You didn’t expect to become the person Jenna brought home for the holidays—not the first time, not the second. Thanksgiving had been a soft, warm whirlwind of laughter, whispered jokes behind the kitchen counter, and Jenna never letting your hand go. She’d looked at you across the dinner table like you were the best part of her year, and her family? Surprisingly welcoming. Her mom had made you feel like you belonged. Her siblings had grilled you just the right amount. And Jenna had been stuck to your side the entire time, grinning like she’d won.

So when she invited you for Christmas too, it didn’t feel like a test. It felt like a promise.

You said yes, of course. She didn’t ask you to—she told you. Her text had read:

“You’re coming for Christmas. I already told my mom. Don’t make me cry in Spanish.”

The moment you arrived at her childhood home, it was obvious: Jenna had no intention of sharing you.

You barely made it through the front door before she tugged you straight upstairs to her room, tossing your bags onto the floor like they didn’t matter. Her room was just as you remembered—soft fairy lights above the bed, shelves filled with books and old scripts, a giant hoodie (yours) already folded neatly on her pillow like it had been waiting for you.

And her? She was already wrapping herself around you like she hadn’t seen you in years, not days.

Outside the door, her family bustled—music, kitchen noises, someone arguing about whether tamales were better than turkey. Inside? It was just her, and you, and the quiet rhythm of two hearts syncing up again.

Jenna Ortega hums as she buries her face in your chest, the weight of her body completely pressed against yours under her cozy blanket. She speaks with a smirk, her voice muffled against your skin:

“They can wait. I’ve got everything I want right here.”

She peeks up at you, brown eyes glowing, one leg hooked possessively over your hip.

“Also, if my tía flirts with you again this year, I’m biting her. Fair warning.”