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notes: CCODTober has been fun. I missed Mac and his tattoo artist!gf and Harper so much! I’ve read this over once, so if there’s any mistakes feel free to let me know! Enjoy!
Your machine hums to life. That familiar buzz vibrates through the heel of your hand as you stretch Mac’s arm out on your padded armrest. He’s lying down on his stomach, arm outstretched beside him and hanging over the rest. His elbow is already ready and stenciled. Those pale purple stencil lines spidering out from the center point of bone. He’s using his hoodie as a pillow, watching you from under his lashes like you’re about to gut him instead of ink him.
“You sure you’re ready for this?” you ask him quietly, turning towards your box to slip a fresh pair of gloves onto your hands. “Elbows are no joke.”
He chuckles softly, “Baby, I’ve been shot at. I think I can handle a little spiderweb.”
You raise your brows, tilting your head as you open the package and place the cartridge into your machines. “You’re about to regret every ounce of bravado you’ve ever had, MacDonald.”
Across the shop at the front desk, Harper snorts without even looking up from her iPad. She’s got her boots kicked up on the front counter and she’s scrolling through old flash like she’s bored at the DMV and has nothing else to do. “Oh, please. This man cried when he stubbed his toe on your coffee table last night.”
“I did not cry,” Mac is quick to defend himself as he shifts slightly to peek over at her. “I swore creatively. The easiest kind of pain management.”
“You hopped around like a flamingo,” you add, scooping a bit of glide onto your glove and reaching for a paper towel on your tray. “I almost called the paramedics.”
“That was because I didn’t want to wake your neighbors with my screaming and was trying my hardest to stay quiet,” he huffs. “You’re welcome.”
Harper makes a dramatic gagging noise and rolls her eyes. “You two are so gross when you get together. Just tattoo him already so I can get my entertainment in real time.”
You stifle a laugh at that and lean in close, using your pinky finger to swipe some of the glide onto his skin. “Okay, big guy. Take a deep breath for me. This is the point of no return.”
He does as he’s told, trying his best to relax. “Hit me.”
The first pass of your needle sinks in clean and dark. He doesn’t make a sound, but you see his fingers twitch where they’re dangling below. You glance up at his face, smiling apologetically. “Doing okay?”
“Totally fine,” he breathes out softly. “Piece of cake.”
Harper snorts again, not looking up from her scrolling. “Yeah, sure. Cake with razor blades baked in.”
“Harper,” your voice is light as you warn, wiping at the fresh lines. “You’re gonna spook my client.”
“She’s gonna ruin my rep,” Mac mumbles softly against the wrapped leather of your bed. “I’m supposed to be a tough guy, babe. A man of mystery. Not some—” He hisses as the needle hits a particularly tender spot. “—freaking marshmallow.”
You grin, biting back a laugh. “Hold still, marshmallow. This part’s tricky.”
His eyes flick up to yours and he glares playfully, but stays put. “I’m never letting you talk me into another elbow tattoo. My other one didn’t even hurt this bad.”
“That’s because your other artist didn’t care about their linework,” you shoot back at him. “I care. Which means this is gonna fucking suck.”
Harper finally sets her iPad down and leans back in the chair, crossing her arms over her chest. “You know, Mac, it’s kind of poetic. You’re this big scary marine and get brought to your knees by a five-foot-nothing girl with a tattoo machine.”
“I’m six feet,” you say playfully, not looking up from the line you’re pulling.
“She’s like, five-eight with a fucking attitude,” Mac corrects her, his eyes still on you. “And I like her like that.”
You feel your cheeks start to heat but you don’t look up from his arm. “Flattery isn’t gonna get you out of the shading, Mac.”
He chuckles low in his chest. “Didn’t think it would. Just thought I’d remind you I’m a good sport while you’re literally stabbing me.”
Harper’s grin is wider now. “You’re gonna be the whiniest client she’s ever had, aren’t you?”
“I am not whining,” he huffs, hissing again as you go back over a stubborn line. “I’m… expressing my discomfort.”
“That’s literally the definition of whining,” Harper laughs softly.
You can’t help it, you start laughing too. It’s a shaky, quiet sound at first that turns into a snort. “You two have gotta stop making me laugh while I’m working. Your spiderweb will end up looking like a drunk spider tried its best.”
Mac lifts his head from the bed just enough to look at you fully, grinning even through the pain. “Wouldn’t be the worst thing I’ve got on me.”
“Sit still,” you try to be stern, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling. “This is the home stretch.”
He exhales hard through his nose as he lies his head back down, his muscles tight now under your gloves. “You’re lucky I love you. Anyone else and I’d—” He winces again when you wipe away excess ink. “—I’d be suing for cruel and unusual punishment.”
“Good thing you’re dating the executioner,” Harper hums.
Mac mumbles something about bad influences and glares over at her. “I liked you better when you were ignoring us.”
“I liked you better when you weren’t whining,” Harper fires back at him.
“Both of you shut up,” you chuckle, as you wipe down the finished fresh lines, the web blooming perfectly from his elbow. “Okay. We’re done with the outline, babe. Just the shading left.”
Mac groans dramatically and slumps down against the bed. “This is how I die. Not on deployment. Not in a fucking bar fight. Death by girlfriend’s tattoo machine.”
“God, you’re a baby,” Harper shakes her head.
You chuckle softly, clicking off your machine for a moment. “You’re not dead yet, big guy. You’re just gonna have a really cool elbow.”
He tilts his head, his eyes are closed but a smile is tugging at his lips. “Yeah? You’ll kiss it better when we’re done?”
“Only if you tip well,” you tease him, reaching for a fresh needle cartridge package.
Harper whistles and pushes herself up from the chair to stand. “God, you two are disgusting. I’m gonna go make coffee.”
“Bring me one,” Mac calls after her as she heads toward the back room. “Something with, like, six sugars. I deserve it.”
You shake your head, biting your lip to hide your grin. “Ready?”
He opens one eye at you. “As I’ll ever be, babe. Do your worst.”
“ripped from the headlines” literal headlines from newspapers i found online
the two women in the first image are Dolours and Marian Price; IRA volunteers during the troubles. “Dolours and her sister, Marian, also an IRA member, were the daughters of Albert Price, a prominent Irish republican and former IRA member from Belfast.”
