All For Fun | Jenna Ortega Imagines

Big Dumb Arms (j.o)

A/N: Hi. I usually talk at the bottom but I don't want anyone to be crucified in the comments for the undertone in this story. Should you guys love it or hate it.

This story stems from three places: an actual conversation with my Pisces-lover man of a dad, a relationship I had with a girl, and a recent paper I wrote about the dance of masculine and feminine energies within us for a class about Gender Identities.

The decision to use a male reader was to simplify the complexity of explaining masculine and feminine qualities by putting them under traditional gender roles.

That said: I, in no way, am trying to impose any beliefs or views about heterosexual relationships or gender roles. There is a stinky place regarding the modernity of men and women though. I do think my dad's advice applies across the board; not just romantically, but in opposite gender friendships and familial connections as well.

Anyway. Overall, this is a fictional story that will feel real. And I'm certain some things will resonate, some won't. Whatever. I just hope you're able to enjoy this despite it, and not argue with each other over the validity of it. Thank you.

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The honking of car horns and pink noise of idle aircrafts ceased as your eyes found an inconspicuous woman exiting the terminal. Her familiar essence entranced you.

She was in a puffer jacket with loose fitting jeans and sneakers. A duffel bag was resting on her hips. A jewelry-less small hand was gripping the handle of a rolling suitcase. There were bulky headphones arching over her long dark hair, and assumedly, holding her head straight as she hadn't looked left nor right; only forth. She could, however, have been looking with her eyes since her face was hidden beneath shades and a mask.

The woman halted at the curb, standing as still as a statue. Travelers weaving past the woman; some to arrive, some to depart.

While your heart began to beat at an unhealthy rhythm having recognized Miss Inconspicuous, her head slowly turned your direction. She recognized you. Your lips curled into a gentle smirk just as the shades and corners of her mask lifted. You waved and the woman began hastily traversing the sea of taxis and Ubers.

You wiped your sweaty palms before the woman was close. She let her suitcase roll the rest of the way and dropped her duffel, yanking her mask down to reveal a dimpled grin. She threw her body into your anticipating arms.

She was giggling as you scooped her up. With her legs secured to your waist and her arms wrapped around your head, the woman's giggling was soon replaced with moans of joy. She began feverishly pecking your face. You laughed as she did good this, closing your eyes and relishing in your woman being happy to see you.

When she finally stopped, you opened one eye to be met with her big brown ones staring admirably through her shades. You teased opening both eyes, "Who are you and what have you done with my crybaby girlfriend?"

She retorted, speaking in third person, "You didn't see the news? Jenna Ortega died. I'm her clone."

"Clone huh?"

Jenna nodded.

"Is that why I didn't get a real kiss?"