Hi! I recently started iasip and i’m so sad there’s no good charlie x reader stories! so i was wondering if you could do a charlie kelly x reader x nick miller bc they would be so funny together as they like fight for the reader’s attention. maybe like schmitt and nick go to patty’s pub to help the reader hit on men(charlieeee) and maybe nick gets jelly. you can choose who the reader ends up w but i thought it’d be a cute idea!
Hi, I'm like 90% sure Nick Miller and Schmitt are from New Girl (??)- which unfortunately is just not a show I write for.
However, if you have any other Charlie related requests, I would love to hear them! <33
Affection || CG! Adrian Chase x Little! GN! Reader
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
Based off of the prompts here
I've been working on these on and off for AAAGES, and somehow forgot I could post them here??
I hope my Adrian littles love this series as much as I do <33
TW: swearing, implied trauma/abandonment & references to murder 👍
Is he affectionate? Is Adrian Chase affectionate????!? Baby! He’s holding onto you and using sickly sweet pet names every chance he fucking gets!
He’s clingy and he loves you and he wants to make sure you know that he loves you !! and that he’s always ALWAYS there for you. Ur not getting rid of him, buddy.
he will be rambling to you about everything on his mind !! and how much he loves you and yadda yadda.
If you don’t like affection he uhh….probably isn’t the cg for you :( i’m sorry loves
Though. . .
It really wasn’t that you didn’t enjoy or appreciate what Adrian did for you. Or, tried to, anyhow. You mostly loved what he did, how he acted. When you were small though, there was a certain level of vulnerability to it. Much more than baring your soul when you were big. It’s showing your whole being- even the ugly parts. So often it’s not when you want to. You’re not telling Adrian or yourself you’re okay with accepting care.
Showing him this side of yourself means allowing yourself to trust completely.
It’s terrifying.
You’re not ready for him to hold you close. You’re still afraid you’ll whine too much or say something maybe you shouldn’t. You’ll be too much for him. And that’ll be it.
It will be the end of Vigilante and his partner in crime. You’ll go in two moves. Swept up, then tossed out.
This doesn’t stop Adrian though. It never does. Adrian holds your worries close to his heart.
“Here,” he says. He leans over and places a sippy cup filled with water on your nightstand. He hops back to his feet, holding his hands against his hips. He's dressed shoulders to toes in his Vigilante get up. “Alright! I’m heading out, I’ll be with Chris. Do you need anything?”
You shake your head and give him a funny look when he tries to kiss the top of your head. He rights himself again.
“Should I call later? I mean, after I, y’know.” He makes a vile hand gesture.
You offer a small smile. “You don’t have to censor yourself. I know what you’re doing.”
“Well, yeah. But- you’re a – Adrian bows his head, stage whispering, ‘a kid’ – right now.”
You groan. “I’m me right now though! I’m always me. I don’t care about your fuh-fuh-fucking killing. You don’t need to treat me like a baby!”
Adrian moves to say something but you interrupt before he can move his lips from confusion. “I’m, like, seven! Not a baby. I can take care of myself.”
His mouth falls into a soft ‘O’ shape.
“So, then you don’t want fun shaped macaroni before I go?”
You think to yourself. “Well, maybe a little. You were gonna eat it anyways, I think.”
He rolls his eyes. “Obviously. Who do you think I buy it for?”
You giggle, and slide off the bed. Following Adrian to the kitchen where he already had a few options of Kraft Mac 'n Cheese out. Oh, you were excited for this!
"Can I help?" You look up at him and he makes a face like he's thinking.
"Sure," he smiles. Not particularly at you, which you can't help but really appreciate the gesture, but smiling nonetheless.
Just a reminder for all you folks writing Edward Nashton fanfics.
That room he lives in is NOT his apartment. It is a hotel located right across from the iceberg lounge! That means he actively pays money to stay in it often. Working as a forensics accountant, even paid poorly he would be making about 4k a month. He'd have to have saved up for this, or gone and worked or just rented it out like an apartment. Especially to live long term in a temporary place. JUST THOUGHT I'd share this cause it had taken me 5 times of watching this movie to realize the GIANT neon green sign that said "HOTEL"
Warnings: Implied ED (it's Dennis, what do you expect?), body dysphoria, alcohol, strong language
This is cross-posted on AO3! <3
Things weren’t always so chaotic and high tensity in the apartment. Really, despite Dennis’ uproarious personality and penchant for drama- the surrounding aura was often calm, with the brief and light bickering of lovers and friends. Dennis and his partner kept each other steady. With the rumbling of storm clouds and shame hanging heavy in the air, usually it was cuddling on the couch with Thunder Gun or a cheesy horror flick on with hot herbal teas or vegan hot chocolates rolling in- not this shapeless violence.
As rain pelts against the building it lingers and melds with the sound of shattering glass. They look up with quiet, hidden tears in their eyes. A glimpse of blood from Dennis’ knuckles, soaking the immaculate blue of his shirt and dripping onto the clean tiles of the bathroom floor. They gape with horror, rushing to his side.
“Den!” they frantically grab for his wounded hand, as he quickly faces away from them, holding his arm close to his chest. “I’m- we need to get that cleaned up. It’s gonna get infected.”
Dennis scowls to himself. “I’ve got it.”
He rushedly takes the first aid kit from the drawer as he wanders towards the other side of the apartment- Mac’s room. He only gets so far. His partner clasps their hands at the back of his shirt. A desperate plea in their fingertips. They let go as he pauses his movements. He can imagine them picking their nails in nervousness. He’d seen them do it a dozen times before.
Dennis knows they won’t let him be, even if he holes himself away in his roommates' space. They’re persistent in their need to take care of him. He sighs. With tired feet he settles into the couch, propping the first aid up on his knees. As much as he hates to admit- they’re right. At least in regards to the cuts.
There’s a light tear of the paper; he takes a single, small, folded up alcohol wipe. He braces himself for the sting- which he reasons could not be any worse than the throb of his reddened hand. He swears under his breath and curls into himself at the first touch.
Their voice pierces his near silent agony. “Dennis?”
They stand rigid behind him, looking out towards the fogged up windows- only a murky view of the city beyond. Cautious and curious hands rest on the couch back. Careful not to accidentally touch him. Though every bone in their body ached to cup his face in their hands, lilac touches and lily whispers of love.
“Dennis?” They try again. He’s placing bandages, too sticky and rough against his skin- in erratic and unassuming spots. They’re both submerged in their own thoughts, falling into new, different territories in their minds. He shakes his head at them. He makes a split dash to the apartment entrance, caught by a strong, pulling energy. Good hand flitting around the door knob, and impatient, anxious foot tapping.
“Dennis,” they begin once more, voice stern but inviting. They hold a hand out for Dennis again and he takes the knob in a firm grasp. His hand aches and hurts as his knuckles turn white. He eyes the handle.
“Look, have your makeup, okay? I left it in your bedroom.”
Dennis replies with a bitter, “Okay.”
“But- hey, won’t you look at me?” He shakes his head. They sigh, letting their hand drop and they move closer to his side. “I want you to be happy. If that’s what makes you happy? Fine. But you’re beautiful without it all.”
Dennis whips his head back towards them, nostrils flaring, brows turned down- his face so sinister. “You think I don’t know that?” He snarls, face tie-dyed red & purple, and they begin to falter back but stand their ground behind him.
They give him a patient look. “Just, give me a moment.” They wring their hands nervously, “I’m here for you.”
“You think I need some worthless nobody who thinks they’re better than me? Who thinks they know what’s best for me? Helping me? You don’t know anything- anything! You wish you were the ground I walk on. You are nothing .”
“Den, don’t-”
“Stop!” They back away, an uncomfortable feeling rising in their throat. They can’t breathe as they choke on their words and a mouthful of sick. “I don’t need your babying.”
“It’s, I- please,” they stumble over their words, eyes stinging with oncoming tears.
Dennis eyes them up and down, disturbed by their wrecked composure. “Pathetic.”
He slams the door on his way out. Leaving his companion alone in the dread of the apartment. The sinking cool air that follows them down to the bones. Feeling naked as they lean against the back of the couch, tears pricking at their eyes. Stupid fucking Dennis. Stupid fucking you. There was no helping him, they think. They wave their fists around them, banging at the floor in frustration. The unlit apartment casting deep shadows as the light gloom of the day passes by and steers towards night.
They dab at the bags under their eyes with their sweater sleeves. A tired ache crawls through their body, begging for a night of rest. They gather themselves from the floor, shuffling into the kitchen to make some dinner and tea for Dennis when he returns. Something small, something he could stomach but still fuel him; maybe pasta, plain. A frustrated growl leaves their lips as they toss an empty tea box to the linoleum.
“Fuck!”
Why’d everything have to go so wrong today? They’d never meant to hurt him. They’d simply been worried. After the infamous disaster of Dee Day , his misery had been far more apparent. It’s not that Dennis’ happy mask had ever worked too well- at least, not to them. They’d always seen him as somewhat of an open book. Maybe they were just different to him? They scoff at the thought.
“Who am I kidding? Dennis doesn’t-” they flick their eyes to the stove clock, a perturbed feeling slinks forward. It had been hours. He’d been out with no umbrella or coat for hours . A hastily wrapped hand; he’d been bleeding. Fuuuuuuuck.
They hurry towards the front door. Rain coat on and plucking up an extra and an umbrella. They first head to Charlie and Frank’s, groaning when the door creaks open to reveal an empty room. Skipping his sisters’, they go down to Paddy’s.
They’re met with a brief warmth, catching their eyes on everyone at the bar. Dee’s cleaning glasses, and babbling with anyone who’ll listen. Charlie has one foot in Dee’s rambles and the other with Frank- discussing what they think are new ways to deal with the rat problem. They’d have to weigh in on the matter when they weren’t in the midst of such urgent matters. Dennis is slouched against Mac’s body, a lazy hand barely touching against his drink.
Mac perks up at the new arrival, “Heyo!”
They give a half-hearted giggle, “Hi, Mac.”
The air around the building changes- tense, brooding- as Dennis meets eyes with his partner. The ends of his pants are soaked, and speckled marks appear on his blue button top- still stained with blood. His hair matted against his forehead.
They sigh, “He’s gonna freeze to death in here, you guys.”
“What is this? Too good to say hello to us?” Frank interrupts himself, squinting at the newcomer.
“Hello, Frank.” They give a look of acknowledgement to Charlie and Dee as well. “I can’t stay tonight.”
Frank seems pleased enough with the response and goes back to chatting Charlie up- a tad too enthused on rodent death. The sight of the two of them brings a pleasant smile to their face, as they sit on the barstool to the left of Mac, in a hushed voice just meant for him, they ask if he can stay at Charlie’s for the night.
His needy puppy dog look replaces a smile, “Yeah, are you guys okay? Dennis has been acting super weird since he came in and- he pauses, glancing at their tensed shoulders, and frustration leaking out- sorry. You guys are good though, right ?”
They shrug, “I’m not sure.” Wringing their hands together, a pointed look to their friend. “Just, let me take him back, okay? I’ll text you in the morning.”
Dee laughs, throwing the dish rag over her shoulder. “What are you, his babysitter? God.”
“Shut it, Dee.”
“Christ, I was just joking with you!” She scowls, mumbling under her breath what sounds like what’s up with everyone tonight. They try to shove off the bad energy illuminating around her, giving a silent thank you to Mac as he helps them bring Dennis off the stool and out of Paddy’s.
They have a silent conversation with Mac, just outside of the pub. He opens up the umbrella, offering to carry him back- but his friend places a gentle hand on his chest and tells him it’s okay. They needed to talk with their partner; everything would be okay by the morning. They offer a smile that barely reaches their eyes and Mac takes it as the truth.
“Your sister’s a bitch,” they mutter amidst the walk to Dennis’ place. His mind is too foggy, and he seems in a much better mood despite his drunken state- giggling at their comment, “She is.”
“Here,” they maneuver him through the door, careful with his stumbling footsteps and slumped frame against them. “Dennis, you have to straighten up a bit for me, okay?”
“Kinda hard being straight dating you,” he slurs.
They sigh, “We’re not getting into this right now. You’re piss drunk, baby.”
He hums, “No.”
“No? You’re not drunk?” They say, a tired laugh bouncing through the empty hall.
They figure out how to close up the umbrella without Dennis falling, and shrug off their raincoat. His is still snug around the small of his body.
It’s a struggle, but the two of them eventually find their way to the couch. They prop Dennis up and bring a blanket over him; he mumbles complaints about not allowing water to get on the couch and the uncomfortable stick of his wet clothes to his skin. They murmur promises of assurances and head to his room to pick out something comfortable and familiar. They shuffle back, delicately taking him in their arms.
“Is this okay?”
He hums. “Feel gross.”
They run a fevered hand through his hair. “Let’s get you out of this,” their voice smooth, and dancing through his ears.
“No,” he murmurs, pushing at them.
“You’ll feel better getting into something clean. We’ll get you some water,” their nose scrunches, “What have you been drinking?”
“Don’t take my- he hiccups - clothes off- i’m gross.”
“You’re not. Hey, hey- look at me, okay?” They take his head in their hands, careful not to move him too harshly or with jerked movements. Thumbs smoothing against hollowed, red cheeks. “You’re not gross.”
They let go, “Look, can you take it off by yourself? I won’t look, I promise. I even got your change of clothes here, and a towel.”
He shrugs into himself.
They sigh, “Do you trust me?”
He half-nods, but doesn’t look them in the eye as he does so. “I’m not gonna look but I’m still gonna help.”
He seems to agree with the statement well enough, allowing his partner to untie his sneakers and slip them off with relative ease. They dry off his hair first, laying the towel behind his head. They close their eyes, as they roll up the hem of his shirt, and gently tugs it off. Their fingers briefly brush against his tight skin and the way it sinks in places it shouldn’t. They shudder, regretfully keeping their promise. Dennis fumbles for a moment, but unshackles his belt and undoes the button of his jeans. They’re quick and careful with pulling them off. They feel around behind them and drop a shirt too many sizes too big in Dennis’ lap.
He mutters, “Done.”
They open their eyes, taking in the sight. How the shirt hung and draped over his frame. How tiny he looked, drowning in the expanse of the old tee.
The two settle back into the couch, Dennis hides his head in the safety of their lap- he hums with the new warmth. There’s still something off as his love rubs gentle circles on his back, humming a lullaby to him. His eyes appear murky and far off.
“What’s wrong, dear? It can’t just be our fight,” they say, with a melodic, worried, tone to their voice. They still needed to address the elephant in the room, but first and foremost had to make sure their lover was okay- properly cared for. No one else was going to pick him up- with the same gentleness as they did- when he broke apart. He didn’t know the language of soft hands. So, even with the fight and the simmering tension- left on the backburner- they had to be there for him because no one else would. They wouldn’t forgive themself to leave him in the dark- ever.
Dennis doesn’t prepare to respond- lost in his own entanglement. Allowing himself to drift to their humming, and softly sung lyrics as it all melts into white noise. Their voice is soothing to him, he thinks. It’s the sound of angels as the clouds break way to the Heavens. Except- he doesn’t believe in that crap. All that’s there is his one safety, his one belonging. It’s what grounds him during his storms and trials. His one path to salvation.
He thinks if there was a god, it wouldn’t have given him you . He knows he doesn’t deserve the love and kindness. He’s done enough awful things for lifetimes of lasting trauma.
He burned all his bridges a long time ago. Working on impulses and what he thought were desires. Only little thoughts that plagued his mind and wouldn’t go away. Trying to fill up whatever ate at his insides- while they slowly picked up the pieces again, put him in his place and patched him up. Treating him delicately like he’s porcelain. Laying glue down and fixing his foundation. He used to be all tape and rough, rushed, patch jobs when the two of you met. Holding on to the last strands of hope.
Everytime a little less of the old Dennis, a little more of something- someone- new that he didn’t quite understand but felt much safer in the skin it possessed. Still not Him though.
If you’re the collection of everything you’ve ever done and every person you’ve met- he’s certain part of it’s them. These new, foreign, good parts. They’re a part of everything he is now. Maybe before he’d be more upset to be leaning on others...he was- is - the Golden God. He’s perfection. But even God fails its worshippers and believers- and worse yet, he’s failing you.
The devotion they pour into him dissolves in the black of his insides, spilling out in smashed glass and venom. It’s the incessant need to do something that fizzles into a deep and growing nullness. The ugly sniffles of his partner crying. Something close to guilt resting in the hollow of his chest.
He realizes he’d do anything for them, to keep the same loving person he’d met so many years ago. “I feel gross,” he finally lets out, stumbling on the words.
The light hum rolls to a stop, “You drank a lot.”
“M’no,” he slurs, attempting to bury himself further into solace. “It’s all, yucky on the inside. It hurts.”
A noise of vague understanding leaves their throat, absentmindedly scratching at the scruff of hair curling his nape. The cozy, safe feeling igniting a spark within him, words stumbling in his head and finding their place, clustered and claustrophobic in his mouth.
“All. Ugly. Vile. Disgusting,” he whimpers and he wishes his body didn’t always betray him. “Such a disgrace. ‘on’t know how ya put up.”
They shake their head. Dennis can feel the lightness, yet dominant nature of their touch, as they guide him up, till they’re- more or less- facing one another. “No- his eyes cast down, away from them, away from their lap and the couch, somewhere targeted at the floor - hey. Look at me. You’re beautiful.”
He rolls his eyes, his lip curling up- scowling. “With makeup.”
“Can you just- listen to me? For two fucking seconds, Dennis?” Their tone is sobering and he jumps a bit in their arms. “I went about it all wrong.”
His hum fills with ambivalence.
“You just get so caught up in this world,” they sigh, their voice lowering once more into something much softer. “That you’ve created in your head- and I’m so tired of seeing you live pretend . You’re not on a fucking tv show. You don’t need to be perfect- for anyone . Not even for me , Dennis. I just want you to be happy.”
Their voice breaks, and they try to hide a pained, frustrated cry. A croak of their throat. They wipe the back of their hand against their eyes. “Sorry, sorry, I'm sorry,” they whisper in quiet tears.
Dennis knows he should sit up and tell them it’s okay. Any reasonable person would.
“And if all that- the brushes and mascara and concealer. Whatever half that shit even is- if it does that for you? I’m okay with it. Anything is worth seeing you smile.”
They pick themselves back up again. Centering all of their energy on Dennis.
“But I want,” they shake their head, pausing to pick out the best words. “I need you to know that you’re stunning without it and you don’t need a second skin to feel whole.”
He doesn’t completely believe it, but their words fill him with a warm, nearly pleasant feeling in his chest. “Okay.”
“Okay? You can’t,” they let out an exasperated puff. “Don’t say it if you don’t mean it. I’m not here to keep lying to each other.”
He trips over the words in his mouth. “No, I- I mean, okay . Whatever. Can we talk about this later- he mumbles, hiccuping- my head feels. . .bad.”
They sigh, their lips tugging at the ends into a sort-of smile. “You make me worry so much sometimes, Baby.” Their breath hitches, their mind flashing back their partners’ earlier words. “Den– Dennis . Sorry.”
“Don’t stop,” he murmurs into the bare of their neck. “I like when you call me baby.”
They smile, burying their nose in his curls; giving him a half hug while he’s still nestled in their side.
“Let’s get the two of us to bed now, alright?” He hums, murmuring something into his lover's shoulder as he presses closer. They let out an exhausted laugh, allowing him to lean on them once more as they head to Dennis’ bedroom.
“You make me feel special.” His lips curve, a peaceful look gracing his features. They look back towards him, finally finishing tucking the blankets into his side of the bed, before caressing the side of his face. Their eyes pour over Dennis’. His may be clouded skies on days just like this, and they may grow dark sometimes- as he allows his emotions to get the better of him- but there was a comfort in them still.
They press a kiss to his lips, cupping his cheek firmly with their hand. Their eyes still shine glossy and brows laden in a frown, worries knitted in the middle. They pull away with a tender smile, “you are.”
I was looking for an Age Regression Alphabet Template to write for and found out there was none! So I decided to write one myself and publish it here so y'all can make versions of your favorite characters.
Tag me if you use it, please. Hope you enjoy it 💕
A = Affection (Are they an affectionate caregiver?)
B = Behave (Are they strict? What kind of warnings do they give before punishment is needed?)
C = Clothing (How do they dress their little?)
D = Defense (Are they protective caregivers? Maybe overprotective even?)
E = Express (How do they express their love? What's their love language?)
F = First (How was their first experience as the little's caregiver?)
G = Guide (Would they be a good teacher to their little? What would they teach them?)
H = Health (How do they make sure their little is healthy?)
I = Intuitive (Can the caregiver feel when their little is regressing?)
J = Jealous (Are they the jealous caregiver type?)
K= Kiss (Are they used to kiss their little? Where?)
L = Listen (Do they enjoy listening to their little?)
M = Moment (What's one of their favorite moments being a caregiver?)
N = Nurse (Could and would they nurse their little one? Or would they rather bottle feed them?)
O = Once Upon a Time (Does the caregiver enjoy telling bedtime stories? What kind?)
P = Pet Name (What pet name do they call their little? What pet name their little calls them?)
Q = Quirk (Talk about a funny caregiver-quirk of them)
R = Rough (How do they punish their little? Is it rough or gentle?)
S = Seasons (What are their favorite season to play with their little and why?)
T = Toys (Are they used to spoil their little with toys? Or they'd rather play with their little most of the time without toys?)
U = Useful (Is there anything they learned before becoming a caregiver that is *really* useful while caring for their little?)
V = Vulnerable (Would they show vulnerability around their little?)
W = Weep (What is their reaction when their little starts crying?)
X = Xtra (Write the headcanon of your choice)
Y = Yummy (Do they know how to cook? Do they enjoy cooking for their little?)
Ok but imagine being a waitress at the diner and every time you see that weird dude with the glasses you’re nice and kind like you are to everyone else and he’s obsessed with you he talks to you sometimes and you open up to each other and somehow months later your rent is paid before you can write a check, there’s always enough money in your bank account...but it all stops when the riddler is arrested
AHHHHHHH OH MY FUCKING GOD. I HAVE TO LINK THIS ON MY WELCOME POST OR SOMETHING SO EVERYONE THAT POPS BY SEES THIS. OH FUCK. BRO. THIS IS AMAZING. Wow...... I gotta ✍✍✍✍✍ heavy breathing shit- oh GAWD
I've actually seen at least one mac thing !! but it was platonic and I think headcanons not an actual fic??? i'll give a link to it when ii can find it again- it was actually quite good.
anyways, I won't be able to write a whole series with Mac, Charlie and Den, but perhaps I can do a drabble / oneshot collection of scenes that take place in the same universe? I have a Dennis oneshot I'm working on right now, but if you or anyone else has possible prompts I could work with- I'd really love to do something with these three men after I'm done <3
You're right! I did end up finding two Mac + reader platonic things - they were really cute :)
Yeah dude I totally don't blame you - series are a ton of work - I know I've never been able to do one successfully. But I think people would love your idea!
As for prompts maybe you could do a little thing about how each of them have different love languages and how the reader interacts with them based on that? (My first thought was Dennis=words of affirmation, Charlie=quality time, Mac=physical touch but you may have a different interpretation)
characters in purple are one’s I am more familiar writing for!
IASIP
Charlie Kelly
Dee Reynolds
Dennis Reynolds
Mac McDonald
Succession
Greg Hirsch
Kendall Roy
Roman Roy
Shiv Roy
Tom Wambsgans
Riverdale
Archie Andrews
Betty Cooper
Jughead Jones
Veronica Lodge
Scooby-Doo
* I write these characters as a sort of mash of all of the iterations, but you're free to request for specific versions of them (pretty much everything except for Scoob! I'll write for- and yes, that includes Be Cool <3)
Please check my bio to see if I am currently accepting requests! Requests sent when closed will be promptly deleted- don't worry, I'll make sure of it <3
By default, I will write all readers in requests as gender neutral.
I will not write female readers unless it is specific to the plot. However, fics for my trans ladies are always welcome! :D
You’re allowed to add extra detail into your request, but it must include these three things:
Character(s) - reminder, I only do reader-inserts!
Scenario / Prompt
Your preference* on it being a oneshot/drabble or headcanon set. I can do multiple characters for HCs !
*quick note: I will take your preference into account, but at the end of the day- I am doing whatever I feel inspired to do.
- Queer and/or polyamorous themes are welcomed and whole-heartedly encouraged! :)
- will write for age or pet regression <3
- You can request smut, as long as it does NOT mix in to completely SFW stuff stuff like regression. (ie; if you request DDLG I will fucking slaughter you <3)
- CNC is okay, straight up non-con is not!
- Please do not request characters not on the character list.
Warnings: Implied ED (it's Dennis, what do you expect?), body dysphoria, alcohol, strong language
This is cross-posted on AO3! <3
Things weren’t always so chaotic and high tensity in the apartment. Really, despite Dennis’ uproarious personality and penchant for drama- the surrounding aura was often calm, with the brief and light bickering of lovers and friends. Dennis and his partner kept each other steady. With the rumbling of storm clouds and shame hanging heavy in the air, usually it was cuddling on the couch with Thunder Gun or a cheesy horror flick on with hot herbal teas or vegan hot chocolates rolling in- not this shapeless violence.
As rain pelts against the building it lingers and melds with the sound of shattering glass. They look up with quiet, hidden tears in their eyes. A glimpse of blood from Dennis’ knuckles, soaking the immaculate blue of his shirt and dripping onto the clean tiles of the bathroom floor. They gape with horror, rushing to his side.
“Den!” they frantically grab for his wounded hand, as he quickly faces away from them, holding his arm close to his chest. “I’m- we need to get that cleaned up. It’s gonna get infected.”
Dennis scowls to himself. “I’ve got it.”
He rushedly takes the first aid kit from the drawer as he wanders towards the other side of the apartment- Mac’s room. He only gets so far. His partner clasps their hands at the back of his shirt. A desperate plea in their fingertips. They let go as he pauses his movements. He can imagine them picking their nails in nervousness. He’d seen them do it a dozen times before.
Dennis knows they won’t let him be, even if he holes himself away in his roommates' space. They’re persistent in their need to take care of him. He sighs. With tired feet he settles into the couch, propping the first aid up on his knees. As much as he hates to admit- they’re right. At least in regards to the cuts.
There’s a light tear of the paper; he takes a single, small, folded up alcohol wipe. He braces himself for the sting- which he reasons could not be any worse than the throb of his reddened hand. He swears under his breath and curls into himself at the first touch.
Their voice pierces his near silent agony. “Dennis?”
They stand rigid behind him, looking out towards the fogged up windows- only a murky view of the city beyond. Cautious and curious hands rest on the couch back. Careful not to accidentally touch him. Though every bone in their body ached to cup his face in their hands, lilac touches and lily whispers of love.
“Dennis?” They try again. He’s placing bandages, too sticky and rough against his skin- in erratic and unassuming spots. They’re both submerged in their own thoughts, falling into new, different territories in their minds. He shakes his head at them. He makes a split dash to the apartment entrance, caught by a strong, pulling energy. Good hand flitting around the door knob, and impatient, anxious foot tapping.
“Dennis,” they begin once more, voice stern but inviting. They hold a hand out for Dennis again and he takes the knob in a firm grasp. His hand aches and hurts as his knuckles turn white. He eyes the handle.
“Look, have your makeup, okay? I left it in your bedroom.”
Dennis replies with a bitter, “Okay.”
“But- hey, won’t you look at me?” He shakes his head. They sigh, letting their hand drop and they move closer to his side. “I want you to be happy. If that’s what makes you happy? Fine. But you’re beautiful without it all.”
Dennis whips his head back towards them, nostrils flaring, brows turned down- his face so sinister. “You think I don’t know that?” He snarls, face tie-dyed red & purple, and they begin to falter back but stand their ground behind him.
They give him a patient look. “Just, give me a moment.” They wring their hands nervously, “I’m here for you.”
“You think I need some worthless nobody who thinks they’re better than me? Who thinks they know what’s best for me? Helping me? You don’t know anything- anything! You wish you were the ground I walk on. You are nothing .”
“Den, don’t-”
“Stop!” They back away, an uncomfortable feeling rising in their throat. They can’t breathe as they choke on their words and a mouthful of sick. “I don’t need your babying.”
“It’s, I- please,” they stumble over their words, eyes stinging with oncoming tears.
Dennis eyes them up and down, disturbed by their wrecked composure. “Pathetic.”
He slams the door on his way out. Leaving his companion alone in the dread of the apartment. The sinking cool air that follows them down to the bones. Feeling naked as they lean against the back of the couch, tears pricking at their eyes. Stupid fucking Dennis. Stupid fucking you. There was no helping him, they think. They wave their fists around them, banging at the floor in frustration. The unlit apartment casting deep shadows as the light gloom of the day passes by and steers towards night.
They dab at the bags under their eyes with their sweater sleeves. A tired ache crawls through their body, begging for a night of rest. They gather themselves from the floor, shuffling into the kitchen to make some dinner and tea for Dennis when he returns. Something small, something he could stomach but still fuel him; maybe pasta, plain. A frustrated growl leaves their lips as they toss an empty tea box to the linoleum.
“Fuck!”
Why’d everything have to go so wrong today? They’d never meant to hurt him. They’d simply been worried. After the infamous disaster of Dee Day , his misery had been far more apparent. It’s not that Dennis’ happy mask had ever worked too well- at least, not to them. They’d always seen him as somewhat of an open book. Maybe they were just different to him? They scoff at the thought.
“Who am I kidding? Dennis doesn’t-” they flick their eyes to the stove clock, a perturbed feeling slinks forward. It had been hours. He’d been out with no umbrella or coat for hours . A hastily wrapped hand; he’d been bleeding. Fuuuuuuuck.
They hurry towards the front door. Rain coat on and plucking up an extra and an umbrella. They first head to Charlie and Frank’s, groaning when the door creaks open to reveal an empty room. Skipping his sisters’, they go down to Paddy’s.
They’re met with a brief warmth, catching their eyes on everyone at the bar. Dee’s cleaning glasses, and babbling with anyone who’ll listen. Charlie has one foot in Dee’s rambles and the other with Frank- discussing what they think are new ways to deal with the rat problem. They’d have to weigh in on the matter when they weren’t in the midst of such urgent matters. Dennis is slouched against Mac’s body, a lazy hand barely touching against his drink.
Mac perks up at the new arrival, “Heyo!”
They give a half-hearted giggle, “Hi, Mac.”
The air around the building changes- tense, brooding- as Dennis meets eyes with his partner. The ends of his pants are soaked, and speckled marks appear on his blue button top- still stained with blood. His hair matted against his forehead.
They sigh, “He’s gonna freeze to death in here, you guys.”
“What is this? Too good to say hello to us?” Frank interrupts himself, squinting at the newcomer.
“Hello, Frank.” They give a look of acknowledgement to Charlie and Dee as well. “I can’t stay tonight.”
Frank seems pleased enough with the response and goes back to chatting Charlie up- a tad too enthused on rodent death. The sight of the two of them brings a pleasant smile to their face, as they sit on the barstool to the left of Mac, in a hushed voice just meant for him, they ask if he can stay at Charlie’s for the night.
His needy puppy dog look replaces a smile, “Yeah, are you guys okay? Dennis has been acting super weird since he came in and- he pauses, glancing at their tensed shoulders, and frustration leaking out- sorry. You guys are good though, right ?”
They shrug, “I’m not sure.” Wringing their hands together, a pointed look to their friend. “Just, let me take him back, okay? I’ll text you in the morning.”
Dee laughs, throwing the dish rag over her shoulder. “What are you, his babysitter? God.”
“Shut it, Dee.”
“Christ, I was just joking with you!” She scowls, mumbling under her breath what sounds like what’s up with everyone tonight. They try to shove off the bad energy illuminating around her, giving a silent thank you to Mac as he helps them bring Dennis off the stool and out of Paddy’s.
They have a silent conversation with Mac, just outside of the pub. He opens up the umbrella, offering to carry him back- but his friend places a gentle hand on his chest and tells him it’s okay. They needed to talk with their partner; everything would be okay by the morning. They offer a smile that barely reaches their eyes and Mac takes it as the truth.
“Your sister’s a bitch,” they mutter amidst the walk to Dennis’ place. His mind is too foggy, and he seems in a much better mood despite his drunken state- giggling at their comment, “She is.”
“Here,” they maneuver him through the door, careful with his stumbling footsteps and slumped frame against them. “Dennis, you have to straighten up a bit for me, okay?”
“Kinda hard being straight dating you,” he slurs.
They sigh, “We’re not getting into this right now. You’re piss drunk, baby.”
He hums, “No.”
“No? You’re not drunk?” They say, a tired laugh bouncing through the empty hall.
They figure out how to close up the umbrella without Dennis falling, and shrug off their raincoat. His is still snug around the small of his body.
It’s a struggle, but the two of them eventually find their way to the couch. They prop Dennis up and bring a blanket over him; he mumbles complaints about not allowing water to get on the couch and the uncomfortable stick of his wet clothes to his skin. They murmur promises of assurances and head to his room to pick out something comfortable and familiar. They shuffle back, delicately taking him in their arms.
“Is this okay?”
He hums. “Feel gross.”
They run a fevered hand through his hair. “Let’s get you out of this,” their voice smooth, and dancing through his ears.
“No,” he murmurs, pushing at them.
“You’ll feel better getting into something clean. We’ll get you some water,” their nose scrunches, “What have you been drinking?”
“Don’t take my- he hiccups - clothes off- i’m gross.”
“You’re not. Hey, hey- look at me, okay?” They take his head in their hands, careful not to move him too harshly or with jerked movements. Thumbs smoothing against hollowed, red cheeks. “You’re not gross.”
They let go, “Look, can you take it off by yourself? I won’t look, I promise. I even got your change of clothes here, and a towel.”
He shrugs into himself.
They sigh, “Do you trust me?”
He half-nods, but doesn’t look them in the eye as he does so. “I’m not gonna look but I’m still gonna help.”
He seems to agree with the statement well enough, allowing his partner to untie his sneakers and slip them off with relative ease. They dry off his hair first, laying the towel behind his head. They close their eyes, as they roll up the hem of his shirt, and gently tugs it off. Their fingers briefly brush against his tight skin and the way it sinks in places it shouldn’t. They shudder, regretfully keeping their promise. Dennis fumbles for a moment, but unshackles his belt and undoes the button of his jeans. They’re quick and careful with pulling them off. They feel around behind them and drop a shirt too many sizes too big in Dennis’ lap.
He mutters, “Done.”
They open their eyes, taking in the sight. How the shirt hung and draped over his frame. How tiny he looked, drowning in the expanse of the old tee.
The two settle back into the couch, Dennis hides his head in the safety of their lap- he hums with the new warmth. There’s still something off as his love rubs gentle circles on his back, humming a lullaby to him. His eyes appear murky and far off.
“What’s wrong, dear? It can’t just be our fight,” they say, with a melodic, worried, tone to their voice. They still needed to address the elephant in the room, but first and foremost had to make sure their lover was okay- properly cared for. No one else was going to pick him up- with the same gentleness as they did- when he broke apart. He didn’t know the language of soft hands. So, even with the fight and the simmering tension- left on the backburner- they had to be there for him because no one else would. They wouldn’t forgive themself to leave him in the dark- ever.
Dennis doesn’t prepare to respond- lost in his own entanglement. Allowing himself to drift to their humming, and softly sung lyrics as it all melts into white noise. Their voice is soothing to him, he thinks. It’s the sound of angels as the clouds break way to the Heavens. Except- he doesn’t believe in that crap. All that’s there is his one safety, his one belonging. It’s what grounds him during his storms and trials. His one path to salvation.
He thinks if there was a god, it wouldn’t have given him you . He knows he doesn’t deserve the love and kindness. He’s done enough awful things for lifetimes of lasting trauma.
He burned all his bridges a long time ago. Working on impulses and what he thought were desires. Only little thoughts that plagued his mind and wouldn’t go away. Trying to fill up whatever ate at his insides- while they slowly picked up the pieces again, put him in his place and patched him up. Treating him delicately like he’s porcelain. Laying glue down and fixing his foundation. He used to be all tape and rough, rushed, patch jobs when the two of you met. Holding on to the last strands of hope.
Everytime a little less of the old Dennis, a little more of something- someone- new that he didn’t quite understand but felt much safer in the skin it possessed. Still not Him though.
If you’re the collection of everything you’ve ever done and every person you’ve met- he’s certain part of it’s them. These new, foreign, good parts. They’re a part of everything he is now. Maybe before he’d be more upset to be leaning on others...he was- is - the Golden God. He’s perfection. But even God fails its worshippers and believers- and worse yet, he’s failing you.
The devotion they pour into him dissolves in the black of his insides, spilling out in smashed glass and venom. It’s the incessant need to do something that fizzles into a deep and growing nullness. The ugly sniffles of his partner crying. Something close to guilt resting in the hollow of his chest.
He realizes he’d do anything for them, to keep the same loving person he’d met so many years ago. “I feel gross,” he finally lets out, stumbling on the words.
The light hum rolls to a stop, “You drank a lot.”
“M’no,” he slurs, attempting to bury himself further into solace. “It’s all, yucky on the inside. It hurts.”
A noise of vague understanding leaves their throat, absentmindedly scratching at the scruff of hair curling his nape. The cozy, safe feeling igniting a spark within him, words stumbling in his head and finding their place, clustered and claustrophobic in his mouth.
“All. Ugly. Vile. Disgusting,” he whimpers and he wishes his body didn’t always betray him. “Such a disgrace. ‘on’t know how ya put up.”
They shake their head. Dennis can feel the lightness, yet dominant nature of their touch, as they guide him up, till they’re- more or less- facing one another. “No- his eyes cast down, away from them, away from their lap and the couch, somewhere targeted at the floor - hey. Look at me. You’re beautiful.”
He rolls his eyes, his lip curling up- scowling. “With makeup.”
“Can you just- listen to me? For two fucking seconds, Dennis?” Their tone is sobering and he jumps a bit in their arms. “I went about it all wrong.”
His hum fills with ambivalence.
“You just get so caught up in this world,” they sigh, their voice lowering once more into something much softer. “That you’ve created in your head- and I’m so tired of seeing you live pretend . You’re not on a fucking tv show. You don’t need to be perfect- for anyone . Not even for me , Dennis. I just want you to be happy.”
Their voice breaks, and they try to hide a pained, frustrated cry. A croak of their throat. They wipe the back of their hand against their eyes. “Sorry, sorry, I'm sorry,” they whisper in quiet tears.
Dennis knows he should sit up and tell them it’s okay. Any reasonable person would.
“And if all that- the brushes and mascara and concealer. Whatever half that shit even is- if it does that for you? I’m okay with it. Anything is worth seeing you smile.”
They pick themselves back up again. Centering all of their energy on Dennis.
“But I want,” they shake their head, pausing to pick out the best words. “I need you to know that you’re stunning without it and you don’t need a second skin to feel whole.”
He doesn’t completely believe it, but their words fill him with a warm, nearly pleasant feeling in his chest. “Okay.”
“Okay? You can’t,” they let out an exasperated puff. “Don’t say it if you don’t mean it. I’m not here to keep lying to each other.”
He trips over the words in his mouth. “No, I- I mean, okay . Whatever. Can we talk about this later- he mumbles, hiccuping- my head feels. . .bad.”
They sigh, their lips tugging at the ends into a sort-of smile. “You make me worry so much sometimes, Baby.” Their breath hitches, their mind flashing back their partners’ earlier words. “Den– Dennis . Sorry.”
“Don’t stop,” he murmurs into the bare of their neck. “I like when you call me baby.”
They smile, burying their nose in his curls; giving him a half hug while he’s still nestled in their side.
“Let’s get the two of us to bed now, alright?” He hums, murmuring something into his lover's shoulder as he presses closer. They let out an exhausted laugh, allowing him to lean on them once more as they head to Dennis’ bedroom.
“You make me feel special.” His lips curve, a peaceful look gracing his features. They look back towards him, finally finishing tucking the blankets into his side of the bed, before caressing the side of his face. Their eyes pour over Dennis’. His may be clouded skies on days just like this, and they may grow dark sometimes- as he allows his emotions to get the better of him- but there was a comfort in them still.
They press a kiss to his lips, cupping his cheek firmly with their hand. Their eyes still shine glossy and brows laden in a frown, worries knitted in the middle. They pull away with a tender smile, “you are.”
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