I'm The Monster ( Jinx X Fem Reader )

Inked

-chapter 21-

I sit tensely with my arm up on Jinx's desk, my hand balled into a fist as the other grips the base of the chair I sit on. I bite my lip in an attempt to quell the pain emanating like constant cat scratches from the skin of my shoulder as hyperpop plays distantly from Jinx's speaker. She hums along to the eccentric beat under her breath, pushing the buzzing needle further into my arm. I tamp down the cringe that threatens to take over my movements as she does so.

Did Jinx convince me to let her tattoo me? Maybe. Should I be trusting her holding a tattoo gun to my skin? Probably not. Nonetheless, here we are, four hours deep in a tattoo that trails from the top of my shoulder around my bicep, over the side of my elbow and down to the bone of my wrist. Through the pain, I can't help but fawn over her hard work.

I'd wanted tattoos since I was young, yearned for the idea of making my skin a living canvas. That being said, with a very strict family that was constantly in the public eye, neither my father nor my mother found it very suitable for me to get one at any age, when I turned 18 or otherwise. Now, the fate of my first tattoo is in Jinx's skilled hands. Her eyes flick up and down her already completed work as she continues, assessing as she goes, every once in a while switching needles and dipping them into the different caps of colored ink that line the desk. I had agreed to let her do the entire thing freehand, and she took it in absolute stride- I can practically see the wheels and cogs of her brain turning as she creates, the tip of her tongue poking out of her lips and her eyebrows knitted downward in concentration. She taps her foot rapidly along with the music as if to keep herself on track.

The tattoo itself can only be described as a beautiful mess. Inconsistent lines run up and down my arm, bold in some places and trailing off into thin, shadowed lines in others. Splotches of blue, purple and orange flare across the asymmetrical pattern, as if someone had splattered paint onto my skin. It's very Jinx-esque. As I assess it again, she pauses and looks up at me.

"Do you like it so far?"

"No." I say, forcing on a flat, monotone look to hide my sarcasm.

Jinx's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, freezing and lifting the needle farther away from my arm. Her eyes are impossibly large and her face drains of color.

"Yes, of course I fucking like it!" I say quickly after, dismissing my comment. "It looks badass, Jinx. You do amazing work." I forget sarcasm can be hard for her sometimes, which is woefully ironic as she is unknowingly the master of it.

Jinx smiles at this, her face dusting a sweet pink pinch of embarrassment. Turning back to her work, she continues with the purple ink she was using previously, furthering the splotch she had just been giving her attention to. I grasp the chair again, determined not to show any weakness. Truly, the pain isn't fun, but it isn't horrible either. Just thinking about looking down and seeing that piece of wood stuck in my leg on the shipment, or the feeling of the head pounding rush that took over when I first sat up in Singed's lab makes me shudder. The tattoo pain cowers in comparison.

After another hour or so, she leans back again, scanning the tattoo before removing the needle for a final time. "Okay, that's it for now." She unplugs the gun before turning the desk light to shine more directly on the tattoo. Interlacing our fingers gingerly, she uses my hand to turn my arm left and right to scan her work. "Hm... Needs some pink." She mumbles, but with the small smile gracing her lips, it's obvious she's proud of herself.

"I think it's perfect." I combat, knowing that if I don't she'll continue on for the rest of the night.

After pressing a quick kiss to my knuckles, she unentangles our fingers to reach for the drawer beside her, withdrawing from it a small squeeze bottle of liquid antibacterial and a miscellaneous tin. She sprays down the tattoo quickly, wiping it off with a towel and then pops open the round tin to reveal a mystery gel. I wince as she begins to apply it generously and work it into the skin, but seconds later the irritation is numbed. With her approval I stand from my chair, looking into the slightly cracked mirror that resides above her desk.