#bodygaurd!reader

The hallway outside Jinx’s suite smelled like smoke, tequila, and a lawsuit waiting to happen.

You adjusted your collar, thumb resting near your holster—not because you needed it, but because with Jinx, you never knew what counted as a weapon with the way she handled the mic earlier on stage from tonight's show. The file said she’d “calmed down” recently. The broken lamp in the VIP lounge room said otherwise. You had received a text from Sevika only just to warn you about the PR manager. Claimed she was a raging mess. Couldn’t blame her though. 

You knocked once.

No answer.

You knocked again.

From behind the door, “If you’re room service, I already stole a sandwich and I’m not sorry.”

You sighed. “Not room service. New security.”

A beat of silence. Then the door swung open like it had been kicked—not pulled. Jinx stood barefoot in a band tee and cutoff shorts, eyeliner smudged like she hadn't slept in 48 hours. She gave you a slow once-over and leaned on the doorframe like she was posing for a mugshot. Almost as if she was assessing you.

“Well well well,” she said, dragging it out. “They sent me a chaperone with a jawline. I feel spoiled.”

You didn’t take the bait. “I’m not here to spoil you. I’m here to keep you from making tomorrow’s headlines.”

“Oh baby,” she grinned, stepping in close, “I am the headline.”

You held her gaze. Close enough to smell smoke on her breath, but you didn’t move. “Not tonight, you’re not.”

She stared. And then laughed—a low, unpredictable thing that made your stomach clench, even as you kept your face still.

“Oh, I like you,” she said. “Let’s see how long that lasts.”

She turned on her heel and sauntered back inside without inviting you in, like she knew you’d follow anyway.

The suite was a damn warzone. Someone had drawn on the mirror in red lipstick (you hoped it was lipstick), the TV was playing static, and there was a half-eaten cupcake mashed into the carpet. The scent of something chemical lingered in the air.

You closed the door behind you. “You planning on sleeping tonight?”

Jinx flopped onto the couch backwards, legs hanging over the top, head dangling off the edge so she could keep looking at you upside-down. “I dunno. Depends. Are you staying the whole time or just till I blink?”

You crossed your arms. “I stay until you fix your shit.”

“Oooo. She’s serious.” She mimicked your pose, but from her awkward position, it looked more like a sarcastic crab. “You got a name, ‘Security’? Or should I call you Sergeant Buzzkill?”

God that was corny as hell, you think to yourself.

You gave it to her. Flat, simple. No reason to play coy. She repeated it under her breath, testing the weight of it like she was seeing how it’d sound in a whisper, or maybe a scream. Then she grinned and sat up too fast, like she’d forgotten how gravity worked.

“Huh… So what happens if I don’t start fixing my ‘shit’?”

Your jaw ticked. “Then I stop you.”

She got too close. Again.

Tilted her head. “And if you can’t?”

You didn’t blink. “Then I drag your ass back here by your pretty little meltdown.”

She paused. Then she laughed. Loud. Wild. Real.

"God, you're fun," she said, eyes flicking to your mouth just long enough to register. “You’re either gonna break, or get fired trying.”

You smirked, just a little. “Not the first time I’ve been underestimated.”

"Not the first time I've done the underestimating," she replied, and stepped back—not because she was done, but because she wanted you to follow.

And then, she grabbed her boots off the floor, didn’t bother with socks, and started lacing them up.

You straightened. “Where do you think you’re going?”

She looked up with a smile that made your gut twist.

“Nowhere bad,” she said. “Unless you count the rooftop.”

Pause.

“…You coming or are you gonna tattle?”

The rooftop door squealed open like it hadn't been touched in weeks. City lights blinked below, hazy through the heat rising off the pavement. Jinx led the way, boots thudding softly on concrete, then stopped right at the edge of the building like she belonged there. You stayed near the door, eyes scanning the perimeter. No cameras, no backup. Just you and the problem child of Piltover’s label.

She hopped onto the ledge like it was a park bench, crouched low, arms on her knees. A flick of her wrist, and a lighter sparked. The flame caught on a cigarette you didn’t know she had.

"You gonna write me up for this?" she asked, not looking at you.

You stayed silent. Watching. Measuring.

She exhaled a long, lazy breath and turned slightly so the wind carried the smoke behind her. That was probably the most considerate thing she’d done all night.

"You know what they used to call me?" she said, voice a little quieter. “Back before the PR cleanup, before the 'don't post without a handler' rules. Before the rehab tour.”

You didn’t answer.

She smirked anyway. "Damage Incarnate. Cute, right?"

"Fitting," you say.

"Ouch. You do have a personality under that tactical vest." She twisted to face you fully, still crouched on the edge, boots inches from a four-story drop. "Tell me something— chaperone, are you here to protect me, or everyone else from me?"

"Depends on which version of you I’m meeting."

Jinx grinned like that was the right answer.

Then she stood. Fully. On the edge. Arms out. Wind catching her shirt, hair whipping across her face like something out of a music video designed to give you a heart attack. You took a step forward. Instinct.

She didn’t move, just watched you watching her. “Careful,” she said. “Look too concerned and I’ll think you like me.”

“I like not scraping you off the pavement.”

“You think I’d jump?”

“I think you like seeing how far you can go before someone flinches.”

She laughed, something short and sharp. “And what if you don’t flinch, huh? What if you just stand there like some tall, emotionally constipated wall and watch?”

“I grab you before you fall.”

“Even if I deserve it?”

“I don’t do ‘deserve’,” you said. “I do protocol. You fall, I catch. Every time.”

That shut her up for half a second. Not because she didn’t have a comeback—but because she wasn’t expecting that one. Then, still standing on the edge, she leaned down enough to flick her cigarette off the side. She watched it drop, eyes tracking it all the way down until it disappeared into nothing.

When she straightened up, she didn’t step off the ledge.

She just said, “What if I fall on purpose?”

You stepped right up to her. Close now. Too close. One shove and you'd both be off the side.

“Then I’d be real fucking annoyed.”

And that made her smile. Like you’d said something intimate. She stepped down finally. Off the ledge. Into your space.

“You’re gonna be a problem,” she said.

“I’m not the one standing on rooftops at 2 a.m. daring gravity to notice me.”

“No,” she murmured. “But you are the one I’ll be thinking about when it does.”

And then she walked past you, shoulder brushing yours, electric and deliberate. She didn’t wait to see if you followed. She already knew you would.

The elevator ride down was quiet—except for the faint hum of the building and the way Jinx kept humming some unplaceable tune under her breath. You didn’t speak. You didn’t need to. You could feel her watching you out of the corner of her eye like she was studying the edge of a knife.

Back in the suite, she didn’t bother turning the lights on. Just walked straight to the window, cracked it, and leaned her forehead against the glass. You shut the door behind you and stood by it for a second. Watching. Waiting. The air still smelled faintly of smoke and trouble.

“You always this fun on night shift?” she asked, not turning around.

“Only when babysitting.”

She snorted. “Jeez.. Right in the ego. You’re lucky I have thick skin.”

You moved farther into the room, slow. “You didn’t jump.”

She shrugged. “Didn’t feel like falling tonight. Maybe tomorrow.”

“You’re real casual about that.”

“Yeah, well. When your life’s a loaded gun with a sticky trigger, you stop getting nervous about where it’s pointed.”

You didn’t have a comeback for that. She finally turned, leaning back against the window now, arms folded. The glow from the streetlamps outside painted her in harsh gold and shadow, and for a second, she looked tired. But then her eyes locked on yours again, and the chaos reloaded behind them within seconds.

“Sit,” she said, nodding toward the only clean spot left on the couch.

You didn’t move.

“Oh come on,” she groaned. “What, scared I’ll corrupt your tactical morals? I’ll keep my hands to myself.”

You arched a brow. “That’d be a first.”

“Okay, no promises.” She grinned and flopped down instead, legs up again, taking all the space. “So what’s the deal, huh? You one of those no-nonsense, code-of-conduct types? Or are you just pretending not to want to find out what kind of mess I am?”

You didn’t answer.

She tilted her head. “Stoneface it is, then.”

You crossed your arms, standing over her. “I’m not here to want anything from you.”

She clicked her tongue. “Liar.”

Silence again. Tension tightening the room like a tripwire.

Jinx sat up suddenly, too fast again, until she was on her knees on the couch, eye-level with you. No warning, no distance.

“You’re not scared of me,” she said softly. “But you should be.”

“I’ve dealt with worse.”

She smirked. “Yeah? Name one thing more dangerous than me, sarge.”

You held her gaze. “Wanting to find out if you’re bluffing.”

That one landed hard.

Her mouth twitched, halfway between a grin and something else entirely. She blinked once, slow, like your words knocked her off balance just a little.

Then she leaned back and whispered, “Well… shit.”

You still didn’t move.

She smiled at you like a secret. “You might actually make it through the week.”

“Long as you don’t set anything on fire.”

“No promises,” she said again, eyes still locked on yours but this time her lips curled up which almost resembled a smile. Almost. 

Silence fell upon you two as she went back to laying down on the couch. Taking up all the space as per usual. You managed to settle yourself on the armchair beside the couch, with only one thing settling in your mind;

Your ass is not going to get paid enough for this. 

                               ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Mid-morning the next day. You’re back on shift. Jinx is ignoring every call and message from her PR manager, who’s clearly spiraling trying to keep things together. Vi is MIA. And you? Well you’re in the backseat of a tinted car with Jinx sprawled out beside you like she owns it, boots on the seat, phone buzzing with unanswered calls.

She holds it up dramatically. “Three missed calls, one panic text, and a threat to ‘get my shit together.’ Think she’s gonna cry?”

You glance at the screen. PR manager’s name again. You should tell her to respond. Matter fact, now you’re wondering how Sevika’s doing. Better hope she doesn’t end up like Medarda's case again..

Jinx’s phone buzzed again. She looked at the screen, thumb hovering and she managed to break you out of your train of thoughts as she tossed it onto the other side of the booth like it burned.

You raised an eyebrow. “That her again?”

She didn’t answer right away. Just stared at the window with her foot occasionally bumping against the car seat that she’s sprawled across on.

“I’m not ignoring her because I don’t care,” she muttered finally. “I’m ignoring her because I don’t want to say the wrong thing. Or… not enough. Or too much.”

Beat.

“She thinks it’s just me acting out again. But it’s not. It’s Vi. And I know she’s trying to fix it, but I’m not in the mood to be one more thing she has to glue together.. Especially if it's not even about me!”

You stayed silent, watching her unravel in that casual, careless way she always performed—except this wasn’t for show.

Jinx gave a bitter little laugh. “She’s probably sitting somewhere with her laptop open, trying to spin this into a funny story so the fans don’t freak out. Or probably pacing around and screaming at god knows who. Meanwhile, Vi’s off playing silent treatment and I’m over here chewing through reality like a freaking taffy.”

She looked up at you then.

“Don’t give me that look.”

“What look?” you asked, raising you eyebrow.

“The ‘how do you feel about that’ look.”

You leaned back. “That’s not my look.”

“Yeah it is. You’re doing the quiet sympathy thing. Like you’re about to say something wise and slightly condescending. Like you’ve got a degree in emotionally constipated— lunatics!”

You gave her a dry look. “I don’t have a degree. I have a vest, a codeword, and a black belt in dragging people out of shitty decisions.”

She tilted her head. “So what, I vent and you call it in?”

“No,” you said. “You vent and I tell you to shut it down before you do something that gets you tased.”

She snorted. “Wow. Warmth and tact. How do I resist?”

“I’m not here to be soft,” you said flatly. “I’m not your therapist. I’m security. You wanna talk about Vi, that’s fine—but if you’re gonna implode, you’re gonna do it somewhere I can contain it.”

That quieted her for a second.

Then she muttered, “I’m not gonna implode.”

You gave her a look.

“I’m not,” she repeated, more to herself. “I just.. don’t want to be the reason she has another crisis meeting. Especially when it’s not even about me.”

“She called you three times,” you said. “Pretty sure it is about you.”

Jinx leaned her head against the window. “Yeah. And I’m not ready to hear what she’s gonna say.”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. Not really.

So you just said the only thing that fit, “Then don’t answer yet. But don’t pretend she doesn’t care because she clearly does.”

Eventually Jinx ended up sulking against the window, her eyes gazing on the crossing objects and people as the driver continued to their destination. Which seems to be.. a diner. In the middle of nowhere. 

Perfect. Just great, really.

Worst part was your orders were to keep her safe, not emotionally stable—but the longer you’re around her, the more those lines blur. And now? Now you're skipping check-ins, covering her location, and not reporting half of what she's doing.

You’re not just off-script. You’re complicit.

And that’s a major problem since you’ve known her for less than twenty four hours. Guess you had pity on the poor girl.

As the car came to a halt, you exited the vehicle first. Always. That’s protocol, to ensure your client’s safety. Although you’re really wondering why the hell you were assigned to the crazy one. At this point it was babysitting.

..even if she was growing on you, you’d never admit that. 

You opened the door to the diner for her as she tucked her braids in and pulled her hoodie up to avoid being noticed. Although the whole personal driver with tinted windows and bodyguard chic almost screamed ‘celebrity coming through!’ 

“Oh so now we’re being nice?” She asks flashing you a small smirk before walking inside the diner letting out a short laugh. 

You just huffed under your breath as you shook your head, “Brat..”

As you two sat down in a booth, sitting opposite sides from each other, she took her time glancing at the menu. Now you’d been sitting in the booth for fifteen minutes. No order placed. Menu now upside down in Jinx’s hands.

“How hard is it to pick food?” you asked, watching the waitress glance over for the third time.

Jinx kicked her foot against the table leg. “I’m thinking.”

“You’ve been ‘thinking’ since we sat down.”

“This is an important decision,” she said, flipping a page like it had a secret message on it. “Life or death, really.”

“Get eggs and coffee. It’s not hostage negotiations.”

She peered over the menu. “Gross! Eggs? Besides, you don’t know what it’s like to commit to one thing.”

“I’m literally committed to following you around twenty four seven.”

“Yeah, well— that’s your bad decision.”

You huff. Because it really wasn't. Regardless, the waitress came over again, pad in hand. 

Jinx closed the menu dramatically and said, “One strawberry milkshake. Extra whipped cream.”

You blinked at her.

“Really?”

“Yup.”

“That’s what the fifteen minute crisis was for?”

She stuck her straw in the glass as soon as it landed. “Hey, don’t rush the creative process.”

“Creative? It’s sugar in a cup.”

She slurped obnoxiously. “Art comes in many forms, sarge.”

You rolled your eyes, but your lips twitched— almost a smile.

Almost.

The milkshake was halfway gone. Jinx had started using her spoon to carve little dents into the paper napkin. You hadn’t said much in ten minutes. Just kept your eyes on the door, on her, on your phone. That's when your phone buzzed.

You flipped it over, the contact name reading Sevika. 

The preview read;

[10:11] Just walked into post-sponsor fallout. She snapped. Told off the whole room. Like, actually yelled. Worse than the show night. [10:12] Don’t think I’ve ever seen her that pissed Or that…

She stopped typing. You waited.

Another message came in.

[10:13]: Just keep jinx out of her orbit for now. She’s shaken.

You blinked at the screen.

Shaken?

It wasn’t the word choice. It was the fact that Sevika used it like it mattered. Not “she’s losing it.” Not “deal with it.” But shaken.. like Sevika had seen something real behind the yelling. Something that actually got to her. And the way she kept typing like she wasn’t just worried about cleanup.

But about her. You typed back.

[10:15] you good?

Fine. She’s not. Don’t say anything.

Jinx watched you with sharp eyes. She could always tell when something shifted.

“Tell them I’m being good,” she said, voice deliberately innocent. “Maybe they’ll give me a sticker.”

You didn’t reply.

Your phone buzzed again. One more message.

[10:16] I think she actually cares what Jinx thinks and it’s fucking her up.

You sighed as you locked your screen and slid it across the table, face-down. Jinx narrowed her eyes.

“What?” she asked, voice slower now. “Something happen?”

You leaned back in the booth. “Nothing you need to worry about.”

Jinx let it sit for a moment. Then said, quieter than before, “She yell at Vi?”

“No,” you said. “Doubt she even got contact with Violet. She yelled at everyone else.”

“And you’re not gonna tell me why?”

You shook your head.

“I hate being benched,” Jinx muttered, mostly to herself.

You exhaled. “You're not benched. You're being… covered. For now.”

Jinx huffed. “Same thing.”

And the silence that settled between you wasn’t bitter. It was tired. Exhausted even. Like neither of you really knew how to help her, and both of you wanted to. Damn. Didn’t think this job would leave you feeling more sympathetic than usual.

Especially with Sevika. You’re starting to catch on that Sevika might actually give a shit about this PR manager, more than she lets on. You just hope that if she makes the same mistake this time, it better be fucking worth it.

Regardless, seeing Jinx sulking in front of you as she stabbed her straw into the whipped cream, dragging it in lazy circles like she was trying to hypnotize herself out of caring. Occasionally gazing out the window as if some miracle would pop by made your chest pang with sorrow. Jeez, is her behavior usually this effective?

“Think if I sit here long enough and sip my sugar, the whole world will fix itself?” she asked, eyes on the puddle of melted strawberry at the bottom of the glass.

You nudged her foot under the table. Not hard. Just enough to break the spiral.

She looked up, surprised. “Oh? We’re playing footsie now?”

You gave her a flat look. “Don’t get excited.”

“Too late.” She smirked, but her eyes didn’t match the tone. Not really.

You leaned back in the booth, arms crossed. Tried to land on something light—but it came out stiff. “Look. Maybe the world won’t fix itself. But statistically, milkshakes improve shitty mornings.”

She blinked at you.

“That was almost a joke,” she said, voice dry but soft.

“Yeah, well.” You cleared your throat. “Don’t tell anyone.”

Jinx let the spoon clatter into the glass. “I dunno. Think I’m gonna keep that one in my back pocket. ‘Security Detail tries humor. World trembles.’”

You almost smiled. Key word, almost.

But then her gaze dropped again, back to her phone.

“She’s still calling, huh?” you asked, quieter now.

Jinx twirled the phone between her fingers but didn’t unlock it.

“I’m not answering,” she muttered. “Not until I stop wanting to throw something.”

“She’s not the one you’re mad at.”

“I know that.” Her voice sharpened. “But if I answer, it becomes about me again. Like always.  I don’t like the sound of her disappointed voice. Makes me feel like I’m twelve all over again.”

You tapped your knuckle against the table. Tried to find the line between security protocol and whatever the hell this was turning into.

“Look,” you said, tone even, “I don’t do therapy. I do keeping-you-out-of-shit. That’s my whole job.”

She gave you a look like she was about to bite back—but you held her gaze steady.

“But.” You exhaled. “You’re not gonna be the reason the world burns down today. Not in my sight.”

She tilted her head, lips twitching. “That supposed to cheer me up?”

“It’s the best I’ve got.”

“God,” she said, eyes narrowing in amusement. “You’re terrible at this.”

“Yep.”

Jinx smiled. Just a little.

But she slid her phone a little farther away from herself, like maybe, not right now, but soon she’d call the manager back. Jinx spun her empty milkshake glass, eyes flicking toward the bathroom sign.

“I gotta piss,” she announced, sliding out of the booth.

You didn’t move. “I’ll wait.”

She rolled her eyes. “Wow, thanks for the permission slip, Kevlar.”

You let yet another nickname slide. Once again.

Jinx sauntered off, braid swinging behind her, but the second she hit the corner by the bathroom, her pace changed, shoulders tense, head down, slipping into that flight mode you’d started to recognize. You stayed in the booth for a minute. Protocol said trust-but-verify, and you gave her that minute.

Two minutes passed. Then three. You stood.

By the time you pushed the bathroom door open, hand hovering near your phone on your back pocket, Jinx was just stepping out. Like absolutely nothing happened.

“You good?” you asked, scanning her face. No signs of a window break, no scrapes, no sprint lines in her mascara.

She flashed you a too-wide grin. “What, you think I bailed?”

You arched a brow. “Did you?”

“Thought about it,” she shrugged, brushing past you back into the diner. “But then I remembered you’d chase me.”

You followed, close behind. “Would’ve caught you, too.”

“I know,” she groaned, mocking dramatically, tossing her hands in the air. “That’s the damn problem!”

She plopped back into the booth, like she hadn’t just tried to ghost you in the middle of a milkshake hangover. What she didn’t say, but you clocked anyway, was that she’d actually stopped herself this time.

Not because she was scared of you catching her. Because she remembered what you said. No burn-it-all-down today. Not in your sight. God, especially not in the morning.

Silence fell upon you two again, Jinx managed to stay silent as she kept glancing at her pinging phone. Conflicted about what to do. You were about to tell her it was time to head back when your phone buzzed again. This time it was Sevika texting you to bring Jinx in.

[10:34] Don’t make this harder than it is. Just get her back here.

You let the phone rest in your lap, eyes still on Jinx. She looked fine on the outside, but you could see it—the restlessness, the edge she was teetering on. She wasn’t ready to face the cameras, the meetings, the fake smiles. And definitely not Vi.

“Problem?” she asked, voice lazy but sharp.

You didn’t answer.

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “God who keeps texting you?”

You didn’t have to say it. She could tell.

Jinx leaned back, arms stretched across the top of the booth like she owned it. “Lemme guess—they want me back so I can say sorry to some brand I don’t give a shit about, act like I’m fine, and make the headlines go away.”

You stayed quiet.

Her mouth twitched. “Well?”

“Sevika says it’s time.”

Jinx exhaled hard through her nose, like you’d punched her in the gut without moving.

“Sevika huh? Well I don’t wanna go,” she said. Soft. But firm.

“That’s not really up to you.”

Her eyes flicked up to yours, sharp. “Isn’t it?”

Your phone buzzed again. You didn’t look at it this time.

Jinx’s voice dropped lower. “Do you have to call it in?”

You hesitated. That one second of silence was all she needed to see.

Her smile turned razor-edged. “Ohhh. Look at you. Already breaking the rules for me baby.”

“I’m not breaking anything. And don’t call me that.”

“Sure you’re not.” Her foot nudged yours under the table again—this time not playful, but pointed. “But you could, baby.”

Her gaze locked on yours. You gaze hardened just by a notch.

“I can’t,” she said. “Just— not today.”

You checked the time. Your job was to keep her safe. Not happy. Not sane. But here you were—stalling.

You exhaled slowly and unlocked your phone. Jinx watched you with a sideways smirk, like she was testing how far you’d bend before you snapped. You typed out a location ping. Not here. Somewhere safe enough to buy time—an upscale café five blocks away, where Jinx could plausibly be sipping overpriced tea, playing cooperative.

You hit send.

[10:46] got her at Lucienne’s on 5th. keeping her calm will move when ready

The dots popped up immediately.

[10:47] Lucienne's? Since when does Jinx do tea and quiet?

You stared at the screen. Your thumb hovered over typing, but nothing you wrote would sound good. Three dots. Then nothing. Another three dots.

Then this;

[10:48] Fine. Not my circus today. We’re heading out. Crisis meeting in Bridgepoint.

That was Sevika-speak for, I know you’re full of shit but I don’t have time to deal with it.

Jinx tapped her nails on the table. “So?”

“They’re leaving you alone,” you said.

Her eyes narrowed. “For now.”

“For now.”

She relaxes slightly while she’s slouched deeper into the booth, braid sliding over her shoulder, but her jaw unclenched slightly. Like the rope around her neck loosened just enough for her to breathe.

Sevika knew you were lying. You knew she knew. But you’d both made a choice— For now.

My god this was going to be a long day wasn’t it?

                                     ──────────

Jinx dragged you through boutique shops she had no business being in. She tried on sunglasses shaped like flames, stared at herself in the mirror, and whispered, “Look at me—corporate fucking America.”

You said nothing, honestly just stifling a snort. Kept watch while she slipped three silver rings into your jacket pocket when no one was looking.

“Relax, Kevlar,” she grinned, nudging your side. “Consider it a service charge.”

You rolled your eyes, placing them back as she continued to browse through the store. And of course she kept picking out the most outrageous things ever to be seen in all of mankind.

“What? Why are you making a face? This would make such a sexy top” she says, having a smug smile. 

“Jinx that’s a fucking belt.” you say with a dry expression. Slightly grimacing if you look hard enough.

“And? It would make my tits look nice..” she mumbles as she examines the belt yet again.

“For god’s sake..” you mutter under your breath as you hear her snort obnoxiously.

Keep it together. Your mind shouldn’t wander to Jinx wearing a damn belt as a shirt. You shook your head slightly as she continued to browse. Pulling out various pairs of shirts just to get your attention. Asking whether or not they would look good on her. You just went along with it. Might as well get her mind off the real problem she’s trying to avoid.

It was clear Jinx was finding absolutely anything to do just to keep herself busy. And you let her, to a point. She wandered around downtown, trying her best to go about her day without being detected. Although with you standing next to her in all black..

Whatever, as long as you just follow protocol (which you really aren’t) everything will be fine.

Christ, who are you lying to? You already lied about her location, refused to bring her in, if you keep this up you’ll end up making a choice that will have consequences. But you can’t help it. 

So long story short, you’re screwed.

You bring a hand down her face as you were behind Jinx, as she walked into some alleyway. You should’ve told her no. But Jinx was already halfway up the fire escape, braid whipping behind her like a fuse burning out.

“C’mon, Kevlar,” she called over her shoulder, foot hitting the next rung. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

You followed. Because that’s the job. Or at least that’s what you kept telling yourself.

The rooftop was hot and empty, the kind of place city pigeons claimed first. Jinx sprawled out flat on the concrete, arms stretched wide like she was making a snow angel in summer. Her eyes stayed closed against the sun, but her lips twitched at the edges.

“Jesus, how many times will we go on a rooftop?

“Like about— six seven times” she says, gesturing her hands.

You rolled your eyes.

“You don’t have to stand all stiff, y’know,” she muttered. “We’re off duty.”

“We’re never off duty.”

“You aren’t,” she corrected, smirking. “I quit hours ago.”

Her hands flexed open and closed on the rooftop like she was testing gravity.

“Could jump right now,” she whispered, sing-song soft. “Wouldn’t even feel it.”

Your spine locked tight. You crouched by the ledge instead of looking at her, eyes on the sidewalk below.

“I’d catch you before you hit the ground.”

Her smirk slipped for a second. Not gone—just cracked at the corners.

“My hero,” she says sarcastically.

After a beat, she tilted her head, eyes squinting at the sky, voice too casual.

“Why do you keep chasing me?”

“Because you make me.”

“Yeah,” she muttered, licking her lips, “but you’re not bad at it.”

Her fingers tapped rhythm against the concrete, nails clicking. Her gaze shifted sideways, eyes skimming over you like she was trying to X-ray through skin.

“You know,” she whispered, “most people stop trying to hold onto me after a while.”

“Most people aren’t me.”

“Mm.” Her eyes half-lidded. “No. They’re not.”

For a long minute, neither of you said anything. The wind hit just enough to make her braid lift off the roof, strands curling like smoke. Her hand inched closer to yours—not touching, just near. A test. 

“You get sick of me yet?” she asked, voice soft. Almost real.

You didn’t look at her.

“Unfortunately,” you muttered, “I can’t.”

Her lips parted, a sharp little smile curling back at the edges. But her eyes weren’t smiling.

“Aw, Kevlar,” she whispered, voice syrup-thick. “That almost sounded like a problem.”

“It is.”

You shifted your weight, elbows resting on your knees, gaze locked on the street below. People moved like ants. Fast, tiny, insignificant.

“I’m not allowed to get sick of you,” you added, voice flat. “That’s not part of the job.”

Jinx stretched her arms over her head, tank top riding up, ribs sharp under skin.

“Sure it is. You just won’t let yourself.”

Her braid slid across the concrete, curling toward you like a living thing.

“Y’know what’s funny?” she murmured. “Most people run out of patience around hour three. We’re at— what? Hour six? Seven?”

You didn’t correct her. She smiled wider.

“You’re good at this,” she whispered, eyes glittering. “Keeping me tethered.”

“I’m not keeping you tethered, Jinx.”

She rolled onto her side, propped her chin on her hand, eyes locking onto yours.

“Aren’t you?” she asked, sweet and lethal. “Then why’re you still here?”

You clenched your jaw. The words stuck in your throat because there wasn’t a good answer. Not one you could say out loud. One that was professional anyways. The sky stretched gray-blue above the city, sharp and endless. Jinx’s fingers ghosted over your boot, tapping twice.

“Lucky you,” she whispered. “You’re stuck.”

You gave her a sideways glance, deadpan.

“Lucky me.”

Her grin split wide.

“Hey,” she said, pushing up onto her knees, suddenly all chaotic energy again. “Let’s go find something to break.”

And just like that— conversation over.

She bounced toward the fire escape, humming under her breath, like she hadn’t just tested the edge of something razor-thin. You followed. Because that’s what you do. Unfortunately, you can’t stop. No really, you can’t. But you wish you did cause this girl has chaotic energy like a fucking toddler. 

God help you.

By the time you two got in the back of the car, you told the driver specifically to bring you back to the hotel. Jinx being.. Jinx. She stole your sunglasses and kicked her feet up on your lap. You sighed. But you didn’t move her feet. Her smirk slipped for half a second.

“You don’t have to babysit me, y’know,” she whispered, voice lower now. “Not really.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“No,” she corrected, soft but pointed. “You want to.”

She leaned her head back against the seat, eyes on the ceiling. “Vi’s not answering. PR’s losing her mind. You’re stuck in a car with me.”

“You do realize that this is my job right?” you say, giving her a deadpan expression.

“Hah! Keep making excuses Kevlar,” she says, getting comfortable on her side of the seat.

“Oh my fucking god.” 

                                       ──────────

The door clicked shut behind you, and Jinx spun like you’d locked her in a cage.

“Room service?” she snapped, throwing her arms out wide. “Seriously?”

“They cleaned the room,” you said, stripping off your jacket, voice flat. “You trashed it.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I like it trashed.”

“That’s not my problem.”

She kicked a pillow off the couch like a brat, then went for the minibar. Tore open a bag of trail mix, poured the contents straight onto the carpet. Your eye twitched.

She noticed. Of course she noticed.

“Ohhhh,” she sing-songed. “Somebody’s getting mad.”

“Jinx.”

“What?” She grinned, stepping closer, toe to toe now. “You gonna cuff me? Tackle me? Maybe slap my hand and tell me to be good?”

You stared down at her, jaw clenched so hard your teeth ached. She wanted this. Wanted to poke until you snapped because chaos felt safer than care. Attention on her terms.

“Take a shower,” you ordered.

Her eyes narrowed. “What, to cool off?”

“No. Because you smell like diner grease and smoke.”

That earned a sharp little laugh. But she turned anyway, pulling her shirt off over her head as she went—bare back flashing, tattoos shifting, leaving the tank top on the floor like a dropped flag. Leaving you resting on the couch, rubbing at your temples with your legs spreading as you propped your foot up on the small table in front of you.

Jesus, it’s been a long day.

You checked your phone, no new notifications. You set it aside for now, your hands going to loosen your tie and unbutton the first few on your shirt before leaning your head back to gaze at the ceiling.

Pretty sure you dozed off, because when you heard the door the minute your eyes opened. You picked your head up and—

Fuck.

She came back out in nothing good.

Thin tank top, no bra. Panties you could barely call clothes. And the piercings—oh, the fucking piercings. Silver through her nipples, a flash of metal at her hipbone and stomach. Lower, too, where the line of lace barely covered it. Your brain short-circuited for half a second.

Jinx smirked when she saw you look.

“Better?” she asked, like it was your test now.

You didn’t answer.

You just sat there, arm on the armrest, breathing tight through your nose. She padded toward you on bare feet, the ends of her braids dripping water down to the floor, eyes locked onto yours like a predator. Having the fucking audacity to straddle your waist, as her arms wrap around your neck loosely.

“C’mon, Kevlar,” she whispered, right against your throat. “Still gonna play security? Or you gonna admit you’re about five seconds from fucking me against that wall?”

Your jaw flexed.

“I’m not in the mood for any of your games, Jinx,” you mutter, pinching at your nose bridge.

“Yes, you are,” she murmured, grinding just enough to prove it. “You love when I’m bad. Gives you an excuse to do shit you’re already thinking about.”

Her hand slid down your stomach, nails teasing skin through your shirt.

“I’m not gonna stop bothering you,” she whispered, tugging at your tie to make your face her. “So do something about it.”

Your patience snapped in half.

You grabbed her wrist—harder this time—and pushed her back against the nearest wall next to the window, pinning her arm above her head. Her lips parted in a breathless sound that wasn’t fear.

It was relief.

“Is this what you wanted?” you growled, hand wrapping around her throat—not choking, just holding. Claiming even.

Her hips jerked up against you, eyes rolling slightly.

“Mhmm,” she hummed, lashes fluttering. “Make me behave. Bet you can’t.”

You pressed your thigh between her legs, forcing her back, her body hot and slick from the shower.

“Ohhh,” she whispered, voice breaking into a laugh, “you’re mad, huh?”

“Yeah,” you muttered, mouth at her ear. “And you’re gonna say thank you.”

Her pupils blew wide. Her smile cracked.

Good.

Your hand stayed on her throat, thumb just under her jaw. Enough to remind her she was breakable. Enough to make her breathe for you.

“Say it,” you ordered, voice low against her ear.

Her lips twitched. Still playing, still reckless. “Say what, Kevlar?”

Your thigh pressed harder between her legs, forcing her back into the wall. Her breath hitched.

“Say thank you,” you growled. “For stopping you before you did something worse.”

Her eyes fluttered half-shut, the smile cracking more at the edges. This wasn’t a game anymore, not really— but she didn’t know how to do soft, so she licked her lips and made it worse.

“Thank you,” she whispered, hips rolling against you, “for ruining me before I ruin myself.”

Jesus. Your pulse hit your throat. She wanted punishment because it was easier than guilt. Wanted your control because it was safer than spiraling.

Fine.

You grabbed her wrists, pinned them high against the wall with one hand, and let your other drift lower—palming the heat between her legs through lace. Barely a barrier. Barely anything. Feeling her already soaked through her poor excuse of underwear. Your fingers brush against her clothed clit, her breath stuttered, nails scraping against your arm.

“See?” she whispered, grin sharp but eyes glassy. “Told you you’d break.”

“Still security,” you muttered, fingers sliding her panties aside. “Still doing my job.”

“Oh yeah?” Her voice cracked, but she masked it with a laugh. “Pretty sure this is illegal, baby.”

Your fingers pressed inside her soaked cunt in one sharp motion, no warning, no slow build. Her back arched, mouth open, chest heaving against your hold. Metal bit your palm— the piercings, cold against flushed skin.

“Maybe,” you murmured against her throat. “But you’re not gonna tell.”

Her laugh broke into a gasp, stuttering out. “Nope.”

You worked her open with firm, punishing strokes. Your fingers pumping at a rapid pace, occasionally curling it against her sweet spot. No softness. No sweetness. Just control. Her hips rocked into your hand, desperate and grinding, chasing the edge like she was trying to hurt herself with it.

You weren’t going to let her. You pulled back just before she came, hand tightening around her throat to keep her pinned, keeping her on the brink.

Her eyes flew open, wide and glassy. “What the fuck—”

“Not yet,” you growled. “You don’t get off easy.”

Her thighs trembled. Her whole body did.

“Please,” she whispered, voice cracking for real this time.

Wow, begging already? That’s a first. You kissed the corner of her mouth, lips barely there. “Louder.”

Her eyes squeezed shut, teeth grit.

“Please!”

“Good girl,” you whispered as your lips curled into a smirk, filthy and soft at the same time.

Your fingers pressed back in her pussy, harder now. Rough enough to make her breath hitch and stay hitched. Her head tipped back, throat exposed, eyes wet. She wasn’t laughing anymore. Infact, she kept pleading for more. 

“Fuck fuck! If you don’t let me come I’ll—”

Your hand pulled back once more, this time you latched onto her braids, yanking her head back to make sure she looked you in the eyes.

“You’ll what?”

She just let out a pathetic whine in response.

“You should see yourself right now” you chuckled darkly, your grip tightened in her braids, tilting her head just enough to make her look at you properly.

That’s when the idea hit.

Your eyes flicked toward the mirror across the room—big, pricey hotel glass reflecting both of you in it. Her face— flushed and wrecked. You, now getting behind her, hand still buried between her legs, the other twisted in her hair like reins.

“Look at that,” you murmured, lips brushing her ear. “Look.”

She tried to close her eyes.

You yanked her braid harder, not cruel, just final. 

“Eyes open, Jinx.”

Her lashes fluttered. Her gaze shot to the mirror. The second she saw herself, her breath caught.

“See that?” you whispered, your smirk curling dark against her neck. “That’s you. That’s what you look like when you’re begging.”

Her lips parted in a quiet whimper— eyes glassy, cheeks flushed, pupils blown wide like a girl caught in headlights. Like she’d crossed every line and liked it.

“Fuck,” she whispered, squirming in your grip, but not away from you. Toward. Always toward.

"Fucking pathetic" you spat, maintaining your eye contact with her.

You pressed your fingers back into her, rougher now, not giving her time to catch her breath. This time you had no mercy, your fingers rubbing against her g-spot with the other messes with her clit— more so tugging on her piercing. Her reflection stuttered, hips grinding, lips wet, eyes blinking hard like she couldn’t even believe what she was seeing.

“You wanted this,” you muttered, your voice low, steady, right against her jaw. “All day you’ve been asking for it.”

Her nails clawed at your wrist, hips rocking into your hand like she couldn’t stop herself. Your hand traveled from her hair to her throat barely putting pressure. Enough to let her know who's in charge.

“Look at you,” you whispered again, dark amusement curling under your breath. “Falling apart in my arms.”

Her thighs shook.

“Please,” she gasped, eyes locking on the mirror now, voice wrecked. “Please, please—fuck—”

You didn’t stop this time.

You kept her eyes on the glass, hand tight against her throat, making her watch the moment she broke in your arms. You kept whispering filthy things in her ear, your fingers not stopping from the merciless speed you kept pumping at. And at the brink of her climax, you pulled at her braids once again, making her eyes shoot open to the mirror in front of her.

Making her watch.

And when she did come, it was all teeth and tension—hips jerking, chest shaking, trying not to cry but almost doing it anyway. She definitely screamed your name out, properly this time. 

You held her through it, hand still at her throat, steady.

Not soft. But steady.

Her breath was still ragged, body trembling in your grip, eyes locked on the mirror like she wasn’t sure who she was anymore. Her reflection looked ruined. Hair pulled back tight in your hand. Face flushed. Eyes glassy. Lips wet. You stared at her reflection with her.

And then— fuck it.

You leaned in, lips brushing the corner of her mouth at first. Testing the heat there. Testing yourself. She shivered, this sharp little intake of breath like she wasn’t expecting it. Like she’d been waiting for it all day but still didn’t believe it was happening.

“Stay still,” you muttered, lips grazing her jaw.

She did. For once.

When you finally kissed her, it wasn’t soft. It was slow but owned. Possessive. Mouth opening over hers like you were claiming the last piece of territory you hadn’t touched yet. Like you were stamping your name onto chaos. Her lips parted for you—no hesitation now. She kissed back with the same desperation she’d fought you with all day.

Teeth. Tongue. Heat.

Her nails bit into your wrist, but she didn’t pull away. She pulled you closer. 

And you let her.

Her tongue darted out against your bottom lip, almost as if she was asking for more. And you complied. Your lips parted as her tongue immediately slid in your mouth, as if she’s trying to make sure she gets a good taste of your filthy mouth. The kiss was desperate, and sure as hell needed. When you finally broke the kiss, she laughed— soft but wrecked.

“Took you long enough,” she whispered, voice a little raw at the edges.

Her forehead bumped against yours, breath hot against your lips. Your hand now resting against her hip. Neither of you are moving. You kept your grip in her braid, thumb brushing her jaw. Her pulse was racing under your hand. You didn’t say a word. Didn’t need to.

But your chest was tight in a way that had nothing to do with sex, and she knew it.

So she whispered hoarsely, eyes still half-lidded but voice small this time,

“...What happens now, Kevlar?”

You rested your forehead harder against hers, your eyes shutting. Breathing the same breath.

And for one dizzy second— you didn’t know the answer either. Only one statement crosses your mind;