Jinxed | Jinx Arcane Oneshots

Tracing Scars | ROMANCE

ROMANCE

Jinx sat across from me on the worn couch, fiddling with a small gadget. Her hands moved with practiced precision, but I could tell her mind was somewhere else.

"You've been staring for like five minutes," she said without looking up, her lips twitching into a smirk. "What? Mesmerized by my genius?"

I laughed softly, shaking my head. "Something like that."

She finally glanced up, her pink eyes catching the light in a way that made my heart ache. "Well, don't just sit there looking pretty," she teased, tossing the gadget onto the cluttered table. "Entertain me."

I rolled my eyes but shifted closer, settling next to her on the couch. The scent of gunpowder and oil clung to her, familiar and oddly comforting. "I don't think I'm as entertaining as you are," I said.

"Duh," she replied with a grin. "Nobody is."

Her bravado was typical Jinx, but tonight, it felt thinner somehow. The usual manic energy in her movements was subdued, her hands fidgeting restlessly instead of darting around like they usually did.

My eyes drifted to her arms, and I caught a glimpse of the shimmer scars peeking out from under her sleeves. The jagged lines crisscrossed her pale skin, faintly glowing in the low light.

She noticed my gaze and tensed, her grin faltering. "What?" she asked, her tone sharp.

"Nothing," I said quickly, though my attention stayed on her arms. "I just..." I hesitated, not wanting to push too far. "Do they still hurt?"

Her eyes flicked away, and she crossed her arms over her chest defensively. "I'm fine," she muttered. "They're old. Doesn't matter."

But it did matter. I could see it in the way she curled into herself, like she was trying to hide. "Jinx," I said softly, reaching out to touch her wrist. She flinched but didn't pull away. "Can I?"

She looked at me, her eyes narrowing like she was trying to figure out my angle. When she didn't say no, I took it as permission and gently pushed up the sleeve of her shirt. The scars were more visible now, intricate lines glowing faintly against her pale skin. I ran my fingers lightly over them, careful not to press too hard.

She tensed under my touch, her jaw tightening. "They're ugly," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "You don't have to pretend they're not."

I shook my head, my thumb tracing one of the lines. "They're not ugly," I said firmly. "They're a part of you, and that's beautiful to me."

Her breath hitched, and for a moment, I thought she might pull away. But she didn't. Instead, she stayed perfectly still, watching me with an expression I couldn't quite read.

I leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to the longest scar on her forearm. Her skin was warm under my lips, and I felt her shiver. "It's pretty, Jinx," I murmured, moving to another scar and kissing it just as softly. "All of you."

"You're such a sap," she said, her voice trembling despite the words.

I glanced up at her and saw the tears welling in her eyes. She blinked rapidly, as if trying to chase them away, but one slipped free and traced a line down her cheek. She laughed, a shaky, broken sound that made my chest ache. "You're really gonna make me cry, huh?"

"Maybe," I said with a small smile. "Is that such a bad thing?"

She sniffed, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. "Only if you tell anyone."

"Your secret's safe with me," I promised.

Her gaze softened, and she leaned into me, resting her head on my shoulder. For a long time, neither of us said anything. The hum of the machinery filled the silence, steady and familiar. I kept tracing my fingers along her scars, and she didn't stop me.

"Nobody's ever done that before," she said quietly, her voice muffled against my shirt.

"Done what?"

"Made me feel like this." She tilted her head up, her pink eyes meeting mine. "Like I'm not just... broken."

I cupped her cheek, my thumb brushing away the last of her tears. "You're not broken, Jinx," I said. "You're strong. You're crazy. And you're loved."

Her lips parted like she wanted to say something, but no words came out. Instead, she leaned up and kissed me, her lips soft and hesitant against mine. It wasn't her usual fiery, chaotic energy. It was slow, tender, and full of all the things she couldn't say out loud.

When we finally pulled apart, she rested her forehead against mine, her fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt. "Don't let go," she whispered.

"Never," I promised.