Imagines with Jenna Ortega

The Marriage 4

When Jenna's strength gave out, her head fell weakly against the wall. Without a word, Y/n slipped one arm beneath her knees and the other around her back, lifting her as if she weighed nothing. Jenna murmured in protest at first, but her body was too heavy with exhaustion to fight.

Y/n carried her through the dim hallway, every step steady and deliberate, as though she were cradling something fragile. When they reached the bedroom, she gently lowered Jenna onto the bed, pulling the blankets up over her trembling body.

Within minutes, Jenna's breathing evened out, her face softening as sleep claimed her.

Y/n stood by the bedside, eyes lingering on her wife. For a moment, the cold mask she always wore cracked. Her hand reached out, brushing a strand of hair away from Jenna's face with a tenderness she would never admit aloud.

Her chest tightened painfully. Why do I still love you... when you despise me so much?

But she said nothing. She only leaned down, pressed the faintest kiss to Jenna's temple, and whispered into the silence, "Sleep well."

Then Y/n straightened, her expression hardening again as she turned off the light, leaving the room bathed in shadows.

The sunlight slipped through the curtains, forcing Jenna awake with a groan. Her head pounded, her mouth dry, and every muscle in her body felt heavy. She blinked slowly, realizing she was tucked neatly under the blanket.

The other side of the bed was empty.

Pushing herself up, Jenna squinted around the room. That's when she noticed the nightstand—on it sat a glass of water, two small white pills, and a folded note in Y/n's sharp handwriting.

With sluggish fingers, Jenna picked it up and unfolded it.

For your headache. Drink the water. Don't skip breakfast.

That was it. No lecture, no scolding, no guilt-tripping. Just simple, practical care.

Jenna stared at the note for a long moment, her throat tightening. Her eyes flicked toward the bathroom door where the sound of running water hinted Y/n was already showered and preparing for the day.

Her chest ached, though she didn't know if it was from the hangover or something deeper she refused to name.

With a frustrated huff, Jenna tossed the note back onto the table—but not before swallowing the pill and draining the glass of water, as if her body betrayed the anger her mind still clung to.

When Y/n stepped out of the bathroom, her suit was already sharp, hair slicked neatly back, every inch of her polished and unreadable. She spared Jenna only a brief glance—a silent acknowledgment—before slipping on her watch and gathering the folder waiting on the dresser.

No words. No lingering look. Just silence.

Jenna sat in bed, the note still on the table beside her, watching her wife move with clinical efficiency. A part of her wanted to say something—anything—but the weight of pride and guilt kept her tongue tied.

"I'll be at the office all day," Y/n finally said, her voice smooth and professional, as if she were speaking to a colleague instead of her wife. "If you need anything, ask the staff."

And just like that, she was gone.

Jenna stared at the closed door, her stomach twisting. Y/n was avoiding her. Throwing herself into work. Hiding behind that cold armor of discipline and control, rather than giving Jenna the fight—or the care—she didn't know how to ask for.

The hangover suddenly felt heavier. And for the first time in a long time, the silence between them scared her more than the shouting ever could.

The house was too quiet.