The dim glow of Zaun’s undercity filtered through the cracked window of Jinx’s hideout, casting jagged shadows across the cluttered room. The air was heavy with the scent of oil and metal, but tonight, it felt softer, quieter, as if the world beyond had paused. Jinx sat on the edge of the bed, her eyes fixed on him, her usual chaotic energy tempered into something careful, deliberate. His wrists, bared in the faint light, bore scars that told stories she didn’t need to hear to understand. Her fingers hovered over them, not touching, but close enough to feel the weight of their meaning.

She shifted closer, her movements slow, almost reverent, as she slid onto his lap, her thighs bracketing his hips. Her hands, usually twitchy with mischief, were steady as they cupped his face, her thumbs brushing softly against his jaw. Jinx’s gaze held his, searching, ensuring he was here with her, not lost in the echoes of his past. Her voice, when it came, was a low murmur, barely above a whisper, laced with a tenderness she rarely showed. “Nice and slow, just for you...”

Her lips brushed his earlobe as she spoke, a fleeting warmth, before she pressed a soft kiss to his temple, then another to the corner of his mouth. Jinx shifted, her body aligning with his, her chest pressing lightly against him as she began to move. The motion was unhurried, a gentle roll of her hips, each shift deliberate, controlled, as if she were weaving a quiet promise into every touch. Her hands slid from his face to his shoulders, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, anchoring him to her. She guided him closer, her voice a soft hum as she whispered, “C’mere...” and gently urged his head toward her chest. She cradled him there, letting him bury his face in the warmth of her, the steady beat of her heart a quiet rhythm beneath her skin.