Ugly

[uglysandwich84]

Rooftop Reverie

Jinx x Reader

Warnings: Light tension, mutual pining

Jinx doesn’t bring people to places that matter.

Truth be told, she hardly brings people anywhere at all. But tonight, she takes your wrist in her hand, warm and calloused and certain, and pulls you through Zaun’s maze of shadowed alleys and rust-bitten catwalks. The city murmurs below in fractured neon, a heartbeat of music drifting through the grime like a ghost that forgot where it was going. But up here, it’s different. Quieter. Like the world forgot to look.

“Keep up, slowpoke,” she calls, tossing a grin over her shoulder, sharp as broken glass and bright as static. “We’re almost there.”

You crest the rooftop with her, breath catching in your throat. Not from the climb, but from what she’s kept hidden.

The skyline sprawls before you like a jagged constellation, half-swallowed by smog. And yet, above it all, stars blink faint and stubborn. The city hums below, alive and uncaring. But here, on this lonely ledge, the world feels like it belongs to no one but the two of you.

You glance her way, but she isn’t watching the lights.

She’s watching you.

“You like it?” she asks, too casually. The question cracks at the edges, like she’s afraid of your answer.

“It’s beautiful,” you whisper, letting the word settle between you like dust in quiet air. You sit at the edge, legs swinging over the void, and she drops down beside you. Close enough that your shoulders nearly meet, close enough to feel the warmth of her without touching.

And for once, she isn’t moving. Isn’t twitching or laughing or lighting fuses just to see what might burn.

She’s still.

And the silence between you isn’t empty. It’s full. Of things neither of you know how to say.

Your fingers drift along the metal ledge, and hers find them, brushing just barely, like a secret.

You don’t pull away. Neither does she.

Below, the city pulses. Above, the stars flicker like a breath held too long. And Jinx, restless and reckless and wild, lets herself belong to this one fragile moment, the space between you humming with a quiet, unspeakable something.

[uglysandwich84]

Little Offerings

Jinx x Reader

Warnings: None, just pure fluff.

The first one is so small you nearly miss it.

A rusted bolt, worn smooth with time, left atop your rickety table like a forgotten thought. You barely glance at it. The Lanes are built from lost things, scraps and remnants, pieces no one claims. It could’ve clung to your sleeve, fallen from a stranger’s pocket.

Then comes a marble, cracked through the middle, its surface swirling like oil caught in the rain. A gear, its teeth gnawed down by age. A half melted arcade token, its once bright letters long since faded.

They appear like whispers, tucked into the corners of your life. Too deliberate to be accidents.

One evening, you turn a playing card between your fingers, a queen of hearts, edges scorched, half of her face lost to the burn. And then you feel it. Jinx’s gaze, electric and expectant, watching from across the room.

“You been leaving these?” you ask, holding the card up.

She’s perched on your windowsill, moonlight catching in her hair, one knee pulled to her chest as she idly twists a loose thread in her stocking. A smirk tugs at her lips, sharp as a knife’s edge, but her eyes flicker with something less certain.

“Maybe,” she drawls.

“Why?”

Jinx shrugs, looking past you, like the question makes her restless. “Find somethin’ good, I think of you. Figured it oughta be yours.”

A pause. A warmth, slow and unfurling.

From then on, you see them everywhere. A bent coin, left on your workbench. A feather, impossibly violet, tucked into your sleeve. A shard of stained glass, blue as the shimmer on her lips, slipped beneath your pillow.

She never explains them. Never asks if you keep them. But you catch the way she watches, waiting, like she expects you to throw them away, to call it silly, to call her silly.

You don’t.

And one night, she presses something small into your palm, shaped into something lopsided and knotted, messy but unmistakable. A heart.

“Made this one myself,” she mutters, toying with her nails. “S’kinda ugly, but-”

You don’t let her finish. Instead, you lean in and brush a kiss against her cheek, warm and fleeting.

Jinx stills.

Like a fuse burning to its final ember, like something inside her is held breathless between seconds.

She blinks at you, lips parted, pupils wide. And then, slow as a flame catching, her mouth curls into a grin, something wild, something dizzy with delight.

“Oh,” she breathes. “That’s new.”

You smirk, twirling the copper heart between your fingers. “Guess you’ll have to keep bringing me things to see if it happens again.”

Jinx exhales a laugh, quiet and breathy, eyes gleaming with something wicked, something hungry.

“Oh, You’re never getting rid of me now.” she purrs, voice curling around you like smoke.

And somehow, you think you already knew that.

[uglysandwich84]

Obsessive!Jinx x Reader (Pt. 2??)

Warnings: Possessiveness, obsession, light biting, marking, restraint, power imbalance, sensory detail

The first time you let her kiss you, it isn’t soft.

It’s teeth and desperation, a clash of need that has been brewing between you for far too long. Jinx doesn’t know how to love gently, doesn’t know how to want without taking, and you feel it in the way her fingers dig into your hips, in the way she presses you against the wall like she’s trying to brand herself into your skin.

She’s trembling, though she’d never admit it. You can feel it in the way her breath stutters against your lips, in the way her grip is just shy of bruising, like she’s afraid you’ll slip through her fingers the moment she lets go.

“You’re mine,” she mutters between kisses, between the fevered press of her body against yours. “Always were.”

A part of you wants to push back, to tell her she doesn’t own you, but the words never come. Because, in a way, she’s right. She’s been wrapped around your thoughts for weeks now, coiled through your mind like a sickness you don’t want to cure.

Jinx pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes blown wide, pupils like eclipses. There’s something almost reverent in the way she stares, like she still can’t quite believe you’re real. Like she’s afraid you’ll disappear.

“Say it,” she breathes, voice rough, needy.

You should say no.

You should walk away.

Instead, you drag your nails down her arms, feeling the way she shudders under your touch. “I’m yours.”

The noise she makes is almost feral, a broken thing, relief and hunger tangled together. And then she’s on you again, hands everywhere, mouth hot and demanding, like she’s trying to devour you whole.

She bites, sharp, stinging nips along your neck, your collarbone, your jaw, leaving little red marks in her wake. “Gotta make sure they know,” she pants, licking over the bruises she’s left behind. “That you’re taken. That you’re mine.”

You barely have time to respond before she’s pinning your wrists above your head, grip tight but teasing, her knee pressing between your legs. She watches your reaction, drinking in every sharp inhale, every little shiver, a smirk curling on her lips.

“Look at you,” she murmurs, voice dripping with something dark and pleased. “You like this, don’tcha? Letting me have you?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. Not when her hands are roaming lower, slipping beneath fabric, fingertips tracing over heated skin. Not when her breath is hot against your ear, her lips teasing, lingering, her tongue darting out to taste. Not when her voice is unraveling you thread by thread.

She grins, all wicked and knowing. “Oh, sweetheart. You’re never getting away from me now.”

Her hands explore you with a slow, deliberate hunger, mapping every reaction, every gasp, every arch of your body as if she’s memorizing you. She drinks in your whimpers, your soft pleas, lets them wind around her, fuel her, push her to tease you further.

“Bet you’ve thought about this,” she purrs, dragging her lips down your throat, her teeth grazing sensitive skin. “Bet you’ve imagined what I’d do to you if I finally got my hands on you.”

Your fingers curl into her hair, tugging, but she only chuckles, pressing her weight against you, reminding you who’s in control.

And the worst part? You love it.

Because Jinx doesn’t just touch, you feel her everywhere, like she’s sinking into your skin, carving herself into you, a fever you’ll never burn out.

And you don’t want her to stop.

[uglysandwich84]

Obsessive!Jinx Headcanons

Warnings: Possessiveness, obsession, implied stalking, unhealthy attachment.

Jinx who steals your clothes without a second thought, burying herself in them, wrapping herself up in the scent of you, holding them close like they might pull you closer to her, as if the fabric could remember the shape of your body, as if it could whisper your secrets in the dead of night.

Jinx who keeps your underwear tucked away in a hidden drawer, pressed between stacks of stolen things like the most prized relic in her collection, her fingers brushing over the fabric absentmindedly, lingering, tracing, a smirk tugging at her lips whenever she thinks about you realizing they're missing, about the way you’d react if you knew where they were.

Jinx who watches your lips when you speak, barely hearing the words, too busy imagining how they’d feel on her skin, how they’d sound gasping, breaking, whispering something just for her, something soft, something wrecked.

Jinx who sketches you over and over, filling every scrap of paper with your face, some drawings precise and perfect, others frantic, smudged, her hands trembling like she’s trying to capture something just out of reach, something slipping through her fingers like smoke.

Jinx who whispers your name when she’s alone, like she’s testing the way it feels in her mouth, sometimes soft, reverent, other times guttural, desperate, as if she’s unraveling just from the weight of it on her tongue.

Jinx who carves your name into the wooden beams of her hideout, over and over, her knife digging deep, splinters biting her fingertips, like making it permanent will keep you from slipping away, like claiming the walls is the same as claiming you.

Jinx who lets her touch linger just a little too long, fingers trailing over your wrist, your back, your waist, casual enough to be brushed off, but just enough to send a shiver through you, just enough to make you remember the heat of her hands long after she’s gone.

Jinx who grins when you get flustered, when your breath hitches, when your voice catches, because she knows she’s in your head, the way you never leave hers, the way she’s curling beneath your skin like ink bleeding into paper.

Jinx who traces every mark you leave on her, nail imprints, bruises, scratches, pressing her fingers against them, pressing until they sting, until she can feel them pulse beneath her touch, wishing they’d last just a little longer, wishing she could keep them forever.

Jinx who tosses and turns at night, tangled in sheets that don’t smell enough like you, staring at the ceiling, shifting, restless, biting her lip as her mind runs wild, wanting, waiting, wishing she had just a little more of you to keep, something solid, something real, something that won’t slip through her fingers like a dream when morning comes.

[uglysandwich84]

Obsessive!Jinx x Reader

Warning: Possessiveness, obsession, implied stalking, psychological tension, unhealthy attachment

She doesn’t remember your name when she first hears it, only the shape of it, the hush and pull, the way it lingers on the air like a half-breathed prayer. But the moment her eyes find you, the world seizes, taut and trembling, as if a wire has snapped inside her, singing with the unbearable knowledge of you.

Jinx never believed in fate. She barely believes in anything beyond the hot bloom of gunpowder, the symphony of chaos thrumming in her veins. But you, oh, you are something unholy, something ruinous. An affliction she cannot claw from her skin, a whisper threading itself into the marrow of her bones.

She watches you when you do not know, when the city swallows you whole, and you exist only in glimpses between the frayed edges of her mind. You move like an unsolved riddle, a poem missing its final line. The first time she takes from you, it is not out of need, nor greed, but hunger, some aching thing, raw and unbidden. A jacket abandoned, a scarf left draped carelessly over the back of a chair. She presses the fabric to her face, breath hitching as your scent floods her, thick and dizzying, winding around her lungs like ivy.

She keeps them, of course. Tucks them beneath her pillow, presses them to the hollow of her ribs, wears them like a second skin. She drowns in you, in the ghost of your warmth, the intimate echo of your presence. It sickens her, how much she craves it. How much she craves you.

And oh, she imagines you knowing. Imagines your gaze catching on the fraying edges of her obsession, watching her tremble beneath the weight of it. Would you run? Would you stay? Would you trace the hunger in her eyes with your fingertips and whisper that you understand? That you, too, feel the walls of the world closing in without her?

Jinx is unraveling. She can feel it in the fevered pulse of her breath, in the way your name begins to taste like something sacred on her tongue.

She does not fight it.

She lets it consume her, lets it rot through the fragile architecture of her self control, lets it bloom into something terrible and exquisite. Because you are already hers. You always have been.

And soon, soon you will know it, too.