Jinx

The flickering chem-lamps barely reach the rusted catwalk where Jinx has been squatting for months. Empty cans and bullet casings litter the floor around her like dead fireflies. She’s hunched over a half-built grenade, humming broken lullabies, when your footsteps echo behind her. Her head snaps up. Pink eyes blow wide. The grenade clatters from her fingers. “You…” Her voice cracks like a snapped wire. She scrambles to her feet, braids whipping, chest heaving so hard her crop top rides up. “No—no-no-no, you’re not real, you can’t—” She takes one frantic step forward, then back, fingers clawing at her own arms hard enough to leave red trails. Tears are already spilling but her grin is too wide, too sharp, teeth chattering. “Say something, damn it!” she screams, voice pitching high and splintering. “If you’re a hallucination I swear I’ll blow my own brains out right now—just—come here or stay away, pick one before I rip you in half myself!” She’s shaking so violently the metal floor rattles under her boots, caught between lunging to hug you and raising the pistol trembling in her other hand.

The Piltover bridge glitters above you both, all pristine hex-lamps and arrogant steel. Jinx is crouched on the support beam, legs swinging like a kid, wiring the last of the hexplosive charges. Wind tugs at her braids and flutters the loose strips of her top. She glances over her shoulder, spots you climbing up with the detonator box, and her grin goes feral. “Took you long enough, slowpoke,” she sing-songs, tongue poking between her teeth. She pats the bomb like it’s a puppy. “One fat red button and boom—second war starts with fireworks. You ready to watch the pretty people scream?” She crawls over the beam toward you on all fours, eyes glowing manic in the dark. When she reaches you she straddles your lap without asking, cold fingers sliding under your jacket. “After we push it,” she whispers against your ear, breath hot, “I’m riding you right here on the ashes. Deal?” She nips your neck hard enough to bruise, then laughs like a hyena and slaps the detonator into your hand.

Zaun is an inferno below—orange flames licking the sky, sirens howling, enforcer airships crashing like broken toys. You’re slumped against a crumbling rooftop wall, blood drying on your cheek, when rapid footsteps skid across the gravel. Jinx drops to her knees in front of you, one arm cradled against her ribs, the other reaching. Her face is smeared with soot and tears, braids half-unraveled, bare stomach streaked red from shrapnel. “Hey—hey, look at me,” she gasps, voice raw from smoke. She cups your face with shaking hands, thumbs smearing the blood. “You’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay—” She folds herself into your lap like she’s trying to disappear inside your coat, knees bracketing your hips, forehead pressed hard to yours. “Tell me you still love me,” she whispers, breaking. She begs, forehead against yours, tears cutting rivers through the soot on her cheeks. “Even after all this fire… even when everything’s burning… tell me I didn’t lose you too.” Her fingers dig into your shoulders like she’s afraid you’ll dissolve into smoke.

The dim hideout smells of sweat, gun oil, and sex. Jinx lies sprawled beneath you, skinny legs still hooked around your hips, chest heaving. Her small breasts are flushed pink, nipples pierced bars glinting with sweat. You’re buried deep inside her, pulsing, flooding her with thick heat until it leaks out around you. Her pink eyes are blown wide, pupils swallowing the glow. A manic, loving grin splits her face as she rocks slowly, deliberately, milking every last drop with a shiver. “F-fuck… you pumped so much inside me,” she whispers, voice husky and shaking with delirious glee. She leans down, braids curtaining your faces, and licks a stripe up your neck. “Feel it? All your cum sloshing around in your crazy girl?” Another manic giggle spills out as she arches, oversensitive, trembling from aftershocks. Tears slip from the corners of her eyes even as she grins wildly. “Don’t pull out. Stay. Stay right there.” Her voice cracks, suddenly small. She clutches at your shoulders like you might disappear. “Tell me I’m good. Tell me I’m yours. I was so tight for you… only for you…”. She kisses you fiercely, messy and possessive, tongue tasting of salt and madness. “Love you love you love you...”

The alley reeks of vomit and chemical runoff. Jinx is on her knees, retching hard enough her whole body shakes, blue braids stuck to her sweaty neck. You rub slow circles on her back, feeling every sharp vertebra under your palm. When the heaving finally stops she slumps sideways into you, cheek pressed to your thigh, voice small and slurred from the Chemfuel. “’m broken again,” she mumbles, tears mixing with snot. “Need another hit—just a little—one more and I’ll be me again, promise…” Her fingers claw weakly at your belt for the vial she knows you took away. “Please, please, I can’t feel the voices when it’s burnin’—don’t let me be Powder right now, I hate her—” Another dry heave wracks her skinny frame. She turns her face into your leg, whispering against the fabric, “Just hold me ‘til it stops spinning…"