Me and my boss have been dating for a while. We've gone through many highs and lows during our relationship as any couple does. Today, though, it's just us and an amazing meal at The Golden Orchard. It seems like she wants to ask me something, though.
A/N: I imagine Jenna with her original voice when I'm writing.
When I arrived at the restaurant I was surprised to see it was one of the most expensive and classy places in Linkon. The Golden Orchard really lived up to its name. The chairs, curtains, and even marble floor had gilded accents. Jenna stood up and waved while I waited in line to check the reservation.
“Y/N, over here!” She called out.
“Oh, hey!” I waved back and went towards her.
We hugged and she kissed me before sitting down. There was already a goldenware set and a menu in my spot.
“Babes, I was so worried you wouldn’t get here before it started raining.” Her naturally sultry voice said. “You know how the traffic gets when there’s rain.”
“Yeah, me too. Your suit looks amazing. I don’t think I’ve seen you wear the whole thing before. I recognize the pants, though.” I replied and looked at the menu.
Jenna smiled, “You’ve been looking at my pants.”
I bit my lip, “Yeah. Even before we were together, I looked at you. All of you. That includes your pants.”
And imagining getting them off of her.
“How was the traffic for you?” I asked. “I know you like getting places early, but that’s rush hour. The tail end, but still.”
“Not too bad. There was an all human accident that I had to drive past, though. Nobody was too badly hurt, thank goodness.” She replied.
We ordered our food and drinks and the waiter took our menus.
“I can’t believe we’re having our date at the Golden Orchard! Does your big boss salary really able to cover all this?” I asked.
Jenna flipped her hair, “Well, of course.” She then lowered her voice and leaned in. “Also, hunters get a 40% discount. I showed them my credentials when booking the reservation.”
I giggled. The food set before us was a small portion, but it was well known that despite the size, it would fill us up. It was kind of magical like that. Not to mention, it was delicious! The food was so tender that it melted right on our tongues.
“Wow!” We said in unison.
From the appetizer, to the main course, and even the side dishes. Everything was so perfect. It was even better because of the woman sitting across from me. Her lavender grey eyes looked at me over digital candlelight.
“What?” She asked with a smile.
“I love you so much. Not just because of this, but you’re an amazing girlfriend. Everytime you visit me, you help out around the apartment. You’re smart. You’re gorgeous. I love watching you on the battlefield. And tonight is just. Perfect doesn’t even come close.” I said, gazing at her with pure adoration.
“I feel the same about you. When I have to go to conferences for my work, I always try to see if I can bring you with me. If the answer is no, I think about you all the time while I’m there.” She held my hand, “I hope you don’t mind that I already chose dessert.”
I shook my head, “I don’t mind at all.”
Jenna gave a look to the waiter who nodded and came back with a silver domed tray. When he lifted the top, I noticed a message written on the jelly matcha cake. WILL YOU MOVE IN WITH ME? With a key card placed between the raspberries.
I gasped, “Jenna! Really?” I looked her in the eyes while mine got wider.
“Yes.” She nodded. “We’ve been dating for a while now, and your place isn’t exactly big enough for two, Miss Frugal. So, why don’t you move in with me?”
“Ok. Yeah. I’d love to live with you!” I replied.
The two of us slightly stood out of our chairs so we could kiss over the cake. After the key card was in my pocket, we took our forks and fed each other some of the dessert.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, my love.” She looked at me, unable to stop smiling.
“Hapy Valentine’s Day, dear.” I giggled.
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The trailer hummed with controlled urgency—the soft whir of a steamer, the clipped cadence of last-minute instructions, the faint scent of hair spray and warm fabric. Light panels cast an even glow across mirrored walls, multiplying the scene into careful reflections: stylists in black, assistants with clipboards, garment bags unzipped like held breaths.
Jenna stood at the centre of it all, still, composed, a quiet axis around which everything moved.
Outwardly, she was calm—shoulders relaxed, expression neutral, movements economical. Inwardly, her thoughts churned. A storm kept perfect time beneath the surface, restless and insistent. Every few minutes, her hand drifted toward the phone resting on the counter beside her, fingers brushing the screen as if by instinct. She checked it once. Then again. And again. Each glance was brief, almost casual, but the expectation behind it was sharp, unignorable.
Nothing.
The gown waited on a padded stand beside her, black as poured ink. Its construction was precise, almost architectural—a high, sculpted collar rising to her throat, the bodice fitted and corseted with subtle sheen, the sides cut away to bare skin so cleanly they felt intentional rather than daring. From the shoulders fell strands of beaded fringe, fine and deliberate, catching the light with each small movement in the room. It was a dress that didn’t shout. It sharpened.
She stepped into it with practised ease.
A stylist guided the fabric up her frame, smoothing it over her hips, fastening the concealed closures with reverent care. The gown settled against her like it had been waiting—structured yet fluid, the black fabric absorbing light while the embroidery along the bodice held it, scattering faint glints as if remembering older nights. Another pair of hands adjusted the fringe at her shoulders, ensuring it fell straight, a quiet curtain of movement that would sway when she walked.
Jenna’s gaze flicked to her phone again while they worked. Still nothing. The calm on her face never cracked, but something tightened behind her eyes, a thought she refused to name.
Someone retouched her makeup—softening the line beneath her eyes, perfecting the calm matte of her skin. Another reworked a loose section of her hair, dark and parted, drawn back into a low, deliberate style that exposed her face fully. No excess. No distraction.
When the final clasp was secured, Jenna lifted her chin slightly, instinctively, as if aligning herself with the version of her that would step onto the carpet. The gown’s high collar framed her throat; the cutaways revealed strength rather than fragility. It was a silhouette that balanced restraint and edge, intimacy and distance.
Before turning to the mirror, she reached for her phone one last time.
The screen lit up. No new messages.
The disappointment was subtle—just a brief stillness, a fraction of a second where her breath caught before she set the phone face down. Whatever she’d been waiting for, it wasn’t coming. Not tonight.
She caught her reflection at last.
Not searching. Not doubting.
Just taking inventory—of the weight of the fabric, the steadiness of her breath, the quiet gravity that had settled over her. Outside, the Golden Globes waited in their familiar spectacle of cameras and applause. Inside the trailer, the noise softened, the work completed.
Jenna Ortega stood ready—not transformed, not costumed, but precisely herself, dressed in black, storm contained, prepared to step into the light.
The trailer door opened to a corridor washed in warm light and motion. Assistants parted instinctively, phones lifted, murmurs softening as Jenna stepped out. The dress moved with her now—fringe whispering, black fabric holding its line—every inch of her composed, deliberate. This was the moment she usually slipped into muscle memory, the practiced calm before the spectacle.
She barely had time to breathe it in.
“Jenna—wait—oh my God, I’m so sorry—”
The voice came fast and breathless, followed by hurried footsteps. A woman came into view at a near jog, then slowed abruptly, bending forward with her hands braced on her knees, curls falling into her face. She was huffing, clearly having run farther than dignity preferred.
“I—traffic was insane, and then the belt broke, and my lecture ran late, and the university—this is entirely my fault, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
Jenna froze for half a second.
Then her composure cracked—cleanly, beautifully.
A soft laugh slipped out of her, unguarded, real. She crossed the remaining distance in two quick steps and pulled the woman—y/n—into a tight hug, arms wrapping around her without hesitation.
“Hey,” Jenna murmured into her shoulder, voice low and reassuring. “You’re here. That’s what matters. Breathe.”
Y/n did not, in fact, breathe.
She straightened slowly, hands still hovering awkwardly, eyes finally lifting—and promptly forgetting what oxygen was for.
Jenna stood impossibly close, dressed in black that felt less like clothing and more like intention. The high collar, the sharp cut of the bodice, the bare slashes of skin at her sides—she looked unreal. Not untouchable. Worse. Present. Warm. Laughing softly, eyes bright, hair perfectly undone.
Damn, y/n thought distantly. She looks so perfect. How did I get her?
Y/n was taller, broad-shouldered in a black button-down she’d grabbed without thinking, sleeves rolled just enough to reveal the tattoo on her forearm—dark, feminine, deliberate lines that hinted at something mythic and private. Ink met skin with quiet confidence. Her curls were a little wild from running, her shirt creased, her entire look accidental and somehow devastating anyway.
Jenna noticed everything. She always did.
She smiled—small, fond—and reached for y/n’s hand, lacing their fingers together like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like this was the calm she’d been waiting for.
“Come on,” Jenna said gently. “We’re going to be late.”
They moved together down the corridor, hands joined, Jenna’s earlier storm finally easing as the car door opened and closed behind them. The city blurred past the window, lights streaking gold and red, the quiet between them comfortable, charged.
The venue came into view soon enough—floodlit, waiting, alive with cameras and sound.
And for just a moment, before stepping back into the noise, they sat there—fingers still intertwined—on the edge of something glittering and inevitable.
The car eased to a stop beneath a canopy of light, the venue rising ahead of them in glass and gold. Sound rushed in the moment the door opened—voices overlapping, shutters clicking, names being called with practiced urgency. The red carpet stretched forward, already alive with movement.
Jenna stepped out first.
The reaction was immediate. Cameras pivoted, a ripple of attention snapping into focus as flashes burst in quick succession. Her name carried through the air—clear, insistent—layered with curiosity as eyes shifted past her, registering the presence beside her.
“Jenna—over here.”
“Who’s that with her?”
“Is that her stylist?”
“Jenna, look this way—Jenna!”
Y/n remained half a step back, instinctive, observant. She leaned in just enough for her voice to reach Jenna’s ear, low and steady amid the noise.
“Take your time,” she murmured. “Get all the pictures. I’ll be waiting for you inside—near our seats.”
Jenna turned toward her, the corners of her mouth lifting. For a heartbeat, habit nearly won—she leaned in, close enough that the intent was unmistakable. Then she caught herself.
Y/n did not hesitate.
She slipped her arms around Jenna instead, a brief, grounding hug—firm, protective, private in its restraint. No performance. No announcement. Just reassurance. A choice made with care, leaving space for Jenna to decide when and how the world would know.
The cameras noticed, of course. They always did. Lenses zoomed, murmurs sharpened, speculation sparked and scattered like kindling.
Jenna didn’t look back.
She stepped onto the carpet, posture settling into something effortless and assured. The dress moved exactly as it was meant to now—fringe swaying, black fabric catching light in quiet flashes. She posed with ease, chin angled just so, gaze steady, a study in composure and command.
From the edge of the crowd, y/n lifted her camera—the small one she carried everywhere, worn at the corners, trusted. She framed Jenna through the lens, adjusting instinctively, capturing her between moments: the slight shift of weight, the almost-smile, the way her eyes softened when she thought no one was watching.
Y/n smiled to herself, unguarded, ridiculous with it.
Jenna Ortega belonged to the room—to the cameras, the lights, the noise. And just beyond it, unnoticed by most, she belonged to someone watching from the corner, quietly, lovingly, documenting the night not as spectacle, but as truth.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
The ceremony unfolded in measured grandeur—lights dimming, applause rising and falling in practiced waves, names announced with polished reverence. The auditorium glowed softly, rows of seats filled with familiar faces and quiet anticipation.
When the category was announced—Best Actress in a Musical or Comedy Series—the air shifted.
Jenna sat very still at first. Then her knee began to bounce, a small, involuntary motion betraying the calm she wore so well. Her gaze stayed fixed on the stage, expression composed, but y/n noticed immediately.
Without looking at her, y/n placed a hand on Jenna’s thigh and gave it a firm, grounding squeeze—steady, intentional. The message was simple: I’m here.
Jenna exhaled. The movement in her leg stilled. Her fingers slid instinctively into y/n’s, lacing together beneath the armrest, hidden from view. The contact anchored her as the nominees were read aloud, each name met with applause that felt both endless and too brief.
Then the envelope opened.
The winner was announced.
It wasn’t her.
Jenna rose anyway, grace intact, clapping with genuine respect as the winner made their way to the stage. Y/n stood with her, applause steady, posture aligned beside her. To anyone watching, it looked seamless—professional, supportive, composed.
But y/n caught the shift.
It was subtle, fleeting—a tightening at the edge of Jenna’s mouth, a stillness behind her eyes. Not surprise. Not bitterness. Want. This one had mattered. More than the others. She had lost before—2023 still lingered somewhere in memory—but this time, she had allowed herself to hope.
They sat back down as the applause faded.
Y/n leaned in, voice low, meant only for her. “You won for me already, love.”
Jenna’s lips curved into a small smile—not triumphant, not careless, but real. It lingered just long enough to soften the disappointment, to remind her where she was, and who she was with.
Her fingers tightened gently around y/n’s hand.
And for the moment, that was enough.
THE END
Let me know if you want me to continue with this or any new story <3 :)
Plot: Y/n is an agent of the Time Protection Association (TPA), sent to the year 1910 to oversee a key historical event. However, something goes wrong.
Pairing: Jenna Ortega X reader
Perfect Y/n said to herself sarcastically.
Her breathing was ragged. A drop of sweat ran down her forehead, tracing a damp trail along her cheek before falling from her chin—a telltale sign of the physical effort she was exerting to carry out her mission. She pressed her lips into a thin line, her jaw tight as she continued to crawl forward on her elbows along the ground, which looked like the mouth of a den. Y/n rolled her eyes upward and shifted her weight to one arm while the other hand tried to untangle a corner of her high-waisted skirt caught in a branch. Her jaw clenched tighter, the muscles in her arm straining with effort until she finally managed to free herself and proceed toward the exit of the cramped, narrow passage.
The white shirt must be ruined, she thought bitterly. Of all the possible places for a time portal, why did it have to be a hole in the ground?
She clenched her jaw, her tongue swiping the inside of her cheek before resting against the roof of her mouth, the tip brushing her teeth. Y/n was an agent of the Time Protection Association (TPA), and her superior had assigned her to supervise an event dated September 1910. Her job? Observe. Make sure everything happened as it was supposed to. Was she supposed to interfere? Absolutely not.
Only in case of emergency.
An irritated huff left her lips, her nose breathing heavily as she finally pulled herself out of the hole—den, maybe? Her eyes scanned the area, a furrow forming on her brow reflecting the confusion painted across her face: green. All she saw were trees, a peaceful silence broken only by birdsong and the occasional rustle of wildlife passing by. Something’s off, she thought. She bit the inside of her cheek, pensive, and tried brushing the dirt off her skirt. Then she raised her right hand to dust off the white shirt she was wearing.
Thud. A dull sound.
Y/n didn’t even have time to process what had happened before a sharp, searing pain tore through her left arm, making her scream. Instinctively, she staggered backward, trying to keep secret her work, and ended up collapsing onto the forest’s green floor. Small tears stung the corners of her eyes as she blinked rapidly, trying to fight through the pain and focus on the still-bleeding wound. Her jaw clenched from the strain, her vision blurring under the weight of held-back tears. Her free hand shakily rose to press against the injury.
Approaching footsteps made her ears twitch alertly. “Oh my God! I’m so sorry,” murmured a female voice, her tone drenched in panic.
Y/n clenched her jaw, teeth grazing her tongue as she tried to hold back the flood of curses she desperately wanted to hurl at the girl. She turned to face her.
Her eyes widened. Her breath caught in her throat. The girl had amber-toned skin, large brown eyes with a slightly almond, almost feline shape that stared at her with a mix of worry and panic. Long lashes, a small upturned nose, full pink lips, and a constellation of freckles scattered across her nose and sculpted cheekbones. Her thick, well-shaped eyebrows framed delicate yet striking features. A cascade of wavy brown hair fell softly over her shoulders.
Holy hell. She’s gorgeous, Y/n thought, stunned. She blinked and her eyes darted quickly to the rifle still in the girl’s hand, its barrel faintly smoking. But she tried to kill me!
Y/n bit her lower lip, aching, and crawled backward, wanting to put more distance between herself and the girl.
The girl dropped the rifle to the ground and crouched down beside Y/n, her brown eyes filled with regret. “I’m sorry,” she repeated, her voice gentle but laced with concern over what she had accidentally done. “I thought you were an animal! Oh God, I didn’t mean to!” she said, trying to apologize.
Y/n’s lips curled into a mocking smile before pressing into a thin line to hide her amusement. A part of her found the situation hilarious. The girl bit her bottom lip, brushing a strand of hair from her face and offering a hand to help Y/n up.
Y/n eyed the hand skeptically, her right hand still pressed against the wound.
“I saw something move and shot! I didn’t think it was a person,” she justified.
The girl wiggled her hand insistently, wanting to help.
“You could’ve killed me,” Y/n muttered through gritted teeth, her vision still fading from blood loss.
Ironically, it had only grazed her.
She shook her head, trying to refocus her sight, and with resignation, accepted the girl’s hand.
She got to her feet and quickly observed the girl’s outfit: a simple brown dress down to the ankles that accentuated her curves, flat shoes. Isn't it too different from what she was wearing? She had a high-waisted skirt and a white shirt with a stiff collar, she realized.
She didn’t think too much about it and let herself be pulled up. The girl picked the rifle up from the ground and quickly moved to her side, her free arm wrapping around Y/n’s waist to help her to maintain the balance.
“You need to come with me, I want to treat your wound,” the girl said, looking ahead.
Not like I have a choice, Y/n thought bitterly.
“I’m really sorry” the girl muttered in a faint voice. She was just over five feet tall and Y/n had to tilt her head down to see her better. She frowned and, with a sigh of resignation, had no choice but to follow her (attacker?) to who knows where.
The girl’s arm was firmly around her waist, slender fingers pressing gently but firmly against her hip.
The crunch of leaves breaking beneath their steps was the only audible sound.
From the corner of her eye, Y/n could see the girl occasionally glance her way. A shaky sigh escaped her lips as she tilted her head sideways toward her, catching her in the act. The girl quickly looked away, her brown hair trying—and failing—to hide the blush spreading on her face.
Y/n smirked in amusement, her eyes flicking to the girl’s face: sharp jaw, lips pressed into a thin line as if weighing her thoughts.
Her brows were furrowed.
The girl parted her lips and lifted her head to look at her, a crease on her forehead signaling her confusion. Her jaw was tense, her arm unconsciously tightening its grip on Y/n’s waist, making her wince from the pain.
“What were you doing in the woods? You’re not from around here,” the girl asked, finally giving voice to her thoughts. The rifle was still held tightly in her free hand.
Her brown eyes, accentuated by long lashes, stared at Y/n with curiosity.
Shit, Y/n thought, worried.
She opened her mouth, trying to come up with an excuse—any excuse—to explain her presence in the woods, but was interrupted by a distant voice. The girl tensed and Y/n turned her head to locate the source of the sound. A young man was walking toward them, a two-story stone house standing behind him. The house had small windows with wooden shutters, and a gabled roof covered in what looked like tiles.
A wooden stable stood nearby.
“JENNA!” the young man shouted, his brown eyes fixed on the girl at Y/n’s side.
So her name is Jenna, Y/n thought, amused.
Jenna straightened up, her tongue darting out to wet her bottom lip as she watched the man walk toward her. He looked furious. “What the hell were you doing in the woods? With my rifle, no less?” he asked venomously, jaw tight.
The young man ran a hand through his slightly messy brown hair. His jaw was tense and well-defined.
Jenna let her arm slip from Y/n’s waist and released her grip. Y/n frowned slightly at the loss of contact.
“You should be at home with Mother, helping with the house! You’re nearly 20, Jenna! If you act like this, what man would want to marry you? You’re of marrying age, you know that? You shouldn’t be doing men’s work,” he scolded.
“What would our father say?” he asked, locking eyes with Jenna.
Jenna flinched at the mention of their father, her body stiffening as she looked at the man pleadingly.
“Please, Isaac, don’t tell Father—I just wanted to have a little fun,” she said with a trembling voice, fear evident in her tone. "You know he would never let me out again! I need freedom."
Isaac yanked the rifle from Jenna’s hands and grabbed her arm tightly.
A grimace of pain flashed across her face.
“Okay, okay, you’re hurting her,” Y/n interjected, her breath uneven, sweat dripping from her forehead due to the searing pain in her shoulder.
The man finally seemed to notice her presence, his brow furrowing when he saw the bloodstain soaking through her white shirt.
“What have you done?! Do you want to put our family in debt?” he snapped at Jenna, his jaw tight as he gripped her arm harder. Jenna kept her lips pressed tightly together, her eyes clouded with tears she was trying not to let fall.
Y/n clenched her jaw with an audible click of her teeth, blood boiling as she breathed heavily through her nose to control both the pain and her patience.
Damn this sexist era, she thought bitterly. Women meant nothing.
“It’s fine… She offered to treat my wound,” Y/n interjected, trying to calm the situation. “It was an accident,” she reiterated.
Isaac squinted and released Jenna’s arm.
The girl stared at the ground, her jaw trembling as she tried to hold back tears. Something inside Y/n twisted at the sight. Isaac turned his gaze to Y/n and studied her intently, a flicker of confusion crossing his face as he took in her clothing.
Y/n stiffened slightly.
“I won’t say anything to Father… You’re lucky he’s out of town on business,” he muttered darkly, then took the rifle and walked away.
(...)
Y/n was sitting on a straw mattress, the sturdy wooden bed creaking beneath her as she waited for Jenna to arrive.
Her eyes quickly scanned the room with curiosity. The room was modest in size: a table, a wooden wardrobe, and a small window that served as the only source of natural light. On a wooden shelf, a few books of various sizes and some scattered sheets of paper were neatly arranged. On the table, an oil lamp and an inkwell completed the simple yet functional decor. Sweat continued to run down her face, her breathing labored and uneven.
Her right hand held the wound.
Y/n blinked, her vision still blurry. She groped for the emergency phone hidden in the inner pocket of her skirt, but froze when she heard footsteps approaching, creaking on the wooden floorboards. She forced herself to stay composed. Now was not the time. She had to postpone, she realized with frustration.
Jenna entered the room carrying a small metal basin, carefully folded cotton bandages, and a few dark glass bottles of unknown content. Her large brown eyes, full of hesitation, settled on Y/n but quickly looked away, as if trying to escape the embarrassment.
She looked genuinely sorry.
She approached with uncertain steps while Y/n breathed heavily, her lips slightly parted from anxiety and pain. Jenna knelt and gently set the items on the floor. In the basin, Y/n noticed, was slightly steaming water. Jenna swallowed hard and looked at her intensely. Y/n’s heart raced as she saw Jenna’s slender fingers reach for the buttons of her shirt, unbuttoning them gently.
Her fingertips traced a precise path down her chest.
Jenna frowned, puzzled.
“I’ve never seen a shirt like this before…” she murmured. “Where are you from? Who are you?”
Y/n let out a soft sigh, broken by the pain and the heat beading her forehead. “From the north…” she lied. “My name’s Y/n Y/l/n.” She even invented a last name with ease.
“Nice to meet you, Y/n Y/l/n… I’m Jenna Hawthorne,” the other girl replied, a gentle smile curling her lips, revealing a deep dimple on her right cheek and surprisingly white teeth.
By the way… Y/n thought, still short of breath.
“Where are we? What year is it?” she asked, her voice trembling with anxiety.
Jenna tilted her head slightly, puzzled. Her eyes watched her for a long moment before she leaned forward and brushed Y/n’s forehead with her lips. The gesture was delicate, almost maternal, and the soft texture of her lips left a sensation that radiated up into her temples. Y/n held her breath.
“You don’t have a fever. Are you alright?” she asked with concern.
"I hit my head," Y/n tried to justify herself.
“We’re in New Hampshire. It’s 1820.” Jenna frowned with confusion
Y/n felt the world tilt. Ninety years. She was completely out of time.
Jenna sighed and gently slid the shirt off her shoulders, revealing the wound. Her eyes softened at the sight of the fresh injury, her lips pressed into a thin line.
“I’m going to clean the wound,” she murmured quietly, almost embarrassed.
Y/n gritted her teeth as the damp cloth brushed against her injured skin. A hiss escaped her lips. Jenna looked at her with a guilty, remorseful expression.
“It’ll sting a little,” she whispered softly.
The liquid—alcohol, she immediately recognized by the sharp smell—trickled onto the torn skin. Y/n flinched slightly, suppressing a groan while clenching her jaw. Tears blurred her vision, and the lump in her throat became so tight it stole her breath. Jenna wiped the wound carefully, almost respectfully, her hands light as feathers.
Y/n bit her lower lip hard, the metallic taste of blood filling her mouth.“I’m sorry,” Jenna whispered, barely audible.
She cleaned the wound one last time, then began to wrap it with expert fingers.
“Luckily the bullet didn’t stay inside,” she said with relief. Then, as if only then noticing something, Jenna lowered her gaze. The index finger of her right hand rested on Y/n’s arm, slowly following the outline of the tattoo. Her nails gently traced the design.
“Did they brand you?” she whispered, her voice broken between horror and sorrow. “It’s… awful. The symbol is beautiful, but… to be branded… it must have been painful.”
Y/n didn’t reply. She remained still as Jenna’s finger slowly traced the tattoo, as if trying to understand it, to read it.
Jenna looked up, their eyes met and Y/n’s heart skipped a beat in her chest.
"Can we not talk about it?" Y/n asks in a faint voice.
Jenna tilts her head to the side, her slender fingers brushing a lock of hair away from her face as she bites her lower lip, thoughtful. She nods at the request and rises from the floor, picking up the iron basin. Y/n’s heart hammers violently against her ribcage and her stomach twists as she watches the girl.
"I'll come back in a couple of hours to change the bandage," Jenna murmurs softly.
Her brown eyes glance at her with quiet sorrow before she presses her lips into a thin line and steps out of the room, the sound of her footsteps rising above the growing pounding of Y/n's heart.
A/n: I’m aware that my writing style has changed — I hope you’ll still enjoy it!
Does anyone know of a fic on here that is a Jenna x Reader fic about a screenwriter trying to make it in Holywood and Jenna buys their script to make it into a film and that's how they meet? Cannot for the life of me remember the author, so if anyone does, then please do let me know.
Summary: You've been Jenna's lover for a few months now. You meet in hotel rooms whenever you can. Jenna is promoting her latest projects in Venice when you decide to pay her a visit.
Genres: romance, smut with D/s dynamics, fluff
Words count: 5-6k
Warnings: MDNI +18, d/s dynamic, sub! Jenna, stone top Y/N, breath play, dirty talk, praise kink, kinda bratty.
a/n: First one shot in tumblr and english is not my first language :) hope you enjoy!
MASTERLIST
You were scrolling distractedly through social media when a notification popped on your screen. Jenna had posted photos.
More than Jenna herself, her team, you thought. Even so, you clicked immediately with a slight tension of anticipation growing in the lower part of your belly.
You watched each photograph closely. Jenna posing on that red carpet in that red dress. Her lips, also bright red, the wavy lines that traced her hair, her bangs forming a beautiful arc over her forehead. Her smooth and delicate skin, her mouth displaying that perfect and relaxed smile, those adorable dimples. You kept zooming in on each photograph when a new notification arrived. She had posted another update.
A smile was now forming on your lips. Jenna drinking coffee with those sunglasses and that t-shirt and that pose and those jeans. You remembered those photos perfectly. She had sent them to you the day before.
You sighed, looking out the airplane window. Glacing at your vintage silver wristwatch you noticed there were only 20 minutes left to reach Venice. Unable to resist the temptation, you opened your messaging app.
Hey my dear, barely 20 minutes to get to the airport.
Saw the instagram pictures btw. That dress suits you perfectly, you look beautiful.
She should still be at the interview she had told you about hours earlier, you guessed. She had sent you her full schedule as soon as she got to Venice, days ago. You loved it when she gave you all the information you needed to know where she was, and when, without even have to ask for it. Her complience made you go nuts sometimes.
You could imagine how tired she must already be, with it barely being 10 in the morning. She had been going back and forth for days promoting her new projects, attending interviews and public events of various kinds. You recalled in your mind her voice over the phone the night before, the way her raspy voice spoke to you, whispering how much she missed you and how little she could bear it. You had been waiting for this moment for weeks.
You were surprised when a vibration on your cell phone snapped you out of your thoughts.
Jenna: hey my love. Charlize will pick you up as we agreed. I think I'll be able to make it to the hotel on time. I can't wait to see you.
A sly smile graced your face. The first few times you two started texting, you were insecure about Jenna's style of writing. No emoticons, dry expressions and full stops. You soon learned a lot of things about her tho.
When she's at work and finds a few minutes to be able to text you -she makes that time to text you-, she doesn't even realize she sounds so "serious".
But then, when the nighttime comes and after taking a long bath, with her bathrobe still covering her body, she calls you, asks you animatedly how your day has been and reminds you how much she wants you, all doubts dissipate.
You decided not to reply to that message to heighten the anticipation. However, even though you were able to control yourself in action, your mind could not do the same and began to recall your previous encounters. The first time you met in that private area of one of the most exclusive clubs in L. A., when Charlize, her most trusted bodyguard, picked you up a few streets over and took you to her. How she waited for you with her legs crossed and those black stilettos, and one of her irresistible black suits.
Memories of that first night began to play out in your head without any censorship. Her sideways smiles as she teased you, the way her cheeks took on a light pale pink with the hints you murmured near her ear so she could hear you over the music. The way her nails grazed your arm for the first time, to, hours later, scratch you all over.
Her eyes, oh, her coffee brown eyes. Steaming, hot brown coffee. Chocolate eyes melting, dripping all over your body, ogling every nook and cranny and every detail they could absorb. She was looking at you in a way that you had never been looked at before.
"I'm starting to want you more than I can handle" she had whispered to you, after a couple of cocktails and too many leers. She had moved dangerously close to your ear to utter those words, then pulled away just enough to look deep into your eyes, raising her eyebrows slightly, looking down at you. A gaze that suggested some desperation and a lot of willingness to be blown away.
You then realized she was handing the power over to you. She was letting you decide if you were ready to commit to this madness with her. Things had changed since that night, but back then she was proposing that night. That's all you had: one night.
You plopped down on the headrest of your comfortable seat in the VIP area of the plane in the same way you had settled that night, months ago, on the pillows of her bed. The sensation of her warm body on yours invaded all your senses. Her legs around your torso, her hands on the back of your neck. Your hands caressing her tummy, then going from her upper back to her shoulder blades. One hand going up to her nape, pushing her to your lips. The other groping the elastic of her suit pants, asking for permission. You remembered perfectly her whisper, barely a strand of voice leaving her red, maroon lips.
"You can do whatever you want to me".
You smiled mischievously and opened your eyes, shaking your head. It wasn't really "whatever you wanted," but rather what the two of you had agreed upon in endless conversations before you started seeing eachother.
Meeting people backstage in the celebrity world had never suited you as well as when you got to meet her. A few minutes backstage at a random event, which led to following each other on Instagram, which led to getting her number, which led to intimate messages late at night.
Conversations about power, control, and seduction. You told her about submission. She started by joking about it, saying that she could never let anyone have that kind of dominance over her. She went on to say that maybe you could. She ended by asking you to accept hers.
You continued to learn about the d/s dynamic together, and agreed on initial boundaries and desires. Promises of what you could do to her, and be for her. Of the way you could put her mind and body at ease. Of the way you could set her free. And that night, in that LA hotel, you put them into practice. And boy, did you both like it.
Now you looked out the window and noticed that the hard concrete of the landing zone was getting closer and closer. You couldn't suppress a shiver that ran through your whole body, you didn't know if it was caused by the imminent landing or the imminent encounter with your precious submissive. Deep down you knew.
You walked through the front door of the hotel without any problem. The few people who should know you could pass knew that. Everything was handled as subtly as possible, protecting the privacy of the person they worked for, following her orders.
You were presented with stairs covered with a beautifully red carpeted floor. You climbed them on your way to the elevators that could be seen at the back of the entrance. One of them opened and Winona Ryder stepped out. You crossed paths but only dared to give her a brief smile, without looking directly at her. Had Jenna told her about you? You weren't used to running into celebrities from time to time. Charlize stood next to you.
“Surprised, huh?”
“She's a legend,” you said in a whisper of restrained excitement. She chuckled under her breath. She walked you to the open elevator and pressed buttons 4 and 5.
“You get off at 5. Room 513. She arrived about 15 minutes ago” she reported looking at her wristwatch. You nodded. There wasn't much more to say.
You could have engaged her in friendly conversation, but you could only watch the elevator screen indicating how you were getting on. Silently. This always happened to you; you were in that moment before you saw her in which your thoughts, actions and behavior were all directed towards her.
The doors opened on the fourth floor and Charlize said goodbye to you with a brief bow, you nodded in farewell. The doors closed and you felt yourself ascending a few more feet. Ascending towards your personal Heaven.
You stepped out of the elevator at a steady pace. You felt the weight of your whole body on your black military boots, you felt the skin rubbing against each garment you were wearing. You readjusted your watch, the one she had given you, and repositioned the necklace you were wearing, also a gift from her. Maybe she was your submissive, but you were her property.
“513” the plaque read. You gulped and touched up your hair, which you wore loose. One more shaky breath before you knocked softly on the door. Two sure knocks, as always.
“Come in” you heard from inside. Oh, that voice. You turned the doorknob without any hesitation.
You found yourself in a spacious room. The floor was covered with the same red carpet that protected the entire floor of the hotel. To your right, large windows lit up the room, but someone had already covered them with thick, translucent white curtains. In front was the king sized bed with an ornate wooden headboard. The room was chaste and classically decorated, in the most typical Viennese style.
It didn't take you long to notice that just before the bed someone had placed a low table that probably wasn't meant to be there. On it various plates with fresh fruit, freshly baked croissants and macarons in various pastel shades.
From your left you heard the sound of water running. You approached. To the right was a dressing room, and to the left was the door leading to the bathroom. A half-open door separated you from your girl.
“Babe, can i come in?”
“No!” she reacted instantly. “Give me a few minutes” the sound water running ceased. ”Go eat something, I got it for you.”
“Okay milady” you replied teasingly, earning a short sardonic laugh from her. She would always need to be fully prepared before seeing you, everytime to met. You found it really cute, yet kinda incomprehensible.
You would remind her that you had already seen her without all of that, without being THE Jenna Ortega, but simply Jenna, she would just smile shyly and confess that she wanted to be perfect for you. “At least before you ruin me completely” she used to add.
You went back to the master bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed. You smiled as you realized that Jenna had wanted to place the table as close to the bed as possible. You both knew brunch wouldn't last long.
You had caught quite a few planes for her lately, and she always greeted you with a big feast of her own preparation. You decided to grab a fresh strawberry from the fruit platter, feeling its juices expand in your mouth. You wanted to have the perfect taste when Jenna came out of that bathroom.
Strolling your gaze around the suite, you noticed a scarlet red suit folded on a chair, along with underwear and black platform heels resting next to it. You didn't have time to discover much more before you heard the door open. A broad smile appeared on your lips as soon as you saw her.
She was wearing a black and red plaid corset and matching skirt. Her hair fell straight and shiny over her shoulders, and a deep red lipstick highlighted her lips. She looked at you with those dark eyes, adorned with a subtle touch of eyeliner and mascara.
“Sorry babe, you know i don't usually keep you waiting”. Finally, her voice came directly to your ears, without having to go miles from cell phone to cell phone.
Your eyes sparkled. "This time I'll give it to you," you conceded, assuming that slightly permissive role she liked so much on occasions like that. Your rules were strict but you both got a kick out of cheating from time to time.
You remained motionless as he approached you. Only a small twinkle in her eyes gave her away. She came closer until she was standing in front of you and your hands were resting on the bed. You looked down at her. She looked back at you and smiled showing those beautiful teeth.
An almost imperceptible nod from her gave you permission to wrap your arms around her waist in a needy embrace. You rested your head on her abdomen and it wasn't long before you noticed her hands stroking your silky hair.
“Ugh... how I've missed you” you confessed against the fabric. Your choked voice rumbling against her gut. She breathed in deeply in a way you interpreted as relief. You heard the air rush into her body.
“You're finally here” she sounded calm, peaceful. At ease.
You lifted your head and rested your chin on her belly. With your hands you caressed her lower back. She looked down at you from above and smiled. “You look incredible” you spoke softly, as if you wanted to prevent anyone from overhearing you.
Everyone, literally the whole universe knows that Jenna Ortega is gorgeous and looks amazing, but no one was lucky enough to contemplate her as you were at that moment.
“That's why I like to get ready before seeing you,” she said insightfully. You smiled slightly and your hands descended to her ass, which you squeezed gently. She gasped and closed her eyes. Involuntarily she moved her hips towards you. You rested your forehead on her skirt and breathed in her scent. That expensive and elegant perfume mixed with her own scent emanating from her skin....
“Let's eat something” she proposed pulling away from you abruptly and sitting down next to you. You blinked several times and looked at her. She was smiling flirtatiously. She loved to keep you waiting.
She decided on one of the freshly made croissants and that's when she saw the bitten strawberry on the table. She rose her gaze back at you. “Are they yummy?” she then noticed your lips, reddened by the juice of the fruit.
“Try it yourself” you challenged her. She raised her eyebrows. She seemed to hesitate for a few seconds during which she alternated looking into your eyes and at your lips. She half-opened her own, surely imagining your taste in those moments. Finally, she took a bite of her croissant and chewed slowly. Then she offered you a piece. “Try this and I'll try the strawberries” she resolved. Captivated by her charm, you laughed at her joke and agreed.
You switched the sour taste of the red fruit and the enveloping sweetness of the croissants with a relaxed conversation. She asked how your flight went and wanted to know more about everything that had happened to you in the previous days. Every evening you talked on the phone but she was usually too tired to pick up specifics. Then you asked her about the interview, which had been with Winona and you also talked a bit about her.
You loved the way her eyes sparkled in admiration of her partner. She kept yapping about her co-workers and the movies they both liked, smiling sideways when she remembered funny anecdotes on set, frowned adorably when reminiscing about confusing and amusing moments and she giggled softly when you blurted out wry and witty remarks.
You were drawn towards her. Everything she did seemed appealing to you. Every move, every gaze, every smile. The way she gestured with her hands, how she crossed and uncrossed her legs, how she tilted her head, and how she scrunched her nose. The freckles that dotted her cheekbones and the bridge of her nose called to you, it was urgent to kiss them. She kept talking but your attention had reached its limit.
Suddenly she stopped and looked at you. A teasing smile decorated her appetizing lips. “What are you doing so close?” she inquired curiously, looking you up and down. You then realized how close you have got without even thinking it through. It was quite literally that you were drawn towards her. Like the Earth is drawn towards the Sun.
You let out an airy laugh. “I didn't even realized” you confessed amused, running your gaze over her torso. That damn corset was distracting you. She smiled sideways, revealing a lovely dimple. God, Jenna and her dimples.
You watched every detail of her face closely before finally looking into her eyes. You were getting closer and closer. Yet she wasn't moving an inch. There was nothing she liked more than to tease you until you took the initiative. There was nothing she liked more than to show herself completely ready for you. Waiting for you.
After a few torturous seconds that felt like forever, Jenna looked at your lips. She licked her lower lip lightly, and the warm pink of her tongue contrasted with the maroon of her lips. Her gaze returned to yours, locked together.
And finally, a slight, very slight nod subtly ruffled the strands of her bangs. You gasped. You had permission. You couldn't wait any longer.
You ended the distance between the both of you and drew her closer by resting your hand on the back of her neck and pulling her in a demanding gesture until your lips met at last. You made a superhuman effort to stifle a moan of satisfaction. She, however, did not hold back and let it out, free, from between her teeth, as her lips parted allowing your tongue to conquer her mouth.
You engaged in a wet, perfectly pulsating kiss. Your kiss swayed between a sweet, rhythmic softness and an anxious, slightly desperate depth. Jenna pulled her body closer to yours and placed her hands on your abdomen, pulling your shirt towards her. She needed you, she needed you badly, but you wouldn't touch her until she begged.
You kept kissing her, wanting to express the latter with your lips, and she was quick to get the message. You could feel the trembling in her hands gripping your shirt, and your bodies were so close that you could feel her thighs coming together and parting just enough, in an urgent gesture.
Your breaths were quickening, so you slowed down the kiss. Your tongues caressed each other and she relaxed her whole body, welcoming you into her mouth, letting you take control. Your hand was still on the back of her neck, guiding her and turning her head slightly at your whim. She kept tugging at your shirt, tugging at you. She wanted you all over her.
Her breathing kept quickening even though your gestures were slow. You kept each other at bay. She would decide the starting gun, but nothing else would happen unless you dictated it. You were kissing her lips carefully when she parted only a few millimeters.
The look she gave you seemed even sad. “Y/N. Please. I beg of you. I want you so much i'm about to cry.”
Her eyebrows rose through the thickest area in an almost pathetic gesture of desperation. Her eyes were watery, dulling her already smoldering brown gaze. The brown of her iris was actually darker at that moment, like a beautiful pyrope stone.
You were lost in her gaze as she alternated looking at you in one eye and the other, in silent questioning. Her lower lip trembled with frustration. You almost felt sorry for her, how much she wanted you.
“Can I take you, then?” you asked at last, controlling the tremor in your voice admirably. You were dying for her too, but you had to show temperance for both your sakes. You were the one who held you both as you fell into the void. You had to be. She had to be able to fall into you. And there was nothing you longed for more.
She nodded fervently. You raised an eyebrow and lowered your head slightly in a serious gesture. “Are you capable of handling me?” you inquired insistently. Her hands, which had remained loyally attached to your shirt, ascended to your shoulders. You glanced sideways at them before looking at her again.
“I am ready to have you” she assured in a sentencing tone.
You looked into each other's eyes and found it. That look in her iris. That way in which, paradoxical as it seemed, she was able to demand that you possess her. Her way of offering you her submission, in the most dominant way.
It was as if time stopped for a few seconds before you pounced on her like a predator on its prey. Your hands traveled to her waist lifting her up and carrying her to the bed as your tongues met again.
You held her firmly and carefully, but dropped her onto the mattress allowing her body to crash against it. Her eyes widened in a gesture somewhere between surprise and excitement. In the process of the fall she was forced to release her grip on your shoulders, and now her hands held her on her palms. You watched her as you kneeled on the bed. She placed her legs on the sides of your body, tilted her head and raised an eyebrow delightfully. She smiled showing her teeth a little.
There was something so romantic about her submission to you. The way she surrendered not just her body but her whole being to you. The way her eyes looked at you, through you, not just with lust but with complete trust.
You would do anything for her.
You crawled up to her and kissed her again, slowly. She lifted her hips toward your body. You put a hand on her waist and pushed her back on the mattress, firmly. She stifled a moan into your mouth. She finally agreed to lie down and you directed both hands to the belt of her skirt. She put a hand on your chest, you stopped instantly in anticipation of some boundary. Instead, she parted just enough to look at you. “Maybe that's not necessary” she suggested in a seductive smile.
You scrutinized explanation in her gaze with a frown, confused. She lowered her gaze to her skirt in response. Could it be...?
With your hands you descended to her thighs, which you squeezed, and went upwards. She raised her knees, bent her legs, and spread them. You looked at her as your hands slipped under her skirt. You stifled a deep sigh as you found her luscious wetness already bathing her labia majora and even a bit of her groin. No panties. You pulled one hand out to grab her neck in a passionate kiss, while the other yielded to her charms and began to give her exactly what she needed.
“Baby, how wet you are...” you praised between kisses. You kept holding her neck in a solid gesture and she placed her hand over yours. You squeezed lightly, fulfilling her silent wish. The cold metal of your watch contrasted with her warm skin.
“All because of you. Its-for y-you. My beloved” she admitted worshipping you with that hard, wet look. Your massage on her cunt deepened.
“Do you respect me so much? Are you so obedient?"
She nodded and pressed your hand. You squeezed a little tighter, testing her limits. You weren't kissing her now, she needed to breathe. You both knew that if you kissed her the air could barely cross her throat, and yet she raised her head, longing for your lips on her.
You kept looking at her, waiting for something more. Your hand was still working under her skirt and her hips followed your rhythm with gusto. Was there anything she wouldn't do for you?
“I want...” you began, and your thumb ran along her cheekbone, her smooth skin. She watched your lips listening to every word you uttered. “I want you to touch yourself. I want to see how much you want me in you. You have to earn it.”
Her lips opened slightly, letting in air. She was breathing through her mouth, and as you loosened your grip thinking maybe it was too much, her hand squeezed yours again.
“I can do it” she assured referring to both your command and your grip. She then released your hand and began to roam her own body with it, descending to under her skirt. Her gaze descended with it and you could appreciate the length of her thick eyelashes. She began to stroke her clit while you focused on massaging her entrance in circles. “I can do this and much more, as long as I have you...” she breathed ‘in me" she looked up into your eyes.
You finally broke the distance that separated the both of you so you could kiss her face. She closed her eyes tightly trying to manage your caresses, your kisses and your strong grip on her neck. She closed them so tightly that a furtive tear escaped from her tear duct. You kissed her, her salty desire made liquid reaching your lips.
“Precious princess...” you whispered, and kissed her chin. She lifted it a little so you could continue touching it with your lips, and in those she slightly moved her whole body as well. She unintentionally brushed a knee against your crotch. You jumped with a start and opened your eyes instantly.
“S-sorry, didn't mean to-”
“It's okay. You may touch me” your voice was hoarse and your eyes had probably darkened, the way she was looking at you. Her free hand ascended to the nape of your neck and caressed under your jaw. You nodded to underline your conviction, so she moved her leg again without taking her eyes off you. You adjusted yourself against her knee until the friction was perfect. You raised your eyebrows in surprise.
Jenna knew she couldn't stimulate your cunt directly. You had always been very clear about this, and she had always respected it. On occasions like that, however, even a girl like you would welcome a touch like that, over your clothes.
You needed no more to feel yourself melting over her. You released your hand from her neck, much to her disgrace, and kissed her deeply. You lowered your kisses to her neck and noticed that there was a shallow reddish imprint of your fingers. You stopped your kisses. “It can be hidden with makeup, Y/N” she resolved, reading your thoughts. “Please don't stop” she whispered. You smiled and drew a line of saliva down her neck, the muscles of which ticked as she lifted her head to receive you.
Underneath her skirt, your fingers were still massaging her without entering her yet.
She was rubbing urgently. “Slow down” you commanded. “You are not coming till I say so” you reminded her.
She gave you an annoyed, almost hateful look, drawing a sly laugh from you. “Damn you...” she muttered coming closer to your mouth. You pulled away a little preventing her from kissing you.
“Uh?” you stopped your touch on her cunt and with your fingertips you traced her labia minora at a torturous slowness. “What did you say?” you lifted your hips pulling your own crotch away from her knee.
You could see how much of an effort she had to make in order to stay still . She gulped, alarmed.
“I apologize,” she said instantly. “Damn me. Ruin me, Y/N.”
“Are you going to behave?” you asked somewhat angrily. A mixture of indignation and disapproval permeated your words.
“Yes” she granted instantly. “I can prove it to you” she added, willingly. She was trying to convince you. "Please, forgive me".
You moved closer to her and she looked at your lips. You rested your crotch on her knee again and she let out a sigh of relief over you.
“I know you can do it. But are you going to?” you inquired feigning skepticism. Now that you were close, you noticed she had stopped masturbating. You knew then that she wouldn't continue until you told her to.
“Yes, my beloved. I am going to do whatever it takes to fulfill your desires” she pledged complacently.
You granted her a laddish smile at last and resumed your massage on her body. “That's how I like it, my princess... You look so gorgeous when you are this obedient” you reaffirmed satisfied, indeed.
You continued your touch whispering praises, massaging her tits with your free hand, over the corset. She removed her hand from your neck and grabbed the fabric of her corset. She looked up at you, “Pull it a little down for me” you whispered. She managed to pull it back just enough for her dark areolas and erect nipples to show themselves to you.
You contemplated her for a few seconds, she moved her fingers over her chest in a distracted gesture. She adored being admired by you.
“Beautiful creature... Show yourself to me” you demanded in a hoot. She lifted her head almost instinctively, as if it were possible to expose herself further.
You attacked her skin with restrained excitement, it was hard to hold back when she got like this. Her collarbone ready to be bitten by you, her breasts exposed and her clothes still covering her body, but with nothing to hide. You ran all over her chest drawing incomprehensible strokes with your lips to anyone but the two of you. You whispered praises incessantly, and she answered with moans of pleasure and choked moans.
“Don't hold it back. Don't hold yourself back, princess. Give it all to me” you encouraged her. “Gorgeous girl...” you continued, and this was the only time she allowed herself to interrupt you.
“Your gorgeous girl” she shamelesly corrected you in a desperate whine. “Your gorgeous girl. As you are my beloved, i'm yours. Im enterely yours.”
She dared to look at you shyly suddenly, for she knew she was bordering on the limits of your agreement. “My beloved lover” she said anyway. She was submitting to you in the most vulnerable way. And oh, she was getting rewarded.
You smiled softly and entered her in response. She closed her eyes and threw her head back moaning your name. She kept whispering that she was yours as you kissed her and she rode you, wiggling her hips deliciously against your fingers.
As she wiggled she massaged your cunt with her knee. You also moved against her, slowly feeling the consciousness leave your body. You attacked her tits, her chest and her neck in equal parts. You caressed her whole body and the cold metal of your watch caressed her curves. Your silver pendant brushed against her skin. She trembled beneath you, closer and closer to the precipice.
Your hand ascended to her collarbone and she caressed your palm, closing her eyes and sighing completely transfixed.
She opened her eyes slightly and looked at you. She was watching you in a way that only she could see you.
“Time stops when we are together” she confided to you in a tone of secrecy. At that moment she was caressing your watch. “I bought you this watch so you could count minutes while we are appart. But it all dissapear when we meet”.
Your fingers were deep in her, you moved in and out slowly and carefully, just as her words were coming out of her mouth. She let out a moan from the effort, she was having a hard time holding on, she wouldn't last much longer.
She looked at you again and it was all it took for her to take the watch from you in a single gesture. In a mocking fit, she held it between her teeth smiling at you. She raised an eyebrow. Irresistible.
“My gorgeous girl. Mine” you dared to say. She half opened her mouth in wonder, and the watch fell to her neck. You brushed your nose against hers in a barely perceptible caress. A delicate display of affection as, under her skirt, your fingers moved in and out of her inner lips at their whim, at just the right speed and pressure. You swayed against her knee and her hand rubbed her clitoris eagerly.
“Am i touching myself how you want me to?” she asked as she realized you noticed her speed.
You nodded and penetrated her as deep as you could. “Yes, princess. You're behaving so well for me. You're making me feel so good... Are you gonna cum?"
“I'm so close” she assured closing her eyes. You took her chin and she opened her eyes. “I'm gonna stop if you quit looking at me. Don't stop looking at me.” She bit her lower lip, looked at your lips and stifled a moan of frustration.
“I don't want to lose detail of your expression when you cum” you admitted in a whisper. She agreed with a look.
“Please, please Y/N... Kiss me afterwards” was all she asked.
“Of course, my dear” you granted instantly. She was your spoiled princess.
Her body trembled barely a minute later and she let herself be carried away by you as she drenched your fingers in a glorious orgasm. You rubbed against her until you released yourself, and continued to wiggle against her as you kissed her, as she requested. You slowly pulled out of her and interrupted your kiss to take your fingers into your mouth. You sucked them down their full length under her watchful and satisfied gaze.
i know you’re not taking requests rn but whenever they open back up could u mayb write a jenna x famous singer reader fic? they could be dating or like hooking up and catching feels or something i just feel like the dynamic would be rlly fun to read and i love ur works!!
okay so i actually wrote something crazy similar to this
its on my wattpad and i just never posted it to tumblr-- in my oneshoy book glue song theres a fic titled 'i dont want you like a best friend'
