Jenna Ortega Imagines (2)

My Witch - J.O

You were still tying the ribbon of your black hat when you heard her whistle from the couch.

"Alright, witchy. Ten out of ten."

You looked over your shoulder, mock-glare ready — and then promptly forgot it.

She was leaning against the doorframe, hands shoved into the pockets of her torn denim jacket, fake claw marks streaked across her cheek. Her dark hair was tousled just right, and her leather boots clicked as she crossed the room.

"Wolf suits you." You said, trying not to sound too impressed.

"Thought it might." She said with a grin. "Pairs well with my favorite witch."

You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks burned anyway. "Smooth."

"I try."

The two of you had decided to skip the big party this year and just wander the neighborhood instead — something quieter, simpler. She liked that. You liked that she liked that.

"Ready to go, magic girl?" she asked, holding out her hand dramatically.

You took it, pretending to sigh. "Let's see if the big bad wolf can handle walking without scaring the kids."

Outside, the moon hung full and soft, silver light washing over everything. You walked side by side down the sidewalk, your broom in one hand and her hand in the other. A few people waved, complimenting your costumes, and she bowed theatrically every time.

At one point, a little boy dressed as a pirate ran up to her. "Are you a real wolf?" He asked.

She crouched down, grin flashing. "Only on full moons."

The boy gasped. "It is a full moon!"

"Then you better run." She said playfully, pretending to growl. The boy screamed with delight and dashed away, his parents laughing from the sidewalk.

You shook your head, smiling. "You're gonna give that kid dreams for life."

"Good dreams." She said, straightening up beside you. "I'm a friendly wolf."

You bumped her shoulder. "A little too friendly sometimes."

She smirked, slipping her arm around your waist. "You're not complaining."

The night stretched on like that — laughter, soft teasing, the quiet rhythm of your footsteps under the hum of porch lights. You stopped at a small stand handing out hot chocolate, and she paid for both cups despite your protest.

As you sipped, she reached over to brush whipped cream off your lip with her thumb. "My messy witch." She teased.

You blinked up at her, warmth pooling in your chest that had nothing to do with the drink. "You're lucky you're cute."

"Yeah." She said softly, her gaze lingering a moment too long. "I know."

You sat together on a bench, watching people pass in costumes — fairies, ghosts, superheroes, all glowing in the faint light. She leaned back, one arm behind you, fingers brushing the edge of your hat.

"This might be my favorite Halloween." She said.

"Why?" You asked.

She tilted her head, giving you that small, sincere half-smile. "Because I get to spend it with my favorite person."

Your heart flipped. You didn't answer — just leaned into her shoulder, your hat brushing her jaw, and she laughed quietly.

When you finally walked home, her jacket wrapped around you and your broom dragging slightly behind, she whispered, "You know what's wild?"

"What?"

"Witches and wolves aren't supposed to get along."

You smiled up at her. "Guess we're rewriting the story."

Her grin softened, eyes catching the streetlight. "Yeah. Ours is better."