#i just like mac and his letters thing
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The Ink Shop
Description: Desperate for a job, you answer an advertisement not knowing it's a tattoo shop. It's not particularly difficult work, except for one thing: having to deal with Eddie Munson.
Warnings: NSFW, minors DNI or I'll tell your parents, fem reader, thick sexual tension, angst and smut. Fingering.
A/N: I finally wrote it! The teach me fic I've been day dreaming about forever. This will be part one of three, and honestly this is one of the hottest things I've written. If you enjoy it, please comment and reblog, it means the world to me.
8k words
Masterlist
Screwing your nose up in confusion, you look at the meticulously cut snippet of newspaper neatly attached to your resume with a paperclip. Sure enough, receptionist and administrator wanted for a place called ‘The Ink Shop’.
The outside of the building looks a little bleak, all decked out in black with frosted windows, but the fading lettering above does indeed spell out ‘The Ink Shop’.
Weird. This does not look like a printers.
You smooth down a minor wrinkle in your white shirt and open the door with unsure hands, the bell above ringing out loudly.
Oh.
This is not a printers. This is a tattoo shop.
The thought hadn't even crossed your mind. The noise is a cacophony of buzzing, rock music and loud conversation. Art hangs on every available wall, the wallpaper underneath a royal purple, faded over time. There's frames upon frames of predesigned pieces for people to choose from, and an enormous wooden counter, black and gouged with use, directly in front of the doors.
Taking a confidence boosting breath you march forward, pencil skirt stretching and heels clicking on the black and white linoleum, and stand by the counter. No one seems to have noticed your arrival, and a polite cough is not going to cut it.
“Hello?” Calling out to the shop, a devilishly handsome tattooed man in a ripped band shirt, black jeans and scuffed army boots turns his head. Loose dark curls escape a low bun and swivel with him, framing his animated face. He saunters over to the counter and towers over you, giving you an appraising look.
“You old enough to be in here sweetheart?” He asks, amused, as he points to the sign on the wall that states ‘Strictly Over 21s, no exceptions’.
“Yes?” You're trying to be confident but it comes out as a question, entirely taken aback by the strength of his stare.
“Oh, well then I'm Eddie,” he holds out a hand and you're forced to reach up to shake it, but to your surprise he doesn't let go. The skin is rougher than you thought it would be, and absolutely covered in small tattoos. “What is it today? Let me guess, cover up an ex boyfriend's name? I can help you forget all about him.”
The grin he shoots back is nothing short of predatory. All you can think of is that old childhood song, never smile at a crocodile…
“No, no, I'm here about the job?”
He looks genuinely surprised, taking in your outfit in another flagrant stare.
“Really? You?”
“Yes, me.” You respond, cheeks flushing in annoyance.
“Hey, Mac!” He calls over his shoulder and a big guy with a shaved head lowers his tattoo gun, glancing over at you both. “This girl's after a job?”
Mac stands up slowly and begins to walk over.
“You can let go now princess.”
Staring at Eddie dumbfoundedly, you realise his grip on your hand has softened completely. Whipping your hand away, you flash him a defiant eye. It's ineffective; he merely grins wider and winks at you, poking his tongue out playfully. You see a hint of silver, a tongue piercing.
“Hey there, I'm Mac, the owner.” another handshake, but gentler and brief. You introduce yourself and go to hand him your resume.
A phone rings on the counter and Mac shouts “no!” just as Eddie picks it up.
“Mac’s Roadkill Café, from your grill to ours.” Eddie delivers the line as smooth as silk, never taking his eyes off you. “Yeah, it's Eddie, of course. Oh, I'll tell him. Thanks.”
As Eddie turns to Mac he's given a small but effective slap to the back of the head by Mac.
“What did I tell you, stop answering like that!”
Eddie just grins wider and looks at you again, a fake pout on his full lips.
“You see that? Harassment in the workplace. Wanna kiss it better?”
Mac shuts his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, then turns to face you again.
“Are you immediate start?”
“Er, yeah. I've got my resume, and references here-”
“Listen Miss, if you can read and write, answer a phone, and put up with that-” he says, gesturing a thumb at Eddie, “then you've got the job.”
Thank God, two of those references were your best friend with different names. Stunned, you just nod fast.
“Great. Tomorrow morning. We open at 10am.”
Saying goodbye, you turn to exit, and risk one final glance over your shoulder. Eddie's still at the counter. A disarming wink, and then the door shuts behind you.
********************
So, not exactly what you expected, but a job's a job. After getting a degree, you'd assumed doors would open, but a string of coffee houses later and here you are. You'll take it.
It's 9:30 am, and you stand outside, wondering whether or not to try the door. Keen, but not too keen. It's a line you're trying to toe without much experience, especially with an establishment like this.
A pretty woman with an undercut and a butterfly neck tattoo stirs you out of your calculations.
“Hey, I'm Chloe. You're the new girl, right? Eddie bet you'd be early.”
Blushing at the entirely accurate first impression, you try to stop your nose scrunching in distaste. As if reading your mind, Chloe chuckles.
“Ah, don't worry about him, he's an idiot. Come on, I'll show you the ropes.”
Chloe is the piercer that basically rents a place in the shop, where she's been for around three years, she explains. There's also Julio, who does more realistic tattoo work, and Miranda who works part time.
Chloe turns out to be warm and welcoming, showing you how they book clients in, how to take payments, and the phone note system. It's straightforward work, stuff you'll master in no time. In fact, you feel comfortable enough by 10 am to sit at the counter on your own.
Mac arrives on time, giving you a quick check in and taking down all your information on a yellow legal pad.
“Do you not have a computer in here?” you ask, genuinely puzzled.
“Oh no, not yet. I don't know how to work those things, Miss.” Mac chuckles, and gets to his station to prepare for his first client.
At 10:45 am Eddie walks through the door as if he owns the place.
Your eyes widen at his brazen lateness, but no one seems to bat an eyelid. It boils your blood; to be that disrespectful and clearly not care. How could someone act like that?
“Hey princess, didn't think you'd come back,” he smiles, reaching for your hand.
Oh I'm not falling for that again.
You pull your hand into your lap, expecting trickery from him. A smug grin smears across his face at the gesture, as if he knew you'd do that. It makes you even more annoyed.
“Eddie, the book says you start,” you say, flicking through the tome in front of you, “ah, at 10 am today.”
“It's walk-in Wednesday sweetheart. There's no one here.”
He's got a point. Chloe had explained the tattoo artists work a shift of Wednesdays, someone is always available for walk-ins for small and pre designed pieces. Today is Eddie's turn, and he's right, no one is here.
“Well, there could have been,” you snark back, folding your arms.
He crosses into the shop, pushing the little gate open and stands next to you, arms crossed. The height you had is now lost, forcing you to look up at him.
“As far as I know, you ain't the boss of me. I suggest taking the stick out of your ass before you come here.”
Mouth falling open in outrage, you move to reply but he's already turned away.
“Oh, and princess, there ain't a dress code.”
He's gone, disappearing upstairs. Blushing crimson, you cross your arms as if you can hide the conservative outfit you're wearing.
You're beginning to see why Mac asked if you could put up with Eddie.
********************
Halfway through the day, you realise just why Mac puts up with Eddie.
“Hey! Seeing if I can book with Eddie?”
“Any appointments with Eddie?”
“Just checking to see if Eddie had any cancellations?”
It seems most calls are about him. As you check his schedule, it's not only fully booked for the next 6 months, they've even started a waiting list at the back.
“Any walk-ins?”
The words next to your ear make you jump bodily, almost losing your place on your chair in alarm.
“You scared me! No, I would have said,” turning to him, you're sucked into those deep brown eyes once again. “Why do you do walk-in Wednesdays if you're so… so popular?”
Eddie flashes a smile at you, full of self importance. “I don't know sweetheart, Van Gogh wasn't made to doodle!” Shouting the last part at the back of Mac's head, he turns to you. “We just divided the shifts, so it was fair, that's all. Why, want a tattoo?”
You roll your eyes. “No, I was just wondering.”
“Do you have any, princess?”
“Not that it's any of your business, but no, I don't.”
The laugh that rips from Eddie's chest is hearty and full of amusement.
“You work in a tattoo shop and you don't have any? That's practically blasphemy!”
The little bell above the door rings, and a nervous guy looks around before walking in. Before you see what he wants, you shout to Eddie's retreating back.
“Van Gogh was only famous after he died, you know!”
It's a little later on in the day; you've done a stock take, ordered more ink, and neatened up the consent sheets three times. The phone hasn't rung in a while, and you're bored out of your mind.
Chloe walks over, coat in her hand.
“Hey, how you getting on?”
“I'm good, just bored.”
She laughs, “it's not always this quiet, mid week and all. Mac's done for the day, and I'm heading off. You gonna be OK?”
You glance over to Eddie, who to your surprise is tattooing his own fingers.
“What, with the untrained monkey? I'll live.”
She laughs harder at that, “he's not so bad, once you get to know him.” Lowering her voice, she whispers, “he's good at some things, you know.” The conspiratorial wink fills in what she isn't saying. Cheeks flushed, you gawp at Eddie and back at Chloe.
“Huh? W-what, are you like, an item?” You ask, entirely thrown.
“Oh no, he's not exactly boyfriend material. It was just one night, but bloody hell. Anyway, it's not like that anymore, we're just friends now. Maybe you two should just, you know.”
A blush floods your face, almost reaching the roots of your hair. “I don't- I don't, do that.”
“I'm just saying, it's an option. It'd stop the bickering at least. I can sense the tension from all the way over there.”
Without a further word, she leaves you sitting on your stool, trying to remember how to breathe.
Right, let's just play nice.
Walking over to his station, you try to glimpse what he's tattooing.
“I thought Van Gogh wasn't made to doodle” you quip, trying to keep it light.
“This is different” he responds, not looking up at you.
“You know, that's a waste of a needle.”
Eddie turns the machine off and rolls his eyes at you.
“Who made you Princess of the Needles, hmmm?”
“Mac did actually, when he asked me to check the stock,” you reply hotly, folding your arms. Stopping for a second, you take a breath. Play nice, you're supposed to be playing nice.
“Sorry, I didn't mean to-”
Eddie turns the machine back on and continues with his impromptu tattoo.
“Can't you just be… professional?” You ask over the buzzing.
“Can't you just relax for a second? No ones here. Fuck, you need to get laid.”
Mouth dropping open in shock, you grab your bag and stomp out of the store, anger fuelling every step.
********************
Right, be calm, put together. You've dealt with worse people.
It's true. At the coffee shop you had on edge caffeine addicts shout in your face almost on a daily basis, but none of them got under your skin like Eddie did. Then again, none of them had spat truths like venom in your face.
Breathe. Just breathe.
Taking the leap, you walk into the shop, coffees and a tray of donuts in hand; a small peace offering. To your surprise, he is already at his station, sorting through ink pots.
You make quick work of handing out coffee and donuts to everyone, until you reach his side. There's plastic wrap around one of his fingers, you assume from his little tattoo session yesterday. It only serves to remind you of how tetchy you were.
“Morning Eddie.”
“So you came back. Tough little princess ain't ya? Remove the stick from your ass yet?” The grin he flashes you is wide but there's a bite to his words.
He's trying to rile you up, but you ignore it, thrusting a coffee at him.
“I'll be nice if you will.”
Tension laces the air as he stares at your outstretched hand, but he takes the coffee.
“I'm sorry Eddie.”
Opening the box of donuts, you gesture for him to take one. He does, stuffing half of it into his mouth.
“What about you?” you ask.
“Huh?” He mumbles through a mouthful of crumbs.
“Are you sorry…?”
“What for?”
Setting your jaw, your hand is about two seconds from slapping the shit out of him, but you need the money. So, you huff and walk away.
“What did I do?” He huffs, shouting it to the shop.
“You should just say sorry, you've clearly upset her.” Chloe calls over to him, a slight smile on her face.
“Yeah, how do you know?”
“You upset everyone Eddie.” She laughs, and stands to greet her first client.
It's a tense kind of day, with neither you nor Eddie backing down, only speaking to each other if absolutely necessary. By the time everyone's left it's just you and him again.
He's finishing up with a client, telling them about aftercare as they gush about their new ink. It's difficult to deny, the guy is talented. This phoenix tattoo looks like it's popping right off of the skin, the flames so bright and detailed you could swear you saw them move.
Once they've left, there's an awkward pause. Eddie breaks the silence first.
“Listen, I'm sorry sweetheart. I shouldn't have been rude to you. So I'll make you a deal. I'll give you a tattoo, for free, and we ask each other questions, get to know each other. What do you say?”
Smiling in spite of yourself, you turn to face him. “And why would I want a tattoo?”
He visibly relaxes at your grin, and flashes one of his own. “Come on, I'm the best. I promise I'll be gentle.”
“We close at six, so it'll have to wait.”
Eddie looks at the clock, and bobs his head with each tick. Twenty seconds later he turns to you, eyebrows raised.
“Fine, I suppose it is a bit silly to work in a tattoo shop with no ink.”
He punches the air with glee, forcing you to smile despite your better judgement.
“Well then, what are you thinking, got any ideas in mind?”
“I want a heart on my hip” he groans, putting his face in his hands, “hang on, before you judge, I want one like this.”
Pulling a book from your bag, you turn to the page neatly bookmarked. It's an anatomical heart from a textbook you own, a line and dot drawing.
“Oh.” Eddie's eyes light up, “that's pretty metal, actually. So, you just happen to have this on you?”
“No, I've been thinking about it for a while. It's… not what people would expect. And when I got the job here, I was working up the courage to get it. Carrying around the book was a promise to myself, I think.”
He busies himself with getting a stencil ready, the drawing supplied speeding up the process.
“Right, climb on up princess, show me where you want it.”
Blushing, you unzip your skirt at the back and roll it down slightly, shifting your blouse up high. The smile Eddie gives you is salacious, but he doesn't say a word.
“Right here?” Softly his fingertips graze you, making you jump. That simple act crackles over your skin in an electricity unknown to you.
“Y-yes,” you practically whisper it, face crimson.
“So, questions. Can I go first?”
“Sure” you nod, feeling vulnerable flashing this much skin.
“OK,” he starts, pressing the stencil down, “I'll start with an easy one. How old are you?”
“23.”
He nods, prepping the needle, “your turn princess.”
“How old are you?”
“Ah, copycat,” he grins, testing the gun, the sudden noise making you jump, “I'm 30 sweetheart. I know, I look younger.”
Act younger is more like it.
“I'm gonna start, you still alright?”
“Uh huh.”
“Atta girl. It'll feel like a scratch.”
He leans forward as his words burn your insides. Atta girl? Part of you wanted to tell him you're not a fucking horse, but another, deeper, part keens at the praise, kicking it's feet and twirling its hair like some dizzy schoolgirl.
The needle touches and you jump, but it's fine. It's easy. If anything, it's rather nice? You gasp at the feeling, your feet wiggling.
“Right, next question. Why here, why this job?”
The gun is moving across your skin, consuming all rational thought. You could lie, but a part of you feels like he'd know somehow.
“I thought it was a printers shop, or a copy place.”
He laughs briefly, but continues to focus on your new ink.
“I knew it. Pretty, innocent thing like you, wandering into this den of depravity? Too good to be true.”
Glazing over his comment, you think of a question to ask.
“How did you start working here?”
Eddie scoffs and turns off his machine for a moment, “you need to get creative, stop using my questions.”
“I really want to know!” You say, meeting his derisory look.
“Fine, quid pro quo and all that shit. Been here seven years. I begged. I begged Mac for an apprenticeship everyday for a week. He gave in, and here I am. Ask something else, that was boring.”
You wrack your brains, trying to think of something original, far too aware of the steadying hand that he's pushing onto your abdomen.
“What band is that?”
It's the only thing that pops into your mind. He follows your eye line to his t-shirt.
“Oh this? This is my band, Corroded Coffin. You should come see us sometime.”
“Oh, what do you play?”
His face lights up, “I sing, and play guitar. That's why my fingers are so rough-” he holds one up, covered in black latex, “-oh yeah, gloves.”
After you both share a chuckle, there's a breath of quiet between you, except for the sound of the tattoo gun.
“My turn,” he says, smiling at your hip, “I gotta know, are you a virgin?”
It's a miracle that he's as responsive as he is, since the question knocks you sideways. You sit up in shock, but he's already moved the needle off and away.
“You can't just ask that, it's… it's rude!” you splutter, face glowing red.
There's no trace of apology on his face. In fact, his grin only widens with your reply.
“I thought so. Don't worry, I'm not gonna tease you about it.”
Laying back down, you try to think of something to say, but it just doesn't arrive. He can read you like an open book and it's deeply unsettling, not to mention embarrassing.
“Your turn princess.”
“I don't want to play anymore.”
“Oh come on, I'm being nice! Ask me something.”
“Fine. What was your last wet dream about?”
To your dismay, he smiles yet again.
“You, sweetheart.”
Huffing, you cross your arms in annoyance. “Fine, don't answer.”
He's focusing on your tattoo, tongue poking out in concentration, “I'm nearly done, then you can go back to hating me.”
“I don't hate you. I've never hated anyone,” you respond in truth. Eddie's eyebrows raise, but he remains focused.
“Really? You must have had a much better childhood than mine.”
It's quiet for a bit. You're not sure how to respond to that, feeling the cloud of his memory hanging thickly in the air between you.
“All done.”
“Huh?”
He chuckles and points at your new ink, “take a look.”
It's beautiful. All line and dot work, like it was pulled from the book itself and glued to your hip.
“It's amazing Eddie. Thank you.”
The grin he shoots you is warm as he wraps your new ink and then removes his gloves. “No problem. I'll lock up, the sheets on aftercare are right there. But you knew that.”
Smiling affectionately, you take one and stand up, hovering for a second.
“Eddie what do I owe-”
“-not a damn thing. See you in the morning, princess.”
********************
The next few days were much more pleasant. Eddie was flirty, yes, but he seemed to understand when to stop. You had been nicer to him, biting back on the comments when you could. There was a rhythm to it, a constant dance of him flustering you and you annoying him.
Things really felt like they were falling into place. Until Eddie decided to cross the line.
Walk in Wednesday again, and the shop was dead. Julio was on shift, sitting in the back having a nap.
“Hey Mac, can I ask you something?”
“Sure, what is it Miss?”
“Well, how do people know about our Wednesdays?”
“Mostly word of mouth. We handed out flyers before, but it didn't really pick up. Honestly, I'm thinking of scrapping it.” He shrugs, taking a sip of coffee.
“Before you do, I have an idea. I can design some flyers, get them out to the coffee shop I used to work at. It's by campus, I'm sure a few students would jump at the chance. You could offer a student discount, get them in the door?” You stare at him wide eyed, hoping he likes the idea. The little speech was one you'd practised about fourteen times before actually saying it to him.
He stares at you for a moment, then smiles. “You know, that's a good idea. I like it. Tell you what, you make it a success and I'll give you a raise.”
“Oh, thank you! I'll get on it.” You beam, and start planning the flyer.
Ten minutes later you have your head down, your attention entirely on the paper in front of you. The noisy shop was purely a background soundtrack, including the approaching footsteps. Then, there's a whisper, directly in your ear.
“What you up to, princess?”
“Fuck!”
You scream it out and jump so high you fall off your stool. Eddie's in bits, laughing so hard he's clutching his stomach.
“I'm sorry I didn't mean to,” he says, looking the least sorry you've ever seen a person look.
Clambering off the floor to berate him, your mouth flops open when you hear a rip. As you desperately turn your head to look down, you see where your pencil skirt has torn right next to the seam nearly up to your ass.
“Fuck's sake Eddie! What the hell am I gonna do!”
Hands shaking, you clench your jaw in panic, trying to frantically come up with a way to rectify it. Eddie holds his hands up to you as if he were approaching a wild animal.
“Just calm down princess, it's only a skirt.”
Pouting, you hit him on the arm.
“It's not just a skirt! I can't work like this, how can I go home and change, I won't be able to fix it and-”
Eddie smiles and holds one of your hands.
“It's gonna be OK, we can sort something out. You seriously need to chill, have a big O or something.” He chuckles, clearly meaning for it to be a joke, but it's hitting too close to home.
It's never happened for you. You've kissed guys, sure, but whenever they reach into your pants, it's either uncomfortable or downright painful. Even your own desperate fumblings haven't got you there. Most of the time you just feel stupid and awkward trying to touch yourself. So, you'd given up, thinking you're broken. That it'll never happen for you.
Tears well immediately in your eyes. He knows he fucked up, it's written all over his face. As he opens his mouth to speak you rip your hand from his grasp and run to the restroom sobbing.
It's stupid, it's so stupid. You know that, but the tears won't stop falling, face hot and scrunched as you sit on the closed toilet seat with your head in your hands. Your breath is heavy, gulping and wet; you dimly wonder if you can just stay here until the shop closes.
There's a gentle knock on the door.
“Sweetheart, can I come in?” It's Eddie, voice softer than you've ever heard it.
“Go away” you manage. It's shaky and pathetic sounding, but it's out there.
“I'm not going anywhere. Talk to me, you'll feel better, I promise.”
He tries the door, turning the handle before you get a chance to lock it. Jumping upright, you go to push him away but he grabs your wrist and pulls you into him. His embrace takes away that edge and pretty soon you're just sobbing into his chest.
As he strokes the back of your head, he makes shushing noises, his other arm wrapped tight around your shoulders. You're not sure how long you stay like that, in the warmth of his hold, his body pressed against yours. The tenderness calms you down until your tears stop, but he doesn't pull away.
After a while, he whispers, “feel a little better?”
“Y-yeah,” you say, voice returning to itself.
Only then does he release you, rubbing a thumb under your eye to wipe moisture away.
“I didn't mean to hurt you. You wanna go somewhere and talk about it?”
“I- I've never- I don't talk about- I-” you shake your head as if to clear it. A part of you wants to hit him, to shout at him, but his gaze is so concerned that you agree. Your shoulders slump, losing a bit of tension. “OK.”
Smiling at you, he whips his flannel shirt off, leaving him in a white vest, and ties it around your waist.
“For your modesty. Come with me.”
Puzzled, you follow him out of the bathroom and back into the shop where Mac is sitting looking worried.
“What's going-”
Eddie interrupts, “emergency late lunch needed, alright? Can you cancel my 3 o clock?”
Mac seems confused, but looks at Eddie's earnest face, and your emotional one, and nods.
“Not a problem.”
“Thanks, man.”
Before you can ask where you're going, he pulls you from the shop by the arm and across the street into a dimly lit bar, depositing you in the nearest booth.
“I'll be right back.”
If he's uncomfortable by his appearance, he doesn't show it. The way he strides up to the bar, it's as if he owns the place. It's remarkable, the sheer confidence he embodies like a second skin.
“Hey, John!” He hollers, knuckles knocking on the wood of the bar.
John appears, a gruff, stocky guy with a buzz cut and a sour face.
“What the fuck are you doing here.”
“Oh come on, you know you missed me.”
John's face screws into something akin to a smile. “What do you want, you little shit.”
“I love it when you talk dirty,” Eddie grins and winks, “two beers please.”
A grunt and a nod, and John puts the beers down on the bar. As Eddie reaches for his wallet John waves a hand in dismissal.
“Put that away boy, your money ain't good here. Besides, your lady friend looks like she needs it.”
You flush and tear your eyes away, embarrassed. Eddie walks back over and puts a beer in front of you.
“Eddie, we're still working I-”
“It's one beer. It's alright.”
You shrug and take a sip, nodding at the bartender, “he knows I'm upset, do I look a mess?”
Shaking his head so hard it releases some of his wayward waves from their confines, he tips his beer at you, before he takes a long chug.
“No,” he says enthusiastically, “you look just as pretty as you always do.”
Scoffing, you turn your eyes downward. Eddie ignores your response, instead pressing on what happened earlier.
“Sorry again,” he says, sounding genuinely distressed, "I don't want to see anyone hurt from something I said, least of all you.”
Meeting his gaze, you smile incredulously. “Oh? And why me?”
“Come on, don't make me say it.”
Staring at him, you fold your arms in an act of defiance. He rolls his eyes and looks at you.
“I like you. You're uptight, and mean to me, and a little conceited, but I like you. I don't want you to hurt. Can we just be friends? I'm a pretty good listener, you know? I can help.”
Heat floods your insides. Eyes scanning him for any sign of a joke, you come up empty.
‘I'm not conceited,” you counter weakly, clinging on to the familiar push and pull.
“And I'm the Easter bunny.”
Giggling, you take another sip of beer.
“Come on, friends? Talk to me.”
Sighing deeply, you fix your gaze at the table, forefinger tracing patterns in the condensation from your drink. “Promise not to laugh?”
“I promise.”
You can't tell how genuine he's being, as you don't dare look at his face, nerves controlling your every limb. His voice seems honest enough.
“I- I have a problem, something I can't physically do. You reminded me of it. It's not your fault.” Shrugging in an attempt to make this look less serious than it is for you, you take a pull out of your beer bottle once more.
“Wait, are you saying…” he chuckles a little in disbelief, “have you never… had an orgasm before?”
“Eddie, be quiet!” You urgently whisper, looking around the bar.
“No one's listening sweetheart, no spies in here,” he says in a low tone, hand reaching out to grasp yours. Your first instinct is to shake his hand away but he holds firm, rough fingertips rubbing against your knuckles.
“Eddie, I'm broken,” you whimper, voice breaking, “I can't do it.”
“Oh sweetheart,” he responds, chock full of emotion, “you're not broken. You are perfect.”
Pulling your hand away, you keep your eyes away from his, unwilling to meet that burning gaze of his. Unwilling to lose yourself in those sultry dark eyes.
“I can't do it. Anytime some guy tries, it hurts. I've given up to be honest. I just wasn't made for it.”
He laughs again, dragging his hand over his face.
“Fuck, sweetheart, the problem ain't you. Have you- have you tried, fixing it, on your own?” The last part is a whisper, you assume to protect your feelings.
“Yeah, but I just feel stupid and awkward. I don't know.”
There's a little silence between you as you both dwell in the suffocating fog of your confession, neither of you willing to clear it.
“Listen, this may be way out of your comfort zone, but I'm saying it anyway. If you don't like it, we'll forget it, and I won't mention it again.”
Finally looking at him, at the vulnerability on his face, you nod, not trusting your voice.
“I can… maybe I can help you. Show you you're not broken? As a favour between friends.”
You laugh mirthlessly and finish your beer. “That's a little more than a favour, Eddie.”
“We can keep it professional.”
You stare at him wide eyed. His messy hair and dark glittering eyes. At the way he slumps in his seat like a king or a delinquent, you can't decide which. At his taunt frame, the tattoos spackling every available inch of his skin. Your eyebrows raise of their own accord.
“Professional? You?”
“Yeah, me! I can do it, you know. I could make you come.”
A shiver forces its merry way down your spine at his words.
“You're really confident.”
“You haven't seen what I can do.”
Blushing hard, you attempt to control yourself. “Look, if we're going to do this, I need you to promise some things.”
“Ah, of course, you would have rules,” he grins, as he leans back and spreads in his seat, “continue.”
Searching your mind for a moment, you try to glean what you need.
“First of all, we need to be discreet, and professional at all times, clear?”
“As crystal,” he grins wolfishly, “anything else?”
“Yeah- I think,” you wrack your brains, trying to come up with something that would make this less intimate. Anything. But the roguish nature of his presence makes it hard to even think of a thing. Finally, your eyes widen at the idea that suddenly crosses your mind.
“Final rule. No kissing.”
He pouts, looking at your chest and back up, “no kissing anywhere?”
“N-no, no kissing on the mouth.”
Grin returning, he winks at you, a gesture that flips your stomach inside out.
“Kinky. Alright, deal,” he leans forward to give his hand to yours. A hand covered in ink and calluses. Roughness and tenderness.
You shake it.
********************
For the next couple of days, your little arrangement isn't brought up. A wild thought hammers itself into your mind; either he wasn't serious, or you imagined it.
Those theories are put to bed on day three.
After you let Mac know about the flyers and the bonus poster you designed, you sit back and enjoy the praise given to you. It's funny, the feeling of being told a job has been well done makes you happier than you care to admit.
Eddie turns up at the counter, whistling through his teeth. “Sweet looking flyers, how'd you swing those?”
“I designed them. I've got a degree in design and marketing, if you didn't know,” you sniff, rearranging the stationary on the counter to avoid his eyes.
“Maybe you could help me design some for my band. These look pretty metal.” He says, picking one up and looking at it closely.
“Maybe.”
Eddie leans in close, so close you feel the warmth of his breath on your cheek.
“If you're still up for our arrangement, I'm free tonight.”
Heat immediately flushes your face. Ignoring him entirely, you write your address and a time on a notepad, and thrust the paper into his hands.
“Covert, I like it. See you then princess.”
By the time 9pm rolls around you're a jittery mass of nerves, having changed clothes no less than four times, tidied your apartment, changed the bedsheets and paced so much you're surprised there's not a groove in the floorboards.
In the end you'd decided on a baggy band t-shirt and your sleep shorts. It was a rational calculation to make Eddie think you're just wearing what you usually would at home and therefore show you're not nervous. I mean, you are wearing what you'd usually wear at home. He didn't need to know about how long it took you to reach that decision.
The sound of the intercom buzzing sends your pulse into overdrive. Pressing the button, you let out a strangled “Hello?”
“Hey princess.”
“Come on up.”
Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck…
A soft knock at the door and you count to five, trying to remember how to breathe. When you open the door, you're stunned. He's leaning on the doorframe in a fucking button up shirt. It's black, and clings to him deliciously. His hair looks a little damp, loose around his shoulders, and his aftershave is making you feel dizzy.
“Oh, you didn't need- I mean-” you point at his shirt, and he looks down and chuckles.
“Just came from band practice. Took a shower, and this was clean,” he shrugs and shoulders into your apartment. “Nice place. Where's all your stuff?”
You look around at your sparse apartment. Everything in order, down to the fresh flowers on your tiny dining table.
“This is all my stuff,” you say, confused, “I don't like clutter.”
He chuckles, walking over to you. “No wonder I annoy you. I am clutter.”
He's close now, close enough so that you have to look up to see his face. His rough fingers ghost your arm, sending a wave of goosebumps over your skin.
“Nice seeing you in something casual. L7, right?” He asks, pointing at the t-shirt.
“Yeah, you know who they are?”
“I'm surprised you do. Thought you'd be a Mariah Carey kinda girl.”
You scrunch your face in distaste. “No, not at all. You don't know everything about me.”
He leans in, warm breath a whisper in your ear. “I know some things about you.”
Squirming hotly, you lead him to your room before you lose your nerve.
“So, the princess's bedchamber. It's nice,” he remarks, flopping down on the bed as if it were his own.
“Take your boots off,” you snip, folding your arms.
“Ah, there she is.” He smiles, but does as instructed. Once more he's laying back into your scattered pillows looking perfectly at ease. You, on the other hand, stand there, spine a vertical rod as you stare back at him.
“Come on then, sit down.”
Nervously you sit at the foot of the bed with your legs crossed.
“Now princess, what do you do when you touch yourself?”
Blushing furiously, you stammer out, “what, do you expect me to like, show you?”
He chuckles, diffusing some of the tension. “As much as I'd like that, I don't think you're ready for that kinda shit. Just tell me, what's your thought process?”
Staring at him for a little too long, you open your mouth and close it again. He rolls his eyes.
“Look, if you want me to help I'll help, but you gotta give me something here.” He looks as if he's about to get up and leave; your arm shoots out on its own accord, grabbing his leg to stop him.
“Sorry, sorry. I just, I've never spoken about this kinda stuff. I don't know about any process, I just… reach down and fiddle around?” You blush even more.
“So you don't like, watch anything? Or read anything?” He looks a little amused.
“What on earth are you talking about?”
“Porn, sweetheart.”
It's so blunt that you jump a little. “Oh no, I've never, oh no no.”
“Christ,” he whispers, “right, you can like, set the mood. Look at something to turn you on? It'd probably help you feel less awkward.”
“Oh. Right.”
“And do you ever just like, slouch? I feel like I'm back at school looking at ya.”
“Huh?”
“Just, come here.” He pats the little space between his spread legs and you hesitate for a second before you crawl over to him.
“How do you want me to sit, like cross legged or-”
He grabs your hips and spins you, forcing your back into his crotch.
“Stop trying to control every little thing,” he says in a hard tone, one you're too embarrassed to admit makes your insides tingle. Softer, he continues. “Look, if you're ever gonna get there you need to relax, stop trying to control it, and stop overthinking.”
“Great, all of the things I'm shit at.”
His laugh is loud, it vibrates into your spine. “I'll help you, OK? You trust me?”
“In a very limited sense of the word, yeah.”
“Lemme rephrase. You still OK to do this?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. Just relax.”
You're not sure what you are expecting, but it certainly isn't his hands winding into your hair, fingertips rubbing softly at your scalp. It shoots tingles down your spine, your entire head feeling fuzzy and warm.
You stifle a whimper, biting your lip. His fingers stop.
“If you want to make noises, you can. Tells me I'm doing a good job. That goes for everything else too, alright?”
“Alright.” You whisper.
“You comfortable?”
“Yeah it's just- well-”
“Tell me.”
“I think it's your shirt buttons, they're digging into my back a bit,” you admit, feeling the sharp points down your spine.
“Easily fixed.” He taps your arm and you lean forward. Some rustling, and he throws his shirt to the foot of your bed.
“Now just chill sweetheart.”
His fingers begin rubbing at you again, thumbs sinking low to pop at the bubbles in your neck.
“Fuck, that's really nice.”
He hums appreciatively, working his hands lower and dropping them to your shoulders. The massaging continues, and you feel yourself melting, your body moulding into his. Your legs, once ramrod straight, have bent a little and parted of their own accord, the muscles loosening. Even your breathing has slowed.
“That's better, atta girl,” he says and you whine at the words, a little pathetic mewling sound that tumbles past your lips.
“Oh, you like that, don't you?” The smile is evident in his voice, a smug tone smeared liberally across each word.
“You, you're so-” you begin, but his hand drags across the front of your shirt, just over the tops of your breasts.
“I'm so what?” He whispers in your ear.
“So, so arrogant,” you huff. He laughs, a husky chuckle, and dances the tips of his fingers over your clothed nipple. Gasping, you grasp at his thighs either side of you.
“Yeah? What else am I?” He says, nibbling at your earlobe.
“You- you're cocky, and- and self assured- Oh God!”
Rudely interrupted by him tweaking your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, you swear, back arching off of him for a moment.
“You know,” he says in a gravelly tone directly in your ear, “those are pretty much the same thing.”
“You drive me crazy,” you huff, squirming a little against him as his hands explore your chest over your shirt.
“Good crazy or bad crazy?” He smiles, then bites softly at your neck.
“I- I haven't decided yet.”
“Good. I can say the same about you,” he admits, his hands trailing lower, pulling your shirt up so he can stroke at your bare sides. The touch of fingertips on your skin sends a river of sensations through you that run deep into your core.
“Are you going to- what are you doing, exactly?” You breathe, starting to move against him.
“I'm warming you up sweetheart. Why, don't you like it?”
Genuinely curious, you try to ask what you want to know without using the words.
“N- no, I do. Do you have to, erm, get warmed up? When you, you know.”
He lets out a little huff of a laugh. “Guys are a little less… complicated, than girls. For the most part.”
“Oh. OK, so you can just. I mean, you just, get excited?” Your breathing becomes more ragged when the tip of his thumb grazes the underside of your breast.
“Sweetheart, I got hard seeing you in these little shorts.” Running a finger down your stomach, he lightly pings the elastic of your sleep shorts as if to accentuate his point.
“Really?”
There's no denying it when he moves his hips up and you feel his solid bulge press into the small of your back.
“Really. Can I take this off?” He asks, twisting the hem of your shirt in one hand.
“Yeah.” It's a whisper. You're a little scared of being bare chested, but not having to see his face helps. Plus, he's wound you up so much you're on the verge of begging for his touches, pleading for more.
He guides your top up, up, up, revealing you slowly. Coaxing it over your head, you move your arms up so he can remove it. It ends up in a heap on top of his shirt. One tattooed arm wraps around your waist, pulling you toward him more, his hardness pushing against your ass.
His breathing is unsteady as he grinds his hips, pushing onto you further. Gasping, your fingers are vices, firmly attached to his thighs in a vain attempt to anchor you.
Suddenly his hand is winding into your hair, tugging your head aside so he can run a fat tongue across your neck. You shudder at the sensation, feeling the hard ball of his tongue piercing against your throat When he takes his pillowy lips and sucks at the spot between your neck and shoulder a moan slips out. Grunting in approval, his hands are on your bare tits, fingers pinching at your hardened nipples.
“Holy hell!”
He laughs, running rough fingers down your body, circling your new ink, then dipping down past your waistband. Those tattooed fingers barely brush your pubic hair, teasing you, then glide back up to your stomach.
“Eddie, please.”
Your voice is small, not your own. Eddie groans low in your ear, rubbing his length into the fat of your ass.
“Fuck, princess, I like you saying my name like that. You want me to touch you right here?” he says, pressing down hard over your clothed clit.
The sheer relief of having his touch where you need it gets you close to tears; a gulping shudder of a sob rips from deep in your chest.
“See, you're not broken, sweetheart. Can I take these off?”
Shaking, you hook your fingers into your sleep shorts and pull them down your legs, air hitting your most intimate area. Eddie huffs in your ear, his inked hands rubbing up the insides of your thighs.
“You're so fuckin’ sexy.”
Before you can retort, his fingers dip down to your entrance, gathering your slick. You can hear how wet you are, but it's not in you to think about it. You can't think, only feel.
When his fingers run up and start rubbing circles into your clit, your response is visceral. Bucking up, you chase the feeling, searching for even more.
“I'm gonna slip a finger in, alright princess?”
You nod, waiting for the pain, wincing before it even starts.
“It's OK, you're fine, you gotta relax baby.” He strokes your stomach with his free hand, pressing kisses to your temple.
The tip of his finger breaches you, and the pain doesn't come. Your soaking wet cunt invites him in, warm and pulsing with arousal. He slips it into the hilt, his palm pressing into your clit, and your moan is long and loud. It's never felt like this. Never has it stoked a fire in your gut, bubbled your insides like pop rocks and Coke, turned you into a writhing mess.
He fucks his finger into you, slipping a second in to join the first, and you move your hips, chasing the building tightness in your belly. Each thrust of his hand has you bucking, and in turn rubbing against his member trapped within its denim prison.
“That's it, good fuckin’ girl.” His voice is strained, as if he's trying hard not to lose control.
“Eddie, oh fuck, f-feels so- good, yes, please, please-”
You're not sure what you're begging for, and Eddie doesn't seem to be in any state to ask, but it doesn't matter. His fingers fuck into you in earnest, stroking hard against some spot inside that has you babbling and quivering around him.
“God, you're so tight, this little cunts gonna drive me crazy. So wet and perfect, Jesus Christ.”
The feeling seems too much and not enough, and it grows higher and higher, flooding your body with a pleasure so intense you're sure you black out. The only thing you're aware of is your voice screaming out his name as your body thrusts wildly into his grip. Finally, it dissipates, your body melting against his form, sweating and spent.
You take a breath, and another, trying to gather your wits enough to speak. Eddie speaks first.
“So sweetheart, everything you dreamed it would be?” He asks as he strokes your hair.
“Better. Fuck, Eddie. Thank you.”
“Anytime. Seriously. Any. Time. Day, night, weekends, holidays-”
You giggle, slapping his thigh, and sit up, grabbing your discarded shirt to cover up.
“Sorry, that was probably a little er, frustrating for you.” You say as you glance at his bare torso, drinking in the sight with your eyes for the first time. He's lean, but ripped, a faint sheen of sweating making his tattoos glisten in the low light.
“What do you mean sweetheart?”
“Well, doing that, not getting anything in return...”
He chuckles lightly, “Oh I wouldn't say that,” he glances down, gesturing to his jeans, “full disclosure, I came in my pants.”
“Really?” your eyes widen, staring at him with disbelief.
“I ain't lying. Wanna check?” He waggles his eyebrows at you, making you laugh again.
“You seem better already. Right, I better go.”
Shoulders deflating, you pout, “I suppose you better.”
“Hey don't look at me like that. I hoped that helped. Sleep tight, drink some water. I'll see you tomorrow princess.”
And just like that, he leaves. Of course he leaves, it was just a deal you struck, nothing more. A favour. you wipe stray tears from your eyes and try not to focus on the sound of the front door shutting.
As you collapse on the bed, exhausted, you think about his hands, his words. There's something screaming inside, telling you you're playing with fire, but as you drift off you can't find it in you to mind.
Taglist
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#ms gexy writes#eddie munson smut#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson fanfic#eddie x you#tattoo artist eddie munson#tattoo artist!eddie#teach me/show me Eddie#eddie my beloved#eddie x fem reader
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16.01 & 16.02 spoilery thoughts
Mac and Dennis could’ve gotten together at the end of season 15 and the episodes would be the exact same because they’re acting like SUCH a couple
THEY SHARED A BED AND NEVER MADE A THING OF IT BECAUSE IT’S BECOME NORMAL FOR THEM AGAIN????
Mac is acting like a man in a relationship alright but only if Dennis is said boyfriend
Charlie gluing a pillow to the wall was such a weird sweet little polite thing I love how his idea of hosting is this and sharing his cat food
Frank WILLINGLY believed he was being put down like a dog and was all for it OH MY GOSH
these episodes are so so funny but also incredibly sad and I love how Sunny always does this balance so well. Charlie being afraid to sleep alone in the dark. Mac being afraid to talk when Mrs. Mac’s finger is up. THE LETTERS GETTING FLUSHED
Dennis and Dee pairing up to trick Frank oh I love the trash twins so much
just perfect perfect PERFECT and I wish we had more than 8 episodes but I cannot wait for the rest of the season I love our weird little show so much
#sunny season 16 spoilers#SPOILERS I’M SERIOUS#iasip#always Sunny#Sunny sweet 16#it’s always sunny in philadelphia#Mac McDonald#Dennis reynolds#dee reynolds#Charlie Kelly#Frank reynolds#macden#macdennis#season 16#s16#the gang inflates#Frank shoots every member of the gang#SEASON 16 IS SO GOOD#I LOVE MY EVIL LITTLE FOUND FAMILY SO MUCH
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If I Should Stay
Part 1 | . . . | Part 34 | Part 35 | Part 36
Eddie’s heart thumps oddly once again, this time because Steve had used his name. He’d already become used to Eds. He ignores it and spreads his hands. “I’m willing to accept whatever you’ll give me,” he says quietly. “I’m still groveling, here, I’m not exactly in a position to be making demands.”
Steve smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes, and Eddie hates it. “That’s the thing, though. It’s complicated. I don’t know how to define it.”
Eddie hums. “We’re slightly to the left of best friends.”
Steve snickers. “That’s pretty spot-on, actually.”
Eddie shrugs and grins, feeling oddly proud of himself for figuring it out and making Steve smile.
They stand in silence for a minute until Alli pops her head out of the kitchen. “Are you two gonna kiss again? Or is now a good time to offer food?”
Steve snorts and pitches forward to rest his forehead against Eddie’s shoulder. “Al, you’re awful.”
“You love me,” she responds immediately, grinning at Eddie.
Eddie grins back and pokes at Steve’s arm. “She’s offering us food, Stevie, I’m inclined to say yes.”
Steve chuckles before leaning back to smile at Eddie. “Yeah, alright,” he decides, “I could eat.”
Eddie reaches out, links their hands, silently offers Steve an out.
He doesn’t take it, instead grips Eddie’s hand more surely, and something in Eddie’s chest settles.
They walk into the kitchen, hand-in-hand, and Steve grins and shakes his head when Alli starts cooing at them. “Yeah, okay,” he says, then, seemingly out of nowhere, “Hey, you should invite Cassidy over soon.”
Eddie looks between the siblings as they have a silent conversation mostly consisting of eyebrows and head tilts that ends with Steve grinning and Alli shaking her head, trying to hide a smile. “So,” Steve says, “what did you make?”
Alli chuckles and hops up backwards onto the counter by the stove. “Mac and cheese.”
“Ooh,” Steve says, instantly intrigued. He lets go of Eddie’s hand to peer into the pot. “With the good cheese?”
“With the good cheese,” Alli agrees.
Steve whirls around to grin at Eddie. “You’re gonna love this,” he says, “Alli makes the best mac and cheese.”
Eddie grins. “I dunno, Stevie, I think my uncle’s boxed mac might have her beat.”
Steve laughs, shaking his head as he gets three bowls out. He tilts his head towards a drawer. “There’s forks in there, can you grab some?”
Eddie does so, and just as they’re finishing serving themselves, someone opens the front door.
“Steve?” A voice calls. “You home?”
Steve sighs and puts his bowl down. “The little shit,” he mutters, moving out into the living room. “Dustin, what are you doing here?”
The answer is too quiet for Eddie to hear, so he eats his food and eyes Steve’s bowl. Alli laughs at him. “Don’t even think about it,” she says seriously, “Steve’s fought me for less.” Eddie gives her his best innocent who, me? look, and she grins at him. “Oh, you’re gonna be trouble. I like you.”
His grin turns smaller, shyer. “Thank you for not kicking my ass on sight, earlier,” he murmurs.
She grins and nudges his shoulder with her fist. “Steve’s tough. He doesn’t need me to protect him.”
“Maybe,” Eddie says, “but it’s still nice to have someone in your corner.”
“Oh,” she murmurs suddenly. “I forgot.”
Eddie’s brow furrows. “Forgot what?”
“The stories. ‘Bout why you’re here, in Forest Hills, ‘stead of wherever he is.”
She says he in a way that Eddie knows she knows exactly what’s meant by those two little letters. He swallows a lump. “Yeah,” he murmurs back. “‘S why I know.”
She smiles at him. “Your… uncle, right?”
Eddie smiles back. “Yeah. Wayne. He’s… he’s pretty great.”
Alli rests a hip on the counter. “Tell me about him?”
Stomach full of food, safe and warm and happy in this house, with the sound of his maybe-boyfriend scolding his pseudo-younger brother in the other room, Eddie grins and hops up onto the counter. “Gladly.”
Towards the end of his story, Steve comes huffing into the kitchen, making a beeline for the phone. He punches a number in and waits. “Hi, Mrs. Buckley,” he says politely. “Is Robin home?” He listens for a moment, says, “Okay, thank you,” and hangs up, turning to Eddie. “What’s your number?”
Eddie blinks before grinning, and Steve good-naturedly rolls his eyes. “Not like that, you ass,” he chuckles. Eddie relents and rattles off the numbers, and Steve punches those in before waiting again. “Hi, Mr. Munson,” Steve says. Eddie mouths the words and makes a face, and Alli snorts at him. “Is Robin there still?” A pause, then, “Ah,” as his cheeks pinken. “Yes, sir. He did.” Another few seconds later, “Hey. The little shit found Dart.” He sighs and runs his hand through his hair. “That’s the thing, though, is it did help. He fuckin’ domesticated the thing.” A laugh, then, “well I’m not gonna tell him.” A squawk, “I am not his-” he cuts off abruptly and pulls the phone from his ear to frown at it. “She hung up on me!”
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#stranger things#if I should stay#steve harrington#eddie munson#steddie#robin buckley#platonic stobin#Allison Harrington#dustin henderson#*Spreads hands out* please accept this offering of the calm before the storm#starambles
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Beatles Books as vaguely defined friends and relatives at a party you attend with a new crush, whose name you keep mispronouncing.
The longer you stay, the more trouble you have remembering what the occasion was.
The lights keep changing. Shortly after you arrived, your crush shrunk to the size of a mouse, and scurried away. You’re on your own.
The Beatles (Bob Spitz) greets you, an attractive silver fox who seems to be shunned by most of the others. You wonder why. It’s as easy to imagine him as a crying wreck as it is to imagine him on a golf course. Here, There, and Everywhere (Geoff Emerick) disrupts your musings by pulling tapes from his mouth. Seeing your discomfort, he stops and hands you a photograph of John Lennon and Paul McCartney singing into the same microphone. As he does, his pupils take on the shape of hearts. Someone called George announces his intent to poison him.
Anthology (The Beatles) saunters in, puts eight arms around you, and promises to tell you the whole story. They proceed to speak in tongues, and throw popcorn at you. Stu Sutcliffe jumps from a pendant around their neck, lands on the floor, and scurries after your crush.
“It’s always like this,” says Body Count (Francie Schwartz). “I assume you don’t want to listen to my story about a gifted woman who got locked up for depression? That’s fine, I can also talk about frottage, and a certain man’s curves.”
“Oh, stop it,” says John (Cynthia Lennon). She turns to you. “My advice is: Turn around and run as fast as you can.” She demonstrates what she means by disappearing, leaving behind a purse filled with cheerful letters and drawings of herself getting married and giving birth. Everything smells of olive oil. Francie spots Loving John (May Pang), and rushes to her, greedy for gossip. Loving John (May Pang) is everyone’s favorite, because she doesn’t really know anyone very well, but she knows how to make everyone feel comfortable by saying things that make sense in the moment.
Living the Beatles Legend: The Mal Evans Story (Ken Womack) ends up taking her home; they both live at The Fringes. Her home is a little further than his, which is just this side of Weird whereas she’s all the way in Montauk, but he’ll make sure she gets there safely.
To make up for the disappearance of your crush, Remember (Mike McCartney) cuts your hair. Each snip of the scissors slots a black-and-white picture into your field of vision. Windows in time blow noise and heat in your face, and visions of a screaming band that looks a bit like the young Beatles. Then there’s the quiet heat of summer, towels rippling on the line, and a drain pipe screwed to the wall of a house. He talks about childhood, and you’re almost there, but you never will be, because he won’t let you in. His more verbose twin, The Macs (Mike McCartney), recites letters his brother and John wrote from Hamburg, but you can barely understand what he says, because he stuffed a tissue into his mouth.
“It’s only a story,” says The Lyrics (Paul McCartney). “Pleased to meet you. I’m a storyteller myself.” He sings a love song. “I must have thought about these things when I wrote it,” he muses. “Interesting. What a mind, as Linda used to say.”
He tears a few pages from a diary he kept in Paris in 1961 and hands them to you without comment.
At this point, the party is dissolving. Crocheted furniture floats away and stretches.
“Am I too late?” Skywriting by Word of Mouth (John Lennon) squeezes himself out of the lowest drawer of an antique desk, where, judging from by his crinkly pajamas, he slept. “I’m in pieces. Mend me with glue.”
“I will, I will!” Tune In—All These Years, Vol I (Mark Lewisohn) yells ecstatically. “I’m so glad you could make it Sit down with me and celebrate the heritage of Liverpool.”
Skywriting drapes himself around Tune In, who starts purring and rutting against him.
“Excuse me?” It’s The Fifth Beatle: The Brian Epstein Story (Vivek Tiwary), torero boots clicking on the invisible floor as he strides towards the couch. A spotlight follows him. “I’m managing this show, and I insist on expanding the scene.” Around them, a hotel room forms.
Skywriting lights a cigarette. “Join us in bed, Bri.”
“Yes,” moans Tune In. “I’m so lonely. I’m the oldest of a triplet, or so they say, but the other two haven’t been born yet.”
The Fifth Beatle sits down and observes the unhinged biography losing himself in the friction of rubbing against the shapeshifting Skywriting. Finally, things reach a conclusion.
“And so,” says The Fifth Beatle, “what partially was, finished.”
“Stop repeating lines from a bad movie, Brian," says Skywriting, "you’re better than that.”
As you try to plot ways to escape through the skylight, The McCartney Legacy, Vol 1 (Sinclair & Kozinn) slides out from under the bed, a broad-shouldered lady in a bright red dress. A half-hatched alien with long legs and sunglasses squirms between her breasts, and makes mouth percussion sounds.
“Gentlemen.” The McCartney Legacy retrieves a very, very long rosary from her pocket. “Is anyone interested in an exquisitely crafted, finely wrought chronology?”
At the sound of the word “chronology,” The Beatles (Hunter Davies) crashes through the ceiling.
“Don’t fall for it!” The Beatles snatches the vocalizing baby alien from The McCartney Legacy’s chest, and kills it by wringing its neck. “Time stopped in 1968. The only valid extension are my own salacious additions. Strictly off the record.”
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that,” says The Fifth Beatle.
You exchange a glance with Skywriting, who is plucking pieces of Tune In from his body like children snatch pieces of dough, and sticking them in his mouth.
A camera clicks.
“Excellent.”
The Eyes of the Storm (Paul McCartney) lowers the camera, and changes into a suntanned, gleaming likeness of George Harrison. Then he changes into a fish.
“Everyone looking at the pictures will think they know,” the fish says. “They’ll have no idea!”
The floor dissolves under you. You fall into a pool, just in time to save your crush from being sucked into the drain, and after a barely audible edit you find yourself back home, with no memories at all, the taste of chewing gum in your mouth, and wearing matching tops saying, I visited Fellini’s Satyricon, and all I got was this lousy t-shirt.
(ETA: I can't believe I forgot about Dreaming the Beatles (Rob Sheffield). I guess I'll have to include him in the inevitable sequel to this...thing, as the +1 of John and Paul: A Love Story in Songs (Ian Leslie).)
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Hi, I was wondering if you know what music John was a fan of in the late 70’s? I’m aware of him being excited about the B52’s, and I’m assuming he liked David Bowie and Elton John’s music in part because they were his friends in addition to obviously being talented. And I think I read once that Julian turned him onto Queen but tbh that may be me misremembering a fanfic lol I just wonder if there’s anything out there that describes what John’s music tastes was in those days or whether he preferred to stick with his favorite classics; early rock and roll, girl groups ect. Like what did he think about the punk scene in NY?? Or the close harmonies a la Fleetwood Mac that dominated the charts? Just things I think about haha.
Hi, thanks for the question. I know that I skipped through a book called John Lennon: 1980 playlist by Tim English before, that may be a good source for you.
Here's some random info, that I remembered where to look up.
I think Julian introducing John to Queen comes from the SPIN magazine interview in '75:
[Julian] likes Barry White and he likes Gilbert O’ Sullivan. He likes Queen, though I haven’t heard them yet. He turns me on to music.
I call him and he says, “Have you heard Queen?” and I say “No, what is it?” I’ve heard of them. I’ve seen the guy … the one who looks like Hitler playing a piano … Sparks? I’ve seen Sparks on American TV. So I call him and say, “Have you seen Sparks? Hitler on the piano?” and he says, “No. They are alright. But have you seen Queen?” and I say “What’s Queen?” and then he tells me. His age group is hipper to music … at 11 I was aware of music, but not too much.
But then there is also an anecdote, I think by Tony Barrow, that John didn't want to sign Queen to Apple years earlier? However that may be a lie, or John just didn't remember.
Yoko gifted John a jukebox for his birthday in '78 and apparently John filled it with the old music he liked. Elliott Mintz says there was quite some Bing Crosby. And I remember John also putting some new song by Dolly Parton in there.
"Yoko gave him this old-fashioned jukebox and John stocked it with Bing Crosby records. People kind of expected him to have rock 'n' roll records in there, but it was almost totally Crosby stuff. There were 3 songs which John played over and over. I still remember them. They were Crosby with a jazz quartet from the 50's, I think. He would banter and talk in the songs and John thought that was just the end. The songs were Whispering, I'm Gonna Sit Right Down and Write Myself a Letter and Dream a Little Dream of Me. Yeah, those were the songs, I can still see John listening to them." - Elliott Mintz
“The one modern song I remember him listening to was ‘The Tide Is High’ by Blondie, which he played constantly. When I hear that song, I see my father, unshaven, his hair pulled back into a ponytail, dancing to and fro in a worn-out pair of denim shorts, with me at his feet, trying my best to coordinate tiny limbs.” - Sean Lennon
One night we were playing at Max's (Kansas City) in New York City, and I was waiting for everyone to leave the club so I could go back in and pick up my gear. We were sitting in the van waiting and John Lennon and Ian Hunter from Mott the Hoople came staggering out and looked over. John Lennon saw it was me and stuck his head in the window. He was kind of drunk and stuck his face right against mine and went 'yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah' because he recognized it (Devo's song Uncontrollable Urge) as being an updating of She Loves You. That was one of my most exciting moments ever.
- Mark Mothersbaugh on John coming to a DEVO gig in '77
PB: John, what is your opinion of the newer waves?
Lennon: I love all this punky stuff. It's pure. I'm not, however, crazy about the people that destroy themselves.
Playboy interview, 1980
I like pop records. I like Olivia Newton-John singing "Magic" and Donna Summer whatever the hell she'll be singing. I like ELO singing "All over the World". I can dissect it and criticize it with any critic in the business...But without any thought I enjoy it! That's the kind of music I like to hear. - John
John Lennon raced into Yoko Ono’s home office in the mammoth old Dakota building with a copy of Donna Summer’s new single, “The Wanderer.” “Listen!” he shouted to us as he put the 45 on the record player. “She’s doing Elvis!” I didn’t know what he was talking about at first. The arrangement felt more like rock than the singer’s usual electro-disco approach, but the opening vocal sure sounded like Donna Summer to me. Midway through the song, however, her voice shifted into the playful, hiccuping style Elvis had used on so many of his early recordings.
“See! See!” John shouted, pointing at the speakers.
The record was John’s way of saying hello again after five years.
[...]
It was just weeks before his death in December of 1980, and his playing the Summer record was an endearing greeting -- and one that was typical of John. Of the hundreds of musicians I’ve met, John was among the most down-to-earth.
Corn Flakes with John Lennon (And Other Tales From a Rock ‘n’ Roll Life) by Robert Hilburn
"I'm aware of ... Madness. "Don't do that. Do this." (As on the spoken word intro to "One Step Beyond".) I think that is the most original thing actually because it's so peculiar. ... Out of all that mob I think that was one of the most original sounds. Very good drumming, very good bass and all of that."
Andy Peebles interview
And things I don't have quotes for right now:
I remember Bob Gruen had given John some video compilation of punk bands, that John enjoyed watching.
In one of the last interviews John said Hungry Heart by Bruce Springsteen was a great song.
There are the albums John asked Fred Seaman to buy on his shopping lists. Some are printed in The John Lennon Letters (Though I'm not sure that means he liked them, but at least was interested in.)
Lot's of Bob Dylan talk in the diaries and parodies.
Many anecdotes about reggae bands.
In the Double Fantasy studio recording John references quite some songs and artists, when he tells the musicians what they are aiming for in the songs.
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What are the top 3 embarrassing moments for Wukong and Macaque whenever they are trying to impress Na? Like you're trying to impress someone, and it does not turn out the way you wanted, like you trip, or stub your toe.
And that person thinks it's cute and will bring it up casually, and your face just gets all sorts of red.
HEHE this got me thinkin of some goofy scenarios
Yknow when Wukong sent that letter to MK, and its was really scratchy and probably had a bunch of spelling errors... I would imagine that he was trying to write her a love letter and Na couldn't make out what he was trying to say and took it to MK to try and decipher. And at the end, she gets embarrassed cause he wrote really corny things to his lovebird and MK has to sit there reading it out loud. Na telling Wukong about the debacle and getting really red from embarrassment
From Macaque it's probably something that he drew, and knowing Na and how often she draws tries to impress her with something. He really thought he ate up that drawing. Na involuntarily gave a little chuckle at how cute this probably looks, Mac getting a lil conscious if this was a good reaction or not. Na seeing how flushed he's getting, she reassures him that she loves the drawing and, all is well. (yall know that video that's like "I sat here and posed for 10 minutes, lemmie see the product", this is the same energy)
A last one, maybe both of the boys are like racing to see who can get to Na first, winner gets to have her for the rest of the day. Both are neck n neck, so very close to her, lots of shoving and pulling. Right as they are about to reach out to her, they get caught in each other's capes and they both tumble right in front of her. Na begins to scold them like an angry mother, telling them not to run indoors. Both are sitting there embarrassed, exchanging a few glares at each other. No one won that day.
#no doodles for this one ;;#but this was fun practice for writing things out#asks#lmk#lmk oc#na que yang#lmk monkey king#lmk sun wukong#lmk macaque#lmk six eared macaque
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okay I've finally figured out the prompt situation 😅
congrats on 800 followers and here's to many more to come!!
for the event, could I get a drabble of diluc with the prompts …you realize that you long to see them again and “i’ve been afraid of changing because I’ve built my life around you" (landslide by fleetwood mac) ? diluc's pov if it's not too much to ask for?
congrats again 👍 you are so cool
ok jack. jack remember ily thank you for the notes (this broke my heart)
Coming Home
Character: Diluc Ragnvindr
Warnings: reverse hurt/comfort, a lot of diluc backstory that may not be 100% accurate but I'm p sure I got it
Notes: ok so. The “moment” hit already and he’s home yada yada yada im not following the prompt what else is new /hj I TRIED ok. not proofread I'm sorry
gn reader
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800 event (please join)
It was a long walk home.
The time without you was terrifying. He insisted he needed time away, time to think—to be angry, to grieve, to process it all—without the fear of lashing out on you.
His father passed due to the Fatui’s traps and Delusions and went on a rampage through the country. He couldn’t hold still, he couldn’t think, and you didn’t deserve to be around him and deal with the results of something that wasn’t your problem.
Despite how much he still believed all that, he knew he couldn’t run forever.
He hesitated for a long moment but decided to ring the doorbell. He rocked back and forth on his heels, waiting anxiously for the door to open. When it opened, he gave a small, awkward wave to Adelinde.
Her mouth opened slightly as she struggled to put the words together to speak. “Master Diluc—“
He shook his head. “Please, just….can I come in?”
She put on her best face, taking a moment to steady herself. “Of course. The winery will always have a place for you.”
He followed her a few feet in the doorway when he heard another voice from the top of the stairs.
“Adelinde? Who is it?” you asked, followed by a quiet gasp.
Diluc, using every ounce of strength he could muster in his mind, raised his head to look at you. He didn’t deserve to see you—he didn’t deserve you—but he had to know you were okay.
The next thing he knew, you ran down the stairs to him and jumped into his arms. He tried to cover his groan of pain with a cough—he had more injuries than he thought, initially—but wrapped his arms tightly around you. You were here, in his arms again. It was everything he’d wished he could be selfish and have for years before he had you, and everything he’d dreamed about in the time he spent away.
“Diluc,” you said in a hushed voice, pulling away enough to look at him.
That look said everything. He knew he’d broken your trust, he knew you were upset. If you’d left on a rampage for several weeks to a foreign country and just left a note and occasionally sent letters home, he would be angry too. It wasn’t fair to you, and he knew that.
“Go get a shower, darling. You smell like the woods.”
He smiled. Genuinely, actually smiled for the first time in ages. You always managed to pick him up whenever anything was wrong, usually with an ill-timed joke or comforting words. Usually both. He nodded and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Thank you,” he muttered, not entirely sure how much he was thanking you for.
Later that evening, after a shower, a proper meal, and Adelinde insisting on helping bandage him up, he made his way to the bedroom you shared before he left. In the time he was still in Mondstadt, he didn’t have the heart to go through his father’s things in the master bedroom.
He knocked quietly and entered, unsure if you were asleep. He knew it was late when he arrived home and even later now that he’d settled in. It was nice to wear the soft, clean clothes Adelinde prepared for him after nearly wrapping him head to toe in bandages.
You were reading, simply lounging in bed. He stood by the door, tense and unsure of what was going to happen from here. He was home, you seemed happy to see him, but he knew you had to be upset. It was completely justified, he knew that it wasn’t fair for him to up and leave like that.
“I-”
“Don’t,” you said softly, closing the book and setting it on the nightstand next to you. Your voice wasn’t cold or harsh by any means—you were calm. And when you looked at him, he only saw his beautiful lover that had always stood by him, no matter if he was in an argument with his immature brother or was injured fighting off hillychurls. Maybe this wouldn’t be much different.
You held your arms out for him and he hesitated. Would you really want to hold him, after everything he did? Everything you didn’t even know he did?
But your eyes silently pleaded with him, so he laid next to you. Immediately, he felt your arms gingerly around him, brushing over the bandages and minimal amount of bare skin between them. He melted into you, having kept himself from that kind of love for so long—he didn't realize how much he missed you until he was there with you again.
Silently, the tears poured from his eyes. His breath shook and he buried his face in your shoulder. As gently as possible, he felt your hands brush through his slightly-damp hair, brushing pieces out of his face and running over his head soothingly.
“It’s alright,” you mutter, kissing the top of his head.
“It’s not,” he tries to argue, realizing very quickly how quickly the exhaustion was hitting him. “I’m–I’m so sorry—”
You hush him gently, tilting his head to look at you. “Diluc, we don’t have to talk tonight. You’re home, you’re safe. That’s all that matters to me—but you’re exhausted. I can see it in your eyes. We can talk tomorrow. For now, sleep. It’s late.”
He took a deep, shaky breath and nodded. “I love you,” he muttered.
It took a long time for his mind to shut down. He couldn’t stop thinking—there was so much he felt like he had to explain. So much had happened, he’d missed so much since he was home. But he was home now, and he guessed that was the important part. After what felt like ages, he let himself relax against you and eventually fell asleep, enjoying the feeling of you running your hands through his hair. In a world where he now didn’t have anyone, and he didn’t know who he could or couldn’t trust, he knew he had you, at least in this moment.
~~
Well, I’ve been afraid of changing
‘Cause I built my life around you
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Alive
pairing: Johanna Mason x fem!reader
summary: Maybe, just maybe, being alive has its perks.
warnings: mentions of ptsd, trauma, panic attacks
District 7 slowly was coming alive—people returned to their work, children started roaming the streets again, and even the forest gradually became green. It seemed like the only one to stay grieving was Johanna. She never thought she was going to get better; the wounds were deeply engraved in her mind. But time passed, and they turned into annoying scratches—almost healed but still bleeding.
She had a new house now—the one the government gave her. Its bricked walls weren't overly hospitable, but Johanna had seen far worse than that. The house wasn't big, but it was close to the market and, more importantly, the hospital, so Johanna was fine with it. Here, her cherished isolation was disrupted by only one human being.
Mac was the loudest child Johanna had ever met. The boy, who was not older than ten, lived two houses away. On a mostly calm street, he raised hell every day with his old red bike. Sure, the little devil helped the old Ms. Lane get the milk from the market or get the letter to the post office quickly, but something about his loud laughter in the evening annoyed Johanna to no end.
Not Y/N, though. Johanna wondered how such vastly different people could live under the same roof. Ms. Lane called her ''Lovely Y/N'' and Johanna had to agree with the old lady for once. Y/N worked as a nurse; Johanna often saw her in the white halls of the hospital. She was just what Johanna loved about her District the most: someone with a big heart and working hands.
This type of people sang old songs in pubs after a day in the sawmill or chatted with their neighbours over a cup of tea on Sunday afternoons. The people Johanna remembered from her childhood, the people her parents and brothers once were. Y/N was just the type—she smiled more often than she frowned and laughed more than she argued.
It seemed distant to Johanna, like a tune she'd heard before but couldn't recall the words of. She doesn't belong among those people anymore. Not after all she went through. And every time Y/N appeared on the porch of Johanna's house with a warm smile, Johanna was reminded of that.
"Good evening, Miss Mason."
Y/N stands in front of her once again. She came right after work, a worn bag over her shoulder, a deep blue coat a size larger, hurriedly buttoned up. The little devil is also here; now, the boy shyly hides behind the woman, hiding his gaze.
''My name is Johanna.'' she clears. Johanna hates that she can't hold a civil conversation for once; her words definitely didn't sound polite.
''Yes, sorry. Johanna, I am so sorry about your flowerpot. Mac?"
''I'm sorry, Miss Johanna. It won't happen again.'' the boy mumbles, his head bowed in deep shame.
Oh, yes. This dumbass broke a flowerpot with his annoying ball this afternoon. To be fair, Johanna couldn't care less about that thing; it was empty anyway. Besides, she had a stupid habit of breaking everything in her house when angry, so sooner or later, the flowerpot would meet its fate.
''Don't worry about it,'' she mumbles, almost embarrassed to see Y/N's warm smile appear on her tired face once again.
''I thought we should buy you a new one, but I didn't know which one to choose. How about we go to the market on Sunday together, and I'll buy the one you want?''
Johanna freezes. The idea of going to the market on Sunday terrifies her. Then, most of the District gathers there. But if she doesn't agree, Y/N will think she hates her. Johanna can't allow it—the nurse is the only thing close to a friend that she has. Mason can't help but think how damn stupid it is not to be able to buy herself a pot. So, the choice is obvious.
''Sounds good!'' Johanna squeezes out. Her voice is harsh, but Y/N still nods.
''Great! At the corner at ten then.''
-
Y/N is already there when Johanna comes, and Mason feels at ease, distracted from anxious thoughts by a pleasant conversation. That is until they enter the square. It is noisy and too fast for her to keep up, and Johanna almost thinks of running away, but Y/N places a hand on her back.
''First, let's look at Greg's. They changed the aisle; it is closer to vegetables now.''
Johanna might feel like throwing up, but she still got her stupid pot and made Y/N laugh a couple of times, so, in her book, it is a win. Y/N seems to think so too. She takes two pieces of candy out of the bag.
''Would you like some? I stole it from Mac.''
''Do I look like a kid to you?'' Johanna resents.
She still takes it, of course. It's chocolate, for God's sake.
-
It is Friday; Y/N's shift ends fifteen minutes after Johanna's appointment with the doctor, so they walk home together. Y/N says she doesn't like walking alone, and Johanna almost believes her; after each session with a doctor, Mason leaves the room with bloodshot eyes. Of course, Y/N notices them too.
Johanna waits for her near a small shop on the corner, as she usually does. What is unusual are a few wet patches on the pavement. Johanna feels her heart drop. Its racing beat rings loud in her ears. Suddenly, the air doesn't want to enter her lungs anymore; Johanna grasps it again and again, feeling her knees weaken. Water drops had already found her head and shoulders, each one burning her skin.
That's how she is going to die, she thinks. The water slowly covers small holes in the road; Johanna's hands begin to tremble, chills covering them. She already can't feel her legs. Water, then electricity. Snow fucking got her. She can't escape him.
A pair of colorful shoes blocks the view of the road. Then, concerned eyes appeared in front of Johanna's. It's Y/N, Mason thinks; her figure is a slight blur. She says something, but it is quite hard to understand—the water is pouring down her face.
Johanna shakes her head. "I don't," she stutters, "I can't."
She loses Y/N's face again but feels her presence near. The woman places something cold in Johanna's hands, her voice ringing loudly in Mason's head.
"Breathe.''
And she does. In and out, in and out, until her vision isn't so clouded anymore and she can finally feel her sore legs. The rain doesn't stop, but it doesn't hit her anymore. Y/N is sitting beside her, holding an umbrella.
''Can you walk?'' she asks, her hair and clothes soaked.
Johanna only nods, feeling the usual sleepiness returning.
''Let's get you out of here then.''
-
Johanna sits on the old chair in the smallest kitchen she has ever seen. They are at Y/N's house. She is in a horrendous dress that Y/N made her change into; she can't remember the last time she wore one.
The owner of the house, if you could call it that, was nowhere to be found. Y/N claimed to go searching for the blanket, but it was highly suspicious—the house was too small for anything to get lost. Johanna wonders if she is calling the doctors now, or hiding in the bathroom with a knife in her trembling hands—the thought brings a smile to her face.
Still, she is not alone in the room—a pair of curious eyes watch her very carefully.
''Are you going to hide there all day?" she asks, annoyed.
The little devil leaves his not-so-well-thought-out hiding spot with a loud sigh. ''Y/N told me to leave you alone,'' he reveals. ''But you are at my house, so...''
The boy looks very confident in himself. He grabs a pear from the nearest bowl and slides onto the chair next to her. ''Why are you here?''
Johanna eyes him up and down. ''Your mom dragged me here, and I didn't have the heart to argue with such a beauty'', she shrugs.
''Mum?'' he exclaims, making a disgusted face. ''Ew! Y/N is my sister, you moron!''
''MAC!'' Y/N roars, returning to the room with a spare blanket. ''What did I say just two minutes ago?''
The boy rolls his eyes. ''Don't bother the guest.''
''And?'' Y/N looks at him sternly.
"And don't you fucking swear." Mac grins, stealing one more pear from the bowl before dodging the rag thrown at him.
Johanna snorts. "A lovely kid you have here."
Y/N sighs. ''He's a pain in the ass sometimes. But I can't really blame him. ''
Mason watches the woman place a kettle on the stove. She changed her wet clothes, but her hair is still damp. Y/N looks relaxed like this, even with a near maniac in her kitchen.
''Why are you raising him?'' Johanna looks at her curiously.
''Well, my parents were executed for supporting the rebellion. So there was not much of a choice.''
''I'm sorry.'' Johanna frowns.
She never thought about how much the revolution affected the people around her. Sure, the District was burned and bombed, but how many people lost their families as Y/N did? Like she did years ago?
''I like to think they were happy to die fighting.'' Y/N watches the droplet of water hit the window. ''You can stay for the night. I am leaving early, but Mac will be home.''
Johanna wants to argue, but frankly, Y/N is right. She can't even bring herself to look at the rain, let alone set foot outside.
''Thank you.''
Y/N nods. She doesn't talk anymore, deep in her thoughts. Johanna wonders what she has also missed.
''I had brothers too, you know. Two. Snow killed them after I won.'' Johanna bites her cheek, feeling her eyes water.
She had never told anyone before. None of the survivors
know where her family is, except for the doctor, but it wasn't really her choice to tell him.
''I miss them.''
''I do too.'' Y/N's eyes mirror hers - something in them makes Johanna's heart squeeze. ''Sometimes I think it should've been me. Mac would've been much happier without a sister than without parents.''
''Don't say that.'' Johanna scowls. ''You help a lot of people.''
Y/N chuckles. ''I don't do much. I am not a doctor.''
It's not what she meant, Johanna thinks but keeps her mouth shut. What did she mean by that anyway?
-
Johanna cleans for the first time in forever. It's refreshing, although she will never admit it. The weather is pleasant enough to keep the windows open, and Johanna thinks the sky is finally starting to clear. That's when she hears loud bangs on the door. There is only one person who knocks this loudly.
''What do you want, Mac?'' she asks, opening the door only to find a boy completely out of breath.
''Miss Mason, Y/N wondered if you could help us chop the wood?''
Johanna frowns. ''Is this why you were running here?''
''Yes.'' the boy nods.
Something doesn't add up, but Johanna has absolutely no wish to dig deeper; it's easier to say when Mac doesn't have something going on.
''Well, let me grab my axe.''
Johanna doesn't understand why the little devil keeps rushing her. Their house seems fine, with no fire or explosion in sight. When they approach, however, Johanna hears a familiar voice speak louder than usual.
''Mister Pitforest, I'm afraid I can't. I am working at that hour.''
''Oh, Y/N. Are you going to deny me the pleasure of your company? You know, my darling, it gets lonely these days without someone by my side.''
''I am very sorry to hear that, but I have to put food on the table.''
''Sweetheart, you don't have to worry about that. I will take good care of you and your brother—that's what old friends are for, right? So, what do you say?''
Johanna watches Mac's hands turn into fists when the man touches Y/N's shoulder. He is at least twice her age, if not older, and she is clearly uneasy.
''I believe she said no.''
Y/N turns to her, surprised. Johanna knows she probably looks like a mad woman with an axe in her hand and Mac hiding behind her. The axe feels natural in her grip - she still remembers how to use it properly.
''Y/N, don't tell me you know '', he motions toward Johanna, "her.''
''I do. Is there a problem?'' Y/N's face is stone cold, and Johanna can't help but think it was much more intimidating than a weapon in her hands.
''A problem? Y/N, she is a child killer! What would your poor father say to that?''
''And what would my father say to his friend trying to sleep with his daughter?"
The man's face grows red. ''I was trying to help you, ungrateful bitch.''
''One more word,'' Johanna warns.
The man throws a glance at her axe before quickly getting into the car. He is rich, Johanna thinks—not a lot of people can afford cars here. She watches the auto disappear in the next turn before turning to Y/N.
''You should've told me he was bothering you sooner.''
''He was a family friend.'' She shrugs. ''And a dick, apparently.''
Johanna chuckles. ''So, where's the wood?''
Y/N looks at her, confused. ''In the forest, I assume?''
''Mac told me you need help cutting it.''
Y/N laughs. ''That little shit.''
Johanna can't help but notice how pretty she looks like that.
''You don't look bad yourself, with an axe and everything. It suits you.''
Mason feels her legs take a step closer to Y/N, their eyes meeting.
''Can I?'' she asks, but Y/N is quicker; she presses her lips to hers.
It's calm. For the first time in years, Johanna feels calm. They pull away after a few moments, Y/N's arms still intertwined with hers—the one without an axe, of course.
''I haven't been hugged in years,'' Johanna admits.
''Well, that should feel nice then.''
They stay like this, just holding each other - as much as Johanna doesn't want to admit it, it does feel nice.
''Are you finished eating each other's faces?'' Mac asks, his eyes purposefully shut.
Johanna feels Y/N giggle in her chest. ''Tell him he has five seconds to run as far as he can.''
She smiles too, watching the boy vanish into the house. Maybe, just maybe, being alive has its perks.
#johanna mason#johanna mason x reader#johanna mason x you#johanna mason x y/n#thg#hunger games#wlw#imagine#ilovejohannasomuchandiwanthertobehappyforonce
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need to talk about the scene in the gang goes to hell where mac finds out dennis has been hiding his dad's letters to him. need to talk about how this is dennis' whole issue. he's overly controlling but he thinks its for the best. also need to talk about dennis reading loveless letters from mac's dad and knowing that luther is just trying to manipulate mac into dealing him drugs because dennis KNOWS what manipulation looks like. luther really did not love him. dennis couldn't bare to see mac knowing that or bare to see mac fall for it. this is dennis' whole problem; his way of showing he cares about mac is to lie to him.
and the great tragedy of that scene is that dennis shouldn't have withheld the letters. but mac is wrong when he says 'i could've had a relationship with my dad.' or at least to an extent. because luther wasn't writing him because he wanted to talk to him; he was writing him to try to get him to do things for him. and lets be honest, mac probably would've done them. dennis couldn't watch that.
#woah macden takes again???#am i finally back with these????#iasip#macdennis#dennis reynolds#ronald “mac” macdonald
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na jaemin / requested by @baecobies [see notes below] | 🎧 inspired by bubble gum clairo
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“jaemin, too dark in here.”
jaemin never liked fluorescent lights attached to ceilings. the only thing that is keeping you from seeing his almost silhouette figure is the little lamp just above his bed’s frame… and his desktop monitor.
“you see me though.”
“barely.” you huffed. you rose from his bed and looked for the switch. you flicked it on, and you see his hair, all-disheveled, and so is his bedsheet. his eyebrows furrowed. he grunted as he attempts blocking the blinding light with his pillow.
“such a baby.”
“turn it off!”
“fine!”
you went back to his bed. you have never slept in jaemin’s bed before. you understand that some people, no matter how you are close or too close with them, still have boundaries. so when he invited you to come over for a film night, you didn’t bring extra clothes to sleep in. he always book you an uber or accompany you to come home even though it takes an hour or two to get there.
instead, you’re sitting on his bed, wearing one of his flimsy, outgrown pairs of shorts and his black oversized shirt. he said you should just sleep in. your back is laid against the bed frame which is well, comfortable, but jaemin seems more comfortable laying down with his long legs all over the place.
“wanna order food?” you asked.
“mmh.”
“what do you want?”
“up to you”, he said, almost inaudible.
“here we go again…” you sighed.
but jaemin got up, put his arms around you, and rested his chin on your shoulder, his lips almost grazing your neck. he scrolled through the phone that you’re still holding. you can smell him so sweetly and you didn’t know why but you kind of leaned your head against the top of his head. he made a few clicks ordering a big mac and sprite then he was back in his laying position.
you tried ignoring the butterflies in your chest.
because jaemin has always been like that anyway.
then jaemin shuffled and shifted until his hands could reach your elbow. he poked it but you ignored it just for fun. then he started to somehow… becoming insistent.
he poked a little more until you said, “what?”
jaemin patted his bed.
you stared at him.
he patted it more.
“you want me to… lay down?”
he nodded.
“with you?”
he nodded once more like a kindergartener who was asked if he wanted ice cream after a fun day at daycare.
“sure? i mean, you never allowed me in your room before and-”
jaemin patted it again but almost too audible now.
“okay! okay!”
so you surrendered. and you wouldn’t lie and say this wasn’t much and more comfortable. jaemin laid down behind you where he could almost hover over your body frame. but your position is focused in front of his desktop playing anne hathaway’s one day.
the film is great, by the way. it's one of his favorites. he played this because you said you wanted to see it, too. but with jaemin laying down beside you, he couldn’t help but keep his hands off you. so he trailed his fingers on your back, drawing random lines and incoherent figures. you chuckled and tried swatting his hand away but he knows it was soothing you and eventually, you leaned into his touch that slowly cooed you to sleep.
and when he tilted his head to check that slumber has finally visited you, he spelled “i love you” on your back, fingers grazing so deliberately, so slowly because he meant every letter that formed the sentence his voice could never sing, and kissed the crown of your head.
then the doorbell rang and you were startled in your sleep.
you clumsily got out of his bed but he managed to catch your wrist to stop you. you looked at him looking at you, smiling.
still holding you, he rose from his position. he kind of pinched your skin, not too tightly, but it was a nod, an assurance that he got it. he let you go and answered the door.
jaemin was never good with words anyway.
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thank you, @baecobies, for requesting! i've always wanted to do a jaemin oneshot omg (and yes, this vlog still lives in my head rent free. he looks so cuddly)!
prompt/request reveal:
hi, idk if you're still open for request but i was thinking if its possible for u to write a jeno/jaemin/mark (any of the three, i don't mind) short fic :D i don't really have any trope in mind but please just something! anything! hahaha byeee
#nct angst#nct fluff#nct drabble#nct scenarios#nct smut#nct oneshot#nct imagine#nct fic#nct fanfic#nct x reader#nct x y/n#nct x gender neutral reader#nct x you#nct dream angst#nct dream#nct#nct dream fluff#nct dream scenarios#nct dream oneshot#nct dream drabble#nct dream x y/n#nct dream x you#nct dream x reader#nct dream x gender neutral reader#na jaemin#na jaemin angst#na jaemin au#na jaemin fluff#na jaemin drabbles#na jaemin imagine
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So what if MK gets transported to a world where Wukong was never trapped under the mountain or went on a journey to the west?
During the havoc in heaven, Wukong successfully overthrew the Jade Emperor and now rules the celestial realm with an iron fist
Wukong in this universe is more bloodthirsty and doesn't hesitate to use violence or straight up murder someone
Wukong and Macaque are married in this universe since they never fully had their big fallout
Both Mac and Wukong live in FFM but Wukong has his godly ruler duties to attend so he leaves Macaque with the responsibility of ruling the mountain during his absence
MK, upon landing in this new world, accidentally bumps into Red Son at a market place and hugs him cuz he doesn't know where everyone is and is glad to see a familiar face
Of course Red Son gets hella pissed because how dare this peasant touch him like they're acquaintances
So Red Son tries to kill MK, but is shocked when MK not only evades Red Son but manages to land some blows (not hard enough to leave broken bones, but some light bruising)
"Red, please! I don't want to hurt you!"
Red Son just attacks even harder and faster
In desperation, MK summons his staff and pins Red Son to the ground. MK lifts the staff and Red thinks this is the end for him but then hears a loud crash right beside his head
"you're lucky I was holding back"
"...you were holding back?"
"Duh. Now I'm gonna get off, but you have to promise to not murder me, ok?"
Red Son nods, still in shock
But now, there are whispers of the staff that MK is holding (and it looks very identical to the staff that the Great Sage Ruler of Heaven has)
To make matters even worse, a lot of demons are now mistaking MK as Wukong's heir (due to the staff) despite never seeing or hearing about a monkey prince
Regardless, Red Son falls in love through the sheer show of power and the fact MK was holding back
Red Son has the great idea of courting this idiot so he kidnaps MK and takes him to the palace
Upon kidnapping MK, who's screaming and kicking as he's tied down with magical ropes, Red Son's parents immediately sees the very same essence and magic that Wukong has in MK
So PIF sends a letter to Wukong to inform him about his "cub"
Red Son tells his parents that he's gonna court MK
PIF: "Darling, you do realize you're already engaged?"
"You're engaged?!"
"That's besides the point. Me and the dragon girl already talked about this and it's fine between us."
"dragon gir- MEI? YOU'RE MARRIED TO MEI?"
"engaged, but I've already settled on courting you"
Both Mac and Wukong finally arrive at DBK's palace
DBK, pushing MK towards Wukong: "brother I believe we found your cub"
Swk: "...cub?"
Mac, puts a hand on MK's shoulder: "ah bud, so this is where you've been. You gave me and your baba quite the scare."
"What- baba-?"
"You see, we've been keeping our cub a secret 'cause peaches here is too paranoid. Trained him ourselves as you can tell"
PIF: "well you should've told us sooner, Mihou. We could've arranged a marriage between our children. My darling here is already smitten."
Wukong: isn't your kid already engaged?
PIF: you can't really stop love, can you? Great Sage?
Mac tries to grab for MK and drag him back to their palace but Red Son stops him by grabbing MK's other hand
"I'm courting MK. He stays with me."
"Little prince, you'll get your chance with our cub but first we need to...talk to him. It's his first time outside our territory so we're just gonna establish some rules."
Anyways, I have a lot of things planned for this au but I'm not sure how to exactly write it but let me know what y'all think!
#shadowpeach#spicynoodleshipping#lego monkie kid#lmk#the sundown era#yup that's the name for this au
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It's Only Fair
Pairing: MacGyver x Reader
Warnings: nothing but fluff
Summary: There is a new mailman that keeps switching up you and your neighbor, Macgyver's mail.
word count: 600+
a/n: this is my very first, very short, Macgyver imagine I ever wrote. I’m in the process of moving some of them from my original wattpad to here, to find a broader audience. I hope you enjoy x I know it’s not very good, I was seventeen when I wrote it
Masterlist
The cool breeze from outside drifted in the house and gave it a light glow. The weather had been absolutely gorgeous the past few days, warm with a light breeze paired with it. It was what caused you to open all the windows and allow it to flood the home. With the day off from work you spent your time in the kitchen, enjoying the breeze, and baking for what felt like the first time in months. Just as you started pulling out some cookies from the oven the doorbell sounded throughout the house.
"Come in!" you called out as you shut the oven with your foot and started to walk towards the opposing counter to set the trays down.
"Wow it smells great in here" you looked up to spot your blonde neighbor standing in the entry way of the kitchen, holding up a stack of mail. "The new guy gave me your mail again"
"I think he's doing it on purpose now" you chuckled and he smiled and nodded as he walked further in and set it on the counter. You quickly removed the oven mitts and grabbed the stack.
"Well that or he really has no clue he's mixing it up" Mac suggested and you nodded as you shuffled through some bills which honestly could've stayed at his house.
"Well we can't totally complain. We've lived next to each other for years and I finally know your name from the amount of times I've received your letters" Mac laughed at the comment as you set the mail down.
"Yeah I definitely can't complain" Mac's gaze hardened on you and you struggled to keep your composure. The suggestive look in his ocean blue eyes made your skin crawl.
"Would you like some cookies. I've been bored baking all day and I think I should start offering before I gain five pounds" you moved over towards the cookies to distract yourself from the close proximity between you and the oddly handsome neighbor.
"Bored baking?" Mac questioned as he leaned against the counter. You shrugged as you started to cool one off to hand to him.
"It’s a thing, trust me. It keeps me occupied" you said handing the now cooled and gooey cookie to the boy, he rose his eyebrows as he grabbed it from your hand. Slowly he took a bite out of it and then smiled. "What?"
"Nothing it's just this cookie is really good. Better than Bozer's but don't tell him I said that" you chuckled and grabbed one for yourself as he finished his.
"Well then I guess I did something right?" Mac brushed his hands on his pants and stared at the gorgeous girl beside him and he wondered how he had never noticed you before. If he was being completely honest, two weeks ago he practically camped out on his front porch to corner the new mail man and tell him to keep mixing up your mail. It was the perfect excuse to keep coming over and seeing you.
"Well now that you've let me try one of your delicious cookies how about you try one of my delicious dinners?" your eyes widened as you looked up at the boy. He offered a small smile, the dimple in his left cheek catching your attention.
"And what makes them so delicious?" a smirk graced your lips as you looked up to him and he chuckled softly.
"I have a secret weapon named Bozer" a large laugh fell past your lips at his answer and when your laughter quieted down he looked at you just like he did before. "So what do you say?"
"Well, I mean it's only fair"
Taglist: @mayfieldss
if you want to be tagged in upcoming Macgyver fics please let me know <3
#macgyver imagine#macgyver imagines#angus macgyver x reader#macgyver x femreader#macgyver x reader#macgyver x you#angus macgyver#angus macgyver x femreader#macgyver 2016 fanfiction#macgyver 2016#macgyver fanfiction#macgyver fic#macgyver requests#macgyver#macgyver smut#lucas till x reader#lucas till imagines#lucas till x femreader#lucas till imagine#lucas till fanfiction#lucas till#lucas till headcanons#lucas till fanfic#lucas till fic#jack dalton#matty webber#wilt bozer#riley davis#mac x reader#macgyver headcanons
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Dennis writes a letter 💌
(My fic for @its-always-ziney-in-philadelphia 's Valentine's Day zine)
Read here on AO3, here for the full zine, or below the cut!
It starts with a box of chocolates, as all romantic gestures that Dennis has read about do. He buys them from this fancy place in Rittenhouse Square that charges an extra five bucks for gift wrap, though he manages to charm the guy behind the counter into waiving it and walks out of there only twenty bucks lighter.
Once home, he attaches a tag to the box- For Mac, from Dennis- and stands back to admire his work. He places the box in the kitchen for Mac to find when he gets there, at which point Dennis is sure Mac will throw himself at his feet with words of praise for his boyfriend’s gesture. Plus, this is only the first step of his grand plan for Valentine’s Day, the entirety of which involves far more than just chocolate. He is going to blow. Mac’s. mind.
At least, this is the way Dennis envisions things going.
How it actually goes?
“Oh, sweet, Den! That’s so cool!”
Dennis tries not to let the disappointment show on his face at his roommate’s lacklustre reaction to what he is sure amounts to a proper gesture of affection... right? Every website he scoured told him that there was no clearer message of affection than a box of chocolates on Valentine’s, and yet Mac only claps him on the back and walks off with them after Dennis humbly presents his offering. Like it was nothing more than a bag of chips or a takeaway pizza.
He stands there in the kitchen for a few seconds after he hears the door to Mac’s room close, blinking as his brain short circuits.
What the flying fuck is he doing wrong?
His next attempt at proving his love for Mac according to the five-step plan Dennis has constructed involves breakfast in bed, a true staple of the romantic flicks the two of them used to (platonically) watch every so often before the themes became too confronting. He wakes up bright and early on the morning of February 14th and sets to work on his creation in the kitchen while Mac remains asleep. It’s not a simple affair, either- there’s bacon to be cooked, and eggs, and pancakes dotted with blueberries that Dennis very nearly burns himself trying to flip.
Cooking isn’t something he does very often, after all. It’s a little harder than he anticipates.
Still, he manages to arrange the plate perfectly, even the side toast is the exact shade of golden brown that he knows Mac likes. Any darker, and Mac says the carbon makes the bread toxic. Dennis isn’t quite sure that’s true, but he’s not going to risk serving Mac poison on Valentine’s Day of all days.
He’s just about to pick up the tray and turn around when he hears Mac’s door open. His stomach drops.
No. No. Get back in there, Ronald McDonald, or so help me God I’m going to-
“Den! You’re up early.”
Dennis wheels around to face him, cheeks aglow. “Uh, Mac- yeah, I was just- I was just making you breakfast.”
Mac stretches in his doorway, though one hand still remains at his side- a hand that Dennis soon realises is holding a gym bag.
“That’s nice of you, dude, but I’m heading to the gym. You made some for yourself too, right?”
Dennis glances back at the worktop, though he’s not quite sure why. He knows that he didn’t make himself any, because of course he didn’t. Breakfast isn’t his thing.
“Uh, yeah, I...”
“Sweet. I’ll see you around later, alright?” Mac wanders over to Dennis and presses a kiss to his cheek, eyes moving briefly to the tray. “Hah. Cool. Looks almost like a smiley face.”
Dennis watches him leave with a growing pit in his stomach, and barely forces out a fake chuckle at the ‘coincidence’, that tapers off the moment the door to the apartment closes. He picks up the tray and curls his lip at the ridiculous face which stares back at him, almost taunting, and the heart shaped toast he’d carefully cut out with a knife.
He throws the whole thing directly in the trash.
**
The bar is empty when Dennis arrives. Mac’s still at the gym, Dee’s probably still in bed, and Charlie and Frank are probably fucking around playing some Valentine’s version of NightCrawlers.
It doesn’t matter, though. Dennis is glad that he’s alone because it means he can place step 3 of his Grand Valentine’s Day Plan right on top of the bar ready for when Mac enters- a little vase of flowers, each one picked out especially for the occasion. He’d endured the allergen hell that was the florists for Mac, and even now the pollen makes his nostrils itch, yet he doesn’t consider abandoning his plan for a second. The chocolates and the breakfast in bed were missteps. This will prove to Mac just how he feels. It’s written there, spelled out in the petals.
Baby’s breath symbolising everlasting affection. Bluebells for humility. Pink Camellia for longing. Daisies for loyalty. Heliotrope for devotion.
Red Chrysanthemums- I love you.
He spends a few moments longer arranging them to look their best, then slips a little note underneath the vase for Mac to see once he picks them up. The action means he has to muffle a few sneezes into his elbow, but it’s worth it.
Tired from his early morning escapades (nobreakfastnobreakfastnobreakfast), he pulls himself into the back room and flops down onto the desk chair. The moment he closes his eyes, he falls asleep.
When he wakes, he can hear footsteps and conversation outside, and his pulse leaps at the realisation that it means Mac has discovered his gesture. He stands up and tugs nervously at the fingers of his right hand, then opens the door to the main bar. This is it. This is his chance to explain what each flower means, and in doing so assure Mac that though he may not have said it in words yet, he’s said it in petals. He loves him.
The moment Dennis turns to the spot where the flowers should be, though, his stomach sinks. They’re not there.
He can do nothing but stand there for a few seconds, brain short-circuiting as he tries to figure out what could have possibly occurred to displace his gift, when he sees Mac pop up from behind the bar, apparently having been crouched under there cleaning a soda pipe.
“Hey Den! You feeling okay?”
Dennis doesn’t know whether the question is posed because of his impromptu nap or the way the light has probably faded from his eyes, but it doesn’t matter. He clears his throat and replies,
“What happened to the flowers on the bar?”
Mac’s expression morphs into one of understanding- or, at least, a false sense of understanding, given Dennis knows exactly what he’s going to allude to.
“Ah, right, of course! See, I knew they were going to give your allergies trouble, which they obviously have- sorry dude, I don’t know who put them there- so I got Dee to throw them out the back.” He grins, so assured of his good deed that he looks like a proud puppy after completing his first successful trick.
Dennis, meanwhile, feels the familiar weight of disappointment heavy on his shoulders.
“Ah... cool. Right. I’m... I’m gonna go outside for a smoke. Don’t wait up for me.”
Mac makes a slightly confused face, but lets Dennis trudge to the back anyway. Once outside, it doesn’t take long for the latter to see the bunch of flowers sticking out of the trash can, their stems bent, a few errant petals scattered across the ground. Dennis’ fists curl up with frustration. He wanders over to his ruined gift and shoves it a little further into the trash, a low growl building in his throat when it refuses to goddamn go down. Stupid fucking idea. Stupid fucking gift. Stupid fucking Valentine’s Day. Stupid fucking-
“Dennis?”
Oh. Fantastic. The last person he wants to see right now is here.
He sighs, rolling his shoulders, and doesn’t turn around until he’s convinced he’s not about to let how upset he is show. “What do you want, Dee?”
She’s standing just outside the back entrance to Paddy’s, brows creased with almost concern. “Is this about the flowers you put out for Mac?”
Dennis’ ears flush so red he can feel their temperature rise. He hates being a twin sometimes.
“What do you care?” he snarls.
She doesn’t retreat beneath his anger. Never has. Instead, she merely sighs, holding a little scrap of paper aloft that Dennis recognises with a pang of dread. “I found this underneath the vase while I was picking it up to throw out.”
Her brother says nothing. What can he say?
“You were inviting him for dinner? On Valentine’s?”
It doesn’t sound like she’s mocking him, but his own vulnerability being parroted back at him hurts all the same so he marches forward, snatching the note from her grasp before wheeling back around and pacing in front of the dumpsters. “Just- just fuck off, alright, Dee? I’m not in the mood.”
“Well, tough shit, dickbag. You’re my brother. Unfortunately, whether you like it or not, I’ve become wrapped up in this love affair between you and Mac, and somehow the fact that you’re asking him out on a date for Valentine’s is almost touching to me... Y’know, Mac didn’t see the note, Den.” Despite himself, Dennis freezes. “He saw the flowers, that’s all, and the only reason he got rid of those was because he thought someone else left them in there, and he was worried they were going to set your allergies off.”
Dee gives him a once-over, wrinkling her nose at the redness she seems to perceive in his. “Apparently for good reason.”
Dennis rolls his eyes.
“Look, what I’m saying is he didn’t do this maliciously. In fact, it was the opposite. He was trying to look out for you.”
“Yeah, well, I wish he’d open his goddamn eyes for once!” Dennis growls, still pacing like a caged tiger. “I don’t get it, Dee. I’m doing everything that I’m supposed to do.”
“Everything you’re... supposed to?”
Dennis pauses, looking at her as though she only has half a brain. Throws up his hands in exasperation. “Yeah! I followed all the stupid steps on these stupid websites to show him that I care about him, and for what? The stupid idiot doesn’t even notice!”
He’s aware that he’s said ‘stupid’ way too many times, but he’s angry, and the coherence in his head evaporates before it can reach his lips. Dee doesn’t seem phased by his outburst in the least.
“Look,” she says, far too gentle for comfort. “Have you ever wondered why he doesn’t notice these things?”
Dennis quirks a brow. Waits for her to do what she’s never done before, and enlighten him.
“Alright, let’s break it down. It won’t take long. Who, in Mac’s life, has ever shown him proper affection?”
The question catches him so off guard that the first reaction Dennis has is to chuckle. That’s ridiculous. Of course Mac has... he’s... A cool flood of realisation washes over him like the sweat of a bad dream. The mirth fades from his features, and his arms fall limply to his sides. Oh.
Nobody.
Dee smiles a little. “Get it now?”
Dennis swallows and looks her in the eyes with the sincerest expression he’s ever mustered. “So- so what the fuck do I do then? How am I supposed to show affection to a guy who doesn’t even know what that looks like?”
“How did we show each other, Den? Back when we were kids?”
He feels his features soften, and as he looks at his twin sister, he’s half compelled to hug her.
Of course.
“Thank you.” He murmurs.
Dee only nods towards the exit of the alley. “Yeah. I know. Go do what you gotta do, asshole. I’ll tell Mac to dress pretty for his date tonight, alright?”
**
For once, Dennis is sat in Guigino’s before Mac arrives, his leg bouncing up and down beneath the best table in the restaurant (far from any fans or kitchen doors). He’s checked his appearance in his compact mirror ten times already, but that doesn’t stop him from hazarding another quick look while the coast is clear.
Usually, he’s only dressed in a shirt and pants- perhaps a little more formal than his day-to-day attire, but nothing to write home about. Tonight, however, he’s jazzed it up with a proper suit jacket and matching pants, plus a pocket square that perfectly resembles the shade of his shirt. His hair is styled in that carefully constructed muss of curls which is so particular to His Look™ at the moment. He’s wearing Mac’s favourite cologne. He’s wearing just a touch of mascara. He’s wearing the most nervous expression he’s ever sported in his life.
There’s no fanfare when Mac walks in, as much as Dennis would’ve liked that, but it seems to play in his head regardless, because damn. Mac. Looks. Good.
Evidently, he got Dee’s memo about dressing fancy, and for once he’s ditched the monthly dinner polo in favour of an actual dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows accentuating the muscles of his arms. His hair isn’t gelled, and Dennis thinks the slightly fluffy look he’s rocking is hot as shit. It reminds him of when times were a little bit simpler. Back when labels were things you put on diagrams instead of complicated relationships with your roommate.
Still, as Mac wanders towards the table, a smile lighting up his expression like summer’s sunshine, Dennis finds himself somewhat glad that things have changed.
Because tonight, unlike twenty years ago, Mac is his boyfriend.
“Hey.” Dennis greets, standing up to meet him, cheeks uncharacteristically flushed.
Mac grins. “Uh, hi- wow, dude, you look good.”
Despite how much it makes him want to puff out his chest like a proud little robin, Dennis restrains himself and merely smiles back. “So do you, babe.”
Babe. The word feels almost unfamiliar on his tongue when used for Mac, given that they’ve spent much of their adult lives calling each other ‘dude’ or ‘bro.’ Still, Dennis needs to show Mac that he’s serious about all that romance shit. If that means peppering in a few pet names to get him primed, count him in.
They sit down, and after ordering and receiving their food, the conversation flows almost like usual. Dennis tries to forget that he was ever frustrated at Mac for missing the overt gestures he was making, and focuses instead on just how much he’s missed sitting down like this and catching up. It may have only been a few days in reality, but given that Dennis’ mind has been fixed on making plans instead of the recipient of them (his boyfriend), it feels like far longer.
Eventually, they finish their meal, and usually it would be time for them to start getting ready to leave. Tonight, though? Tonight, Dennis holds out a hand when Mac stands up, and bids him sit down a little longer.
“I... I wanted to... to give you something.” He says. “For Valentine’s Day.”
And with this, he removes a piece of paper from his pocket, and hands it to Mac. The contents are still fresh in his mind from the hours he spent agonizing over each word, and he hears them in his head while he glances up every so often at Mac’s eyes gliding along the page.
Mac,
For the last few weeks I’ve been trying to think of what to do for today. I spent hours researching romantic gestures online, and I tried to enact them- but I’d failed to realise that what we have is different from the relationships in tabloids and novels. We’re real, Mac. It’s not always as simple as the movies.
I told Dee about this (I know, but please hear me out) and she reminded me of something we used to do when we were kids, and Mom and Dad wouldn’t let us talk to each other for some punishment or other. We used to write letters. It started as a necessary tactic to skirt around the rules and communicate, but it turned out to be easier expressing things in a letter than saying them out loud, so I thought I’d do the same thing here.
Here goes...
I love you, Mac. There it is in writing, so you can show it to me whenever you piss me off with your Borat impressions and excessive hair gel. Because it’ll still be true. I love you.
It’s not much of a Valentine’s gift, but it’s the one thing I want to give you more than anything, now until the end of time.
Yours always,
Den.
Dennis spends the whole duration of the letter tugging on his earlobe, eyes fixed on the white tablecloth. The prospect of Mac recoiling at this rare expression of vulnerability is terrifying. Even now, Frank’s denunciations of anything that made his son seem like a ‘nancy boy’ echo in his mind, and it takes that repetitive tugging to keep himself from reaching over and setting the evidence of feelings alight by the flame of the candle on the table.
But then Mac reaches over, and slowly, gently, takes Dennis’ free hand. Dennis looks up.
He doesn’t even need to wait to hear Mac say it- it’s written in his eyes just as clearly as on the paper in his hand.
Love.
And Dennis’ lip trembles beneath the weight of it.
#iasip#its always sunny in philadelphia#dennis reynolds#its always sunny#macdennis#valentines day fic#sunny valentines day zine#iasip fic#macdennis fic
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Dumb LMK fic prompt, where MK gets thrown back in time to post JTTW time(magic also giving him a monkey form because reasons)
He ends up being found by PIF who takes one look at him and is like ‘Are you fucking kidding me that FUCKING SIMIAN KNOCKED UP MACAQUE!’ MK is trying to explain that he is not the Monkey King and Mac’s kid but PIF is not buying it he does look way too much like the two of them in Monkie form and having the Monkey Kings powers...PIF is 110% convinced he is the Monkey Kings kid... he tries explaining that he’s the Monkey Kings successor and was human and is from the future...PIF just thinks he must have hit his head or something and is confused but is undeniably Mac and SWK’s kid.
MK is kinda scared she’s going to kill him but
PIF: THAT ABSOULTE BASTARD NOT ONLY DID HE KILL MY BEST FRIEND
MK:Wait your what?
PIF:AND HIS MATE
MK:...WAIT WHAT?
PIF:BUT HE ALSO KNOCKED HIM UP FIRST! AND NEITHER TOLD ME! UGH I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS
MK: Because it’s not true but sorry what did you say about the Monkey king and Macaque being ma...
PIF:I TOLD LIU ER A MILLION TIMES HE COULD SO MUCH BETTER AND NOW, OH I AM GOING TO MARCH DOWN INTO HELL AND DRAG THAT MORON OUT
MK:No sorry please go back Monkey king and Macaque were what now?
PIF instead of killing him just drags very confused MK back explaining that he’s basically part of the family and she is not letting him go back to his ‘deadbeat simian dumbass’ of a father that she’s getting Mac back finding a way to get DBK out and then they’ll find someone worthy to set his other father up with no matter what he says because clearly his taste is the worst.
MK is just so confused... things get worse when he meets younger Red Son, who instantly falls head over heels for MK and MK is very embarrassed and awkward and somehow ends up letting DBK out because he moves the staff and now he’s freaking out about space time continuum and dealing with PIF matchmaking him and Red Son and everyone thinking he’s Mac and SWK’s kid.
SWK is very very confused by the angry letters he’s getting from PIF calling him deadbeat and threatening to castrate him he feels like he should be worried.
The court of heaven see MK and are like ‘…FUCK WHEN DID SUN WUKONG HAVE A KID?’ and then ‘Wait doesn’t this kid look the six eared…OH FUCK’ the court of heaven freaking out over 1)SWK having a kid who seems to have his powers oh no oh no oh no (The Jade emperor is hyperventilating and hiding under his desk) 2)SWK BEING A PARENT! And 3) SWK’s mate being dead….
It’s kinda decided very quickly that the six eared Macaque was the more rational one….apart from the unpleasantness at the end… that the court of heaven still feel awkward about cause they were meant to send someone to tell the Monkey kings mate about what was going on but sort of ….forgot (times weird and by the time someone figured it out… it was to late) so they pull some strings and Macaque is back alive.
Court of heaven: Hey sorry about all that um… please go make sure your kid doesn’t wage war on heaven…please
Mac:…
Mac:My what now?
Bonus
PIF:Oh you idiot I told you that Simian was the worst oh I’m so glad your back
PIF:…oh my the way your kids engaged to my son
Mac:…I’m sorry my WHAT NOW?
#lmk#lego monkie kid#monkie kid#spicynoodleshipping#lmk spicynoodles#spicynoodles#shadowpeachshipping#shadowpeach#lmk shadowpeach#humor#au#fic prompt#lmk princess iron fan#lmk pif#princess iron fan#lmk mk#mk#lmk red son#red son#lmk dbk#i am just amusing myself at this point#time travel
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Käärijä songs personified (pt.2)
Some more Kä songs with made up character traits :3 Maybe I should do the same for JO songs these are fun
Huhhahhei:
-a hopeless romantic, pulls out roses from thin air
-he always wears the leather coat and a Captain's hat
-self proclaimed captain of his love boat (no one knows what boat he is referring to)
-his date ideas include fishing, going to amusement parks and having sex
-looks intimidating but he's actually very sweet and always in a good mood
Kiertävä Sirkus:
-uses self deprecating humor to cope
-will not flex about his money because he's broke as hell
-there's a lot going on inside but he struggles to put his feelings into words so he'll resort to making monkey noises if he's feeling flustered
-has very colorful makeup and clothes on, he'll always stand out
-has a love/hate relationship with performing but you can rip that microphone from his cold dead hands
Paidaton Riehuja:
-very body positive, he encourages anyone to take off their shirts like the shirtless guru he is
-often seen walking around with a yellow plastic guitar, a weapon or an instrument? No one knows
-I actually rlly like the idea of Paidaton!Käärijä specifically being trans, so he's transmasc with top surgery scars :3
-has tried taking up going to the gym several times but always ends up giving up
-a bit of a himbo but he's got the spirit
Fantastista:
-he looks like the Fantastista album cover (yes, he's literally black&white)
-he's the youngest of the Kä's, even younger than Mic Mac Käärijä
-very stubborn and determined to get his way, ends most demands with "It's a threat👺"
-as bratty as he is, he's also quite thoughtful and always makes sure to keep things quiet for the neighbors past 22:00
-quite reckless, constantly has to be dragged out of mosh pits and fights
Menestynyt yksilö:
-very bitter about the past, he gets caught up on all the time he's lost
-he may be a bit depressing but conversations with him are real as fuck and he gives excellent life advice
-has a big soft spot for dogs and would like to get one some day
-very pessimistic about the future, especially once he's had a few drinks in him
-honestly just needs a hug
Auto Jää:
-absolutely insufferable, do not pair him with Urheilujätkä!Käärijä or you have two over energetic men that will cause chaos
-always wears the black/pink ski jacket
-he's quite childish but also very responsible, will fuck you up if you even consider drunk driving
-give this man a bottle of champagne and everything will be flooded within seconds
-just happy to be here
Viulunkieli:
-one of the few Kä's that isn't completely broke, gets a reasonable paycheck
-he's quite sensitive to people's moods and gets nervous when he picks up on tension
-very close with Välikuolema!Käärijä, they get along well
-his plans to have a fun night out usually don't go so well 😅
-keeps talking about this mysterious figure called Kari, no one has seen the man before
Rock Rock:
-very self confident, is always talking abt how much he loves his mom
-has some kind of fascination with construction cranes
-very bouncy and is often hopping all over the place
-he exagarates his own success but, well, as long as he's happy....
-prone to babbling and talking really fast
Online:
-is very openly anti social media
-however the reason he's so vocal about not being in online spaces is because he can get addicted very easily so he tries to keep himself from falling back into internet addiction by talking smack about it
-communicates mostly through written letters and maybe if you're lucky you can have the number to his landline phone
-is the least pale of the Käärijä's, actually goes on proper vacations
-he uses a Polaroid camera if he wants to take pictures somewhere
Nou Roblem:
-bro has sunglasses on at all times to disguise the European gay porn sadness in his eyes
-"I don't have a problem haha" (guy who has a lot of problems)
-rides a moped around
-is often hungry, pls feed the man
-consequences always come back to bite him in the ass no matter how much he tries to play it cool
#Käärijä#This reads like those Undertale AUs where everyone gets obsessed with the amount of Sanses there are lol#Käärijä personified#For fun teehee#Tag yourself I'm Huhhahhei
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speaking of things that were brought up in the show once and then never spoken of again, im honestly astounded that the revelation that luther was sending letters to mac and dennis was destroying them has seemingly had no impact on the characters beyond tggth. ik the fans probably discussed it more when the episode came out (which i wasnt there for) but its such a huge reveal like…mac who is ignored by his father 99% of the time was actually receiving letters from him and both of his best friends knew and didnt say anything. id love to see that revisited.
Tbh I think that one’s definitely a dead and buried event as spoken between Mac and Dennis, but I definitely wouldn’t say it’s had no further impact on the characters.
Mac’s internal struggle with his dad loving him certainly continued, and from what I see, it was pretty heavily built off the basis of Dennis destroying the letters:
Mac’s ‘PTSD’ nightmares are between him killing his father, just as he hopes he’ll say he loves him, and Dennis making a move on him, finally returning physical affection. I’d say that’s a good idea of how Mac processed/was processing what Dennis did. Mac’s mind seemed to be rationalising that he would kill his father by his own hands if he had access to him. Dennis physically destroyed the possibility, ‘proving he loved Mac’ (and further in Mac’s mind, Luther would kill Mac, given the opportunity).
But then, Mac does ‘kill’ [his relationship with] his father by his own hands when he comes out to him. His father doesn’t want Mac’s true self, and won’t listen. So when Mac does have a way to express himself in return, it hurts him. (Again, further affirming himself that Dennis cut off a potential relationship to protect him).
Now what’s really interesting is that they chose to go with letters again, in connection with Mac’s father, they further cast GSC to play his Uncle, made him gay, and weaved the idea of Mac having kids into the play. Isn’t that just all, a lot to chew on…
Honestly it’s hard for me to properly space it out, so I hope the following makes sense (and I am responding to this while on NYC transit, but what better place to dump my brain out):
I think the letters from Luther to Mac being destroyed by Dennis was a solid base they continue to build around through now. I mean, it’s certainly no coincidence that they decided on letters to be his family legacy, letters his mother destroyed before Mac could read. And then it can’t be a coincidence that the last time Mac spoke to his father, the first time he spoke to him since he found out about his letters, he expressed he wanted Mac to have children, and now Mac is telling his Uncle who looks like his father that he wants these new (old) letters for his children (alongside the theme of ignoring a shared sexuality). That’s not a coincidence, I really hope it’s not.
So I think it remains unsaid between the characters for a few reasons. 1. The confessions from TGGTH went down with the ship for all of them (stuff it down with some brown, bury it under the booth, kick it under the kegs). 2. Mac sees it as a twisted act of love from Dennis, so why teeter with that? 3. It’s a base plot device they continue to build off of for now that, maybe, eventually they’ll address, if we ever work back around to another Mac finale (We can see a theme of things being unburied… Or they’ll just let the insane analysts like me draw dots and connect lines and spout my shit through the rest of time.)
Though those are just my thoughts, certainly RCG will have to talk about it when they get to Seasons 11-13 on the Podcast, so that’s something to look forward to in 2.5-3 years!
#iasip#mac mcdonald#mac meta#ask#frank shoots every member of the gang#the gang goes to hell#mac finds his pride
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