buckysweightedblanket

[buckysweightedblanket]

Wyatt Russell as John Walker in thunderbolts deleted scene

[buckysweightedblanket]

FORGET ABOUT SMUT. PLEASE I AM TIRED OF IT. I NEED ANGST. I NEED GUT WRENCHING EMOTIONAL TURMOIL THAT MAKES ME SICK TO MY STOMACH. I NEED TO BAWL JUST FROM THINKING ABOUT IT.

[buckysweightedblanket]

oh man that was sad

jason todd x reader

── .✦ angst

[ jason bought you, your favorite flowers for the first time ]

long story — [8.2k words count]

second person writing

*. ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

phase one ; blooming [dating]

you loved carnations.

jason learned that on your third date. It was a small, throwaway moment—something you said while sipping a lukewarm latte in a dingy coffee shop tucked away from gotham’s chaos. you’d been talking about nothing in particular, just bantering like usual, your legs tucked under you in the booth as the sky darkened outside.

“they’re not fancy,” you said, absently stirring cream into your coffee, “but they’re strong. they last longer than most flowers, you know? and they come in so many colors.”

jason raised an eyebrow. “you really into flowers?”

You shrugged. “they’re just… comforting. It’s like a reminder that something can be soft and still survive.”

he didn’t answer. just stared at you for a moment like you were something he hadn’t figured out yet—like he wasn’t sure if you were real.

you weren’t like the people in his world. you didn’t carry trauma like a weapon. you didn’t flinch at loud sounds or look over your shoulder in paranoia. you had a softness to you that he hadn’t expected in gotham. and he didn’t know what to do with it.

when he walked you home that night, you paused at a flower stall outside your building. rain was drizzling, the kind that clung to your lashes and curled your hair, and you stopped to look at a small bouquet of pale pink carnations.

“they’re my favorite,” you said, smiling. “someday I’m gonna fill my whole apartment with them.”

jason rolled his eyes. “flowers are a waste of money. they die in a week.”

you blinked. just a second. just enough for him to notice. “well,” you said, voice light, “some things are worth it, even if they don’t last.” he didn’t understand what you meant. not then. not yet.

you started seeing each other more often—slow at first. you were cautious with your heart, and jason was dangerous with his. but he started staying the night. started showing up at your place with bruises and bullet grazes and that haunted look in his eyes. you never asked where he’d been. you only asked if he was hungry. If he was okay. If he wanted to talk.

he never did. not about the big stuff. but you’d find him in your kitchen at 2 a.m., heating up leftover pasta, or sitting on your couch with your cat in his lap like he belonged there. and he did.

he didn’t say “I love you,” not for months. but he watched over you like he did. he’d show up outside your job with a scowl and coffee if you had a rough day. he knew the fastest route from your place to every hospital in the city. he installed cameras at your front door and never told you. — you noticed. you just didn’t say anything.

carnations bloomed on your windowsill. a new one every week. you bought them yourself—white-blush and lavender. you kept waiting, hoping maybe jason would walk in one day with a bunch in his hands. not because you needed them, but because you wanted to know he’d remembered.

he didn’t.

one night, curled up with him under a ratty old blanket, you brought it up gently. “I used to get flowers when I was little,” you said. “my dad would bring me carnations on my birthday. I think that’s why I still love them so much.”

jason looked at you from where he lay on your chest, his brow furrowed. “didn’t know your dad was around.”

“he’s not.. not anymore.” silence settled between you.

“I used to think… if someone brought me carnations, it meant they really saw me,” you admitted. “not the ‘I’m fine’ version. the real me.”

jason didn’t say anything. — you didn’t push.

the first time you told him you loved him, he froze.

It had been a good day. one of the rare ones—no crime scenes, no emergency calls, no red hood business dragging him into gotham’s underbelly. you’d spent the afternoon in the park, lying in the grass, his head on your stomach as you read a book aloud.

that night, wrapped in each other’s arms, your fingers tracing lazy circles on his back, you whispered, “I love you.” — jason’s whole body tensed.

you felt it. every muscle. then he pulled back. looked at you like he was trying to memorize your face. “you don’t have to say it back,” you murmured.

he didn’t. but he kissed you like he meant it. held you all night like he was terrified you’d disappear. you told yourself it was enough.

phase two ; budding [fiancé]

It wasn’t a proposal. not really.

It was three in the morning, and jason was sitting on the edge of the bathtub while you brushed your teeth, eyes half-lidded with sleep, his hair a mess from the pillow. you wore one of his old shirts, threadbare from a hundred washes. he wore the quiet panic of someone who had never believed they’d live long enough to consider a future.

“hey,” he said, voice low. you glanced at him in the mirror, mouth full of toothpaste. “If I asked you to marry me, what would you say?”

you froze mid-brush. he didn’t flinch or try to recover it with a joke. he just watched you—blue eyes soft and serious, hands clasped between his knees. you spit into the sink and turned to face him.

“Is this the part where you propose with a ring made out of dental floss?” a breath of laughter left his nose, and the tension eased from his shoulders.

“I’m serious,” he said. you stepped closer, cupped his jaw with a wet hand. “then ask me like you mean it.”

jason paused. his eyes searched yours, and when he spoke again, it was barely a whisper. “(y/n) (m/n) (l/n), will you marry me.”

and you—heart pounding, love swelling in your chest like it would break your ribs—smiled. “yes,” you said. “of course I will.”

he pulled you into his arms, buried his face in your stomach, and for the first time in a long time, he let himself breathe like it was safe.

the ring came later.

It wasn’t new—wasn’t even something he’d gone out to buy. one night, you found him sitting in the closet, the small wooden box in his hand. It had belonged to catherine todd—passed down, like love that tries to survive the storm.

“she kept it hidden,” jason said quietly, running a thumb over the aged velvet. “I think she always meant to give it to me… if I ever found someone.”

you sank down beside him on the floor, resting your head on his shoulder. “she’d be glad you did.”

he gave it to you that night, no speeches or ceremony. just slid it onto your finger while you sat together on the floor of the hallway, bathed in moonlight from the window. as jason kissed the ring on your finger.

It fit perfectly.

planning the wedding wasn’t easy. you didn’t want much. jason didn’t want attention. but it was yours—intimate, quiet, full of stolen glances and laughter that didn’t belong in a city like gotham.

dick cried during the vows — roy forgot the rings.

alfred gave you a smile that nearly brought you to tears.

jason kept his hand in yours like it was the only thing tethering him to the world. you didn’t walk down the aisle with roses or lilies or orchids.

you held a bouquet of white carnations, tied with a silver ribbon. jason saw them, saw the way your fingers curled around the stems, and something flickered in his expression. he didn’t say anything. but you caught the way he looked at them—like they were a language he hadn’t learned yet.

life settled into something that almost resembled normal. at least, your version of it.

your mornings were soft. you’d wake first, kiss the scar on jason’s temple, whisper something into his sleep-dazed hair. he never told you what it meant to wake up to that. but he held you tighter every day.

sometimes he cooked breakfast—burned eggs and all. sometimes you did. the coffee was always too strong, but neither of you minded. the routine mattered more than the taste. — your nights were more complicated. jason still went out. still fought gotham’s darkness with red and black. but he came home now. always came home.

and he talked more.

he told you about things he’d buried—things no one else knew. his mother. the pit. the dreams he still had where the coffin never opened. the pain of coming back to a world that had moved on without him.

you never asked for those stories. you only listened, threading your fingers through his, anchoring him with silence and steady breaths. — one night, after a particularly rough patrol, he came home soaked in rain and blood. you helped him out of the kevlar, your hands gentle, your voice quiet.

he sat at the kitchen table while you cleaned a deep gash along his ribs. “I thought I was gonna die tonight,” he muttered.

you paused, heart in your throat. jason looked up at you. “and the weirdest part? I wasn’t scared for me. I was scared you’d be alone.” you pressed gauze to the wound, leaned in, and kissed his forehead. “you’re not dying, jason.”

“someday I will,” he said, a sad smile tugging at his mouth. “and you’ll have to go on without me.”

“then you better keep surviving,” you said, voice firm. “because I’m not planning on loving anyone else.”

he pulled you into his lap, held you there like he was trying to fuse your heartbeat with his.

you kept carnations in the apartment. a vase in the kitchen. one on the nightstand. always fresh. always soft. jason never brought them home. but he started noticing them—more than before.

he’d run his fingers along the petals absently while sipping his coffee. tuck a fallen one behind your ear with a fond little smile. you caught him once, standing in front of a grocery store flower display, just staring at them. — but he walked past.

you didn’t mention it.

you never asked for them anymore. not because you didn’t want them. but because you wanted him to want to bring them. — some small part of you still hoped.

one afternoon, you were lying together on the couch, your legs draped across his lap. he was reading something—an old paperback with cracked pages—and you were watching the sunlight paint gold across the hardwood floor.

“do you think we’ll ever leave gotham?” you asked suddenly.

jason looked up. “you want to?”

“I don’t know. sometimes.” you shrugged. “sometimes I imagine a house with a garden. somewhere quiet. I’d grow carnations.”

he smiled, brushing your ankle with his thumb. “you and your damn flowers.”

you chuckled. “they’d be all over the place. kitchen, bedroom, porch. even in the bathroom.”

jason leaned down, kissed the inside of your knee. “If you want a garden, I’ll build you one.”

you reached for his hand. “I don’t need a garden. just you.”

but still, in the back of your mind, you pictured it—soft soil and early mornings, dew on petals, and jason beside you, older, whole. — you didn’t know it would stay a dream.

phase three ; blooming [marriage]

married life with jason was unexpectedly sweet.

you never imagined the red hood would be the type to make tea in the mornings or memorize your grocery list, but he did. he kept your mugs on the lowest shelf so you didn’t have to stretch. he learned how to braid your hair, poorly but determinedly, just so you’d smile.

your new apartment was bigger, higher up—safer. there was a little balcony with just enough space for a few flower boxes, and you filled them with carnations in every shade. jason helped you plant them, dirt under his fingernails and a look on his face like maybe, just maybe, he was starting to understand why you loved them so much.

“you said they’re strong, right?” he asked one evening, watering them carefully.

you looked up from your book. “yeah.”

he watched a pale yellow bloom tremble in the breeze. “they remind me of you.”

you didn’t cry. but your throat ached as you crossed the room and wrapped your arms around him, resting your cheek against his shoulder. you were happy. really, genuinely happy.

jason had been changing—slowly but surely, like stone shaped by water.

he didn’t punch walls anymore. he let himself laugh more, sleep more. he still fought, still bled for gotham, but he came home more often than not. he started going to therapy, though he never told anyone but you. he even made peace with bruce—if only in small pieces, quiet dinners, and fewer arguments.

“I think I’m finally starting to feel human again,” he told you once, curled in bed with you at dawn. “you made me human.”

you kissed his chest, hand over his heart. “you were always human, jason. you just forgot for a while.”

you talked about kids more openly now.

“we could adopt,” you said once, the thought half-formed in your mind as you watched him fix the hinge on a closet door. “someday. maybe.”

jason looked up, surprised—but not alarmed. “yeah. maybe. I’d want them to be safe first. you to be safe.”

“we’re close,” you said. “gotham won’t be forever.”

he stood, brushed the dust off his hands. “no. just a little longer. then we’ll go.”

you imagined a place with less noise. a porch. a yard. real mornings without sirens. carnations blooming around the edges of a little house.

jason kissed you that night like he could already see it too.

·:*¨��� ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

the last morning was warm.

you watered the flowers on the balcony while jason made eggs and toast, humming some rock song under his breath. the windows were open. the world felt light for once.

you had plans to meet barbara for lunch, to run errands, maybe grab groceries. jason had patrol later that evening but promised to be back before midnight. you kissed him at the door like it was any other day. — he kissed you twice.

“text me when you get there,” he said. — “I always do.”

you smiled, leaned back against the doorframe, watching him disappear down the hallway with a peace in your chest you hadn’t felt in years. you didn’t know it was the last time.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

you weren’t supposed to be anywhere near Ivy’s old sector.

the lab had been quiet for months—dormant, some said, shut down after the last run-in with her plant toxins. but something pinged on the surveillance net—unusual bio-activity—and you, being who you were, decided to check it out.

It was just a recon mission. you were careful. you always were.

you never saw the vines until it was too late.

jason got the call from babs, her voice tight and scared.

“something’s happened,” she said. “(y/n)… we lost her signal near Ivy’s old territory.” he didn’t hear the rest.

he was on his bike in seconds, tearing through Gotham like the city itself had betrayed him. he didn’t stop at lights. didn’t slow for anything.

he found the lab half-collapsed, tendrils of greenery coiling through the wreckage like veins.

he screamed your name.

he dug through debris with bare hands, shoving aside branches that moved like they were alive. the air was thick with the scent of earth and blood.

then he saw you. — your body was tangled in vines, arms limp, head turned slightly to the side. you looked peaceful.

but you were too still.

and around you—blooming like a cruel, beautiful grave—were carnations. each one having a meaning.

white — purity, innocence, remembrance

pink — gratitude, admiration, undying love

purple — unpredictably, capriciousness, free spirit

all curling around the vines like some terrible mockery of love.

jason dropped to his knees. — “no,” he whispered. “no, no, no—please..please.. (y/n).. no no.. please…”

he tore at the vines with shaking hands, not caring that they cut into his skin. he gathered you into his arms, blood staining your shirt where the toxins had entered.

you weren’t breathing.

“come on,” he choked out, pressing his forehead to yours. “you’re strong. you’re stronger than this. you said—you said they were strong.”

he rocked with you in his arms, howling into the air like something feral. screaming like his heart had been physically ripped out of him. sobbing into your shirt, the same one he had watched you put on this morning asking if you looked good. and of course you did, jason was always mesmerizing by you. and right now he was spiraling into a new unknown feeling.

bruce was the first to arrive. then dick. then tim.

they found jason cradling you, his jacket wrapped around your body even though you were already cold.

he didn’t look up when bruce knelt beside him. “she’s cold.. i put my jacket...and she’s still cold.. i couldn’t save her,” jason whispered. “I wasn’t there. I promised I’d be there.”

“I know,” bruce said softly, eyes glassy. his daughter-in-law peacefully covered in blood and carnations. he never truly got to tell you how much he appreciated the way you helped jason grow into the man he had become— you taught jason everything he couldn’t. jason slowly became emotionally mature, your marriage teaching him how to love and be  patient everyday.

dick stood nearby, hands over his mouth, unable to speak— the way he watched his younger brother holding his lifeless wife in his arms. tim just stared, stunned— not being able to believe the scene in front of him, as the wind tugged at the scattered petals around you.

“look at them,” jason murmured, brushing a blood-streaked carnation with his thumb. “she loved these. I never… I never brought her any. n..not once.”

jason looked up at bruce with hollow eyes. “I was going to. this week. I swear. I saw some at the store. I almost bought them.” — looking back down at you, squeezing you hard. trying to look for any sign of life left in you.

bruce placed a hand on his shoulder. “she knew.”

jason shook his head. “I should’ve told her more. I should’ve done everything more.”

Dick finally stepped forward, kneeling across from his brother. “you did love her, jay. you loved her more than anyone. she knew. she felt it.”

jason’s face crumpled. “she died alone, dick. In pain. In fear.”

“no,” bruce said gently. “she died trying to help people. that’s who she was. that’s why you loved her.”

jason buried his face in your hair, silent now, his grief no longer words—just broken, shaking breath. staying like that, planting himself on the ground sobbing into you. tracing your body trying to remember every detail about you, like you always did for him. “i love you (y/n).. i love you.. please.. god we were going to leave.. we should’ve... i can’t.. (y/n) please baby, wake up… what am i supposed to do.. sweetheart please.. pleaseplease.. you’re so strong.. my beautiful wife.. we were gonna adopt.. you would’ve been a p..phenomenal mother..my sunshine.. please babygirl.. i can’t do this without you.. im so sorry.. im sorry..god please” jason holding your hand, rubbing his moms ring — the ring he vowed to love and protect you forever.

they had to pull him away eventually. jason fighting each one of them, not ready to let go of his wife. “please.. stop.. please.. a few more minutes.. please.. i can’t..please..i need her” he sounded defeated. bruce helping him up while he still clung to you. carrying both of you out of the building. struggling, not because of holding you two — but struggling not to sob along with his sons.

phase four ; wilting [death]

the funeral was three days after they pulled your body from the vines.

gotham had turned grey that week. the sky hung heavy, like even the clouds mourned you. the streets were quieter. the city somehow knew it had lost something bright.

they dressed you in soft fabric. nothing flashy. just something gentle and familiar. jason picked the dress. he remembered how it looked on you the first time you danced in the living room, barefoot and laughing.

you had flowers around you. carnations. barbara brought them. white, pink, red—your favorites. jason couldn’t stop staring at them.

he hadn’t cried since that night. now, at the funeral, he was quiet, but this time it was different. empty.

a shell wearing his face — everyone was there.

dick stood beside him, barely breathing. tim sat stiffly, not blinking. bruce kept a hand on jason’s back, grounding him, like he was afraid he’d float away.

barbara gave a speech. so did roy. even alfred, voice trembling, spoke a few words about love and grace and the way your laughter changed the manor the few times you visited.

jason didn’t hear any of it — he just looked at you.

laid out in the casket like sleep had taken you mid-sentence. lips soft. lashes resting against your cheeks. skin too pale, but peaceful. like you were waiting for him to say something.

the carnations framed your face like a crown.

and jason— he hated them.

not because they were ugly. not because they were yours. but because they were there, blooming, when you weren’t breathing. —because you always asked for them, and he never brought them.

and now they were here. too late.

someone touched his shoulder after the service. maybe dick. maybe bruce. maybe god himself—jason didn’t look.

“she loved you,” the voice said. “she never doubted you.”

but jason didn’t believe it.

not when he’d failed you in the most final way possible.

the grave was at the edge of the cemetery, under a weeping willow. the headstone was simple. your name. your birth and death dates. and a small engraving at the bottom:

“still the light in the dark.” he visited the next day. and the day after that. and the next. — he came without flowers. he didn’t know how to carry them.

weeks passed.

the apartment stayed quiet. your shoes still by the door. your toothbrush still in the cup. your pillow still untouched. the only thing touched were parts of your clothing. lingering perfume you’d sprayed on your shirts — jason needed the items to help him sleep. craving any ounce of you he could find. clinging onto the fabric imagining it was you. your body laying on top of his, cupping his face and kissing him endlessly. whispering about the good life they had. it broke jason. everything reminded him of you. it was killing him in a way he couldn’t grieve properly.

he didn’t move anything.

he didn’t patrol much anymore. bruce didn’t force it. dick stopped asking. jason barely responded to texts. calls went unanswered. roy left voicemails. barbara stopped by once and found him curled on the living room floor, clutching one of your sweaters, rocking slowly.

“it still smells like her,” he whispered. barbara didn’t say anything. just sat beside him and cried quietly.

he didn’t dream of you. not really.

just flashes. the way your eyes crinkled when you smiled. the sound of your laugh in the kitchen. the scent of carnations on your skin. the feel of your hand in his—soft and warm and alive. soft words leaving your lips — “i love you jay, i love you, i love you” you said like a prayer to him. your sweet voice haunting him in a way he hoped he’d never forget. wanted these cruel dreams, just to listen to you until his brain slowly fades it away.

then he’d wake up. and the cold would remind him. you weren’t coming back.

one night, he sat in front of the flower shop you used to visit. they had carnations in the window. he stared at them for an hour. then he walked inside. — the woman behind the counter gave him a curious look. “need help?”

he cleared his throat. “just… just the carnations.”

“any color?”

he looked down. his hands were shaking.

“all of them.”

he brought them to your grave the next morning. the sun hadn’t risen yet. the cemetery was still wrapped in mist, cold and soft. the carnations trembled in his grip. red, white, pink, purple, yellow, orange, lavender— tied with a pale ribbon. the kind you would’ve picked.

he knelt beside your headstone, laid the flowers gently across the grass. “you deserved these,” he whispered. his voice cracked. “i should’ve brought them sooner.”

he brushed his fingers across your name, eyes stinging.

“i thought they were pointless. i thought flowers died too easily.” his breath hitched. “but they were never about that, were they? they were about love. about life. about choosing something beautiful even when everything else was dark.”

he laughed, bitter and broken. “you knew that. you were that.”

the wind shifted, gentle and cold, like a simple answer.

“i miss you,” he said. “god, i miss you so much it fucking hurts.” he pressed his forehead against the stone. “i don’t know who i am without you.”

days blurred. he kept bringing flowers.

sometimes he talked to you. sometimes he just sat. sometimes he cried. he never stayed dry-eyed for long.

he stopped going to the apartment eventually. moved back into one of the safehouses. colder. emptier. more fitting.

he stopped shaving. stopped eating well. he looked thinner, paler, his eyes sunken like the weight of grief was dragging his soul down with it. — no one could reach him.

not dick, not bruce, not even alfred.

roy visited once. found jason standing in the rain at your grave, drenched and shaking. “you need to come inside,” roy said.

“she’s alone,” jason whispered. tears and rain mixing together, not knowing which was which.

“she’s not,” roy said. “you carry her everywhere.”

jason shook his head. “it’s not enough.”

roy didn’t know what to say. because maybe jason was right. and roy didn’t leave his side. they both sat in the rain. his best friend holding him and rubbing his shoulder in a ‘i’ve got you’ way. sitting in silence while jason continued to cry.

jason would be walking down the street, trying his best to clear his mind when he would see a little girl walking with her dad holding hands while the girl had a carnation, a small reminder. the ghost of you she saw in that little girl. — crushing him. these flowers were now everywhere he went. he couldn’t get away from them. it was a sign just like roy said — that you were everywhere.

jason never moved on. he didn’t date. didn’t laugh like he used to. he existed. he survived. that was it.

every year on your anniversary, he brought nine carnations. three white, three red, three pink. one for every phase of your life together—dating, engaged, married.

every year, he whispered the same thing. “you were the best thing that ever happened to me, i love you eternally sweetheart. i miss you.. every.. every fucking day.. it’s so difficult.. you were my favorite person…god i hate this city.. i gutturally hate ivy for taking you away from me…i miss you..so much.. please know that… i love you (y/n) todd”

and one night, sitting by your grave, his back against the cold stone, he looked at the flowers and finally said it aloud: “i think… i think i was a carnation too.”

his voice was hoarse. the wind tugged at his coat. “strong. stubborn. quiet. always trying to survive. but…” he blinked slowly. “i needed care. i needed you. you were the one who watered me. gave me sunlight. made sure i didn’t wither.”

he closed his eyes. “you kept me alive.. and now—” he didn’t finish. he didn’t need to. because the silence answered for him.

the carnations on your grave never wilted for long. he always replaced them — always brought fresh ones — always sat with you. — in every lifetime, you had been his light. his warmth. his reason.

he was just a flower with cracked petals. and you— you were the hands that kept him blooming. and without you, he wilted. and never truly grew again. stuck in the endless cycle of grief. still having dreams of you, bright and beautiful. a cruel reminder of what he can’t have anymore. “i use to be scared that if i went you’d be alone.. now.. i..”

jason was alone. he shut everyone out. he knew it wouldn’t be what you wanted. jason was afraid of actually accepting your death, grieving properly and moving on. you were the most impactful person in his life, and couldn’t imagine moving on from you. he was only alive for you, knowing you had dreams and passion about life, it was taken from so you abruptly that jason wanted to find comfort in your activities. his routine meshing with your old one. “i built a flower bed.. right outside that coffee shop where we had our first couple date.. i know you’d love it. a couple kids painted it for me.. it’s stunning, just like you baby…” jason said kissing the headstone, placing a bouquet of carnations down.

*. ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

i love jason 🫂 i should write something sweet next time, or would ya’ll like more angst? — have a good day / night xx !!!

i hope this was an okay read!! i could’ve gone more in depth at some parts, but i kept training off :p !!!! mwaahh byyee <3

[buckysweightedblanket]

Read somewhere that John Walker does his best when he’s taking orders.

[buckysweightedblanket]

REMEMBER. gender is NOT the same thing as sex.

gender is what you identify as, while sex is what i'll be having with bob reynolds tonight.

stay informed.

[buckysweightedblanket]

lewis with his cowboy boots in casual clothes but with the sentry wig oh i’m sick i need him so badly

[buckysweightedblanket]

is that my handsome, elegant, intelligent, charming, kind, thoughtful, strong, courageous, creative, brilliant, gentle, humble, generous, passionate, wise, funny, loyal, dependable, graceful, radiant, calm, confident, warm, compassionate, witty, adventurous, respectful, sincere, magnetic, bold, articulate, empathetic, inspiring, honest, patient, powerful, attentive, uplifting, classy, friendly, reliable, ambitious, intuitive, talented, supportive, grounded, determined, charismatic, extraordinary, trustworthy, noble, dignified, perceptive, innovative, refined, considerate, balanced, open-minded, composed, imaginative, mindful, optimistic, virtuous, noble-hearted, well-spoken, quick-witted, deep, philosophical, fearless, affectionate, expressive, emotionally intelligent, resourceful, delightful, fascinating, sharp, selfless, driven, assertive, authentic, vibrant, playful, observant, skillful, generous-spirited, practical, comforting, brave, wise-hearted, enthusiastic, dependable, tactful, enduring, discreet, well-mannered, composed, mature, tasteful, joyful, understanding, genuine, brilliant-minded, encouraging, well-rounded, magnetic, dynamic, radiant, radiant-spirited, soulful, radiant-hearted, insightful, creative-souled, justice-minded, reliable-hearted, tender, uplifting-minded, persevering, devoted, angelic, down-to-earth, golden-hearted, gentle-spirited, clever, courageous-hearted, courteous, harmonious, loyal-minded, beautiful-souled, easygoing, sincere-hearted, respectful-minded, comforting-voiced, confident-minded, emotionally strong, respectful-souled, imaginative-hearted, protective, noble-minded, confident-souled, wise-eyed, loving, serene, magnetic-souled, expressive-eyed, brilliant-hearted, inspiring-minded, and absolutely unforgettable pookie lewis pullman?

[buckysweightedblanket]

Hear me out, hair pulling with walker and sub!Walker OR OR!!! Hair pulling with BUCKY and sub!Bucky. I am a whore for both of them!!

Also can I claim 🦌anon/Staganon :)

(someone finally requested bucky 🥹, oh my god. YES. welcome aboard, 🦌anon / staganon — consider yourself officially claimed and branded in the most depraved little corner of my heart. i love you already.)

ok so with walker,

listen. walker acts like a big bad tough guy, talks like he’s always two seconds from knocking someone’s teeth in, but the second you get your fingers tangled in his hair? he melts.

he tries to fight it, grits his teeth, clenches his jaw like it’ll stop that needy sound from slipping out when you tug. but it never does. it only makes it worse.

you grab a fistful at the nape of his neck, give it a sharp tug, and his whole body arches into you like a fucking dog in heat. eyes fluttering, mouth dropping open, a breathless little “fuck…” breaking free.

he gets so worked up so fast — cock straining against his pants, whimpering every time your fingers tighten. it turns him pathetic.

“told you— told you not to—”

another sharp pull and he chokes on it, hips rutting up.

“fuck!—please, do it again…”

he’d beg. he wants to beg. all his swagger gone the second you’ve got control of his hair. his safe word’s halfway forgotten the minute your teeth graze his ear and you yank his head back to whisper just how fucking pretty he is when he drops for you.

and bucky? bucky gets ruined.

he’s so senstive about his hair to begin with — the way he keeps it long, lets it fall in his face like some old habit of hiding behind it. but when you touch it, when you fist your hand in those thick, dark strands and pull?

he makes the prettiest sounds.

quiet little choked-off moans, lips parting as his metal hand claws at your back or digs into the sheets. the second you yank his head back, his throat bared, he’s already half gone.

“oh my god…”

whispered, breathless, shameful.

he’s not even trying to hold it together — hips jerking, panting, his cock leaking against his stomach while you drag your nails along his scalp.

bucky loves it. loves being handled. loves being owned. especially by someone he trusts enough to let go like that.

“harder,” he whimpers, one hand grabbing at your wrist to keep you there when you grip his hair tighter, practically mewling when you growl in his ear.

and you better believe the others would be none the wiser when you both walk out after, bucky flushed and glassy-eyed, hair a total wreck, trying and failing to act normal.

[buckysweightedblanket]

#needthat

This man

[buckysweightedblanket]

Happy Father’s day to Bob cause I’m making him a daddy 🙂‍↕️

happy father’s day john walker, bucky barns, steve rogers, robert reynolds, yelena belova, tony stark, natasha romanoff, thor odinson, loki laufeyson, lowkey thanos, peter quill, mysterio, wade wilson, james howllet, and venom

[buckysweightedblanket]

pairings: john walker x reader cw: smut, afab reader, heavy details on bodily fluids (cum), dry humping, pain play-ish, reader and walker are both kind of switches (mostly dom!walker though), very faint non-con. translations: знал, что это дерьмо случится → 'knew this shit was going to happen'

you woke up in a pissy mood.

maybe it’s because you woke up late. you let the thought plant itself in the garden of your mind as you make up the bed, tripping over your phone charger in the process—cursing as the plastic brick snags your toe like it has a personal vendetta against you. or maybe it’s because alexei had eaten all the pancakes when you went downstairs for breakfast, plate licked clean and stacked with crumbs like a taunt. bob had given you that same apologetic smile he always did when things went wrong—soft and sunny like butter melting on hot toast—murmuring that there hadn’t been any more mix left for him to make you any.

maybe it was the fucking weather in new york. the gentle splatter of rain against the glass panes of the tower had started out soft, like a lullaby, but now it just sounded annoying. like the world was chewing with its mouth open.

or maybe it was because it was wednesday.

training.

val’s orders.

mandatory hand-to-hand sparring. because she liked everyone nice and angry and bruised up. and sure, you had training every day, but today? today was the one day of the week where you were paired with walker.

so when he purposely bumped into you in the hallway outside the gym—his shoulder knocking against your bicep hard enough to make your teeth click—you didn’t throw a punch, even though the thought crossed your mind like a reflex. he was taller than you, broader too, all chest and attitude and smug american confidence. so maybe it wasn’t your shoulder. maybe it was your whole goddamn side that he nudged like a dog staking territory.

“who pissed in your cereal this morning?” he asked, voice low and conversational, like he didn’t just bump you hard enough to jostle your spine.

you didn’t say it was him, even though it was. even though his voice made your skin itch and your jaw lock.

“woke up on the wrong side of the bed, walker,” you said instead, brushing past him, not waiting for the inevitable comeback. you could feel his smirk behind you like static.

the tower’s gym was unruly-huge. it felt like it echoed your mood back at you. equipment you couldn’t name lined the walls in tight, militaristic rows, all matte black and heavy metal, and the smell of rubber and sweat lingered in the air like a stain. a few punching bags hung lazily near the corners, one still swaying from when bucky had kicked it clean across the room last week.

“it’s too weak,” he’d said.

(you’d made a mental note never to spar with him again.)

and in the center of it all was the ring. four corner posts, padded ropes, and too much room for bad decisions.

it wasn’t required that the whole team show up—and even though you’d begged yelena to join, she’d refused, laughing into her smoothie. said she didn’t want to be “stuck watching you two dry hump like deranged squirrels again.” you’d told her to fuck off. but now, standing in the gym with only the distant hum of the a/c for company, you wished she’d been there just to cut the tension. or at least pass you a weapon.

you took a swig of lukewarm water from your bottle and turned to face walker, forcing yourself not to stare at how his compression shirt clung to him. it wasn’t tight—it was painted on. every line of muscle was on full display, shoulder to waist. you could practically hear the fabric stretch when he moved.

“do you… want to do some warm-ups first?” you asked, making a conscious effort to keep your tone neutral. maybe even disinterested. you didn’t want him here. this wasn’t voluntary. this was an obligation. mandatory misery.

“let’s get this over with,” he said. “three rounds. best out of three.”

you raised a brow. “and for the rules?”

he smirked—of course he did. “we don’t need rules.”

“we kinda do,” you replied, already feeling the irritation twist under your ribs. “because last time you dropped me on my ass so hard i had a bruise for a week.”

walker stepped into the ring first, ducking under the ropes. “maybe you should’ve blocked.”

“maybe you should stop fighting like you’ve got something to prove.”

that earned a glare from him, which you ignored—attempted to.

you climbed in, shaking out your arms, your boots hitting the mat with soft thuds. the padding underfoot felt springy—too bouncy, too reactive. you hated it. or maybe you just hated that you were here, facing him, already sweating despite the cold air.

he circled you lazily. like a goddamn lion. you mirrored the motion, bouncing slightly on the balls of your feet, trying not to get distracted by how his eyes tracked your hips rather than your stance.

you both moved at the same time.

the first few exchanges were quick—jab, parry, dodge. the rhythm came easily. it always did. as much as you hated to admit it, you were well-matched. you could read each other’s timing, counter without thinking. the frustration came not from the fighting, but from everything else—the way his hands lingered too long when you grappled, how his chest would brush yours if you got too close. you hated how your body noticed.

and then it happened.

a misstep—your heel caught slightly on the edge of the mat, enough to tip your balance, and walker lunged to take advantage of the opening. except instead of pinning you, the two of you collided—not forcefully, but clumsily, almost chest to chest. you let out a sharp exhale as your thighs tangled, knees bending instinctively to catch the fall.

but he was already halfway crouched, one arm wrapping instinctively around your waist to steady you, the other pressed to the small of your back. your weight shifted forward—too close, too warm—and suddenly you were halfway in his lap.

“shit—sorry,” you breathed, trying to shove off him, except—

except his thigh was right between yours, and your hips—

fuck.

you didn’t mean to move, but the balance was off and the mat was soft and your legs shifted on instinct—and suddenly, unmistakably, your core dragged against the muscle of his thigh in a way that was so subtle and accidental and deeply not.

both of you froze.

your breath caught. his eyes were already locked on yours, stunned for a half second—then unreadable. his hand was still on your back. you weren’t sure if it tightened or if you imagined it. you weren’t sure if you moved again or if the air conditioning just kicked on. you weren’t sure why your thighs clenched.

“uh…” you started, but your voice sounded weird. hoarse. too close to a moan.

his gaze flicked to your mouth, then away, fast. “you okay?”

you nodded too fast. “fine. just… awkward footing.”

he didn’t move his hand. neither did you.

your legs still straddled his thigh in a way that felt like the world’s worst balancing act. or the start of a very different kind of training session. there was a beat of silence—like the air itself was watching.

“you sure?” he asked again, quieter this time.

and it wasn’t even the words—it was the way he looked at you. like he wasn’t talking about the stumble at all. like he felt that exact moment too. the press of your pelvis. the grind. the breath you tried to swallow.

you nodded again, slower this time. “yeah. just… caught me off guard.”

you pushed off him, finally, but it was too late. the air had shifted. you could feel it between you, clinging like static. his hands fell away, but your skin still burned where they’d been. you turned back to face him, but the next round didn’t come right away. he was still watching you.

and your body? your traitorous, terrible body?

your thighs were still clenched.

fuck wednesday.

“again?” you asked, voice too level for how shaky you felt inside.

walker nodded once, that cocky little tilt of his mouth returning like it never left. you circled again, sweat already clinging in places it shouldn’t—your lower back, your neck, the inside of your thighs. the room felt hotter than before, too hot for the a/c’s dull drone.

you launched first this time—an elbow aimed high, followed by a sweep low that he sidestepped with infuriating ease.

“you’re getting predictable,” he said with a grin.

you lunged. “so are you.”

he blocked. his palm slammed against your forearm, then he turned his body and shoved. the motion was clean, rehearsed. you fell back onto the mat with a thud that wasn’t entirely painless.

before you could roll, he was on you.

a forearm pressed against your collarbone, his weight straddling your hips, one thigh locked between your legs like a goddamn puzzle piece. his free hand pinned your wrist down beside your head.

the heat of his body sunk into yours instantly.

you squirmed. “walker—fuck—”

“hurts?” he murmured, his voice rough, amused—condescending.

the way he said it—hurts?—like he already knew the answer. like he knew it didn’t.

“yeah?” he pushed again, voice dropping lower this time, something smug curling around the edge of the word like smoke. “right there?”

and fuck, you hated the way your body responded to that tone. you hated that your thighs instinctively squeezed around the leg slotted between them. you hated that your hips bucked up, just once, hard enough that your pelvis grazed his in a motion too slow to be mistaken.

your ass dragged against the hard ridge in his pants and he whined, a fully on whine you sweat—barely—but you heard it. felt it in the tension of his thigh. his hips jerked forward, subtle but deliberate, a shallow grind that answered your body without permission.

you sucked in a breath. “get off—”

“you first,” he said, and dipped his hips again, just to feel the friction. he’s desperate now, you can tell.

it was a war now. a different kind of sparring.

you twisted under him, trying to gain leverage, but he only adjusted his grip on your wrists, forearms flexing as he kept you pinned. you shifted your hips to throw him off—but the motion only made things worse.

your core ground against his thigh again, heat blooming under your waistband, obscene in how clothed you both still were. the contact was friction, soft and aggressive, the kind that sent sparks up your spine.

you bit back a noise. it didn’t sound angry. it didn’t sound like protest.

“fuck—get—off—me—” you tried again, but you weren’t moving to escape anymore. not really.

you arched again, more desperate this time. maybe to get him off. maybe to get more.

walker’s breath caught. he bucked into you again, this time slow. deliberate. testing.

you gasped. “don’t—”

“then stop moving,” he groans which broke off into another whimper.

but neither of you stopped.

he leaned in close, face hovering over yours, and you could smell the sweat and laundry soap and faint bite of cologne coming off him. his breath was hot against your cheek.

you surged up again—this time forcing him to lose some of his balance, your knee coming up to knock his side. he grunted, twisted, but still didn’t move off you.

instead, the shift made him rut against you harder, this time with a quiet, breathless curse.

“goddamn it—” he muttered.

you moaned before you could stop yourself. not loud. just a little choked noise in your throat.

walker froze. then slowly, he ground his hips down again. testing pressure. the thick line of his cock pressed through both your pants, dragging across the exact spot that was already aching.

“you’re not helping your case,” he murmured.

“shut the fuck up—” but it sounded breathy. weak. your thighs clenched again.

you twisted your wrist free and shoved at his chest, but he caught your hand and pinned it down again. the struggle only brought you closer, your hips meeting in another mindless grind that made both of you gasp.

it wasn’t smooth. it wasn’t graceful.

he rutted into you, clothed, thick denim grinding down against your leggings, and your hips met his like you needed it. you did. every part of you felt like it was humming now. frustration and arousal tangled into something reckless. every motion made it worse—more heat, more friction, more of your body giving away things your mouth would never say.

walker leaned down again, chest nearly flush against yours, his hips working in slow, rhythmless pushes. “say you want it,” he said, low.

“i don’t,” you lied.

he ground harder, your clit catching against the crease of your waistband, and your back arched off the mat in response.

“you sure?” he whispered.

you weren’t.

your hands gripped the mat, desperate for stability, but he was dragging against you just right, his thigh rocking into your core and making your cunt throb. your hips moved again—this time without thinking—and now you were the one rutting into him. your core pulsed against the friction of his jeans, every scrape of the fabric sending heat flooding low through your stomach.

his hands fisted in the mat on either side of your head. his biceps bracketed your face. he looked down at you like he didn’t know whether to tease you or fuck you into the floor.

you rolled your hips again, your leg wrapping slightly around his as you chased the next wave of contact. you weren’t pretending anymore. he wasn’t either. this wasn’t a spar—it was a dry fuck in slow motion.

and he gave in.

he bucked forward, hard, and his cock pressed along your clothed heat, grinding with rough, eager friction. the motion dragged a moan out of you you couldn’t swallow. your head tipped back. your neck arched.

your clit caught again on the seam of your leggings and your hips jolted. he rutted into the motion—again, then again—shallow thrusts that barely moved you on the mat, but each one made your breath catch. your body burned. you could feel the heat soaking through the cotton. your thighs trembled.

“you gonna come like this?” he asked roughly, mouth right near your jaw. “grinding on my thigh like a brat?”

you didn’t answer. couldn’t.

you only bucked your hips harder, clit catching again, again, your mouth falling open as a whimper slipped out. you were so fucking close now. you could feel it—low and tight and searing, the edge of something hot and humiliating and real.

“you like that?” he hissed, fucking into you now with full-bodied thrusts. “yeah—fuck—you do—”

you squeezed your eyes shut, choking on your own breath, your body arching into his. every grind pushed you closer. your hands gripped his shirt now, pulling him closer, keeping him there. his name slipped out of your mouth like a secret.

and walker—he didn’t stop. didn’t pull away.

if anything, he moved faster.

he wasn’t teasing anymore. he was chasing it. so were you. two enemies humping each other to the brink in the middle of the fucking training mat, slick with sweat and frustration, and god, you could feel it building again—hot, slick pressure, dragging through your core like a live wire—

“fuck—fuck—don’t stop—” you gasped, and his hips answered with another rough grind.

“come on, then,” he growled. “do it. come on my fuckin’ thigh, princess.”

and you did.

your hips jerked, breath tearing from your lungs, thighs clenching as a flood of wet heat soaked your panties. you came with a whimper, your back arching, every inch of you trembling.

walker groaned through his teeth and fucked into your convulsing body once more, riding it out, like he wanted to memorize the way you clenched under him. his own breath was ragged, jaw tight, hands still gripping your wrists like he couldn’t trust himself to let go.

when you finally opened your eyes again, he was still above you. still hard. still watching.

and you still hadn’t moved.

not until you heard the creak of the gym door open.

even then, it wasn’t really movement so much as tension—your entire body flinching under john’s just as your head snapped up, breath still ragged, hips still twitching faintly from what just happened.

yelena stood half in the doorway, smoothie in hand—half-drunk, the straw still perched between her fingers like she’d just stepped out of the kitchen.

she didn’t even blink. her eyes dropped to the sight of you pinned beneath walker—your thighs still spread around one of his, your hands twisted in his shirt, your expression frozen somewhere between post-orgasmic haze and absolute horror.

he didn’t move either. maybe didn’t know how to.

yelena arched an eyebrow.

didn’t really take a genius to figure out what was happening. what just happened.

she let the moment hang for maximum effect. her lip twitched—so subtle you could almost convince yourself you imagined it.

and then, with a casual sip from her smoothie, she muttered under her breath, voice thick with dry russian amusement “знал, что это дерьмо случится.”

she turnd without waiting for a reply, braid swinging behind her as she walked off with that same bored strut she used after throwing knives at a man’s groin.

the door creaked shut again.

silence.

you were still staring at it.

walker finally exhaled, a breath that sounded half-laugh, half-regret. his forehead dropped to your shoulder.

you groaned, hand dragging down your face. “we’re never living this down.”

“not a chance,” he muttered into your collarbone.

neither of you moved for another full minute. maybe two.

you were still too wet. he was still too hard.

and neither of you wanted to be the first to stand up.

[buckysweightedblanket]

Wyatt Russell in ‘broke’ (2025) | True Brandywine

Him as a cowboy goes crazyyyyy

[buckysweightedblanket]

ANTHONY MACKIE as SAM WILSON in the Marvel Cinematic Universe

[buckysweightedblanket]

i'm so done with seeing and finding purely smut fics, what happened to yearning?? what happened to developing plots??character development??fluff?? angst?? hurt/comfort?? what happened to those monologues of characters that hurt your heart and made you go insane AGH

[buckysweightedblanket]

Me, selecting filters on Ao3

[buckysweightedblanket]

Our Little Secret

jinx/powder x female reader — 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

summary: silco has a strict rule about his daughter, jinx - no dating until college. the problem? you've been secretly dating her for a while now. OR 5 times silco almost caught you together and 1 time he actually did. warnings/themes: fluff, 5 + 1 (kinda 4+1)…, secret relationship, silco is so gullible /j, pov switch, michael words: 9.6k

Silco has always had very strict standards.

He's strict about maintaining his power. He doesn't put up with nonsense. He isn't afraid to get his own hands dirty. And he's extremely protective of his daughter, Jinx.

And above all else? He has one very simple rule.

No dating until she's in college.

...unfortunately, your girlfriend has a habit of not really listening.

—

( 1 )

It's a weekend afternoon, you and Jinx are supposed to be studying together.

And you are studying... for approximately 5 minutes before Jinx starts peppering kisses along your cheek. That then devolves into her shifting to sit in your lap, straddling your hips, her arms wrapped around your neck.

“We shouldn't-” you protest, pushing her off your lap “-Jinx...we're supposed to be studying.”

Jinx trails her lips along the side of your face, pressing little kisses on your jawline. She makes one of her soft hums, and her mouth settles near your ear. “We can study later... can't we?”

If you could just study for 10 more minutes, maybe you can get an hour of actual studying done. “But we need to study. Your grade could depend on it.”

“Aww, are you worrying about my grades?”

“Of course I am. I know how hard it is for you to keep up in some classes.”

She pokes you in the ribs. “I thought you were my girlfriend? don't you want to be more romantic and less... responsible-y?”

You gently nudge her away and try to focus on the textbook in your hands. Unfortunately, Jinx is far too stubborn. She grabs the textbook and tosses it away, then she buries her face into your neck, giggling.

You sigh, defeated, settling your hands on her waist. “I swear, you're the most troublesome girlfriend imaginable.” 

“I just want you to pay attention to meeeeeeeeeee.” Jinx pouts and starts whining in that tone that she knows you can't resist. “I don't wanna study. I just want cuddles. You're comfier than this bed.”

“Is that why you're sitting here, distracting me? because you want more attention from me?”

“I'm always wanting your attention. It's my second favorite thing.”

“And what's your first favorite thing?”

“Can you guess which thing I like the most, love?”

You narrow your eyes. “Hmmm is it food?”

“Are you joking?”

“Why? you do eat a lot of it,” you tease, and before she can punch you, you grab her around the waist and roll over on the bed, pinning her down to the mattress.

Jinx gasps and then immediately starts laughing. Awwwwe, come on, you can hear her say, that's cheating!

You grin, leaning down to catch her lips in a quick kiss and she quickly tries to deepen it, but you pull away before she can do so.

“You're mean.” She tries to reach up and pull you closer. “Come back.”

“You're mean,” you argue. “Trying to distract me while-” 

There's a loud knock on the door, and then- “Jinx?” Silco's voice filters in from the other side of the door.

Jinx pulls away and goes completely rigid. “Uh- uhm-” She pushes you on your shoulders, causing you to hit the ground with a mphghfglgh sound, which Silco obviously did not hear.

“Jinx?” his voice comes through the door again. “Are you studying?”

Jinx rushes to sit on the bed, grabbing the first textbook that she can find, then pretends to read it. “Hi dad!” she calls out, opening her textbook to a random page. “I'm studying, I swear.”

“Can I come in?”

“No! I mean, yes. Yeah, sure, you, uh, go ahead.”

You quickly get up on your feet and sit on Jinx's desk chair, trying to look like you're studying. You smooth out your clothing and make your hair look less disheveled. Silco doesn't need to see you look like you were making out with his daughter 5 seconds ago.

You only have a few precious seconds to compose yourself before the door creaks open.

“Afternoon,” Silco greets and walks into the room. “Just wanted to check in on you, see how you were doing, how you're studying.”

“Yup. Studying, we're totally studying.” She lifts the textbook up, and there's a page about Newtonian physics that Jinx never had interest in until now. 

Silco looks between you and Jinx, and you see him narrow his eyebrow slightly, probably wondering why the room is so damn quiet. “...Uh huh.”

Jinx smiles with too much teeth. “Yup! just cramming in some last minute studying.”

He hums and turns his gaze to you. You try to pretend to be as interested in a book of...math equations. “What about you?” he asks, addressing you. “Not slacking off, I hope.”

You hastily set the math book down and turn to face Silco, giving a small smile. “No, sir, I'm not. Just doing some calculus and some physics.”

“Good,” he says with a single nod. “Anything either of you needed help in?”

You and Jinx say “no” at the same time, a little too loudly.

Silco doesn't seem to notice the hint of desperation. He just smiles. “Alright, I'll leave you to-” Silco pauses as he reaches the door and turns back around, looking at the two of you again.

Oh shit. Does he know?

“...I made food. I suppose the two of you could take a break? Maybe in...ten minutes or so?”

Relief hits you.

“Yeah, yeah, good idea. Absolutely, uh, I'm famished-” she sets the textbook down on her bed “-We'll definitely come down in ten.”

It took everything in you just not to collapse from sheer nervousness. “Yeah, ten minutes,” you echo. “Thank you, sir.”

He gives the both of you another smile and then finally leaves.

You both stay there in complete silence for a few seconds before looking at each other. Your eyes meet Jinx's.

“HOLY SHIT, that was way too close for comfort.” She sighs. “You okay? I didn't push you too hard, did I?”

“I'm fine.” You rub your back, where it's definitely going to be sore. “I'm still alive.” 

Jinx gets off the bed and walks over to you, standing between your legs. She then cups your cheek with both hands and tilts your head up. “Sorry...” 

You close your eyes, sighing as she rubs your cheek with her thumb. “Mhm, it's okay.” You rest your hands on her hips. “Now, we need to get downstairs in 10 minutes for that food Silco made... so that means we have 10 minutes to actually study.” 

“Nooooo, I don't wanna study.” She squeezes your cheeks enough to make your mouth pucker up. You groan, but it just makes her smile.

“Yes, we need to study.” You try to pry her hands off your cheeks, but she uses both of hers to keep them in place. “Okay, so what about this… If you get a perfect score on the quiz tomorrow, I'll give you a hundred kiss-”

“-DEAL!” 

Damn. 

You really must have tapped into a jackpot for her to respond like that.

—

( 2 )

You stand in the shadows at Jinx's back door, knocking softly. You even brought a bag of food just to make yourself seem less suspicious, hoping it would look like you're here to make a delivery instead of sneaking into the house for... 

...other reasons.

After a few moments, the door opens, and-

There Jinx is, standing with her hair damp. 

“Ugh what are you doing here?”

“Hey.” You lift up the bag of food in your hands. “I brought some food. Thought you'd be hungry.”

Jinx snorts, then slams the door shut right in your face.

...it's that time of the month.

Which explains... well, everything, really.

Her grumpy morning mood. Her constant irritability. Those mood swings that left you wondering what you did wrong. And of course, her reaction when you brought over the food.

You knock on the door again, patiently waiting to be let in. “Love?”

No response. You're very certain she's ignoring you on purpose.

You stand there awkwardly for a while, shifting the weight between your feet.

Maybe you could try again? maybe knock again? see if she changes her mind...but then again, maybe you'd be pushing your luck. It's probably better to give her some space.

Still, the thought of being ignored without knowing why is irritating.

You give it another minute, before trying to knock again. Then you wait for her to, hopefully, please open it again, and after a few moments, the doorknob finally turns.

Jinx slowly opens the door, just barely letting the door open halfway, just enough to show her face. “...what did you bring?”

“Your favorite,” you respond. “Jollibee?”

Her irritation visibly softens when she sees the logo on the paper bag. “Chicken joy with extra rice, yum burger, and coke float?”

You could always remember her favorite order. You've made it a point to remember since you first started dating. “Yep.”

She looks at the food in your hand, then she tries to grab the paper bag, but you pull it just out of her reach. 

“Kiss first.”

Jinx scoffs, but she relents, leaning forward to press a quick kiss on your lips. It lasts only a second before she breaks away, holding her hand out to take the bag of food.

“There, you got your stupid kiss,” she mutters, “now give me the food.”

You pull the bag away, grinning. “Nope. I have a question.”

“What now?”

“Are you mad at me?” you ask.

“A little...”

“Ohhh, sooo, is that why you slammed the door shut in my face?”

“Hmm, maybe.”

“Any reason you're mad at me?”

“I dunno, maybe ask the one friend?” She shrugs. “You know, that one with the glasses who always spends her time drooling over you.”

Huh?

Who the hell is she talking about?

You open your mouth to ask when-

Jinx's hand suddenly grabs the bag of food from your hand, and she heads inside the house without bothering to wait for you, leaving the door open behind her.

You rack your brain for any recent interactions she might have been referring to, but you don't remember anyone giving you that much attention. Did this person exist? she was just messing with you, wasn't she?

“Wait!” you call out, stepping inside and closing the door shut. “What do you mean, the one with the glasses?”

Jinx ignores you and sits down at the table. She starts grabbing food from the paper bag and setting stuff down in front of herself, making a point of not looking at you.

Ugh. How could she just ignore you like this?

“Jinx.” You approach and sit down next to her. “Can we at least talk about it?”

She glances up to look at you, then she proceeds to shove an entire fried chicken drumstick in her mouth (just to spite you... probably).

And it goes like that for the next few minutes.

She chews her food and drinks her coke float, and every time you're about to open your mouth to say something, she makes another obnoxiously loud noise.

You really hate it when she gives you the silent treatment. Though you know better than to push it, since pushing her when she's in a mood like this doesn't usually go well.

“You know what I hate the most?” 

You lean back, sighing. “What?”

“I hate it when you let that friend of yours hang around you like a puppy. I hate the way she looks at you. All those little smiles and flirty glances-” She stops to take a bite. “-Whenever you're in the same room, her eyes are always glued to you. Like- like she's not even subtle about it!”

“And how would you know that?”

“I notice.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

Jinx turns to glare at you and kicks your shin. “You don't even notice when she looks at you.”

“Why would I? I'm focused on you.”

Jinx looks away, her cheeks turning pink. “Yeah, you better be focused on me...” Her expression quickly hardens again. “But that's beside the point! I swear, she's so - UGH - fucking annoying!”

You smirk at the words that came out of her mouth, and you brush some stray hair out of her face, hoping to grab her attention, but she just looks away. “Are you... jealous?”

She smacks your hand away. “Shut up. I'm mad at you, remember?” She stabs at a piece of her chicken. “I'm not jealous. I mean, why would I be jealous of her?”

You try to keep a straight face. “I don't know. You tell me.”

“I'm not jealous!” 

You pause just for a moment to admire her face, the way her eyebrows scrunch up, the redness of her cheeks, her little pouty lips...

God, she's so pretty, cute, adorable, and... and... 

Jinx scoffs, noticing that stupid look on your face. “Oh, you think this is funny, huh???” She pokes your side. “Am I amusing?”

“No, no, no, I'm sorry boss.”

Jinx rolls her eyes at the name. She eats the rest of her fried chicken and sets the empty carton aside. She opens the wrapper of the burger, smells it, then lifts it up to her mouth. “Want one?” 

“No, I ate before I came over.”

She lowers the burger, only to lift it back up and- “Open.”

“Seriously?”

“Pfft, don't get used to it...just consider yourself lucky that I'm in a generous mood.”

You open your mouth and then-

She shoves the burger in, forcing you to take a bite. 

The burger is certainly messier than it should be, with cheese and sauce spreading over your lips, dripping down to your chin. You swallow the hamburger, then let out a small burp. “...could have been a little gentler on the first bite, you know.”

Jinx grabs a napkin from the table and wipes the sauce off your lips. “You should be grateful that I fed you. It's more than what you deserve, considering you have another girl hanging around you all the time.”

“You keep saying that, but you still can't tell me how I'm supposed to know if she's staring at me-”

With no warning and no time to react, Jinx's hand grabs you by the jaw, and suddenly your vision flashes pink as her lips crash into yours.

Her kiss is rough, aggressive, hungry, forceful, demanding; taking your bottom lip between her teeth, fingers digging into the side of your jawline.

It's not like you mind. You're quick to match her energy. Your hands reach for her waist as you lean forward to try and deepen the kiss.

But then, just as quickly, Jinx pulls away, her breathing heavy and fast. “That-” your girlfriend licks her lower lip, “-that's what I think about every time I see that other girl looking at you.”

...

That kiss definitely shut you up.

The words that were on your tongue suddenly vanished, replaced with a single brain cell bouncing around in your head doing absolutely nothing. 

“Uhhhhh...”

She pats you on the cheek before continuing to eat her burger as if nothing happened. “You were being annoying. Had to shut you up somehow.”

You blink and rub your face, clearing the fog that set in after the kiss. “Well- Ahem - that was... that was certainly one way to do it.”

Jinx shrugs and grabs the coke float, sipping on it. “So-” she sets the coke float down, “-now that I've given you something to shut up, I expect you not to bother me for the rest of the day.”

“Wait-”

“-Nope. I'm still irritated right now. My cramps are acting up. I'm not in the mood for you to annoy me and be all, y'know, sweet and lovey-dovey.”

“Oh come on-”

“-UGH look, I'm mad, I'm cranky, and I'm in pain. I just want to eat my food and sleep for the rest of the day,” she mutters. “Now go home.”

You frown. “Why can't I just stay here and wait with you-”

“-Because I prefer being in peace and quiet for now.”

“I can be quiet.”

Jinx huffs through her nose. “When I'm not irritated, we can talk, alright?”

“Fine,” you concede, standing up from the chair. “Will I see you tomorrow, then?”

Jinx nods and trails after you towards the backdoor. “Yes. Maybe. Don't come over before 9 PM, though. Dad is going to be here.”

“Will do.”

You start to step outside, and then she calls out.

“Hey.”

“Hm?” You turn back around.

“Before you go…” Jinx then walks closer and grabs a fistful of your shirt before leaning in and kissing your cheek. “I'm still mad at you, but-” she pauses, letting go of your shirt “...I love you.”

With that, she pushes you out the back door and closes it in your face.

And she left you on your own, you're stuck standing there wondering what exactly just happened. 

She was mad at you, then she kissed you, then she was mad again, and then she was kind of sort of but not really mad, and then she just up and ended the whole thing by saying that she loved you. 

What the hell is with her today?

“Jinx! I'm home.”

“Shiiiiit.” She hurriedly unlocks and pushes open the front door. “Heeeey, Dad.”

“Who was the person just now? the one who jumped over our fence?” Silco asks, walking past her and setting his suitcase down on the coffee table.

“Uhhh…” Jinx closes the door and then turns around to face her dad, laughing nervously. “Nobody. Maybe.”

“Doesn't seem like nobody,” he says. “I could have sworn I caught a glimpse of someone leaving when I was pulling up.”

“Oh, that…” She looks at the back door. “Maybe you're just tired, yeah?”

“...right.” Silco walks into the kitchen and stares at the empty containers still on the table. “You got food from Jollibee?”

Jinx sighs in relief as Silco focuses on the food instead. “Yeah, I just kind of had a sudden craving. Thought about ordering some delivery.”

“Hmmm I can't blame you. These do taste pretty good.”

She nods and starts to head up the stairs. “I'm gonna go lie down...gonna take a nap.”

She can hear her dad's response from the kitchen. “Alright, have a good rest.”

Jinx dashes up the stairs, trying not to make it obvious how panicked she is. The less he knew about you being here earlier, the better.

She heads towards her room and shuts her door.

She kinda maybe-sorta regrets sending you away... but a part of her is still slightly mad at you.

Just slightly.

Jinx grabs a large, oversized monkey plushie from the corner of her room, then falls back onto her bed. She presses her face into the soft fur of the toy, scrunching her nose up.

As much as she loves her stuffies, it can't quite fill that gap of not having you around. You know, you're a lot warmer than this stupid monkey, and she'd much rather have you around than this dumb toy.

—

( 3 )

You tiptoe across the yard towards the house, trying to avoid any broken twigs or leaves and making sure your footsteps are as soft and light as a mouse.

You slowly look around, just to make sure that all the lights are absolutely turned off in the house.

The coast is clear? Check.

You then grab a smooth pebble, testing the shape and weight in the palm of your hand.

This should do the trick.

You aim carefully, with a certain amount of precision and a touch of confidence. You toss the pebble at the window, hoping with all your might that the thud of the rock will reach her ears—and it does.

Immediately, you hear rustling in the room on the upstairs floor. Bingo, you got her attention.

There's a series of footsteps, and then the window opens, revealing the face of a very annoyed but also pretty, gorgeous, beautiful girl.

Jinx whispers down at you from the window. “What are you doing-”

You quickly gesture for her to shut up and keep her voice down.

“What?”

You shush her again and motion for her to come outside. Jinx's eyes narrow, but she seems to get the message, because after a few more moments of awkward staring at each other, her expression relaxes and your girlfriend disappears from the window.

Not too long after, the back door opens, then Jinx carefully slips out. She's dressed in a tank top and shorts with her hair messily brushed. She closes the door behind her as quietly as possible.

“You're lucky I actually have the decency to stay awake most nights.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “If it were my usual time, I would have been absolutely dead to the world.”

You snicker at her comment and raise a finger to your lips. “Keep it down. You're gonna wake up your old man.”

Jinx scoffs. “Thanks to you, I'll be up till the morning.”

“Come on... I'll make it up to you, okay?” You then wrap your fingers around hers.

She huffs, but she does allow you to take her hand. “You better.” Her expression then softens a bit when she sees you smile. “Seriously, what in the hell made this SO important that you had to come over at... 2 a.m.?”

“Couldn't sleep.”

“Couldn't sleep or didn't want to sleep?”

You shrug. Either answer wouldn't be a lie. “Does it matter?”

“...and you just so happen to need me as a source of entertainment?”

You shrug again, and you tug on her hand, lightly pulling her closer. “More like... I just missed you.”

Jinx snorts, but you can tell the words are starting to get to her. You let go of her hand before wrapping your arms around her waist. 

“Who's the clingy one now, hm?” she asks, then brings her arms around your neck.

“Still you, but I guess I can't complain.”

Jinx wrinkles her nose. “Very funny.”

“It is funny.” You press a kiss to her cheek, her temple, her forehead, just to hear her scoff. “Love you.”

“Sap.” Jinx nuzzles her face into your chest, hiding her smile from you. “...I love you too.”

It's always so damn satisfying whenever you get her to surrender.

“Do you want to come in? it's cold out here..”

You shake your head. “I'm fine, just here to see you anyway.”

You stay wrapped up in each other for what feels like hours, not moving, not saying anything, and not even caring that the night is probably the coldest it's been in months.

It's only when Jinx shivers that you finally remember where you are.

“You should probably go.” 

You know you're on borrowed time. Any minute now, you're risking Silco catching you both.

So you reluctantly let go of her, and she backs away. 

“Go on,” you urge, “Go back before you get sick.”

Jinx rolls her eyes. “I won't get sick. I'm tougher than that.”

“I'm sure you are, but it's still cold out, so-”

“-I'll live.”

“Just please go back inside.”

Jinx rubs her arms to try to get warm. “Alright, just... be careful walking back, okay?”

You reach out to try to fix her hair, but stop yourself when her eyes narrow. “I'll be fine. Don't worry about me.”

She bites her lip. “I'll try not to.”

You both just stare at each other for a few more moments, the cold night air surrounding you and making you shiver a bit.

“This is hard to do without being able to kiss you.”

“I know.” You lean closer, pressing a kiss on her cheek. “See you at school?”

Jinx returns the gesture, giving you a kiss on the cheek as well. You find yourself wanting to melt on the spot. “I guess... yeah.”

“Good night.”

“Mhmm, nighty.”

She finally turns around and disappears back into the house.

With one last glance at the house, you turn and creep back to your own, a smile on your face.

“You're still awake? Isn't it past 2 in the morning?”

Jinx nearly had a heart attack when she hears a familiar voice. She whirls around to see... Silco, standing at the top of the stairs, staring at her with a frown.

“Uhm-” she tries to come up with something that sounds believable “...just need to pee...”

“Go back to sleep then. You have school in the morning, remember?”

“Yes, Dad.” 

She quickly pads up the steps and past him, feeling her father's stare burning against her back. She doesn't stop until she's inside her room, door closed.

Jinx was lucky Silco didn't hear the creak of the back door or hear the footsteps outside. If he had known about your relationship...

She approaches the window, and then peeks through the curtains. She spots you sneaking back through the darkness, and she smiles to herself.

She's safe. You're safe. Everything worked out... for now anyway.

—

( 4 )

You drive into the city, parking by the sidewalk a block away from her home. “Guess I'll see you tomorrow?” 

You're a little exhausted from your “school project” (which is honestly just a date to the movie theater). You've both grown pretty good at using the excuse of a “group project” and “research” to spend time together.

Jinx turns to you and pouts. “Where's my goodbye kiss?”

You roll your eyes. “Fine, come here, you big baby.”

Jinx leans over the center console, cupping your chin with one hand. “Thank youuu~” she coos, before planting a soft kiss on your lips.

“There, satisfied?” you say as she leans back away. You try not to let your expression show just how much you're going to miss that feeling already. 

“That should hold me for the night.”

“Okay, now get out of the car so I can go home.”

She snorts and opens the door. “Dick.” She steps out, closes the door, then stands on the sidewalk with one hand on her hip. 

You roll your window partially down, glancing over at her. “I love you.”

“Mhm, don't forget to text me when you get home.”

“I'll remember, don't worry.”

“You better. I don't wanna think you're dead in a ditch somewhere-”

“-Yes, yes, boss. I'll be fine, I promise.”

Jinx huffs and shakes her head. “Bye, dumbass.” She blows you a cheeky kiss and turns around to run down the block towards her house.

Jinx enters her house and sees Silco sitting on the armchair in the living room. She realizes that he was probably waiting for her to come back.

“Ah, you're home,” he says, “how was your project?”

Jinx sighs, playing it off casually. “Um, it was fine,” she mutters, and she tries to walk past Silco and make a beeline for her room.

“Is that a new necklace?”

…shit.

She glances over her shoulder, one hand reaching up to touch the new necklace that you had just bought for her today. She quickly lowers it and tucks it further under her shirt.

“Oh, it's not new…” She looks rather guilty as she lies. “I'm just...not wearing it every day.”

“Really? That's odd. I don't seem to recall seeing you wear it before.”

“Yeah, I just decided to... start wearing it more lately.”

“Well, either way... looks expensive. Where'd you get it?”

Jinx winces at the question but tries to hide it. “Some thrift store,” she lies once more. “Anyway, I have homework to do. Bye, Dad.”

Silco arches an eyebrow. “Alright, but don't forget to eat dinner.”

“Right, okay, yeah, Bye!” Jinx quickly heads upstairs to her room and quickly closes the door to her bedroom.

Now safe and alone in her room, she slides down the door, sighing. She takes the necklace again, rubbing it between her fingers.

“Love you too, doofus,” she whispers to herself, thinking about you.

—

( 5 )

It was kind of a rule in your neighborhood that everyone had to complete a certain amount of volunteer hours. You weren't entirely happy about that, but you didn't really hate the idea of helping your community.

Since you and your girlfriend often had trouble arranging time to see each other, the city's weekly volunteer cleanups became a pretty standard thing for the both of you.

There's a… small problem, though. Jinx wasn't the only one who had this little schedule.

Her dad also had to do the cleanups.

It had been a fairly simple plan at first. You've been planning to meet up with Jinx in secret for a few hours between volunteering sessions. You'd be able to spend some time together, talk without getting interrupted, maybe… make out a little bit.

But now? now that plan was fucking thrown to hell, seeing as how her father was there as well, picking up trash along with the two of you.

You pick up an entire plastic bag filled with trash and start to lug it to one of the bigger garbage bins on the sidewalk. Your back feels like it's about to break.

You turn around and spot Jinx a few feet away. She has a bag overflowing with junk in her hands, and she's also using a stick to prod a piece of trash that's stuck on the curb.

She looks at you and smiles. “Hey.”

You try to smile back, but you know your back is about to burst. “Need some help with that?”

Jinx shakes her head, then uses her stick to whack the piece of trash off the sidewalk. “Nah, I got it.”

You manage to toss the garbage bag into the nearest bin, panting a bit afterwards. Geez, were these bags always this heavy?

You look around and see that most of the street has been cleaned. Jinx's dad is also nearby, picking up a few more pieces of junk on the sidewalk.

Silco picks up another plastic bottle with a pair of rubber gloves, placing it in the bag by his feet. He glances up and spots you two nearby. “Oh, are you two finished?”

You smile at him, then nod. Seems like your little street is mostly free of trash.

Silco's gaze flits over to his daughter. “How about you, Jinx?”

Jinx gives the stick one more whack on the sidewalk, making the last piece of trash fall into the bag. She then stands up, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. “There!”

Just then, an old lady (the head of this neighborhood's community service group) approaches the three of you.

She smiles and looks at all of the full garbage bags nearby. “I see you three have been hard at work. We've prepared some food for the volunteers over at my home around the corner. Why don't you come join us?”

You're about to say, “Hell yes, I deserve food for this kind of work-”

But before you can get to say anything, Silco turns to the old lady and raises his hand politely, “Thank you, but you don't need to-”

“Nonsense,” the old lady interrupts, “You three have been working so hard, and it's already lunchtime! The least we can do is offer you some food, right?” She smiles at Silco, then she also turns her attention to you and Jinx. “Besides, these young people definitely deserve a rest. They look exhausted. I'm sure a little food wouldn't hurt.”

Silco sighs. “Very well, then.” He looks at you and Jinx before gesturing forward. “Let's go.”

The old lady smiles and starts to hobble towards her home. The three of you follow.

After a couple-minute walk, the old lady's house is only a few doors down the street. There are already around 10 other people or so inside her house, eating and talking amongst each other. They probably all wanted a nice meal after doing a lot of work.

You greet them with a few waves, a few smiles, a few introductions. You then help yourself to some fried fish and steamed vegetables, and manage to find a small spot on the floor to sit. Jinx is sitting next to you, while Silco takes a spot on a nearby armchair.

You eat silently, listening to the other conversations around you. People are talking about mundane things, what they did this morning, a movie they saw, the current news, the weather, et cetera.

Some of them ask you, Jinx, and Silco a few questions, wanting to know you each a little better.

Silco seems to be politely responding to whatever questions are being asked of him. Jinx, on the other hand, just stays quiet and keeps eating her food.

However, there is one that you and Jinx really aren't a fan of being asked.

“Oh, my dear child, you are so beautiful,” the woman on the opposite side of the room is talking to Jinx. “Are you dating anyone?”

Jinx's spine straightens a bit, and glances at you for a split second. You can practically see the panicked look in her eyes, as if trying not to spill the secret to her father. “Um, no haha…” She laughs awkwardly. “I'm... not seeing anyone right now.”

Then it starts.

The woman turns to the side and calls out. “Michael, sweetie, come here! There's someone I want you to meet!”

Michael, an 18-year-old guy who's standing there awkwardly, still chewing on a piece of bread. He swallows his food and then walks over.

“Yeah, mom... what did you want me for-”

The lady turns to Jinx and presents her son. “My dear, this is my son, Michael. He's 18, and graduating this year. Isn't my baby so handsome?”

You can feel an overwhelming urge to resist rolling your eyes, resisting the urge to say “Oh for fuck's sake”, and resisting the urge to just straight up punch this guy directly in his little Michael face.

Michael mutters something to himself before turning towards Jinx. “Hi. I'm, uh…” He looks at Jinx, and then he stutters again, his face turning bright red. “You're- you're pretty.”

Oh, he's totally a goner. You can watch his soul slowly leave his body as he stares at Jinx.

“Yeah, I'm in high school right now. I graduate this year. I study business and stuff…”

“Uh, I play football... but I don't want to play sports professionally or anything. Not really what I want to do…”

“I'm getting into MIT in the fall, so that's…”

You try to keep your attention on your food. You try to focus on eating the rather amazing, yummy, delicious food that was prepared. 

But seriously?

Seriously?

You look closely at them. Is he swooning over her? Is he checking her out? Did she just smile back at him? Why is she being so nice to him?

...

It's NOT like you're jealous. 

... 

Okay, so... maybe you are a LITTLE bit jealous. 

But you shouldn't be worried. She is your girlfriend. You don't have anything to worry about... right?

“You wouldn't mind if my son were to court your daughter, would you, Sil?”

You whip your head up so fast that you almost gave yourself whiplash.

What. The. Fuck.

“Court?” Silco repeats. He glances over at Jinx and then back at Michael's mother.

“Yes, I was thinking my son could start to court your daughter... see where that takes them? I think they'd make a fine couple.”

You expect Silco to be just like “Oh hell no. I'd never allow some punk to date my daughter, go suck a dick.” But instead...

Silco just nods and says, “I see. No, I wouldn't mind. I think they could be a... good match. Your son seems to be a hardworking person.”

...did he-

Did he...?

Did he just-

I wouldn't mind.

I wouldn't mind.

I wouldn't mind.

You're pretty certain you're suffering from heart palpitation. That, or you're having a literal, actual, real-life heart attack.

He actually AGREED? He's totally fine with that little Michael douche canoe to court Jinx?

WHY?

You thought he'd hate anyone dating his daughter. You thought he'd hate the idea of anyone getting with her. You thought he'd hate anyone trying to date her. That he'd hate the idea of anyone trying to court her.

But he gave Michael's mom's son a verbal blessing.

A blessing.

This is worse than a nightmare. This is literal hell. This is absolute bullshit.

You can't eat anymore. You've lost all appetite, to be honest. Everything seemed to go wrong today.

A hand touches your arm, and you turn to look to see Jinx trying to get your attention. “You alright...?”

NO.

Because why would you be alright?

You've just spent the last thirty minutes sitting through a conversation with an awkward teenager who can't even talk to women without stuttering, you've got a little punk-ass brat that's probably going to court your girlfriend, and now her dad just gave her the green light to do it.

This SUCKS.

“Yeah, of course.” You shrug. “I'm just... not that hungry anymore. Maybe I ate too much, I guess?”

Jinx looks at you for a few seconds before nodding. She must realize there IS something wrong, but she is smart enough not to point it out, especially in front of Silco. “Uh huh. Maybe you did. I guess I'm pretty full myself. So... there's that.”

Yeah. You're pretty full. Full of stress and rage and pure, absolute jealousy.

“Maybe we just need to walk it off?”

“Mhmm, that sounds like a good idea. We could walk off some more of the streets, see if there's anything we missed.” Jinx stands up, grabbing your plates, and then sets them on the counter.

You stand up as well, but you turn to Silco first, figuring you should at least tell him first. “Sir,” you greet. “Jinx and I are going to go walk around, take a walk. See if we missed anything around the town. Is that fine?”

Silco nods, glancing at Jinx. “As long as you're back in a bit. Don't want you two getting into any trouble.”

You force a smile on your face, and nod back. “Yes, sir. We'll be back in a bit.”

The smile drops as soon as you and Jinx step out of the house. The two of you walk silently down the same street you had cleaned earlier.

It's very awkward and very quiet. Normally, you'd be the one to break the silence first (you're not good with awkward tension), but this time... this time you're too mentally exhausted.

Jinx doesn't say anything either, just walking alongside you. Both of you pass the place where you first met the old lady earlier and continue walking down the sidewalk a few blocks farther.

It takes at least five more minutes before Jinx speaks. “Are you going to keep ignoring me?”

You feel a flash of guilt. That is not the vibe you wanted to give off. “No... I'm not ignoring you.” You then look down at the path in front of you. “I'm just... tired. Really, really tired.”

Her hand finds its way to your arm, fingers wrapping around it loosely. Jinx looks at you, and you notice some concern in her eyes. “Did I do something to upset you at all?”

Her words just make you feel even worse. “What? No... baby, I'm not mad. I swear.” 

“Then what is it? ...if it's not me, then what's bothering you?”

“I swear it's nothing. I'm just not in the mood, y'know?”

It must be pretty obvious that you're bullshitting, because she gives you a flat look. “You're acting weird.” She tugs your arm gently, wanting you to look at her. “You aren't yourself at all. Tell me, what's wrong?”

You stop walking. You turn your body to face her, sighing as you look into her eyes. “It's embarrassing.”

It sounds so stupid though, to say you're jealous of that Michael douche canoe? It seems so stupid, so petty, so childish. Even more childish of you to act so moody and upset over something so... simple.

It would be absolutely pathetic of you to say, “I don't like that guy, and I don't like the fact that your dad gave him the all clear to court you.” What kind of girlfriend would you sound like? jealousy is never an attractive look. 

“Are you jealous?”

“What?” You scoff. “As if.” She doesn't need to know you're completely envious of that douchebag. You turn your head and fold your arms, avoiding looking her in the eyes. 

“I knew it. You're jealous.”

You don't say anything, and she steps forward. She starts to unfold your arms that you have firmly crossed over your chest, gripping your hands in hers instead, her fingers lacing between yours.

“Babe?” 

It feels really shitty not being able to look her in the eyes. “Hm?”

“I love you.”

It's those three words that make whatever anger that you had just... disappear all at once.

Jinx lifts your intertwined hands to her face and she presses her lips against the backs of your knuckles. “I love you soooo soooo much. I only want you. Only you. You've got nothing to worry about, 'kay?”

How is it that easy for her to just instantly win you over? all she has to do is press her lips against your knuckles, say those words, and then suddenly the fire that was burning in your chest is totally doused.

Your shoulders slump, and you feel absolutely fucking whipped. “...okay.”

“Just okay?”

“Love you too.”

Jinx smirks, then releases your hands, only to snake her arms around your waist. “Y'know, you don't have to be jealous.”

You grumble at that, but you place your arms around her as well, pulling her a bit closer to you.

She rests her chin on your shoulder, and then hums into your ear. “Michael? Michael doesn't stand a chance. You have NOTHING to worry about.”

You look off to the side as she leans against you, your annoyance still slightly present. “He's probably trying to impress you. He's trying to be all smooth and-”

She laughs softly and interrupts your sentence. “You're worried about that?” She pokes your cheek. “I'm still yours even if you don't do anything.”

Even if you're still slightly annoyed, the corners of your lips lift a little. “Yeah, well-”

“-I don't care about him. I don't care about anyone. All I care about is you. Just you, and only you.”

Hearing her say that and knowing that she means it? It shoots right into your veins and makes you weak in the knees.

Jinx pulls away from you, grabbing your hand in hers before gently tugging you off down the sidewalk. “Come on, now. We told Silco we'd be back in a bit. Don't want to piss him off, now do we?”

You let her pull you along, fingers intertwined. 

Though your mood has improved, there's still a... little lingering part of you that wants to stay a bit sulky. Just so you can see her coax you out of your mood, coddle you a little, have her sweetly bring the smile back to your face.

You love being spoiled just a little bit (just a teensy tiny itsy bit).

—

( + 1 )

The streets are quiet and nearly empty at this time of night. You could have danced all night in the middle of the street or sung the most obnoxious pop tunes in existence, but it didn’t matter.

No one would see you. No one would hear you. Not a single soul to witness that moment, except for her.

Just you two, walking through the empty streets in a world that's all yours without a single soul to pay attention.

Jinx tugs on your arm. “I don't wanna go home, yet.”

“But we have school tomorrow,” you remind.

“Don't you wanna stay out here for longer?”

It's risky, but- “I do.”

She stops walking, tugging on your arm again. “Can we sit down for a bit?” she asks, eyeing the empty playground.

The nearby playground is empty too. No soccer mom with a baby strapped to her body. No teenagers trying to smoke cigarettes on the swingset. No children clamoring over the climbing equipment.

“Sure.”

She grins, then you both head towards one of the swingsets. Jinx releases your arm and sits down on one of the swings, her feet brushing the ground. You sit down on the swing next to hers, and start to swing softly. 

Jinx is strangely silent, quietly pensive.

“Penny for your thoughts?” 

Jinx hesitates, teeth digging into her bottom lip. “I kinda wanna ask you something.”

“Kinda?" you repeat. “So you kinda want to, or you wanna?”

Jinx narrows her eyes at you, then sticks her tongue out before sighing. “Okay...I want to ask you something.”

“Alright then, what is it?” You rest your feet on the ground to stop swinging and look at her. 

Jinx just stares down at her sneakers, kicking the dirt beneath her feet. “Is it...unfair, to you, I mean?”

Huh? “What do you mean?”

“This-” she gestures between the two of you “-the whole secret thing? Isn't it unfair to you?”

“Is this why you asked me to come over? to talk about this?”

She doesn't respond and just gives a frustrated shrug of her shoulders.

Her words then echo in your head. “Isn't it unfair to you?” Being forced to keep it a secret? To hide every touch, every word, every hint behind closed doors?

You pause to consider then take one more glance at her. 

She has this look of guilt, a look of shame.

No.

This isn't unfair.

You chose to date her, knowing all the risks. You knew the consequences of breaking the rules. You knew the risk of starting this thing with her.

And yet, you did it anyway. You kissed her, you touched her, you held her, you still love her, despite all of that.

You push yourself off the swing and move to stand between her legs, feeling her hands hold onto your waist. Jinx sighs, pressing her face into your stomach.

“No...I don't think it's unfair.”

Jinx finally looks up, meeting your gaze. The moonlight reflects off her eyes.

“Really. I don't.” You cradle her face with your hands. “It doesn't matter to me, whether we have to hide it or do this in secret or not. I'd still choose you. No matter the risk.”

She leans her cheek against your palm. “I just...i think-” she bites her lip again. “-I just don't want you to regret it. I don't want you to regret me-”

“I don't...I'd never regret you.” You run your thumb against her jaw, shaking your head. “I'm not going to regret you. I'm not going to regret us.”

Jinx's eyes soften. “Swear?”

“I swear on my life,” you promise, without hesitation.

“You really are something.” She grins and your grin matches hers. 

“It's getting late,” you say, letting go of her face. “Should probably go home.”

“Yeah, probably.” You step back and Jinx stands up from the swing. She takes hold of your hand again and swings your arms. “Walk me home?”

“I'd love to.”

Both of you walk out of the empty playground, heading back towards the sidewalk.

Jinx's hand feels so perfectly familiar. Every digit, every curve of your hand fits in place. You've held her hand a thousand times before, and you're going to do it a million times after this one.

You reach the front of her place, and she stops walking. Jinx furrows her brow, confused. Her father is supposed to be out of town, yet the lights are on at her house.

“You said your dad was out tonight.”

“He was... he's not supposed to be here until 11-”

That's when you hear the voice that you know all too well. “-Well, it appears I've come home a little bit early.” You both turn and see Silco standing behind you, hands behind his back. “I was looking for you.”

Silco walks a few steps closer to the both of you. He notices your joined hands followed by the fact that you are standing close together. “How long, exactly, has this been going on?”

Jinx fidgets, and she looks at the ground, her bangs hiding her face. You can tell that she's not going to answer, so you decide to answer for her.

“Since-”

But he speaks over you. “I'm asking her, not you.”

You shut your mouth immediately, gulping at the harsh tone.

Jinx swallows, fingers tightening around yours. “8 months.”

“And you never thought to tell me? After 8 months?”

“I'm sorry, Dad. I didn't think you'd approve-”

Silco sighs and glances at the ground before looking up again. “-I'm not angry, I'm...just disappointed. I just wish you could have told me. I would have understood.”

Jinx looks back at you, then back at him. “You would?”

“I have my own preferences for you... but at the very least, yes, I'd understand.”

She looks away. “Sorry.”

The wind picks up, and Silco eyes the darkening sky. “It's a bit cold out,” he says. “Go on, get inside.”

Jinx nods, letting go of your hand and you watch her walk into the house. She looks back over her shoulder and then mouths “I'm sorry” before she opens the door, entering inside.

The door clicks shut behind her, and...you're left alone with her father.

“Come on.” Silco turns around, motioning for you to go with him.

You don't really have a choice here (to be honest).

So you hesitantly follow him, silently walking next to him while he stares forward. Silco then leads you to a bench on the side of the house.

“Sit.”

You do as you're told, sitting down on the bench. Silco sits down next to you. You stare straight ahead, afraid to look at him.

“Jinx is… a lot of things. Smart, stubborn, clever, creative, and difficult. But even when she's hard to handle, I...” He trails off, sighing. “I still love her. I'll admit, I've spoiled her. I just want her to be safe. And in her own twisted logic, she thinks you're a threat to her safety.”

“Why would I be a threat, sir?”

Silco leans forward, setting his elbows on on his knees. “Because you're an unknown variable. A wildcard to me. She cares about you, more than she should. Anything that can cloud Jinx's rationality is a threat. If someone is a threat to her safety, they are a threat to me. So, if you're planning on ruining her life-” He turns to look at you. “I'll destroy you.”

“I would never,” you immediately say.

Silco hums at that, eyeing you up and down. He grabs a cigarette from his pockets and lights it with a lighter.“You care about my daughter, do you?” 

You nod, steeling your nerves.

“I see... If I asked you to leave her alone, to forget everything between you and her, to break it off and forget about her... what would you say?”

You square your shoulders and sit up straight. “I'm sorry, sir... but I won't. I won't leave her. I love your daughter, sir. I love Jinx. She means the world to me.”

Silco exhales a cloud of smoke, watching it float up into the air. “Why is that, hm? why do you deserve my blessing to be with my daughter?

You don't know what to say at first, yet words come out anyway. “Uh, I don't know if I could ever deserve your approval...If you don't think that I'm worthy or that I'm good enough, I don't think I'll be able to change your mind.But I'm serious about your daughter, sir. I'm not toying around or dating her as some kind of joke. I've been with Jinx for the past 8 months, and…I have no plans on stopping. I love your daughter, sir.”

There was no answer to your words, just silence. Then, you see a smile creeping to his lips. He clears his throat and says, “You should go home, kid. It's late now.”

You sit there, trying to figure out whatever the hell that smile means. “Sir, is...is Jinx in trouble-”

“-She's not in trouble. I just have a few things to talk about with her.”

It's clear that he's not going to budge, so you nod. “Good night, sir.”

Silco nods his head and stands up before walking towards the front door.

In a daze, you walk back to your own place.

What was the smile for? what is he going to say? is Jinx in trouble? is he going to forbid you both from dating? will Jinx have to cut you off?

But none of those questions will make a difference. Despite everything, you will never give up on her.

—

( bonus )

“I expect to see her home at a reasonable hour.”

“Of course, sir.”

“And I mean at eleven at the latest.”

“Eleven. Yes, sir.”

Jinx makes a face, rolling her eyes behind her father's back. “Ugh, Dad. It's prom. My friends aren't gonna go home that early.”

“Eleven, missy. I don't want you out too late.”

It's been a month since that night, and thankfully, things have been slowly getting better.Silco hasn't completely come to terms with you being with his daughter (yet), but at least he hasn't outright forbidden you from dating Jinx.

“I expect my rules to be followed, and if she's late, then you can't take her out anymore. Is that clear?”

You nod your head, a little too enthusiastically maybe. “Sir, I understand.”

“If anything happens-”

“-Nothing's going to happen, Dad!” Jinx steps in, looping her arm around yours. “I'll be fine.”

Silcho's eyes narrow. “...you better be.”

Jinx huffs. “Dad, I swear, we'll be fine.” She tugs on your arm. “Come on.” 

She starts to pull you away from the house, but Silco's voice stops you in your tracks.

“Stop a moment.”

Jinx groans but stops and turns towards her father. “What?” she asks, annoyed.

Silco turns to you. “Take care of my daughter.”

“I will, sir.”

Silco gives you a look and you straighten your back. “Alright then. Enjoy prom.” He pats Jinx on the head before walking back into his house.

Jinx waits until the door shuts behind her father and then she huffs. “I love him, but GOD he's so overprotective.”

You roll your shoulders and smile at her. “He just cares about you.”

“Yeah...but sometimes it's a little much. Like, I'm not a little kid anymore. I'm 18!”

“Ehh, he just wants you to be safe.”

“I get it, okay? but it's just...sometimes it's hard, y'know?”

“I know but...” You grab her hand, intertwining your fingers with hers. “...at least he hasn't stopped us from seeing each other.”

“Rigghhtt, he's been a little bit more lax. Well, that and you're sucking up to him.”

“Hey!”

“What?” She giggles when you elbow her on the side. “WHHAAT? It's true! You're all like, 'Yes sir! of course sir! yes sir!'” She mimic-yells in a deep voice. “Like you're a soldier who's being given orders!”

“I am not a- I'm being polite and respectful!”

“Suuuuuure you are.” She bumps her shoulder into yours.

“I am!”

“Uh huh. That's why you say yes to everything he asks.”

“Because I respect him. It's called being a good influence on you.”

“Ohhhhh, you're trying to be a good influence on me.” Jinx grins. “Pfft! as if you can get me to behave myself.”

You shrug, smirking. “I dunno. I think I have a pretty good track record.” 

You both share a laugh before walking towards the sidewalk.

“I promise, I'll have you home by eleven.”

“But eleven is so earlyyy.”

“Rules are rules.”

“Ohhh, so now you're siding with my dad?”

“Er, I did promise him.”

“...And here I thought you were supposed to be on MY side.” Jinx pouts. “What happened to all your love and loyalty to me? where did that go? hmmmm?”

“I still love you just as much as I did yesterday, you know that, but-” you say “-I'm just keeping my promise.”

She chuckles. “I think you just don't want to get in trouble with him.”

“That too.”

She shoves you with her shoulder, and you shove back. “Watch the dress, jackass!” She shoves your shoulder in return, giggling, when suddenly, a car horn interrupts the two of you. 

It's parked at the curb of the sidewalk, honking at the two of you. “Heeeey, love birds! Stop flirting like dorks, and get in!” You recognize the voice as belonging to Ezreal, a friend of Jinx's.

Ezreal is leaning out of the window with a cocky smile slapped on his face. Two other people are also inside the car. It's Lux in the backseat and her brother Garen driving the car.

“We weren't! we were-” you protest, but Jinx is already bounding towards the car.

“We're coming, idiot!” Jinx laughs as she tugs you along.

Prom night was always meant to be enjoyable and stress-free... even if there was an overprotective dad involved.

You stumble after her as she basically yanks your arm in her haste to get to the car. She swings the door open and motions for you to sit down, forcing you to squeeze into the middle, between her and Lux.

The car then pulls away from Jinx's house, with her friends shouting and laughing out the window. 

Jinx lifts your hand up to her lips and gives it a quick peck, not letting you go for the rest of the night.

[buckysweightedblanket]

When i search for thor odinson x reader I DONT want to see loki or steve x reader fics I WANNA SEE THOR AND ONLY THOR STOP IT FOR THE LOVE OF GOD JUST STOP IT