movement; she was last near the window, and then where did she go? It should've been you. Turning the corner towards the alcove of her bedroom, Penelope Garcia's scream pierces through the darkness, and a gun is pointed towards your chest for the second time tonight as you stumble back, bumping a sparkly cat statue off her side table. It should have been you.

"Don't s-shoot!" you stutter, hands in the air and now the colorful woman is sobbing into your arms, blubbering, "Why is this happening to me?"

"I don't know…" you sigh, asking yourself the same question and holding her up—at least her hug is tight enough that it squeezes the truth out of you. You don't want to die.

But why didn't you?

Your second chance at fixing things was looking more and more like a second shot in the dark.

—

By the time Spencer and the rest of the team show up, he's pleasantly surprised to see you making coffee in Garcia's kitchen. You're a shadowy figure against her counter, sipping honey tea from a TARDIS mug and minding your business. The BAU has staged themselves across every open seat in her living room, almost looking like a part of the bits and bobs that occupy the space—different personalities contributing to help out one of their own.

Hotch looks at you, introducing you to them and Spencer holds back a smile when your eyes meet again. It's awkward, like when the teacher introduces a new student to the class. You shuffle your feet towards the group, nodding and biting your lip when you hear your name, "Call me Ripley. S'easier that way. I'm on loan from HRT."

"Glad you were available. The rest of your team was deployed," his boss says, and there's something in your expression that signals to Spencer that you're upset about that fact. Maybe it's the way your hands graze over your abdomen repeatedly, like checking for a wound or the way your eyes are consistently downcast. Even after your empty mug is placed onto a sage green doily, he watches you clear your throat, crossing your arms over your chest as if blocking yourself off from the group.

"It was a favor from Otis. My night was going to look like this or catching up on Days of Our Lives, so… Anyway, you guys are held in high regard in our area. For good reason."

"And so are you," Hotch actually smiles, soft enough like a father softens a blow, "Head back to the office and I'll tell Agent Otis that you did a great job."

"Um…Ripley can stay. We're friends now," the bubbly analyst says as she pushes her glasses up and grabs your arm.

"I don't want to intrude on your process—" "You won't be intruding at all," Spencer interrupts, "In fact, you might be more of an asset in helping us figure this out."

The pieces fall together as you watch the BAU work together like different organs that make up the same body, each with its own function and essential to their success. You take a seat next to him on the sofa, your eyes ricocheting off of the person who speaks like ping-pong balls and he knows it's overwhelming to some, but it works.

"I told you I'm tired of this jag-off getting ahead of us," Rossi grits as he walks out of the apartment after grilling Garcia. There's an awkward silence once the team splits off and you don't move from your spot after the door closes, "He always like that? Looks friendlier in his author's headshot." Emily chuckles, hair brushing Garcia's shoulder as she leans over her laptop, and Morgan is pacing across the hardwood floors, fingers touching every little trinket to distract himself while his Babygirl works her magic.

"He's newer to the idea of a team."

Spencer has a heart-shaped throw pillow on his lap and he absent-mindedly plays with the sequins. He watches you chew on your lip before nodding, "Can imagine what that change feels like. Never easy. You guys are something else though—my Reds could never…get together like this."

"Isn't that the whole premise of the Hostage and Rescue Team? To be part of something?" The raven-haired woman pipes up, looking curiously at you.

"Well, really it's to s—"

"Servare vitas—that's Latin for the HRT's motto 'to save lives'," Spencer hums, and you nod. There's a distant look in your eyes as you look off towards the window before speaking, "We just follow orders, I guess. In and out. It's funny how we're called operators when in reality we're the ones being ordered around." Your voice is wistful, going hoarse and you clear your throat.

"Anyways, didn't Agent Rossi have three wives or something? Maybe he just needs to focus on finding a fourth."

The subject change lifts the tension that fills the room, everyone having a bit of a laugh at that. Morgan admires a blown glass ornament from Garcia's mantle before he moves his gaze to you, "He got it wrong three times, you think he'll find someone to lock it down for a fourth?"

"Actually, did you know that studies have found that the rate of divorce in the US is about 35% to 50% for first-time marriages and over 60% to 70% for second, third, or fourth marriages and beyond?"

No one moves a muscle at the statistic that spews out of his mouth like something from a well-oiled machine and you turn to him, full attention and tucking your legs underneath you with eyes full of wonder. He doesn't remember the last time someone's ever looked at him with anything other than mild unease.

"Really?"

"Really," he continues, "so even if you knew someone who could…" "Match his freak?" You suggest, interrupting him this time, and your choice of words makes Garcia giggle over the chatter of her keyboard, "I knew you were a cool cat."

He doesn't quite know what to say to that, always fumbling for words in front of attractive people, making Morgan send him a sidelong glance. Spencer goes back to playing with the sequined pillow instead.

"I got someone like that too. Hard to prove yourself when they don't give you a chance. It's like credentials, seniority, all that training goes out the window when I'm in front of them."

"Your boss?" Spencer mumbles, and you shrug, "Something like that." You sound like you don't want to share more, so he nods, saving your words for him to scroll through in his mind later, "He's definitely not Gideon."

'Who's Gideon?" You ask, finishing off your cup of tea and leaning against the back of the sofa. It's comfy enough that all of your limbs sink in slightly, and he watches your eyes flutter with fatigue. Spencer tries not to get distracted by the way your eyes sparkle in the twinkly lights that hang from the walls of Garcia's apartment.

"He was…before. Before Rossi. Taught me everything I know."

"Must've been a good guy then, if you're this good at your job," you smile. It's the same smile you sent his way in the office kitchenette, soft yet like a shockwave, and he thinks that even without his eidetic memory, he'd remember your words forever.

"Mhm…" you muse, putting the cover of the TARDIS mug back where it belongs and standing up, "I should get back to the office. It was nice meeting you all, despite the circumstances." You nod at them, passing Garcia and patting her head before humming a tune on your way out.

"Ripley's kinda great, huh?"

Spencer nods, a small smile gracing his features. When he looks up, Garcia's staring right at him. Only the two of them recognize the Doctor Who theme song, after all.

—

You desperately need a drink.

You're sitting on Anderson's desk staring at the mess you've made of the BAU's bullpen, shattered glass sparkling like little fractals of light on the floor beneath your feet and this night just got longer. By the time they process your gun and get your official statement it'll be sunrise, you think. You can't look at the body even after they cover it with a tarp, the rest of the team tiptoeing through the debris in the entryway. This one's gonna be tough to explain to your superiors.

"Ripley!"

Penelope Garcia is rushing over to you and hanging off your side in a second, making the empty feeling in the pit of your stomach go away for a moment with her eyes shining like tinsel on Christmas morning and the guilt feels a bit lighter. You did a good thing. Then why…why won't your hands stop shaking?

"I never wanted you to do something like that for me," she starts, rubbing your arms and looking up into your eyes, "Do you hear me? Ripley."

You didn't even blink when you shot him, and you don't know if anyone would consider that the best or worst part of it all. Shrugging and placing your cheek against the hand that remains on your shoulder, you purse your lips, "I hear ya. I'll be okay now that you're gonna be okay," You sniff, blinking slowly as you watch your boss walk in, exchanging words with Fuchs and Hotch. "'Sides. We're friends now. You do what you have to when protecting your own." Your voice shakes a bit as you trail off, torn between the grateful smile on Garcia's face and the unreadable expression on your boss'.

"I had some time earlier, during everything going on—I work quick you know? And I do little crafts when I get stressed, so…" You feel a familiar piece of clothing being pressed into your hands, and it's your jacket. You didn't even realize you left it at her apartment, ripping it off after getting shot. A small embroidered pink flower now occupies the space where the bullet hole was. She giggles, squeezing your hand as you run it over her handiwork, "Sorry I only had pink thread."

"Pretty. Even better like this. You're a genius, you know that?"

The look on her face reminds you of a little kid who gets told their drawing is a work of art, but you revel in it. Despite the fact you might lose your job for insubordination, or whatever else Ms. Stevens can tack on—Otis is still looking at you from across the room, a talk imminent for your behavior. The HRT is risk intolerant, and though you saved a life today, you took someone else's.

"I read through your file."

Your eyes rip back and meet Penelope's as she stares at you hard through her glasses, "Uh…"

"Don't worry, just me. I just… get it now. The way you walked into my apartment earlier and you couldn't catch your breath, why you're the only Red left behind. I mean I'm like that after any type of cardio, and totally get it too, I…" she stops herself, and grabs your hands, "I get it. I've been there. I just want you to know I'm here if you want to talk, without the dark office and psych evaluation."

"You sure you're not a profiler?" you say simply, smirking. She laughs more freely than she has in days, patting your cheek, "Ripley, if I was, I wouldn't have been able to pass along your reinstatement papers. Your boss will see that soon enough. Again, thank you."

You can't do anything but laugh—any type of unease lifting from your system before you catch a certain spectacled analyst staring at your new friend, and you nudge her, "You know, with all the heat I'm getting right now—No one's looking at me like that." Garcia grins, looking over her shoulder and then back to you.

"Do you believe everything happens for a reason?"

As you watch her saunter over and talk to the guy, you start to believe it too.

A steaming cup of coffee is placed next to your thigh and you look over to see Spencer leaning against the other edge of the desk watching you.

"Just the way you like it."

You beam at him, leaning over to gulp the scorching liquid. The steam spreads in the short distance between you as you cock your head at him, "You remembered!"

He shrugs like it's nothing of the sort, the small gesture warming you just as much as the coffee does as it travels to your stomach.

"Do you know how hard it's been to get a cup of coffee around here?"

And then the two of you are giggling like schoolchildren, hiding behind furtive glances and shaking hands like there isn't a dead body covered by a tarp 10 feet away from where you sit. He nervously scratches at the pit of his elbow, unsure of what to say next but the moment is broken when Otis and Hotch walk over, effectively silencing your laughter. Spencer walks away quickly.

"Listen…"

Your boss sighs, rubbing at his bald head as he looks at you, "Let me guess, I'm not gonna believe what happened?" Hotch raises his eyebrows, "So you weren't kidding, Otis. That's why this agent goes by Ripley."

"You always have a way of doing things your own way, Rip."

Grimacing, your hands tighten around the mug as you look at your superior in the eye, "I followed orders and saved a life today. The rest.. was just because I really was trying to get a cup of coffee," The two men stare at you curiously, almost forming a blockade around your position on the desk, "Penelope adds vanilla and cinnamon to her oat milk." Otis looks unconvinced, still not blinking.

"I'm serious! It's delicious!"

Otis pinches the bridge of his nose before walking away. As he goes, he calls out, "You're back on for the next cycle." You spring up almost as if electrocuted, "Seriously? Can't take that back!"

"Don't do anything to make me want to," your boss says when he gets to the entryway, sweeping glass with the sole of his shoe, "No more surprises. I mean it, Ripley. Keep it up."

"Congratulations are in order then," Hotch says, shaking your hand, "I'll get the detective over to speed up your clearance. We all need a good night's rest."

"Thank you, sir."

Nothing can take away the elation that runs through your veins—like being brought back from the dead. You did what you set out to do, you made your second chance count and now you're an operator again. The type that saves lives and is in action instead of just filing paperwork and watching day go to night without feeling fulfilled. Excitement blurs your senses, your knee hopping up and down and it's not the coffee but the feeling of being useful again after all this—

"And Agent?"

"Sir?" you blurt out, looking up at Hotch, face falling at his next words, "I'm sorry for your loss. Agent Young would be proud of you." You smile at him and the emptiness sets back in when he turns away, immediately taking a big gulp of your drink as the muscle memory sinks in.

It's not his fault of course. But how foolish of you to forget why it all happened in the first place. Your quest for redemption and who you've lost on the way here. Would Charlie be proud? Looking around the room for prying eyes, you twist off the cap of the flask that sits in your pocket with nimble fingers, slipping it into your long sleeve and pouring the contents into your mug until it's empty. As you take a sip, your eyes meet Spencer's over the brim and your heart lodges itself in your throat as you try to wash it all down. He nods anyway, scratching the nape of his neck and averting his eyes as he comes back to sit next to you.

"It all makes sense now."

The whiskey acts as a security blanket, protecting your feelings from what he might say next. It'd be better to pretend to not care what the doctor thinks of you, but when his shoulder nudges yours, you realize you do.

"Hmm?"

"Ripley. Did you know Robert Ripley originally titled his sports feature Champs or Chumps when it premiered in the New York Globe in 1918?" Spencer says like he didn't just catch you in the act.

"You don't have to do this, y'know," you sigh, your mouth wavering over the now-cold beverage. Being patronized over your alcoholism might just send you into a bender if we're being honest, but then he scratches at his elbow again, sleeve rolling up slightly—and then you see the dots along his skin. Faint traces of fights neither of you bring to the surface go unspoken and for the first time in a year, someone sees you—vices and all and doesn’t recoil. There’s a wave that passes between you, hidden from the people that scatter the room and you can feel something crash over you in his presence. You think you might like it, even possibly sure of it when he speaks again.

"Why not? Obscure facts are right up my alley."

The sun rises on Quantico in the big windows behind you, framing everything in a new light.

—

"So are you?"

You blink slowly, torn from the reverie. It's been almost an hour of piecing together the parts you want to tell Ms. Stevens about how last night led to getting reinstated and earning your spot back on your team. The rest…you left out to not overcomplicate the situation. Come on… everyone lies to their therapist even a little bit.

"Hmm?"

She looks at you intently from a sentence she scribbles onto her notepad, "Are you ready to go back to work?"

Glancing at the ceiling, and then to the placard on her desk, Kirsten Stevens, EAC in blocky white font—you put your thoughts into words, "I mean even if I wasn't, I have to. This is my job. I have to do it well."

"But are you ready? Do you feel… able to do it well?"

Your eyebrows furrow, "I feel like you think I'm not—even if I've already proven I can." Ms. Stevens sighs, pulling her hair back into her claw clip and clasping her fingers together. Disappointment reeks from her stare, and you can't get to the bottom of why this woman seems like she's out to get you. You do the training, you perform well on the job, what else is there to worry about? The timer beeps, signaling the end of your session and you push off your knees, getting up from the couch. Your joints creak, frowning as you're still waiting for her to say something.

"Ripley. No one's saying you can't do your job well. What I am saying is, that until you admit to yourself that something's wrong…that feeling won't go away. You can't just run from your past," she says calmly. It's almost irritating, and a part of you wishes she'd yell at you instead.

"I'm not running. I'm facing it head-on by doing what he would want me to do. Charlie would want me to get back to normal and be back at work."

And she nods at you, turning back to her notepad and handing you a sheet detailing the inner work you have to do before your next appointment, "I can agree with that. We'll move you to every two weeks now since you're heading back to work. I hope to hear from you about any new updates…" Ms. Stevens says, continuing but the rest you don't listen to. She didn't even mention Charlie and he's all everything comes back to. If this is the help she’s prescribing, why does it still feel like you’re drowning?

You walk out of her office with the paper in your clenched fist and your phone in the other as you shoot a text to Penelope.

[To PG: Hey, I hope you're feeling better! Can you send me Dr. Reid's number? I need to ask him something. Also, Rossi's definitely single right? Asking for a friend (not me).]

—

"Let's say you've swallowed a bad thing and now it's got its hands inside you. This is the essence of love and failure." - Richard Siken

[ask to be added to taglist]

#made by ma1dita ♥︎#spencer reid x reader #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x hrt!reader #for my gn babies (づ ◕‿◕ )づ #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfic #ripley!verse

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darkpetal16 · 2 months ago

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Siren: Id take psychology and therapy courses for you!

...Or I could just mur-

Could we get what would be the fell brothers and dust and swap sans' first thoughts at handling a depressive episode Mc as well? They've always been my faves and the question hit close for me

Yeppers!

Underfell!Sans (Red): honestly really well. He’s been there so he’s really sympathetic. He’ll keep calm, and stay beside you through it. If you need to talk, he’s there to listen. If you need a hand to hold, he’s got two. He’s got plenty of experience taking care of his brothers when they’re too exhausted to do anything else so he’ll help you get out of bed, dressed, and into warm sunlight. If you’re ready for therapy, he’ll take you to all your appointments. If you feel like you need medication, he’ll set a reminder on his phone to help make sure you take it on time. Honestly just. . . Whatever you need. He’s got you.

Underfell!Papyrus (Edge): eh. He doesn’t get it. You slept all day so why can’t you get out of bed? Are you sick? No? Then get up, there’s so much to do! He may not understand it, but if you explain that you’re sick in a way that can’t be seen he’ll try to be gentler with you. It makes him anxious that you stopped taking care of yourself; it reminds him of when Sans uses to drink. He’ll forcibly drag you around in hopes of helping you “power through” whatever is going on. Sans will step in if it gets too much for you, but it’s probably in both your best interest to seek medical help with Papyrus at your side so they can explain it. Which will make him feel guilty that he caused your depression but that can’t be helped. Wingding steps in at that point to assist. He gets much better with you after that. He may not understand it, but he loves you and will support you.

Underfell!Wingding (Fell): you’re sick? Go get healed. What do you mean there’s no cure? Well that’s not acceptable. And now he’s getting a master’s in human biology and psychology and redirects his hyperfixation on making a cure for you. He’ll succeed eventually but in the mean time it’s all the pampering for you.

Dusttale!Sans (Dust): uh. He’d be the worst at handling it. He can’t even deal with his own issues, how can he be expected to deal with yours? He’s barely functioning. Best he can do is. . . Sit beside you. He doesn’t even cook or clean up after himself, and it’s hard to get out of bed most days, so. . . Yeah. He can sit beside you. Also. . . Probably best not vent to him. He won’t mean to, but he will inevitably compare traumas and unless yours is similar to his he won’t be able to relate or make significant connections. You’re pretty much on your own.

#undertale #undertale au #interactive fiction #sans #x reader #underfell #Dusttale #papyrus #Wingding #hc

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nohoperadio · 1 day ago

Text

I have an initial physio appointment tomorrow. I'm kinda nervous because some of the issue is slightly complicated and I suck at explaining things. Hope I don't fuck it up! I will make some notes today so I have roughly a script.

Also I'm not sure if they're gonna wanna examine my knee in a way where I'll have to take my jeans off. I mean it's fine if they do, it would just be nice to be psychologically prepared for that. But like I'm not actually stressed about this part it's not a big deal, it's more the first thing I said that I'm worried about, I'm just like freestyle posting here you know. To be honest I would delete this whole second paragraph if I valued your time more.

I hope everyone's doing okay today. Love you all very much.

#uninteresting

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darkdemeter · 4 months ago

Text

・issue/clipping #1・ SOLDAT'S REPRISE

⚤ Winter Soldier x Female Reader issue contains material not suitable for readers who are not 18+ or are sensitive to the following: 18+ Psychological and sexual thriller — depictions of previous supposed "dub-con" encounters, stalking, medication usage, therapy and trauma — paranoid reader — (semi) dark Winter Soldier — slow burn to smut — I think that's it. ✎ 2.5k The past is always an aspect that will haunt you. No matter where you go, or where you run and hide, the past and it’s ghost will always find you.

↳ MASTERLIST | ↳ TAGLISTS ────────────────────────

The will of Alexander Pierce was fundamentally clear. Upon his death, the Asset would be inherited unto you, as your personal form of security and to continue Hydra’s mission. By no means were you related to him. Far from it. But he raised you like you were his very own and that was enough for him to sign you into his will. Into Hydra’s will.

You left that all behind. Alexander Pierce is a forgotten man to you. A dead man. With your absence at the funeral, it wasn’t too long before settlement lawyers tracked you down, presenting you with a fortune you would take no part in claiming.

Not the money, not the businesses and paperwork. Not the Asset.

You’re glad for it, moving out here into the snowy escape, deep into the wood’s heart and away from civilization. You never wish to return to any of that nightmare if you can help it. You still have nightmares about it all. In the middle of the night you wake up in a cold sweat, a terrifying and odd mix between a moan and scream tearing from your throat as you claw yourself out from the sheets.

Sometimes his screams follow you out of the nightmare and sink into the four walls around you, the light-grey hue feels darker each night with those haunting cries of pain. It’s taken years to feel some kind of normalcy, some sort of escape from it all, until the news came on.

The Winter Soldier found in action once again. Sighted at the bombing in Vienna with a rampage following in Berlin. That was a month ago now, Four excruciating weeks of reliving it all again, night after night and day after day. The hidden lab’s sterile odour, the grim and twisting hallways of Hydra’s labyrinth, the soul-wrenching timbre of his tortured screams and the intertwined pants and moans of bliss shared during night’s most intimate hour and darkness. At this point, your appointments could do little to help. Still, you tried.

Ever since then, you began to see shadows in the blistering winds of white, each tree a darkened and potential silhouette that has you anxiously fiddling with the trigger of your pistol. No, you never really were one to engage in combat, but your training in self defence required it. No, you highly doubt you’d actually be able to shoot him, but the gun is better than nothing.

And no, you hadn’t thought twice beforehand that living out here would conceal your screams of pleasure nor pain.

“There is still no update regarding the apprehension of the Winter Soldier, who remains at large. Authorities and governing panels assess their options of how to proceed in locating James B—”

With a harsh press of your thumb you turn the news off, uninterested to hear another word.

You have to endure living in fear already. Knowing that he’s still out there terrifies you, you don’t need anything else fuelling the hyperactive levels of paranoia and insomnia that courses through your nervous system.

Tossing the remote aside to land absently on the couch somewhere, you head towards the kitchen, making your way around the pillar wall that connects to the counter to finish brewing your hot beverage. The static of silence brought a sense of eerie to settle over you, and you find yourself glancing over your shoulder to peer around your home, only to find nothing.

The many present corners provide a horror-esque theme. You never fancied the idea of something lingering just around the corner, watching, lurking and waiting. You hum to yourself softly, estranged and off key, but it fared better at occupying than the little voice in your head saying, you’re being watched. Look behind you. He’s here.

The spiralling wave of steam hovers over your drink, blown away in a gust as you take a leisurely sip from it, allowing the taste of your beverage to warm and smother you with something comforting. In your constant reminding to soothe and sipping, you stutter in your walk back towards the lounge with a hiss at the pounding creak of something against your window.

Quickly, you shield the hot stream of liquid from dripping evermore over your rim, glaring at the few drops staining the floorboards. “Shit.”

Sighing, you look up to just see that damn branch rattling sharply on the window pane. “That fucking branch.”

You pass the mug off to sit on the couch’s end table, resting it on a coaster as you draw the curtains to a close, hearing the grating clatter of rings move along the railing. Now with that threat out of the way and assured by, you turn back and collect your cup, the foresight of your mind in such a haze to realise the lack of a coaster under it.

Your lack of awareness for your surroundings always allowed him a sick sense of playfulness.

In account to your prior option of lazing about, you’re drawn to cross the hallway and into your study, the growth of work put off during the day now no longer viable to be left for tomorrow. You set your drink aside and take your place in the office chair, pulling yourself to log into your laptop and pull up your work emails and other related windows.

Time passes as you sort through the multitude of tasks, soon enough burning through your beverage, you gauge the time.

‘11:32pm’, the time in the screen’s corner reads. At this rate, you could pull an all-nighter. Tiredness to drag you to sleep evades you still without the aid of some medication that you’ve been trying to slowly wean yourself off.

Maybe another cup, a bit of TV and reading and then bed.

Seems pretty fair, pretty logical. The deadline wasn’t until the week’s end anyway, you could let yourself sleep in a little tomorrow. Signing off your laptop, you ignore the notification ping that pops from the corner, figuring it's a random email you’ll have to unsubscribe from, another chore to knock off the list tomorrow.

The hem of your woollen shirt pulls up as you stretch your arms over your head with a grumble hearing a few pops and cracks.

Another cup won’t hurt, you remind yourself as you snatch up your empty mug and exit your study. You catch movement in the corner of your eye and swiftly, your head follows, your heart feeling as though it's dropped a hundred yards into the abyss of your stomach.

Nothing.

It’s just your mind crafting illusions out of nothing. A trick of the light, you think you see the outline of a human being and paranoia does the rest at unsettling you.

Venturing back to the kitchen, you place the ceramic cup down with a gentle thud and reboil the kettle, once again surrounded by that deathly void of silence that only fades out of existence at the comfort of boiling water.

You make quick work to fill the portions of your drink before you realise that you have neglected your phone for some time now. Rounding that same wall out of your kitchen, you head for the coffee table, peering over the long stretching couch to see your phone’s black screen reflecting the bouncing halo of light above.

“Ah, exactly where I left it,” you hum to yourself and reach for it only to pause. Your hand hovers over your phone before it moves over the TV’s remote. “I swear I threw you over here...”

You look to the couch with a hardened crease falling over your brow, your mind working to retrace your steps but it all feels like some giant haze that leaves you questioning what is what. With a shrug, albeit still sceptical, you brush it off and grab your phone.

‘Security system 4 detection at 10:59pm.’

Your study. Eyes widening, you flick the notification box up.

10+ security notifications. All dated from today. Your mind is on auto-pilot of panic, that creeping chill runs up your spine like a sprint as you open the security app. You have a ton of notifications, why haven’t you noticed a single fucking one of them?

He’s here…

Today. All from today, all scattered apart in increments of hours, almost like a coordinated attack. The timestamps range from the study and all the way back to last night, around 1:30 in the morning, right where you believe you finally dozed off. If these alarms are being sparsely triggered, you dread to wonder just how many he didn’t set off.

Ping!

Your wide eyes caught in the hunter’s headlights turn downwards to your phone screen, taking your focus off the potentially dangerous horizon that circles you. Your breath hitches deeply in your throat, becoming a dry knot.

‘Security system 1 detection at 11:38pm.’

Front porch.

Your phone trembles in your grasp, your entire being pliant to fear, your pounding heart counts the seconds of haunting anticipation.

It takes so much for you to finally move one foot. You cradle the phone to your chest that heaves with erratic, laboured breaths. Along your way to investigate, you reach over the kitchen counter, your hand curls around one of the knives from the block and hold it at your side. Tears form on the brim of your vision with a misted blindfold as you pad your way cautiously to the door.

It utterly terrifies you how silent he can be. How deadly he is. Like a ghost. What’s more is this habit would be… natural for him. You’ve come to believe that he enjoys tormenting you like this. A sick, perverse game of the hunt. That even through the process of wiping, engrained indoctrination and strict persistence, he retains a dark sense of appetite for this. For you.

He’s out there. He’s outside waiting for you. He’ll be standing right there and he’ll take you.

That voice in your head whispers a sharp lullaby of fear into your mind, poisoning you only further into that spiral of madness. It keeps telling you over and over that it’s him, that he’s here for you and that there is no escaping him.

At the archway of the door you freeze before it, the barrier that is meant to keep unwanted shadows out and yet one may very well be lingering on the porch. A wolf ready to devour the rabbit with a bleeding limp, drawn to follow the warm trail of waning strength to run.

A deep breath taken in shudders in your chest as you steel yourself to face whatever lays behind.

Knife held tight in the grasp of one hand, the other that holds your phone juggled with shifting the lock and twisting the handle. Immediately a swarm of winter cold breezes through the fine gap with a hollow, ominous howl. Your skin is riddled with a chill from both the cold outside and the terror you suffer.

You pull the door open more and more, breath held until it enlarges into a suffocating bubble that sends a tingling sensation through your arms and to your cold fingertips. You raise the knife high with the intent to slash and cut as you release your breath with a loud gasp, eyes wide with a maniacal drive to survive. You stop dead in your tracks before you can fully cross the threshold.

Nothing.

All is normal. No looming silhouette that blends into the blackened backdrop of woodland that scare you enough with that threat that he hides among them. There’s no evidence he even crossed the front porch to set the alarm off, snowy prints untraceable on the cherry wood flooring.

Your shoulders sag low as the adrenaline dies to keep yourself on the front of combat. You almost feel silly for letting your fear take it this far. Have you really become so consumed by it?

He is… he’s out here…

Shaking your head you rid the intrusive thoughts from taking anymore of your sanity tonight. You turn and quickly head back in, body falling back against the door as you shut and lock the door behind you with an audible and safe sounding click.

Showers had become a late night occurrence and by no means could you have picked a better time after all that’s happened. Under the watery barrage that steams the glass panel and hangs in the air with a misty halo, you are absorbed into a place that is safe and away from any danger that lurks close by. Fingers combing the drenched tresses of hair and massaging the last of the conditioner through, you’re taken aback by the inkling that you heard the lock’s audible click. But it’s hard to tell from the rain of hot water. So you ignore it, push it deep down into a box of irrational fear. That’s all this was – all this night had been.

A nightmarish fiend conjured by irrational fear.

You turn off the water and the overhead drips remnant wetness onto the tiles below and down the drain as you step out, hands wrapping your fresh and warm towel around you.

Standing before the fogged up mirror, you take part in dressing yourself in a fresh singlet that clings to your warmed, dewy skin like a second layer. Following you tugging up your panties, you brush a streak over the mirror with your hand.

Your eyes widen, forming tears dry on the waterline as your body is consumed by that feverish, icy cold of dread, heart pounding hard against your ribs at the sight of him. A ghost that confronts you in the safety of your own home.

“Soldat!” you scream until your cords shrink and shred, leaving your throat scratched and irritated, you pivot on your heel fast only to find your breath hitching, those tears come to glass over your vision and a sob chokes out from your throat at seeing…

Nothing.

“I’m telling you, Doctor, I saw him—” Though your voice is a little hoarse from screaming last night, you still plead to be heard by the one person who is obligated to do so. But she doesn’t. She dismisses you, a hand raised into focus of the camera.

“Victims in these situations can suffer relapses and experience hallucinations that otherwise appear to be real,” she says with a calm, experienced octave. She’s been with you long enough to know just how your process works.

That you often have some breaking point that sends you spiralling back down to the bottom of your paranoia and trauma.

“No… i-it wasn’t a figment, Doctor, I actually saw him…” Your eyes are red, disturbingly swollen from the amount of crying that occurred in the aftermath of your encounter. Your whispering voice quivers as you reiterate, “I saw him… and the way he looked at me…”

You cannot forget that crazed look in his eyes, gaze abandon of anything remotely sane turning deep to that primal lust. That distinct trace of something carnal. “He looked like a mad dog…”

You saw in the reflected image of his eyes that he vowed to claim you once again, all in due time.

Your watery eyes move away from the laptop’s camera, downwards to the glass of milk resting on a coaster to absorb the trickles of condensation.

THANKS FOR READING!

✎ no note from the author

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #female reader #bucky barnes fic #winter soldier #the winter soldier #bucky fanfic #bucky x you #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky fic

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slaymitchabernathy · 5 months ago

Text

Spoiled Rotten

“There you go, you look so fashionable darling.”

Coriolanus presses his ear to the bathroom doors as he listens to his girlfriend talking to what might as well constitute as her child.

Petunia.

What was supposed to be a gift, a pet, turned into an irreplaceable entity in their household. Petunia truly had Soarynn wrapped around her little claw and Coriolanus often thought it was utterly ridiculous that Soarynn was so willing to bend to Petunia’s every need.

Now did Coriolanus bend to Soarynn’s every need?

Yes, yes he did. But this is different!

And Petunia—as he so often likes to remind Soarynn—is a cat. Not a person. Not a child. The fact that she sits at the dinner table with them is ridiculous enough. But to insist on constantly brushing her and bringing her more and more toys was ridiculous in his opinion.

Still, Coriolanus knows how much Soarynn loves Petunia, despite how insistent the little beast is on making his life a living hell. It started out slowly, the cat is smart and he has to give her credit for that. She’d simply sit on his side of the bed, refuse to move off of the sofa when he wanted to sit down.

Little things. But this is psychological warfare as far as he’s concerned.

It’s been two years since he got Petunia for Soarynn and she’s only gotten more and more clever. She’ll bite holes in his socks, she’ll eat his socks. She’ll sneak into his study and kick papers off of his desk, knock down his lamp and clock.

One time she walked into his study, hopped onto his desk, and hacked up a fucking hairball right in front of him all while maintaining eye contact.

Soarynn claims she’s an angel.

Either way, Petunia is here to stay and is currently being prepared for a visit to the veterinarian. Since her last visit was quite the stressful one thanks to her eating his sock, Soarynn told him that she wanted to “mentally prepare Petunia to go back.”

Whatever that means.

He quickly backs away from the doors when hearing the sound of Soarynn’s heels clicking on the tiled floor and watches as the doors open, revealing his stunning girlfriend and Petunia who has a pink ribbon wrapped around her neck.

Coriolanus chuckles as he watches Petunia try and wiggle out of Soarynn’s hold, “Someone’s not too happy about her ribbon hmm?” Soarynn scoffs and readjusts her grip on the flailing feline, “She loves it. Don’t you Petunia?”

Coriolanus raised his eyebrows but doesn’t give any further comments on Petunia and her feelings towards the ribbons that Soarynn is so fond of making her wear. He can see a hint of nervousness in Soarynn’s eyes and he gives her arm a gentle squeeze.

“Everything will be fine darling.”

Soarynn nods and forces a smile but her heart isn’t in it, “Suppose they find something wrong? Perhaps her stitches came loose?”

Coriolanus is quick to silence these worries by wrapping his strong arms around her and planting a kiss on the top of her head, “We would’ve know if her stitches came loose darling.” He doesn’t mention that Soarynn has been quite tedious about Petunia’s recovery, ensuring everything was cleaned and antibiotics were given at the proper times.

Soarynn sighs and leans her head against his chest, “I know. I…I’m being overdramatic but I just worry that they might need to keep her overnight for observation or something like that. We’ve never been apart like that before.”

I know, is what Coriolanus wants to say. Petunia has been a constant in both of their lives to the point where it was strange to not have her roaming the penthouse halls for a night.

“It’ll be fine, and after the appointment we can take her to the pet shop and get her something nice,” he suggests.

Coriolanus knows how much Soarynn loves to shop and spend money and she loves shopping for others even more than for herself. She often comes home with new clothes for him or new bows for Petunia. A visit to the pet shop is bound to make her feel better. An incentive if you will.

Soarynn perks up and lets out a small gasp, looking up at him with those startling eyes of hers, “Really? And I can buy her whatever she wants?”

Coriolanus grins down at her and nods, “Anything you want,” he promises.

꧁ ꧂

“Absolutely not.”

Coriolanus shakes his head at Soarynn who is currently holding a tiny black kitten in her hands. He sends a warning glare to the shop owner who is being no help to him in this current situation.

Soarynn pouts and Coriolanus nearly gives in but as the man of the house, he has to put his foot down. Granted he doesn’t do it often, not when it’s her. Not when it’s Soarynn, his darling girl who truly deserves the world and more.

But another cat?

He’d rather eat glass.

“Please Coryo? Petunia needs a friend,” Soarynn insists, walking towards him and Petunia who is currently in his iron grip. The kitten is awfully cute, even he can admit that. But that’s just what he’s worried about.

Petunia had been adorable as a kitten. But then she got old, smart, mean. He can’t have that again. And this kitten is a girl. Three against one just isn’t fair.

Petunia lets out a hiss and swats at the kitten who’s eyes go wide as saucers at the much larger cat. For once, Coriolanus is glad for her short temperament and her hatred towards the spotlight being stolen from her for more than five seconds.

“Petunia would feel neglected,” he tells her, “and besides, she clearly doesn’t like the kitten. I’m sure she’ll find a good home.” Petunia certainly did and clearly isn’t willing to give that up to another cat.

Soarynn sighs but nods, “Alright. I just miss when she was so tiny. Don’t you remember when we first got her?”

Coriolanus remembers clear as day how Petunia would stay up at all hours of the night, therefore making him stay up at all hours of the night. But, she had been a rather sweet kitten all things considered. And she made Soarynn so happy which was all he really wanted in the end for her.

He smiles, “I do. And I also remember you wanted to find her a new collar.” That seems to do the trick in distracting Soarynn because she gasps and nods, “Oh I did!”

Coriolanus feels rather proud of himself as he watches her return the kitten to the shop owner before coming back and collecting Petunia from his arms.

The pet shop has a rather large selection for cat collars and Soarynn has been in the market for a new one for quite some time.

He watches from a distance as Soarynn holds Petunia in her arms, almost like a child, bouncing her up and down, showing different collars to her.

She holds up a dark red collar and Petunia sniffs at it for a moment before her attention is drawn elsewhere, “You need to look like a proper Snow darling,” Soarynn tells the cat, bringing a grin to his lips.

Much can be said about how much she spoils that cat, but Soarynn has always made sure that Petunia looks as presentable as possible, always representing the Snows in a distinguished manner.

Coriolanus can’t help but wonder how she’d be with a child of theirs. Soarynn would be a wonderful mother, he knows that much for certain. But they’d have to get married first. Still, he can picture it quite clearly, a little child of theirs with blue eyes and blonde hair.

A true Snow.

And doesn’t that sound pleasant? ‘Soarynn Snow.’ It has a ring to it, he knows that for certain.

First he’ll need to secure a ring, one fit for the wife of Coriolanus Snow. He can only imagine the wedding, and Petunia is bound to be involved with that one way or another.

“Coryo?”

His girlfriend’s voice pulls him from his thoughts of the future and he looks down at a happy-looking Soarynn who is holding the red collar in her hands, “Yes my love?” Soarynn shifts her hold on Petunia which earns her an annoyed meow but Soarynn ignores it, “Don’t you think this collar is fitting for her?”

Coriolanus takes the collar into his hands and inspects it. It’s made of thick leather with fine craftsmanship if he did say so himself. A perfect collar for the cat of a Snow.

He can only imagine the clothes their children will wear one day. Soarynn is bound to have them all coordinate outfits with one another.

“It’s perfect,” he says, earning him a bright smile from Soarynn who nods in agreement, “I thought so too. Should we get her another tag engraved?”

Petunia had gone missing once, slipped out of the penthouse and explored the Capitol streets, nearly sending Soarynn into despair. In the end they found her but Coriolanus was glad that she at least always wore a collar with her information on it incase someone found her.

“Yes, let’s go do that right now.”

꧁ ꧂

Petunia Snow ꧁ ꧂ XXX-XXX-XXXX ꧁ ꧂

Coriolanus reads Petunia’s new engraved collar tag as they’re driven back home. Petunia is sound asleep in Soarynn’s arms who is sound asleep in his arms.

Both girls must be exhausted from today. Coriolanus was pleased to hear that Petunia had recovered without a hitch and that nothing was amiss with her health. Soarynn was even more relieved than he was and pressed about a million kisses to Petunia’s head.

As if the cat didn’t eat one of his socks.

Coriolanus carefully sets the collar back into its box which is next to the other two shopping bags full of things Petunia does not need but got today.

In the end he supposes that she’s cheaper than a human child, but he’ll happily pay for her things so long as it makes Soarynn happy.

Coriolanus sleeps well knowing that his future wife, future children, and…his cat, all are spoiled rotten.

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